Maggie Lee (Book 7): The Hitwoman and the 7 Cops by JB Lynn Page A

it as I passed Joy to go sit by Armani. Almost. Not quite.
    Silently screeching to a halt like a cartoon character slamming on the brakes, I put myself into reverse.
    Armani looked at me strangely, but I ignored her, focusing instead on the back of Joy’s head.
    It was there. The pink, plastic banana clip. I’d found the person I was supposed to save. Now I just had to figure out what she needed saving from.

Chapter Seven
     
    The conversation with Joy didn’t yield much in the ways of answers. She wasn’t terribly forthcoming. I think she was distracted by Armani mixing together her three bowls of pudding together to make a mixture that pretty much looked like puke.
    Personally, I was relieved she hadn’t added any of the condiments she’d been so excited about. Sure, tapioca, chocolate, and butterscotch was a gross combination, but it could have been a lot worse if she’d added catsup, mustard, or relish.
    Maybe being unreadable and mysterious is a cop thing because they’ve constantly got their guard up and aren’t inclined to let people in.
    Or maybe it’s because I suck at asking the right questions.
    Regardless, I found Joy to be almost as difficult to read as Patrick can be, and I soon gave up, deciding it would be easier to just ask someone else what was going on with the woman than to get her to confess her secrets. I knew from experience that the hospital was a petri dish for gossip. It wouldn’t be that hard to figure out Joy’s closely held secrets.
    Armani, on the other hand, was eager to read our new friend after she’d devoured half of her disgusting pudding combination. She pulled out her purple cloth sack.
    “Maybe you shouldn’t,” I warned quickly.
    Joy eyed first me, then the bag, suspiciously. “Shouldn’t what?”
    Armani shook the bag, the Scrabble tiles clattering inside. “Take seven.”
    Joy frowned. “Seven?”
    “So I can read you.”
    “Read me?”
    I watched the police officer’s expression darken.
    “She thinks she’s psychic,” I explained hurriedly.
    Armani tossed her hair. “I am psychic.”
    Joy’s eyes widened. “For reals?”
    I stared at her. Did grown women in New Jersey really say “for reals” or was she yanking Armani’s chain?
    Without further prompting, she reached into the bag and pulled out a handful of tiles. She counted them in her palm. “Six.”
    “Seven.” Armani dangled the bag in front of Joy so she could choose her last piece.
    I held my breath as they were spread out on the table, hoping they’d give me a clue about what Joy needed to be saved from.
    E H P O R S T
    At first glance it meant nothing to me. I looked to Armani.
    “Interesting.” She fingered the tiles. “Very interesting.”
    “What does it mean?” Joy leaned forward.
    “I don’t know yet,” Armani admitted. “But it’s interesting.”
    Joy leaned back in her seat, clearly disappointed.
    “Don’t despair, chica. Not long ago my boss pulled tiles that made no sense at first, but then I fixed him up and now he’s getting ready to elope. Isn’t that right, Maggie?”
    I nodded grudgingly. Technically, I’d been the one to figure out the meaning of the tiles, but I was willing to let Armani claim the matchmaking success, rather than add the job to my list of odd job skills.
    Joy tilted her head to the side and squinted at my beautiful, but slightly unhinged friend. “You’re a matchmaker?”
    “A little of this. A little of that. A matchmaker. A psychic. A little bit of everything that makes the world a magical place.” Armani flashed her most beguiling smile at the woman across the table.
    Joy’s eyebrows knitted together as she sank deeper into her seat.
    “Not to mention she’s a senior customer service rep at Insuring the Future,” I couldn’t resist adding.
    Joy perked up. “Really? Could you help me get a lower rate on my policy?”
    “We’re not—” I began to explain.
    Armani waved her hand, signaling me to shut up. “Give me your personal