Agnes and the Hitman

Chapter 1 One fine August evening in South Carolina, Agnes Crandall stirred raspberries and sugar in her heavy nonstick frying pan and defended her fiance to the only man she'd ever trusted. It wasn't easy. "Look, Joey, Taylor's not that bad." Agnes cradled the phone between her chin and her shoulder, turned down her CD player, where the Dixie Chicks were doing a fine rendition of "Am I the Only One," and then frowned over the tops of her fogged-up glasses at the raspberries, which were being annoying and uncooperative, much like Taylor lately. "He's a terrific chef." Which is why I'm still with him. "And he's very sweet." When he has the time. "And we've got a great future in this house together." Assuming he ever comes out here again. Joey snorted his contempt, the sound exploding through the phone. "He shouldn't leave you out there by yourself." "Hey, Brenda lived out here alone for years, and she did just fine," Agnes said. "I'm as tough as Brenda. I can do that, too." Of course, Brenda sold me the house and beat feet for her yacht in the middle of a marina, but "Nah, there's somethin' wrong with a guy who leaves a sweetheart like you alone in a big house like that. You should find somebody else." "Yeah, like I have the time," Agnes said, and then realized that wasn't the right answer. "Not that I would. Taylor's a great guy. And anyway, I like being alone." I'm used to it. "He's a mutt, Agnes," Joey said. Agnes took off her glasses and turned up the heat under the raspberries, which she knew was courting disaster, but it was late and she was tired of playing nice with fruit. "Come on, Joey. I don't have time for this. I'm behind on my column, I've got" "And there's Rhett," Joey said. "How's Rhett?" "What?" Agnes said, thrown off stride. She stopped stirring her berries, which began to bubble, and looked down at her dog, draped over her feet like a moth-eaten brown overcoat, slobbering on the floor as he slept. "Rhett's fine. Why? What have you heard?" "He's a fine healthy-lookin' dog," Joey said hastily. "He looked real good in his picture in the paper today." He paused, his voice straining to be casual. "How come old Rhett was wearing that stupid collar in that picture?" "Collar?" Agnes frowned at the phone. "It was just some junk jewelry" The oven timer buzzed, and she said, "Hold on," put down the phone, and took the now madly bubbling berries off the heat. Rhett picked up his head and bayed, and she turned to see what he was upset about. A guy with a gun stood in the doorway, the bottom half of his face covered with a red bandanna. "I come for your dog," he said, pointing the gun at Rhett, and Agnes said, "No!" and slung the raspberry pan at the guy, the hot syrup arcing out in front of it like napalm and catching him full in the face. He screamed as the scalding fruit hit him and then dropped his gun to rip the bandanna away as Agnes stumbled to scoop up the pan and Rhett barreled into him, knocking himCrusie, Jennifer is the author of 'Agnes and the Hitman ', published 2007 under ISBN 9780312363048 and ISBN 0312363044.