The Housewife Assassin's Garden of Deadly Delights

by Josie Brown

  “Sure, whatever.” He stands aside. Sweeping his hand through the air, he murmurs, “Entrez vous.”

  There’s a chill in the air, and it’s not just the air-conditioning.

  “That’s one of them, there on the counter.” He points to the carcass he was cutting when we knocked on his door. It’s small, so definitely that of a calf.

  Jack opens the duffel and takes out two of everything: HazMat jumpsuits, pairs of gloves, facemasks, goggles, booties, and large zip-up body bags. Pennypacker leans up against the wall, as if watching us putting on these duds is part of some sleazy floorshow.

  I say sleazy because he’s practically salivating when I wiggle into my jumpsuit. “Need help with that zipper?” he offers with a wink.

  “Thanks, but no thanks.” Does he notice that I shudder? Yes. Does he give a damn? No. Instead, he giggles.

  A big man with a girlish squeal and a bloody apron. Something tells me he doesn’t date much.

  Jack breaks the mood by asking, “Where’s the second one?”

  Pennypacker points to the walk-in refrigerator. “In there. Hook Eight.”

  “Donna, grab that one, will you? While I take this one out to the van.”

  I nod, take the second bag, and head toward the refrigerator.

  The door is made of heavy frosted glass. I open it, aligning the knob to a hook that allows it to stay open until I can drag out the carcass.

  The refrigerator is cold and large. It’s really two rooms, not one, because it angles around a corner. All the meat hooks have numbers scrawled above them. Besides the carcasses, it holds a rolling table.

  I unzip the body bag, leaving it that way on top of the table. Next, I push the table until I’m in front of Number Eight. It is the last one on the left-hand side, before turning the corner.

  I have to angle the carcass up a few inches before heaving it onto the table. It’s heavy enough that when it lands, the table slides around the corner—

  When I turn the corner to retrieve the cart, I discover the body of a naked young woman hanging from one of the hooks. Her lips are frosted, and her eyes are open.

  “Ooops! You weren’t supposed to see that,” Pennypacker hisses behind me.

  I turn to find him standing not ten feet away. He holds a cleaver in his hand.

  I shove the rolling cart at him as hard as I can. The calf carcass gives it extra momentum. He grunts as it hits him square in the gut. It hurts enough that he’s still bent over when he pushes it away, but it doesn’t stop him from hurling his cleaver at me.

  I duck just in time, and it pinwheels over me, creasing the wall just a few inches over my head.

  I reach for it, but it’s stuck firmly in the redwood paneling.

  “I don’t have time for this crap,” he mutters. He yanks an empty hook off the wall.

  Great idea. I do the same.

  He’s smart enough to keep the table between us. We circle each other like sumo wrestlers, looking for the perfect hold. His reach is longer than mine, so when he swipes his hook at me, I have to move fast.

  Unfortunately, every time I take a step back, he moves the table even closer until I’m cornered against the wall, at which point he shoves the table away. “Sorry, bitch, but you and Muscles can’t take the meat. It’s got a date with destiny.”

  “I’ll bet you say that to all the girls,” I say. “By the way, is it working for ya?”

  My sass puts him over the top. He charges me with his hook.

  I grab hold of the two directly over my head, so that I’m hanging on them. Quickly, I bend my knees, raise my legs, and with all my might, I kick as hard as I can—

  Catching him in the chest.

  I’ve shoved him so hard that he smacks into the rolling table. It breaks his momentum and throws him off balance. It doesn’t help that the bloody sawdust beneath his feet has him slipping and sliding backward across the floor, like a skater who has lost his balance while attempting a C-Cut. His hands twirl like pinwheels, but he can’t stop his fall, slamming his head into the hard concrete floor.

  At one point, he must have let go of the hook because it flies high over his head—

  And ricochets off the ceiling—

  Directly into his right eye.

  I guess it doesn’t matter, because I think he’s already dead.

  I ease myself down off the hooks and walk over. Had it not been for the sawdust soaking up the blood from the crack in his head, he’d be sporting a perfect halo of deep-red blood.

  Jack sticks his head through the door. Seeing Pennypacker on the floor, he says, “Uh-oh.”

  “Frankly, I don’t think he’ll be missed. At least, not by her.” I jab a thumb at the woman hanging on the wall.

  Jack walks over to the dead woman. Staring up at her, he murmurs, “I wonder what his relationship, if any, was with her?”

  “This guy was behaving weirdly from the moment we walked through the door. Her body might be a big part of the reason.”

  He shakes his head. “Let’s grab the tainted carcass and get the hell out.”

  “But there’s more to this than a dead body, Jack. Pennypacker said that the Exodus carcasses ‘have a date with destiny.’ Why would this guy want to hold on to tainted meat?”

  “Good question.” Jack walks out of the refrigerator, toward the desk. He rummages in the drawers until he finds what he’s looking for: a delivery slip.

  Attached to it is a check stub. The check is made out to cash, in the amount of one hundred thousand dollars. It is drawn from the same Cayman Islands bank we found in Wellborne’s computer.

  I look at the delivery address. “Oh, my goodness! It’s supposed to be delivered to POTUS’s house—for the dinner party he’s throwing tomorrow night!”

  Jack laughs. “If you want it, you now have the best excuse in the world to skip dinner at Lee’s place again.”

  I sigh loudly. “You keep forgetting that you were also invited, remember?”

  “Yes, but I had planned to pass on the honor. You know what they say: three’s a crowd.” He shrugs. “Should you ever say yes to my proposal, it’ll be interesting to see if Lee will finally quit trying to seduce you. I guess we’ll never find out.”

  “Oh? Why not?”

  “Because you keep finding excuses to say no to me.”

  He doesn’t wait for me to explain anything, let alone what will turn my no into a yes. Instead, he hands me the paperwork, then zips up the second carcass, throws it over his shoulder, and heads out the door.

  On the drive home, I call Ryan to brief him on our run-in with the Butcher of Beverly Hills.

  “I have a contact at Beverly Hills P.D.,” Ryan says. “I’ll give them a heads-up on what to expect.”

  My next call is to Lee, to explain how close he came to serving the tainted meat. “I’m sure you won’t mind if Jack and I pass on dinner tomorrow. We’ll take a rain check for when you and Babette are next in town.”

  “Sorry to hear that, but I guess I don’t blame you. How do I break it to my constituents that I’ve gone vegan?” he says. From his tone, I don’t think he’s joking.

  Jack heard me cancel for both of us, and yet, he says nothing.

  That’s okay. He’s smiling.

  It’s late enough that by the time we get home from delivering the carcasses to Acme, Aunt Phyllis, Jeff, and Evan have already gone to bed.

  At least, I presume so. I’ve just crawled into my side of the bed when my phone buzzes. It’s our home security app, alerting me that the back door has opened.

  A break-in is worthy of détente with Jack. I nudge him. When he rolls over, I hold my index finger against my mouth so that he doesn’t make a sound when he sees what’s on my cell phone screen: two figures can barely be made out, inching through the kitchen to the great room.

  He nods, and rolls out of his side of the bed, crouching down so that he can pull his gun from under the vault concealed within the mahogany bed frame. I do the same on my side.

  Sil
ently, we open the bedroom door.

  The intruders are taking the steps, one by one—

  Until they hit the one step that creaks. They freeze.

  Jack flips the light switch.

  Evan and Mary stand there, blinking.

  I feel angry, and betrayed.

  And, yes, I’m scared. What the hell has been going on, under my roof?

  “Mom—Jack, it’s not what you think,” Mary insists.

  I cross my arms at my chest. “Do tell.”

  “I…screwed up.” Tears well in Mary’s eyes. “As it turns out, Evan was able to get me out of a jam.”

  Jack puts his hand on her shoulder. “Start from the beginning.”

  Mary nods, but drops her head. Her tears fall on her chest. “I played ball with the others, for a half hour or so after you dropped me off. When we went inside, I noticed no one else was there. I asked to be introduced to Sara’s mother, but she giggled and said her mother wasn’t there. Apparently Sara’s older sister was really who you talked to. Her parents are out of town.” She gulps down her guilt. “I know I should have called you right then and there to ask to be picked up, but I thought all you wanted to know was that an adult was at the house. Since Sara’s sister is twenty, I thought you might not mind.”

  “You thought wrong. I specifically asked if Sara’s mother—not her sister—was going to be there with you.”

  “I know…Mom, believe me: I wish I had known! When we got bored hanging at her house, Sara’s sister dropped us at Hilldale Mall. Sara wanted to walk through the jewelry and make-up departments in Saks Fifth Avenue. I didn’t realize that, as I was testing makeup and looking at earrings, she and the other girls were slipping stuff into my purse—a couple of scarves, some bracelets, and expensive lipstick. When we got outside the store, one of the items must have tripped the security alarm, because someone yelled for me to stop. The other girls scattered. Sara shouted, ‘You’re on your own, kid!’” The tears come faster. “At first, I froze. I couldn’t figure out why we were being chased. Then I saw one of the scarves hanging out of my purse. I knew if I got caught, I’d be in big trouble—not only with you, but I’d be tossed off the basketball team, so I threw it on the ground and I ran off too. I hid in the cinema multiplex, in one of the fullest theaters. From there, I called Evan and asked him to pick me up.”

  “Aunt Phyllis was asleep,” Evan offers up. “I know I should have woke her, but Jeff was already in bed too, so I took Aunt Phyllis’s Beetle.”

  Jack and I look at each other. Neither of us noticed that her car wasn’t parked on the curb.

  Jack shrugs. In other words, Mary and Evan’s consequences are my call.

  I look at Evan. “I know why you didn’t call us. You understand the nature of our work.”

  He nods emphatically.

  “However, you were under the supervision of another adult. Yes, you should have awakened Aunt Phyllis. Evan, what if a policeman had stopped you? You’re driving with a learner’s permit, which means a fully licensed driver of legal age has to be in the car with you! And if you’d already picked up Mary, both of you would have been hauled into the police station.”

  “At that point, they may have discovered the items you stole,” Jack points out.

  “I’m sorry,” Evan murmurs.

  “You’re smart, and we love you. But if you’re to live under our roof, you must live by our rules. If you can’t do that, we need to know now, Evan.”

  “No, I—I mean, yes, I want to stay! I want your trust.”

  “At this point, you’ll have to do what you can to earn it back.” I turn to Mary. “As for you, I’d like to hear what you feel are the consequences for all this.”

  Mary purses her lips. “You were right. Sara, Cara, and Tara aren’t my friends.”

  “Why do you say that now?”

  She blushes. “Because they encouraged me to ignore your rules, which is the same as lying.”

  “And why do you think they put you in jeopardy like that, inside the store?”

  “Because…well, because they really are bit—I mean selfish, mean girls.”

  She had it right the first time. “I agree with you about that. Do you think it may have something to do with the fact that being caught shoplifting would have gotten you thrown off the team?”

  “I…I guess you’re right.” Her eyes harden at the realization of what she may have lost.

  “Now, why would they want you off the team?”

  Her face turns beet red. “Because…well, because Sara thinks Evan and I are…are an item.”

  Evan looks away, but mumbles, “She’s right.”

  “Wait…” Mary stares at him. “You mean, you know about how she feels about you?”

  “Heck yeah. But no way! Everyone knows she’s a skank.” He shakes his head. “Frankly, I’m glad you’ve come to your senses about her. I don’t want the other guys to think that you—well, that you’re anything like her.”

  Mary smiles shyly. “Thanks, Evan. I guess I should be as concerned about my reputation as you are.” She sighs. “I just kept hoping that she’d like me enough not to make my life miserable on the team.”

  “Besides Sara and her besties, there are nine other girls on the team you can hang with. My guess is those girls have also found out the hard way that she’s not much of a friend.”

  Mary flinches because she knows I’m right.

  “I’m glad you want to stay on the team, and that you aren’t going to let Sara push you out.” I take Mary’s hand. “And I’m certainly going to have a talk with her mother. Coach Lonergan should know about her antics too.”

  Mary frowns. “But—but then Coach Lonergan will know about the theft. And, as far as she or Mrs. Lowell is concerned, it will be Sara’s word against mine as to who stole all that stuff! And the other girls will back her up!” Tears glisten in her eyes. “Our first game is tomorrow! If Coach believes Sara, I won’t get to play regardless of the truth.”

  “Any suggestions?” I ask Jack.

  “Donna, I’ll return the merchandise. It’s all tagged as belonging to the store. I’ll say I found it on a bench in the park outside the mall. No harm, no foul.” His gaze shifts to Mary. “Go to practice. Do your best on the court. Above all, avoid these girls. They’re smart enough to figure out that you now know where you stand with them, so their next move is to do everything they can to get under your skin. Just ignore them.”

  She nods emphatically.

  “We’ll both be at the game,” I tell her. “I promise.”

  “Thanks, Mom.” She hugs me tightly.

  Evan nudges her. “We better get some sleep.”

  Jack and I watch as they walk up the stairs. When they get to Mary’s door, Evan gives her a quick hug before taking off down the hall to his own room.

  Mary watches until he closes his door. She wipes away a tear before entering her own room.

  Jack puts his arm around me. “We should get to bed too.”

  I rise on my toes to kiss him.

  Then I take his hand and we walk up the steps together.

  Sure, we’ll sleep, but later. I’ve missed him too much.

  Chapter 11

  Erosion

  Erosion is the wearing away, washing away, or removal of your garden’s topsoil, along with its organic matter, beneficial microorganisms, and nutrients. The most common causes are heavy wind, too much water, or too much human ignorance (that could be any one of us).

  To stop erosion, you must devise a way to stabilize the soil, and divert whatever is affecting it. For example:

  If it’s water, you can add riprap (loose stone), which will slow and divert the flow.

  If it’s wind, you can terrace the land in a stair-step pattern, to veer off any updraft.

  If it’s manmade, a shovel to the back of the head of the man responsible will resolve the problem! And, of course, you’ll know where to bury him.

  (In your garden, silly!)

  The face on the food and
beverage manager at Disneyland is pocked with so many zits that I have to resist the urge to stop and pat him on the head and say, Don’t worry, when you grow up, you’ll look fine, if for no other reason than he may dock my pay for insubordination.

  Worse yet, I may lose my “clean workspace” bonus.

  I guess I’ll have to forfeit it anyway, because as soon as Jack and I secure the corn to be delivered to Frontierland’s Corn Cob Chuck Wagon, we’re out of here.

  The poor kid’s name is Bunky Witherspoon. From the look on his oily face, he pities us just as much, as he presumes a minimum wage Disneyland job is the best two thirty-somethings can get.

  The chuck wagon looks like an old-school food truck, if you went to school in California around eighteen-seventy. It’s even pulled into the park by a team of twenty mules.

  And lucky us, our jobs include the tasks of giving the mules water and corn for feed. The worst part: we’re in charge of emptying their poopy diapers.

  No wonder Bunky feels sorry for us.

  Besides our requisite uniforms (khaki pants, large-buckled belts, pointy-toe cowboy boots, button-down denim shirts with Bolo ties), since we’re handling food, we must also wear hairnets under our ten-gallon hats, and, of course, thick plastic gloves, but ours are brown, and sport fringe along the cuffs, so that they look like buckskin.

  Unbeknownst to Bunky, we’ve replaced our fake Smith & Wesson six-shooters with our Sigs. If the last forty-eight hours has taught us anything, it’s to never presume that the rest of this mission will be a mop-up-and-done kind of job.

  “Okay, so, there’s really not much to running the chuck wagon,” Bunky assures us. “You boil the corn”—he points to the stove with two industrial-sized burners, where the water in two humongous vats is already percolating—“then you grab them with these tongs”—he lifts a pair that are at least two feet long—“and then you roll it in whatever crap they want”—he points to pans holding various toppings: jalapeño powder, butterscotch, fruit chutney, mayo-chili-cheese, guacamole, nutty curry, and plain old melted butter—“and on the plate it goes.” He looks at his watch. “The delivery van should be here any moment now, with today’s shipment of fresh corn. I’d help you unload, but I’ve got to skedaddle. We’ve got a couple of new employees in the Hamburger Hut. Believe it or not, they’re even older than you!”