The Housewife Assassin's Garden of Deadly Delights

by Josie Brown

  I laugh. “Who said anything about me? I’ve already made my choice.”

  “I guess I have too,” Abu says softly.

  I give him a hug. “Good, because I would have missed you.”

  He shrugs. “Once in the game, always in the game.” He waves as he goes out the back door. The tinkling melody of The Farmer in the Dell can be heard as his ice cream truck makes its way down the block.

  Evan stops his tallying and clears his throat. “Donna, I’ve made a decision, too—about my mom.”

  “Okay.” I brace myself for the worst.

  “I know how badly you want me to say yes, and I wish in my heart that I could forgive her. At this point in my life, I can’t.” Tears glaze his eyes. “Still, I know that it’s not just my feelings that have to be considered. She has something Acme needs, so I will agree to go, if only for that. But—well, don’t expect me to like it.”

  “I don’t, Evan. On Acme’s behalf, I want to thank you for your decision.” In the hope of making our visit seem less formidable, I add, “Jack is joining us. Arnie may, too.” It is Ryan’s idea—not necessarily to intimidate Catherine, but in case accessing her intel needs onsite technical support, or for that matter, more muscle.

  Evan shrugs at this news. For him, nothing will turn this into a joyride.

  As for Catherine, if she’s expecting a happy birthday, she’ll be sadly disappointed.

  Learning how badly your child hates you is the worst gift ever.

  Chapter 15

  Forcing

  The process for hastening a plant’s growth to maturity or bloom is called forcing.

  Can a person also be forced to grow beyond their years? All too often, fate provides a catalyst. Dealing with starvation, living in a war zone, or witnessing the death of a loved one are all examples of this.

  Whereas forcing a flower into bloom may make for a beautiful garden, should life step in to propel a child beyond his innocence, you can only pray it will make him stronger.

  There are enough fucked up people in the world as it is.

  The Federal Prison Camp in Alderson, West Virginia has a gate, but no guard station. It hugs the banks of the Greenbrier River in a verdant valley surrounded by low rolling hills that slope up to a thick-leafed national forest. There is no fence surrounding its one-hundred and fifty-nine acres, just an intermittent red-tip hedge. The classic Georgian buildings scattered throughout leave the impression that one is on the campus of an elite private college.

  Evan must think so too, because he doesn’t realize we’re within spitting distance of his mother’s current home until I warn him, “We’re here.”

  I watch through the rear-view mirror as he slumps down even further in the back seat. He says nothing. His face reflects no concern for his mother’s circumstances, just unfathomable sadness.

  Arnie has come with us after all. I’m glad, if only because his constant chatter about Star Wars trivia, online gaming tricks, and his hacking exploits kept the flight—not to mention the short trip from the airport—from being silent. The few words Evan mumbled were directed at George, who encouraged him to sit up in the cockpit.

  In other words, it’s painfully obvious that Evan resents me for my role in making him face his mother, even if he hasn’t come out and said so.

  Jack is riding shotgun. He stares out the window, but by the way he squeezes my hand, I presume he actually saw Evan’s reaction in the side view mirror and knows how much it hurts me, especially since I can’t stand her either.

  Few bushes or trees line the seemingly endless driveway that curves around the minimum-security prison camp. In other words, even if you get a hankering to break out, there are few places to hide. When compared to some of the other women’s prisons around the country, odds are you’ll stay put, and no one would blame you. Alderson could pass for a country club. The rules are reasonable, the duties are light, and on the cruelty scale, the guards are a step above the worst nun in a Catholic reformatory for wayward girls.

  We park outside the main building. It seems as if we take a collective deep breath before exiting the car. When we enter the lobby, the female guard who stands behind the glass cubicle that serves as a reception desk checks her list to verify that, yes, we’re on the guest roster. She then scrutinizes our drivers’ licenses.

  “Not you.” She points at Jack. “Or you.” She motions to Arnie.

  “Why not?” Frantically, Evan’s eyes shift from the guard to Jack.

  “They ain’t on the list. Just you”—she points at Evan—“and her.” She points at me.

  Jack puts his hand on Evan’s shoulder. “You can do this.”

  It takes a moment for Evan’s breathing to get back to normal. When he gives me the high sign, I nod at the guard.

  She buzzes us into a narrow hallway that leads to several glass-walled visiting rooms.

  We stop in the doorway of the one holding Catherine. Two guards are sitting at the farthest side of the room. When we enter, they glance up from their backgammon game, then exchange shrugs. One is a slight, petite woman with a curly blond ponytail under her cap. Her nails are long, and painted turquoise, with a diamond embedded in the middle fingers. The other is a beefy man whose legs are too thick and long to slip under the small table.

  Neither have firearms, but both have stun guns clipped to their belts.

  Catherine stands tall, her head held high. She faces the window. But then, as if sensing us, she turns around.

  Evan’s eyes grow small as he scrutinizes her for the first time in almost a year. I saw her just a couple of months ago, and even since then there is a marked difference in her. Her khaki prisoner’s uniform now hangs loosely. Her face is gaunt to the point that there are now hollows in her cheeks. Black shadows haunt her eyes. Lips that were once frozen in a perpetual smirk are now pursed into a tight fretful line.

  She looks ill. Then again, if my children refused to see me, I’d worry myself sick too.

  When Catherine sees her son, the frenzy in her eyes dampens with tears of hope—

  —Whereas Evan’s glare is a rock-solid wall of contempt.

  Realizing this, her lids drop low, like a scrim of resignation. Nonetheless, her simple declaration—“You came”—is etched in hope.

  “What choice did I have?” Evan isn’t posing a question as much as he’s letting her know where she stands with him: nowhere.

  “You’ve grown into your father.” She makes it sound like a death sentence.

  Evan’s hearty laugh shows that he thinks otherwise. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me, Mother.”

  She flinches, as if dodging the barb that has backfired on her. “The very least you can do is wish me a happy birthday,” she mutters.

  Instead, he gives her a shrug. “I’m here. Isn’t that enough?”

  “Have you lost all love for me?” The question is barely audible.

  “It died with the knowledge of what you did to my father.” His tone is so devoid of feeling that he could have been commenting on the weather, as opposed to the death that tore his family apart.

  “Then, why are you here?”

  He shrugs. “You summoned me, remember?”

  She acknowledges his declaration with a grimace, but the way her eyes sweep over him is proof that she has yet to give up on him; she cannot yet acknowledge his abandonment of her.

  “And you made a promise to Donna.” His declaration gives her a new target:

  Me.

  Her stare flares with anger, then smolders with renewed hatred. “I lied.” She starts for the door.

  Evan grabs her by the wrist. “Tell them what they need to know—or I’ll never come back.”

  The hope that he means what he says—that she’ll see him again—extinguishes her contempt, for now, anyway. She signals me closer with a nod.

  I glance over at the guards. The female one looks over. Her eyes narrow into a curious stare, but the murmur of “Gammon,” from her competitor, forces her to
look down again. She expresses her wariness with a frown.

  Evan reads my cue. “Hey, wow, dude! You see this better move, right?” He walks over to the male guard and points to a disk on the board.

  “Talk fast,” I mutter to Catherine.

  Nervously, she twists her wedding ring, an antique with a diamond. “Your ex had something on Lee. And now I have it.”

  “I presume you’re talking about the accidental death involving the woman Lee loved. It’s old news.”

  Catherine snorts loud enough that the female guard looks over suspiciously. “Murder? That’s nothing compared to this!”

  To call her bluff, I ask, “Why would Carl have trusted you with it?”

  “Because he wanted to ensure Lee would toe the line, as per our agreement—his, Lee’s and mine.” She leans back in her chair. “You know Carl—always the consummate puppet master.”

  Just then the male guard chortles, “Yo, Tori! Pay attention. You’re making this too easy for me.”

  I look up to see the female guard staring at me. When our eyes meet, she gives me the finger. What a psycho. I never thought I’d run into someone who made Catherine seem normal by comparison.

  Finally, I break our staring contest to murmur, “I’m waiting with bated breath, Catherine.”

  “Three words.” She leans in closer. “Follow the money.”

  “Next you’ll be telling me that greed is good. You’ll have to do better than quote classic movie lines in order to get an early release from POTUS.”

  Catherine quits twisting her ring, if only to grab my hand and hiss, “Don’t be such a moron, Donna. Trust me, the moment Lee learns what I have, the Quorum will too—and I’ll be dead! I’m giving Acme what it needs to—”

  “What?” I can’t believe my ears. “Do you have proof that Lee is part of the Quorum?”

  I don’t realize that Tori is standing behind me until she sneers, “You two have gotten real cozy.”

  “Don’t worry, newbie,” Catherine assures her. “You’re still my favorite.”

  Tori frowns. “You’ll have plenty of time to prove it. The party’s over.”

  “Bullshit!” Catherine counters. “You heard the warden! I was supposed to have half an hour with my son!”

  “You blew it when you handed your girlfriend that piece of paper.” Tori grabs my fist and pries open my fingers.

  We’re staring down at a tiny piece of paper. “But…where did that come from?”

  Catherine glares at me. “What is this, a set-up?” Angrily, she rises to her feet.

  “Are you immediate family?”

  Without thinking, I shake my head.

  “I thought so!” Tori growls as she turns to Catherine. “You’re trying to smuggle contraband out of the building!”

  The next thing I know, Tori slams Catherine’s head onto the table.

  Stunned, Catherine slumps to the floor.

  By the way the male guard bolts out of his seat, even he is thrown off by Tori’s actions.

  Evan isn’t far behind him. For the first time, he’s concerned for his mother. When he kneels beside her, she grasps his hand with both of hers, as if it’s a lifeline. “I’m…so sorry,” she finally rasps.

  Catherine flinches and yelps as Tori lifts her from under her shoulders. “What the hell did you poke me with—a needle?” Catherine bellows.

  Instead of answering her, the guard wrenches her arm behind her back, “Now, say goodbye to all the nice people,” she sneers.

  As Catherine passes me, her eyes are wide with fear. Still, she has the courage to shout, “You’ve now got what you need! Remember—you promised.”

  This gives Tori the only excuse she needs to goose-step her prisoner out the door.

  “Jesus, Tori, lighten up! This ain’t Rikers!” the other guard calls after them, then sighs. Turning back toward us, he mumbles, “No problem, folks. The worst that can happen is Lady Catherine will be barred from tonight’s Bingo game.” He jogs after them.

  Jack must have heard the commotion because he’s now running down the hall. When he reaches me, he asks, “Is it true what the guard said? Did she pass you anything?”

  “No, I swear it!”

  He shakes his head. “Then where did the paper come from?”

  I shrug. “I think Catherine is right. It was a fix, and it had to be perpetrated by the female guard, Tori.”

  “Something’s wrong here,” Jack mutters. “We should follow them.”

  I grab Evan’s arm. “Let’s do it.”

  “No,” Evan insists. “It’s not that I don’t believe you, Donna. It’s just that—well, I know my mother. For some reason, she’s pushed that woman’s buttons. It had nothing to do with us.”

  He may be right, but my spider senses are tingling. If he’s wrong and Catherine is in danger, how will we get proof of her claim?

  Jack looks from Evan to me. I shrug. “Evan did us a solid. It’s his call.”

  Evan shivers. “Let’s get out of here.”

  He’s the first out the door. I’m on his heels.

  Evan has already climbed into the back seat when he realizes his fisted hand is holding something. It’s his mother’s ring—the one she twisted so nervously. He stares down at it for the longest time, then hands it to me.

  Needless to say, this surprises me. “Don’t you want to hold onto it for her?”

  He shakes his head. “Why should I? You’ll see her before I do.”

  “But, you told her that you’d come back.”

  “I lied,” he says calmly. “I guess what they say is right. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

  It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him that he’s made from stronger stuff; his roots are deep in the DNA of his father, Robert—who was one of the most honest and loving men I ever knew.

  Instead, I keep my mouth shut and pocket the ring, for safekeeping.

  Someday, he’ll want it back.

  Jack drives us back to Greenbrier Valley Airport, where George has the jet fueled up and ready to take us home.

  We’ve just driven onto the tarmac and boarded Acme’s plane when Evan’s cell phone rings. “It’s the prison. I guess Mother coerced the guards into giving her back her calling privileges.” Still, he can’t bring himself to answer it.

  “Take it,” Jack insists.

  Evan winces, but does as he is told. A concerned look rises on his face. “Who…what? …Dead? But how could that be? I just saw her!”

  Jack takes the phone and pushes the speaker button. A second later, we hear the warden’s voice: “—cardiac arrhythmia. We’ve done everything we can. The doctor pronounced her dead just two minutes ago. We’ll be doing an autopsy as soon as possible. It should take a couple of hours. But, since you’re in town, I presume you’ll want to claim the body immediately afterward.”

  Evan collapses into a seat.

  I put my arms around him. Jack takes the phone off speaker and moves away in order to answer the warden’s questions.

  As it turns out, Catherine will be leaving with us after all.

  Sobbing, Evan mutters, “I was so cruel! I wanted her to know how much I hated her.”

  “But you didn’t hate her, did you?” Arnie asks.

  Evan shakes his head. His “no” comes out of him as a long, mournful moan.

  I release my hold on Evan, but not until after I give him a kiss on the forehead.

  Just as I do this, I notice a limousine pulling up to another private jet on the tarmac—a Gulfstream 650ER, just like Acme’s plane. The driver hops out and looks at the airstairs. Since no one is there, he walks back to the car.

  The tinted back window slides down. A hand taps impatiently on the sill.

  The nails are long, and turquoise—with diamond studs on the middle fingers.

  It has to be Tori.

  But the woman who leans forward to talk to the driver isn’t blond. Her hair is long and dark. She takes off her sunglasses in order to give him the stink eye as if i
t’s his fault that no one is manning her getaway vehicle.

  That’s when I realize she is Asian.

  More to the point, I recognize her as Liang Xia.

  I nudge Jack. “Look over there! It’s Xia!”

  All heads swivel in her direction. We watch as the limo driver shrugs his shoulders in resignation.

  Xia glances down at her watch and angrily shakes her head.

  “What the hell?” Jack murmurs. “I’d say this is a small world, but I presume it’s more than a coincidence.”

  “I’ll say,” I assure him. “She was posing as Catherine’s prison guard!”

  Evan does a double take. “But…the guard was blond. And she didn’t have Asian features.”

  “Xia is a master of disguises,” I assure him.

  “Are you saying that she may have had something to do with Catherine’s death?” Arnie asks.

  “I’m sure of it. Xia cut her off before she could finish telling me the intel she felt would get her out of there.” I turn to Jack. “Xia has been shadowing us since we discovered the existence of the bad seeds. Maybe what Catherine knew is in some way tied to it as well. We can’t just let her waltz away!”

  “Her pilot is inside, filing his flight plan to Hong Kong, from what he told me. He was waiting in line behind me,” George explains. “In fact, the whole crew—the co-pilot and the flight attendant were in there too, grabbing a bite to eat. She must have arrived earlier than they expected.”

  I frown. “So, she’s finally leaving the country.”

  “Maybe not.” Jack smiles. “It’s a charter, so chances are she hasn’t met her pilot yet—or George and me, for that matter. So, why don’t we take her on a detour?”

  “You mean, put her on this plane? That’s brilliant!” Then it hits me—we can’t put Evan in the middle of all of this. “But”—I nod toward Evan. “We have to stay put.”

  “No, you don’t,” Evan declares.

  We all turn to him. His face is damp, but his eyes are cold with determination. “Donna, if this woman killed my mother, you can’t let her get away! Arnie and I will stay here until it’s time to”—he takes a deep breath—“get my mother. In the meantime, we’ll make the necessary arrangements to bring Mother home with us…to California.”