1 The Housewife Assassin's Handbook

by Josie Brown

  We walk out into the bright sunlight as if in a trance.

  The ride home is silent. Only when we get within a block of the entrance to Hilldale does Jack mutter: “Okay, what do you want to do about it?”

  I point to the Kwikee Mart. “Stop here.”

  He pulls over. I’m back in a flash, carrying a bag.

  Jack gives me a sidelong glance. “Hell, we haven’t even gone to bed, and already you need a cigarette?”

  “We aren’t going to bed either. But I bought you something for those lonely nights between now and our next session with Dr. Ramona.” I open the bag and pull out a Playboy for him and a Cosmopolitan for me. “Great for tips. At least we’ll be able to fake it.”

  “I don’t need a magazine. I’ve got a lifetime of experience—”

  “Not with me you don’t.”

  He shrugs. “Well, you better hope she doesn’t have a subscription to either of these.”

  I have thrown down the gauntlet. Well, the Playboy, anyway: tits up, as it were.

  And yes, his eyes are glued to the cover.

  Chapter 13

  Children Shouldn’t Play with Explosives

  The sound and excitement of fireworks can be a clarion call to adventurous children! But fireworks are explosives, and under any circumstance, explosives are not child’s play!

  That said, keep your stash under lock-and-key. This also goes for your AK-47s, Glocks, anti-aircraft missiles and launchers, grenades, tanks, cannonballs—

  The attempt on my life is proof positive that I’m being watched by the Quorum.

  Which begs the question: do they believe Jack is Carl?

  Ryan doesn’t want to take any chances that they don’t. All of us have orders to stay away from Acme.

  That said, Abu passes me a very special Woohoo! Cookies Drumstick. Inside is an encrypted missive informing me that our tech support guy, Arnie, will be passing me what Acme hopes is the failsafe for the bomb that the Quorum is building: an anti-detonating device.

  I read it to Jack and Emma too. “I don’t get it. How can we diffuse a bomb if we don’t know what it’s made of?”

  Emma shrugs. “My guess is that Acme is betting that it will be triggered by remote control. If we block the transmission, the bomb never goes off, and their mission has failed.”

  I’m still confused. “But we’d have to be close enough to the person giving the signal to do that, won’t we?”

  Jack nods gravely.

  Now I understand why he suggested I take the kids and hightail it out of town.

  He smiles when he sees the concern in my eyes. “Missing me already?”

  Yes, I am, but I’d never admit it to him. Not in a million years. So instead I change the subject. “Arnie is coming here because he has to show us how to use it.”

  Emma blushes. I’ve always suspected she’s had a crush on him. “So, how and when will you rendezvous?”

  “At Billy’s birthday party.”

  “That brat?” Emma wrinkles her nose. “I’ve seen him threaten every other kid on the playground.”

  I sigh. “Yeah, well, his father owns a large technology firm: SkorTek. He feels he can buy Billy a few friends by throwing the biggest party of the year. All the kids in Hilldale are invited. Their parents will be there, too, scoping out all the adult toys that fill that mausoleum. Guess who’s hired as the clown?”

  “Arnie,” Jack and Emma say in unison.

  “You got it. By the way, you two are coming along, to give me cover.”

  “That should be easy,” says Emma. “Just wait until Billy starts opening gifts. He’ll be sure to throw a fit or something.”

  She’s right. Billy is so sugared up by the chocolate fountain gushing in the back lawn that he’s even more surly than usual.

  He complains if he can’t break the line for the merry-go-round. When the Ferris wheel reached the top, he tried to push his seat partner, Morton Smith, over the rail.

  Then he locked Wendy in the petting zoo with the chimpanzee.

  All of his antics roll off the back of Billy’s father, Grover Earhardt, a tall thin man who looks and acts like an aging rocker, gray ponytail and all. “Billy, dude, cut it out,” he murmurs, even as Billy throttles Cheever Bing in front of his parents, Penelope and Paul. They wince but say nothing. I guess they figure if Billy commits a crime and the Earhardts have to sell their estate to make his bail, Paul will have a better chance of getting the listing if they keep their mouths shut.

  When, finally, the cake is being cut (with a machete, by Billy; thus far only one kid was nicked badly enough to merit first aid by the nurse on stand-by 24/7 in the Earhardt household), and Billy is finally ready to open his gifts (if only to frown in disappointment, then throw them into a heap behind him; trust me, it’s a tradition), I slip away to the “Fun House,” which is really the pool’s four-room cabana where, all afternoon, Arnie has been performing magic tricks and making balloon animals for the younger children.

  “Finally,” he mutters. “My fingers are raw from twisting balloons in to puppies. I swear, if one more middle-schooler asks me to give him a hit of helium, I’m going to scream.”

  I pat him on the shoulder sympathetically. “So what have you got for me?”

  He glances around to make sure that we’re alone. Then, he reaches behind the helium tank and hands me a key chain attached to a pink heart charm.

  “Wait . . .it’s this little thing?”

  “Yep—but guard it with your life! It’s a prototype: one of a kind. We rushed testing because of this mission, so we haven’t even had time to manufacture any duplicates.”

  “Got it. What does it do, exactly?”

  “Simple: it puts out a force field that blocks any wireless signals that may be used in detonating the bomb. For it to work, you unclasp the heart—” He snaps the clasp with his thumb, and it pops open .“—then twist it so that it reclasps inside out. You see? Child’s play!”

  “Ooooh, fun! Can we play with that, Mrs. Stone?”

  Arnie and I look up to see Trisha standing there with two of her little friends: Valerie Clemmons and Cindy O’Connor. Cindy is shy, a follower. Valerie, what with her freckles, red hair, and that sweetest gap-toothed smile, has no qualms about asking for what she wants even if it belongs to someone else.

  Especially if it belongs elsewhere.

  “No!” Arnie and I declare in unison.

  Tears fill her eyes and cascade down her round cheeks. Lacking a parent’s thick skin, Arnie is defenseless against her emotional onslaught. He starts hyperventilating.

  “I know!” I say brightly. “How about I treat you girls to a ride on the Ferris wheel?”

  Trisha and Cindy squeal as they run out of the fun house toward the rides. But Valerie’s nod is half-hearted at best.

  That’s okay. Once she’s filled with cake, ice cream, and more chocolate fountain fizz, she will have forgotten all about Arnie’s little gift to me.

  I slip the key chain into my purse and hold her hand as we head over to the others.

  As our Ferris wheel car glides to the top, I have to reach over and pull Trisha and Cindy away from the safety bar, where they jump and wave and shout down to our neighbors. Valerie, on the other hand, slumps into a pout, refusing to look out and over the treetops.

  From up here, we can look down on all of Hilldale. I watch as the ever-vigilant Abu sells ice cream from his truck, and Emma—with her ubiquitous Swedish/English dictionary—pretends to practice her English on the party’s fast-moving clown. Arnie can’t get out of here fast enough. If those two ever get hitched, I’m guessing kids aren’t in their future.

  Mary and her gal pals have congregated around the Earhardts’ humongous skateboard ramp, watching the middle school boys show off their ollies and jumps. After every move he makes, Scotty looks over at Mary for her
reaction. Her sly grin is all the proof he needs that she is impressed.

  She is making me smile, too. She has much more confidence, now that Jack has come into our lives.

  Where is Jack, anyway?

  I scan the Earhardt estate for him. Thank goodness he’s not by the pool, hovering around Nola’s chaise like half the men in the neighborhood. Just how many times can she go “Oops!” as she pretends the strap on her bikini top falls down by accident, giving everyone within view a peak at a nipple?

  Apparently as many times as she wants. The men love it.

  Finally I spot Jack: he’s playing one-on-one catch with Jeff.

  Yes, I’ll admit it: my heart soars to see Jeff so happy—even as I know that his heart will break when, inevitably, Jack leaves our lives.

  But I don’t want to think about that now. As it turns out, I’ve got bigger fish to fry: the car that was used in Jeff’s attempted abduction is sitting just a block away from where they stand now . . .

  The girls join me in yelling and waving in the hope of catching Jack’s attention. But only the driver of the car notices us, and he speeds off. When, finally Jack looks up, he honors us with a thumbs-up.

  Darn it! I just hope Emma can find the car through the digital playback on one of Hilldale’s security cameras, and we can hone in the driver’s face.

  When the Ferris wheel finally comes to a stop, I herd the girls off, despite their pleas to go around once more.

  It’s gone.

  The anti-detonation keychain is not in my purse.

  Like a madwoman I retrace my steps, through the whole Earhardt estate in the hopes of finding it: the fun house, by the pool, below the Ferris wheel—

  Ryan is going to kill me.

  At the very least, he’ll pull me off the assignment because of my gross negligence.

  I can barely see, the tears are filling my eyes. At this point I’m walking around in circles.

  Maybe that’s why Jack notices me and comes over. “What’s wrong?” he asks.

  I hesitate to tell him because I’m unsure as to what his reaction will be: that I’m an idiot.

  Worse yet, that this is proof positive that I shouldn’t be on this mission.

  “I—I lost the anti-detonator,” I whisper.

  His eyes get big, then he closes them with a sigh. “I guess I don’t have to ask the obvious. You’ve searched everywhere, right?”

  My nod is shaky, dropping tears on a velvety bed of mowed Fescue.

  “Now that the cake has been cut, the crowd is thinning. Anyone could have picked it up. Think, Donna: was anyone watching you or trailing you?”

  “No—but I saw the car again: the one driven by whomever tried to kidnap Jeff.”

  I know what he’s thinking: that, perhaps, it was lifted off of me when I wasn’t looking.

  Instead he says, “Let’s split up. Go find Grover and ask him if anyone’s turned it in, then position yourself at the door and ask the neighbors before they go home. I’ll grab the kids so that they can help us search for it.”

  His pat on my back should make me feel better, but it doesn’t. I feel as if I’ve let down my team.

  No, in truth I’m angry at myself because I’ve let down Jack.

  Grover meets my question with a blank stare and a shrug. He’s got bigger fish to fry: Billy is making kids “walk the plank” by threatening them onto the pool’s diving board with his machete. Sweet.

  No one leaving owns up to seeing the keychain. A half hour later, though, Jack walks up to me. He is holding Trisha’s hand. She’s been crying.

  I kneel down to her. “What’s wrong, baby?”

  Through her sniffles, she wails: “I told her to put it back, Mommy! Really I did!”

  I don’t understand. “Told who what?”

  She wipes away her tears with the back of her hand. “I told Valerie to give you back your heart thingy! She took it out of your purse when we were on the Ferris wheel, but she made me pinky-swear not to tell you. Is she going to stick a needle in my eye because I told Daddy?”

  Valerie. I should have known.

  I look Trisha in the eye. “No, honey, she won’t. Where is Valerie now?”

  “She went home!”

  As Jack and I run down the block to Valerie’s house, I motion for Emma and Mary to take the kids to our home.

  “I beg your pardon? Are you accusing my daughter of stealing?”

  I blink innocently at Jane Clemmons. “No, of course not. I was just hoping that Valerie may have seen where I put down my key chain. Maybe she’s saved it for me.” I glance over at Valerie. “Sweetie, do you have it?”

  Valerie shakes her head firmly.

  “You see?” says Jane. “Valerie doesn’t know anything about it.” She opens the front door even wider. “And it’s her bedtime.”

  I can take a hint. But I can’t let Valerie get away with sticking out her tongue at me when her mother isn’t looking.

  I stick out mine, too. Right back atcha, girlie…

  I left Jack out on the sidewalk but he’s nowhere to be seen—

  At least not at first. I’m shocked to see him jump headfirst out of a window of the Clemmons’ house. “Mission accomplished,” he shouts as he runs past me. He grabs my hand and pulls me along with him.

  We don’t stop until we’ve slammed the front door of our house, double-timed it upstairs, and locked ourselves in my bedroom. He’s laughing so hard that he falls over onto the bed.

  It’s contagious. I’m giggling as I land beside him. “What happened?”

  “Her mom was giving her a bath. I wasn’t exactly tearing the room apart, but for the life of me, I couldn’t guess where she might have hid it. Then it came to me: ‘think like a little girl.’”

  “Oh, now there’s a brain-tickler for you. So where did you find it?”

  “Under her pillow. And in the nick of time, too, because then I hear her and her mama traipsing down the hall. I jumped out just before they made it back to the bedroom.” He takes the anti-detonator out of his pocket, stares at it for a moment, and then tosses it my way.

  I catch it with one hand. “Thank goodness you weren’t seen! I’m guessing Valerie won’t complain too loudly, since she claimed she never had it in the first place.” Suddenly relief that I didn’t blow the whole mission overwhelms me—

  And I’m a sobbing mess. In fact, I’m hiccupping so hard that Jack doesn’t know what to do. He pats me hard on the back, then rubs it gently. When all else fails, he holds me—

  And kisses my forehead. Then my cheeks, my lips—

  Gee, I guess he knows what he’s doing after all.

  The kiss is so deep, and so sweet. When, finally, I have to come up for air, his tongue moves down my neck. I don’t object when he opens my blouse and unclasps my bra, feeding hungrily on my breasts—first one, then the other.

  I can feel him: hard and long, through his khaki slacks. He pauses when he feels my hand yanking at his belt—but just for a moment. Then he unzips my skirt, pulling it down off my hips before tossing it beyond the bed.

  I love the way he admires what he sees: the red thong.

  I laugh. “What were you expecting, granny panties?”

  He gives a grudging nod, but I forgive him when his index finger trails down my belly grasps my thong. Gently he pulls it down off my hips. I gasp in anticipation of what he’ll do next. I can feel my dampness already. He can, too, as his thumb works its way in: gently, then faster, faster—

  His middle finger joins it. In no time, he’s got me moaning, writhing—

  Wanting him.

  If I thought I was prepared for him, I was wrong. Although he eases into me gently, I grasp him tightly when he plunges into me, deeper . . . deeper . . .

  He, too, is groaning. “You’re . . . so . . . tight.”

 
I can’t answer him. I am in heaven.

  Instead, I claw his back. He takes this as a signal for him to stop, but I whisper “No! Never . . .” into his ear before I nip at it gently.

  As he drives his cock hard into me, adrenaline rushes through me, overtaking me like a wave. My hips samba to his rhythm, and my legs snake around his long strong thighs. He seems to grow thicker inside me with every moan he makes—

  When we come—together—we are propelled up off the bed, before collapsing back down into each other’s arms.

  It takes a full ten minutes for us to catch our breath. Finally when we do, he tilts my head up to him so that he can look into my eyes. I presume that what I see in his eyes must mirror my own:

  Elation.

  Fear.

  Lust.

  When he reaches for me again, I am so ready.

  It would be too much to ask for what I had with Carl.

  In hindsight, is that really what I want? No.

  What I need now is this.

  Chapter 14

  Hostess with the Mostest!

  The true test of any housewife is how she treats her guests! From the moment they walk through her front door, they should feel welcomed. They should be wined and dined and feted until they are sated. They should be in awe of the guest list, comfortable in the lush surroundings you’ve created for them, and riveted by your scintillating conversation.

  Important Tip: Avoid arsenic in any dishes. Seems that a dead guest has a way of putting a damper on a party. Go figure.

  “You two need to get a room,” Emma mutters.

  She is right. Jack and I can’t keep our hands off each other.

  I guess we’re embarrassing the children, too. As Jack nuzzles my neck, Mary’s eyes get big, and her face turns red, whereas Trisha giggles and calls us silly.