2 The Housewife Assassin's Guide to Gracious Killing

by Josie Brown

  “Ha! Thought so. She’s got the wool pulled firmly over your eyes.”

  He pulls out his smart phone and hits a few digits. What comes up is an audio file notated as Mary’s Boyfriend Stepping out of Line.

  “What the hell, Carl? You mean to tell me you’ve been monitoring our daughter’s phone? That’s an invasion of her privacy!”

  “Okay, then, I’ll delete it.”

  He reaches to press a button, but I stop his hand. “Well, since it’s already done.”

  I’d like to smack that satisfied smile off his face. Instead, I sit motionless while he presses another button on his cell phone. The next voice I hear is that of Trevor, Mary’s latest crush: “So, like, while your mom and dad are at this big party, can me and some of the guys come over and play Spin the Bottle with you and Babs and Wendy? I swear, nothing below second base—”

  What the hell?

  I scramble for my purse and my sweater. “Put the rest of my meal in a doggy bag to take back to Breck’s joint! I’ve got to get home, like, yesterday—”

  “Whoa, whoa! Calm down.” He pats my hand gently. “It’s all taken care of.”

  “What do you mean by that? Oh my God! Carl, tell me you didn’t eliminate him?”

  “No, of course not. I just thought I’d teach him a lesson. Or two.” He leans back. “Let me put it this way. The kid won’t be kissing our daughter anytime soon, but he can still use his teeth to eat.”

  I rise to leave, but he grabs my wrist. “Donna, I’m joking. I texted his mom a copy of the audio file—anonymously, of course. Because she’s another Hilldale helicopter mom who’s afraid of what others will think of him, I’m sure she was mortified. He’ll be in lockdown for at least a month. Heck, for all I know after what she just heard, she may keep him on a tight leash until he’s twenty.” He pours more wine in my glass. “You can thank me later. I know how.”

  “Ain’t gonna happen, Carl.” I gulp down my wine in one long swallow. “Look, I know you’ve had your fun with the process servers, but it’s time to face facts: I no longer want to be married to you. Forget the fact you deserted me five years ago. Forget your ‘occupation—’”

  “You mean our occupation, don’t you?”

  “Yes. Guilty as charged.” I fling my napkin onto my plate. “We may do the same job, but here’s the difference between you and me. First, I work my career around my kids, not the other way around. And second—and this is a very big point, Carl, so listen up—I’m one of the good guys. I’m not scheming with despots and dictators to take over legitimate governments. I’m not selling WMDs on the black market. And I’m certainly not blackmailing heads of state with the threat of nuclear war.”

  “Everyone is a bad guy, Donna. Every politician, every head of state, every corporate baron, and every righteous jerk who wants to cram his cause down the rest of our throats. Frankly, I enjoy tweaking their noses and taking their lunch money.” To my shock, he has the audacity to lean in and tweak my nose. “Speaking of self-righteous know-it-alls, enlighten me. When you snuff out a target, does an angel get its wings? I don’t think so. And yet, you don’t hesitate to sneer at your neighbors—”

  At that remark, a few heads turn our way. “Keep your voice down!” I hiss at him.

  He ignores me. “Like I was saying, you sneer at your neighbors because they stab each other in the back. Well, at least they don’t use real knives.”

  He jerks my arm straight down. The knife drops out of my sleeve and clatters when it hits the floor.

  Once again, the other patrons look up from their dinners and frown at us.

  I smile and wave. Show’s over. “That’s it, Carl. I’m out of here.” I tap Anna on her arm as she passes. “Can you bring our check, please?”

  She nods, and walks off.

  “What’s your end game with Breck, Carl? Don’t leave me in suspense. I know you’re dying to tell me.”

  “If I do, I’ll have to kill you.”

  I’m laughing so hard now that others are staring. “Since when do you need an excuse?”

  “You’re right. I don’t. Because when the time comes, there will be no way you can stop me.” The smug bastard takes a sip of his wine. “As for Breck, I love new experiences. Lucky me, I just happened to be the right guy in the right place, at the right time. I’ve impressed him with my security skills.”

  “What a joke! Those two kills were mine, remember?”

  “Yeah, but Breck doesn’t know this, and he’s the only one who counts. To him, you’re just a lonely, frigid housewife.”

  “Frigid? Did that bastard actually come out and say that?”

  “Yep. Sad, isn’t it? Considering how much you pride yourself on your femme fatale rep.” He shakes his head. “Don’t take it personally. Frankly, I applaud you for avoiding that horn dog as long as you have. Trust me, he’s one sick bastard.”

  “I know. Jack has already warned me.”

  He frowns when he hears Jack’s name. Well too bad.

  “Seriously, Carl, what do you care what he does to me, or any other woman, for that matter? I know the Quorum will take full advantage of his ambassadorship in Russia.”

  “My sweet, naïve, little wifey! Don’t you get it? The ambassadorship is a stepping stone. The big prize is the presidency of the United States. With what it takes to buy an election these days, Jonah Stanford Breck IV is the perfect guy to help us do it. When he does, he’ll remember who his friends are. And right now, he and I are bosom buddies.”

  He leans back, satisfied he’s put me in my place.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Anna walking over to us. Now it’s my turn to burst his bubble.

  In her hand is a tri-fold pamphlet, which she hands to Carl. “It’s been a pleasure serving you,” she says, smiling sweetly.

  He opens it and shakes it, but the bill doesn’t fall out as he expected. Stymied, he looks carefully at the pamphlet.

  It takes him a few seconds to realize what he’s staring at are his divorce papers.

  Anna has already disappeared into the kitchen.

  “Don’t worry, Carl. I’ve already taken care of the bill. I told you dinner was on me, didn’t I?” Noticing a couple at a neighboring table still staring at us, I say loudly, “Yes, sadly we’re getting a divorce! Thank you for witnessing this. Anna is a wonderful ‘server,’ isn’t she?”

  Embarrassed, everyone turns away from us.

  “Touché, Donna.” I wish his voice didn’t sound so ominous. He stands up. “May I?” He indicates he wants to pull out my chair. When I stand up slowly, he takes my jacket and holds it out for me.

  Maybe he can be civil about this after all…

  As if.

  The moment my arms are in the jacket, he shoves me over the deck rail—

  Just in time, I grab onto it with one hand. Three stories below us, waves smack the rocks with such ferocity that its tangy sprays are tossed rail high. In no time at all, my new Louboutins are soaked.

  “Damn it, Carl! Pull me up! Right now!”

  “Not until you agree to give me full custody of the kids.”

  “What? Are you crazy? Over my dead body!”

  “Sure, what ev.” I feel his heel on my knuckles. He crouches down. I guess now that the fun and games are over, he’s going to help me up—

  But no. He’s grabbing at my throat, for my necklace.

  “Just a little something to remember you by,” he whispers.

  To hell with that.

  To keep him from snatching it, I push as far away from the rail as possible, but between the pain of his foot on my hand and my tired arm, I can’t hold this position for very long.

  I’ve got nowhere to go but down.

  Thank goodness it’s high tide.

  Before I hit the water, I have one thing to say to him. “Face it, Carl, you have comm
itment issues!”

  My words echo off the cliffs. Just as I slice into the surf, I’m sure I hear him laughing at me.

  Aw, hell. I’m wearing cashmere…

  Chapter 18

  Killing the Life of any Party

  There is always that one guest who seeks to grab all the attention, one way or another. Maybe it’s through grand declarations or pithy bon mots. Maybe it’s with slick dance moves. Maybe it has to do with the fact he’s taken your favorite lampshade and turned it into a sporty chapeau, providing petite amusement for those who revel in his tipsiness.

  If in fact it is the third route your party animal chooses, be prepared to spill a drink on him while he unscrews the lamp’s finial from its harp. If you’re lucky, the shock he receives will knock him unconscious. That way, you can shove him in a corner and claim he’s in his cups as well as your lampshade. Let the party begin!

  It takes me about a half-hour to drive back to Lion’s Lair. The butler who answers the door doesn’t like the fact that I’m sopping wet. Too bad. To appease him, I hand him my waterlogged shoes and make my way to my room barefoot.

  Jack is in the room when I get there. “What the hell happened to you?”

  I imagine my grin resembles the Cheshire cat, albeit a half drowned one. “Carl was officially served his divorce papers, in front of witnesses.”

  He shrugs. “Oh yeah? You better check the obituary page tomorrow, to see if your server made it through the night.”

  “You sound sooooo happy for us. Don’t you see? It’s the only obstacle standing between us and marriage.”

  “I’m just being honest.” He unbuttons my wet cashmere top. “I thought we agreed that we don’t need to be married to be ‘us.’”

  I move away from him, toward the closet. I pretend to be perusing a selection of dresses, but in reality, I’m trying hard not to cry. “Spoken like a guy with cold feet. I told Carl he was afraid of commitment. I was wrong. Carl is at least committed to being close. It’s you, Jack, who has commitment issues.”

  “No, you don’t get it. I am committed to you—to us—but Donna…” He stops, for what seem like a lifetime.

  His, and mine.

  Ours.

  Then, “Donna, I can’t marry you. Not now, anyway.”

  He waits for that to sink in, for me to turn around, to acknowledge him some way.

  To accept this.

  But I can’t.

  In truth, I won’t.

  Giving up, he heads to the door. “I love you, Donna. I always will.”

  I hear the door close behind him.

  Sobbing, I drop to the floor on my knees. It’s time for a good cry. But no, I’ve got to force myself to stand up. I must save myself from this pain…

  Why is loving someone with all your heart so much harder than saving the world?

  True to her word, Babette acts completely surprised when Jonah walks her down to the lower gardens, where the Big Tent has been set up. She blushes on cue at the sight of jugglers, clowns, acrobats, tightrope walkers, and sword swallowers already entertaining the guests, all of whom turn, on cue, to shout Happy Birthday to a woman who could pass for half her age.

  This beautiful woman should be enough for her husband, but no, his carnal appetite is insatiable.

  They both know it.

  Babette is married to a monster. But now that he’s got his eye on the White House, her hope that he buries his puerile tendencies may finally be realized. She may not be able to keep him in line, but his political handlers will.

  Or, perhaps the Quorum, since it has the most to gain and the most to lose.

  I walk over to Trisha and Janie, who are hanging with Abu and Eddie. The dog sits obediently at his mistress’s side, watching her every move. He remains calm despite all the ruckus on the lawn in front of him.

  I give Abu a thumbs-up. “I can’t believe it! You’ve gotten Eddie to chill out completely.”

  “Best yet, he’s a pretty decent attack dog. Even Janie knows the command. I figure that, with her nanny situation being a revolving door, she needs all the protection she can get.”

  “Let’s hope she never has to use it.”

  We click champagne glasses to toast his wish.

  Then we follow the girls down the hill to the makeshift boardwalk, where the sideshow has begun in earnest.

  For the past hour, I’ve been hanging with the girls and enjoying myself. The circus acts have been wonderful. So far, Trisha’s favorite is a bearded lady. I don’t have the heart to tell her it’s a man in a dress.

  Like the rest of Lion’s Lair, nothing here is as it seems.

  Worse yet, everyone has something to hide.

  The girls’ innocence is bliss. As for me, it’s almost time to turn back into a pumpkin.

  It’s a few minutes to nine, which means Arnie will be here any moment now. I scan the crowd for him but catch sight of Edwina instead. She frowns as she glances around for someone, the birthday girl, I assume, since it’s time to cut the seven-tier birthday cake.

  Edwina spots Babette exactly when I do. She and her most revered guest, President Asimov, are strolling the grounds.

  They’ve just reached a large tent topped with a sign proclaiming HOUSE OF MIRRORS. The two of them chat and laugh while Breck trails behind. He keeps looking at his watch. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Rutherford Collins walking toward him. With him is a young woman: a young, pretty brunette. Where have I seen her before?

  Then it hits me: It’s Serena, the Coxhead’s au pair.

  I shake my head in disgust. So, Collins talked her into the job after all! Well, the joke’s on him. If he’s looking for major brownie points from Breck, he’s too late.

  Thick within the crowd is another person of interest: a green-haired clown with plaid shoes, walking with purpose toward the House of Mirrors. Aw heck, Arnie’s got the worst timing in the world! The last thing I need is for Breck watching the drop.

  I head down the hill, but it’s already too late. After Arnie walked into the tent, so did Babette and Asimov. Breck has turned on the charm. He’s stroking Serena’s arm. When she pulls away, he whispers something in her ear. Whatever it is causes her to nod reluctantly. She allows him to lead her into the tent.

  Like a lamb to slaughter.

  Collins knows the drill. Three’s a crowd. He takes off, with a smirk on his face.

  Our paths cross on my way down the hill. “Having a good time, Mrs. Stone?”

  After what I’ve just seen, I’d like to punch him out. Instead, I dimple up and bat my eyes. “But of course! I have to say, that snake charmer is pretty scary.”

  Little does he know I’m referring to his boss.

  The House of Mirrors lives up to its name. I’m reflected on every wall. Some of the mirrors are angled or distorted so that I look more svelte than I really am, while others scare me into thinking I better get on a diet, pronto.

  The eerie lighting casts large shadows on all surfaces, making it hard for my eyes to adjust to the room’s true shape, let alone to see where I’m to go from here. Ominous music and cackling laughter, coming in over a sound system and bouncing off the mirrored walls, are just as disorienting.

  In fact, there are several hallways to choose from. I’m guessing that most people take the middle one, or the one on the right. Arnie being the contrarian he is, would have gone left, so I do, too.

  Oddly, the mirrors are angled in such a way you can see everyone else walking through as well. They don’t seem to see you, however. And when you reach out to touch them, you hit a mirror instead.

  Even the ceiling is mirrored. It reminds me of Cloud Gate, the art installation in Chicago, which also has a concave surface, much like a human navel, as well as omphalas: reflections of the same image, several times over, in various places on its curved surface.

  In
one mirror, Babette and Asimov are walking down a hallway, laughing and talking. In another, Breck strolls with Serena. She looks terrified. Who can blame her? Having Breck hold your hand is scary enough in broad daylight, let alone in a spook house. Having separated from Babette and Asimov, he places an arm around her waist and pulls her close. She’s struggling, but no matter how hard she pushes him away, he is much too strong for her.

  My first thought it so break them up, but just then, Arnie appears in the curved ceiling mirror. I wave at him, but he can’t see me. Obviously, he’s roaming down another hallway. To hell with this covert crap. I take my cell phone and dial his number. The other noises drown out the ring tone he’s known for–the Star Wars theme–but I hear him through my receiver:

  “Hey! Where are you?”

  “I saw you enter, so I followed you. Why didn’t you stay out front?”

  “I forgot if we said we’d meet inside or out. Then I saw Babette and Asimov coming toward me, and I freaked out! I thought I should keep moving. But now I’m lost.”

  “Look up at the ceiling.”

  I can see through the curved ceiling mirror that he’s doing as I asked. “Now look to your right…do you see me?”

  The mirror’s surface must be backward, because it looks as if he’s turned left instead. Finally, he catches my reflection, too, and waves back. “Okay, Donna, what do we do now?”

  “Just stay there, and I’ll walk toward you—”

  The next thing I know, there are gunshots, then shouts.

  All the lights go out, except for the track lighting along the floor.

  I pull the Walther PPK I’ve braced beneath my jacket at the base of my spine, and get into a tactical stance. I look up at the mirrored ceiling to see who I can spot, and where. The moan I hear came from Asimov. The mirror around the Russian president has shattered, and he’s bleeding. Was he shot, or was he speared by flying glass shards? It’s hard to tell, but he’s certainly shaken, and it doesn’t help that Babette is bawling and screaming, as if it’s the end of the world.

  Where the hell are they?