2 The Housewife Assassin's Guide to Gracious Killing Page 13

  She smiles through her pain, and through mine, too. Penelope and the gang? Well, there goes my appetite.

  “Mrs. Breck will presume you’ve arranged it. Mr. Breck would prefer that. I hope you don’t mind, Mrs. Stone.”

  “Of course not.” What else can I say? To tell the truth to someone whose whole existence is based on a complete lie would be a waste of breath. “It seems you’ve thought of everything, Edwina.”

  A shadow of a smile darkens her lips. “I’m sure I’ve forgotten something. Nobody is perfect. Then again, if that were the case, neither of us would be here and praying we were anywhere else, now would we? The driver will ring for you, promptly at ten thirty.”

  “I think I’m falling in love with your husband.”

  It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask, Which one? But that would be silly. Of course, I know Babette is speaking about Jack. No doubt about it, Carl also exudes an animal magnetism, but five minutes alone with him and you’ll see immediately that he is an acquired taste.

  You’d have to be a glutton for terrorism.

  My gaze shifts from the Cavalli frock in my hand to Babette’s center reflection in the three-way mirror, where she holds a Michael Kors crepe gown with a fishtail hem against her. “I can’t say that I blame you. It’s an easy thing to do.”

  “He is truly kind.” She doesn’t look up at me. Instead, she shakes her head, as if the thought is something she finds hard to fathom. “He came into the nursery the other day, to check on Trisha. The way in which she jumps into his arms! If only Janie…” Her voice trails off.

  When she looks at me, there are tears in her eyes. “We’re enrolling Janie in a boarding school.”

  “But why? I thought the whole point of building Lion’s Lair and settling in Hilldale was so that she could stay home with you.”

  “I want that more than anything in the world! But now, with Jonah’s pending appointment, we feel Switzerland is a happy medium—”

  “Switzerland? That’s on the other side of the world!”

  “Yes, but it is closer to Russia than Hilldale. And that’s where Jonah will be based when he’s appointed the U.S. Ambassador to Russia. The president will be making that announcement tomorrow, when he arrives at the summit.”

  Jonah Breck is taking an ambassadorship?

  “It’s a stepping stone. International diplomacy looks good on a curricula vitae when you’re being groomed for the presidency.” She giggles at my look of shock. Really, it’s one of horror, but she doesn’t know me well enough yet to figure that out. “He’s bored. He knows he can buy presidents. Now he’s out to prove he can buy the presidency.” Suddenly, she’s distracted by a shiny gown the color of soft peaches. She plucks it from the rack and holds up to examine it. “What do you think? Does the color make me look pale?”

  Not as pale as I look now, I’m sure. “It’s just perfect. Babette, what will happen with Edwina? I presume she’ll be out of a job.”

  “Not at all! She’s part of the deal. He can’t do without her. Anyone can see that. Besides, she grew up in Russia. Her fluency in the language was one of the reasons he took her on. Well, that, and he’d never say no to any request Asimov makes.”

  “Asimov recommended her?”

  “Yes. He knew her mother. Poor thing passed, last year in fact.”

  Interesting. Why would Edwina lie and claim that Breck was ‘an old family friend?’

  As far as Jonah Breck running for president someday…

  Ewww yuck.

  “Babette, what will happen to Jonah’s investments in all those green start-ups? Will he have to sell them off?”

  “No, not at all. Believe me, he’s got that covered. It will be part of our blind trust. He’s turning Breck Global Industries over to someone who will ensure it stays on course. In fact, his hand-picked successor is here for the summit. ”

  “You mean Rutherford Collins, BGI’s chief operating officer?”

  Babette’s nose wrinkles in disgust. “Heavens, no! That sniveling little fool? Jonah keeps him around as a joke. He’s letting go of him right after the announcement is made.”

  “Then I presume you mean Garret Conover, your attorney.”

  “No, Garret will be taking a leave of absence from his firm in order to join Jonah as his chief attaché at the U.S. Embassy in Moscow.” Her eyes light up. She enjoys the game she’s set up. “The new CEO is one of the men in Asimov’s entourage. You know the one: he’s tall, dark, and very handsome. I’m laughing because it’s so obvious he has taken notice of you.”

  Carl.

  Carl will be running Breck Global Industries?

  Something about this stinks to high heaven.

  I have to get back to Lion’s Lair, or at least lose Babette long enough to use my cell phone and tell Jack and Ryan this news.

  I don’t know what to say so I simply smile at her, all sweetness and light. “That’s such a pretty gown! Why don’t you try it on?”

  Babette glances down at her elegant jewel-encrusted Patek Philippe watch. “Do I have time? Aren’t the other women going to be angry if we show up too late?”

  “You know about your surprise luncheon?”

  “But of course! And the circus, too.” She puts a finger to her lips. “Nothing much gets by me. I have my spies everywhere. But let’s keep it our little secret, shall we? I like the fact that everyone assumes I’m clueless. Makes it easier, all the way around.”

  She looks down at the dress in her hand. “I’ll take it anyway. No need to try it on. That’s what my personal shopper, Marilyn, is for—when she’s not too busy fucking my husband. It’s another reason I hope Jonah actually makes it to the White House: maybe then he’ll be too busy to screw the help. Although that’s probably wishful thinking.” She sighs. “Speaking of help… do you think your foreign exchange student would be open to considering an au pair position with Janie, until her new school begins? Since Antoinette took off, we’re in a bit of a bind… Oh, Inga has no work permit? What a shame! Well, no harm in asking…”

  Penelope and her acolytes are in the middle of singing Happy Birthday to Babette when my cell phone rings, much too loudly. Caller ID shows that it isn’t Jack. This is a major disappointment. I’ve been dialing him every five minutes since Babette gave me the news about Breck. Now that I know Breck’s end game–the presidency–it makes sense that he’s trying to look as statesmanlike as possible. Pretending to play peacemaker between the two great (or at least, two of the three most heavily armed) nations on the planet will certainly impress voters…

  Ha! If only they knew his position on women’s rights. Infidelity is second nature to him, and rape is an afterthought. Let’s face it. He’s a poster boy for men who should be castrated.

  At the very least, he’s certainly lost my vote.

  Should he make it as far as his party’s primary, I’m sure the security footage of Edwina’s rape will be invaluable to the competing party’s candidate.

  Despite the fact that, once again, I’ve been placed all the way in the back of the private dining room with the rest of those who have found themselves on Penelope’s personal Watch List, the club’s fearless leader can hear my cell phone’s ring tone: Gaston, from Beauty and the Beast.

  Oh no, it’s Alan. I guess I’m about to find out Bulldog’s fate.

  Penelope’s eyes narrow with the intensity of a lethal laser beam set on search-and-destroy. In no time at all, she has honed in on the culprit: me. She jerks her thumb toward the door as she mouths the words OUT OF HERE, NOW…

  For good? Forever?

  Ah, if only…

  In order to speak in private, I bury myself in the cloak closet before connecting with this lifeline. Even before I can utter a word, Alan lets loose with a string of expletives that would bring tears to an army sergeant.

  When, finally, I can put my cell phone ne
ar my ear, I answer in the sweetest voice possible: “Good morning to you, too, Alan.”

  “Do you know what your husband did to Bulldog? The poor dude is in a Psych ward again. He’s so traumatized!”

  “What do you mean, again? Has this happened before?”

  “Believe it or not, he doesn’t do well in the trunks of cars. Reminds him of the solitary confinement he endured in his last marriage.”

  “Oh… kay. Hmmmm. Please apologize for me.”

  “I’ll do more than that. His medical expenses are going on your bill.”

  “Lovely. Thanks for the heads up.” What else can I say? I’m a desperate woman. Babette’s tidbit about Carl taking over Breck Global Industries has made it even more crucial that I keep Carl away from my kids and me.

  “Listen, Alan, you have to send someone else to serve Carl, like, immediately.”

  “That may be difficult. The word is out that your man is violent, not to mention connected.”

  “Whatever happened to all your ‘Booyah,’ crap? I’m counting on you! Do whatever it takes, Alan. Double the server’s fee if you have to.”

  There’s a pause at the other end of the connection. Is he thinking, or did some shiny object fly by the window and distract him? With Alan, you never know…

  Finally, he exhales a thought. “I’ll send in my best man, the Panther.”

  “I thought Bulldog was your best man.”

  “He was—until your psycho hubby broke him.”

  “Yeah, Carl is a real charmer. Tell the Panther he can find Carl at the Hilldale Performing Arts Center this afternoon at two o’clock, during the Kiev Ballet’s performance of Swan Lake. Most likely he’ll be backstage, or in the VIP box with his client. Hey, just out of curiosity, Alan, why are all your process servers named after animals?”

  “Ha! Have you ever eaten with one? Trust me, it’s like feeding time at the zoo. You have to watch your fingers when you reach for the bread basket—”

  I click off before that vision takes hold. Il Fornaio’s pasta primavera is to die for, and I’d like to hold onto my appetite, thank you very much.

  Once again, I dial Jack, but my call rolls into his voice mail. As a last ditch effort, I try Emma.

  “Wow, perfect timing! I was just about to call you.” Emma’s voice sounds a bit shaky. “Not about the mission, but…well, something’s wrong in the neighborhood.”

  This stops me cold. “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve been to the park a couple times, you know, when Aunt Phyllis has asked me to walk your dogs Lassie and RinTinTin, or to call Jeff in for dinner. I’ve gotten friendly with the au pairs and nannies. They keep their ears to the ground in the homes they work in, so they always have a lot of gossip. Turns out that one of the nannies caught the kid she sits for looking at a porn site, and guess who was on it?”

  “In our ’hood? With all the lonely, horny housewives, it could be anyone.”

  “Nope, it wasn’t one of those light erotica slap-and-tickle housewife sites. This one is called Island of Misfit Sluts, and its claim to fame is the fact that the women aren’t there by choice. They are being broken in as quote-unquote sex slaves. Talk about fifty shades of sick! Really, it’s thirty days, not shades—the initiation period, I mean. This brings viewers back to watch how it happens. Last week’s sex slave was Antoinette!”

  “Are you sure the girls aren’t paid to act innocent and submissive?”

  “No way! Antoinette really is—that is, she was an innocent girl. I’ve already checked out the site with the FBI’s Internet Division. They’ve been tracking Misfit Sluts for at least two years. Many of the slaves are under-age, as young as ten! Both the FBI and Scotland Yard have been trying to find the source of the feed to the server, but it’s offshore and it’s got an air-tight shield around it.”

  Curiouser and curiouser. Not to mention sicker and sicker. “Your intel certainly validates Abu’s contention that she left unwillingly. But the big question is with whom? Everyone has been in lockdown during the summit.”

  I sigh. The thought of women of any age being held against their will has my stomach churning.

  “An even bigger question is how? Acme’s satellite surveillance has been tracking all cars going in and out of Lion’s Lair,” Emma continues. “Thus far we’ve got nothing. And here’s something really scary: a few of the au pairs have been approached about taking her place. The Brecks’ representative, that creepy Collins dude, is offering twice the going salary. ”

  “Any takers?”

  “In fact, the Coxheads’ nanny, Serena La Costa, is considering it. She desperately needs the money.”

  “I know the woman. Tall, with long dark hair. Very young. She’s, what, about twenty?”

  “Yep, that’s the one. From Venezuela. She was in college here, to get a teaching degree. But had to drop out to send money home to help support of her family.”

  “I guess her student visa has expired then.”

  “You’re right. She’s hoping to score a green card. That cruel Tiffy Coxhead is working her to the bone with the promise of helping her get one. How did you know?”

  “It’s the same M.O. as Antoinette.” I sigh and shake my head. “Listen, Emma, I don’t think what I’m going to ask next has anything to do with Antoinette’s disappearance, but I need you to do me a favor and scan INTERPOL for information on Edwina Doyle. Use whatever you find with fingerprints and facial profiling, too. Something about her just doesn’t fit.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Once, when I asked her why she puts up with Breck’s shenanigans, she mentioned that she owed him her life. She also claims he’s an old family friend. And yet, when I asked Babette about Edwina just now, she insists Breck hadn’t met Edwina before he hired her, and he did so on recommendation of Asimov. One of them is lying, and my dollar is on Edwina.”

  “Hmmmm. Until I get something back, a quick way to actually follow her movements is to use this new gel Arnie is testing. You squirt it on the surface of a pair of glasses, and it sends a visual of whatever the wearer is looking at. Edwina wears glasses, right?”

  “Yes! That would be ideal! Will he should be doing a flower run today at Lion’s Lair?”

  “Let me ask.”

  A moment later, Emma comes back on the line. “Unfortunately, he did it this morning.”

  “Wait, I’ve got the perfect cover for him! Breck is putting on a circus tonight, for Babette’s birthday. Can he crash it?”

  Emma must have covered the phone with her hand, but I can still hear Arnie shout “Yahoo!”

  I can’t help but smile. “I take it he’s up for the gig.”

  “Frankly, I don’t think you could have kept him away! He’s pulling up the schematic now, from the party planner’s iPad. He says one place you can rendezvous is the House of Mirrors. He’ll meet you there.”

  “How will I know him?”

  “He’ll be the clown with the green hair and the plaid shoes. You can’t miss him.”

  “Great. Tell him we should meet prior to the cake being cut. Say, nine o’clock.”

  “Will do, boss lady.”

  “Hey, speaking about bosses, is Ryan around? I have to speak to him.”

  “Sure, I’ll connect you.”

  The next thing I hear is Ryan’s growl. “Speak.”

  Ah, always a man of few words. And he wonders why he’s still single.

  “So it turns out Breck is up for the ambassadorship to Russia. According to Babette, it will be announced tomorrow, when POTUS is at Lion’s Lair.”

  “Heard it already. Our client called this morning with the news.”

  “Oh, really? And did our client also mention whom would be taking control of Breck Global Industries?”

  “Yes.” This time Ryan’s brevity is shorthand for something I already know. Unless Carl
is the undisputable initiator, we can’t touch a hair on his head.

  I’m almost afraid to ask, but I have to. “Have you mentioned this to Jack?”

  “I thought I’d leave that to you.”

  “Coward.”

  “You got that right. Try to break it to him gently.”

  We both know that’s easier said than done.

  I hang up to find that Babette’s surprise luncheon has already broken up, and a crowd has gathered around the cloakroom door. I have to get out of there if we’re going to make it to the ballet in time, but that won’t happen anytime soon if these women don’t get their wraps first.

  In other words, I’m stuck in the Eighth Circle of Hell. Dante calls it Fraud, but I know it to be Procrastination. None of these women wants to get back to housework, carpool, or kids.

  Someone yells above the din of gossip. “Hey, hand me the beige lamb’s wool cape, will you?” She tosses me a ticket with a number on it.

  For real? Seriously, how many cloakroom attendees can afford Marc Jacobs—

  Oh. My. God. There’s a five-dollar bill underneath the ticket. Score!

  I find the right coat and hand it over. The tickets and bills keep coming.

  Like I said, sometimes it pays to be in the Eighth Circle of Hell, especially if your credit card bills include pricey couture, like Marc Jacobs.

  Chapter 16

  When the Wrong Partners Fill Your Dance Card

  Balls and cotillions are such fun—when you’re with the right one!

  True, a gorgeous gown and your adroitness at scintillating conversation will make you the belle of the ball, but frustrations can arise when an annoying waltz partner fills your dance card even before the first chord is struck.

  Solution: spike his punch with eye drops, then have him twirl you around the dance floor. In time, he’ll be running to the loo in order to spew his guts for the duration of the evening, and you’ll be free to dance with pithier swains.