1 The Housewife Assassin's Handbook Page 15

  Jeff just sighs loudly and takes off to another room.

  Yes, they know I’m ecstatic, and I know that they are happy for me, even if they don’t dare show it.

  But for how long can my euphoria last? If we stop the Quorum, then the mission is over, and Jack will be moving on.

  If we don’t . . . If one of us gets hurt . . .

  Or killed . . .

  I don’t want to think about it.

  I have one goal: eliminate my enemy so that I can move on with my life.

  So that I can live happily ever after—

  With Jack.

  He walks over to me. In his hand is a cup of my favorite tea. When I reach out for it, our fingers touch, and the connection between us surges. He looks down at me, and almost as if he’s reading my mind, he says, “Don’t worry. I’ve got a plan.”

  “I’m all ears.” If the tremble in my voice makes me sound so desperate, then so be it.

  “Tell me: how many gourmet hamburgers will it take to feed all of Hilldale?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “We’re throwing a cookout. We’ll use Jeff’s team as the excuse. My God, they’ve made the U.S. regionals. All of Hilldale’s gone crazy over their beloved Wildcats, so why not celebrate?”

  “I don’t get it. How will that help us find the Quorum?”

  “We’ll invite all the neighbors we haven’t met as of yet . . . how many are left on the list?”

  “We’re down to about eight households. They never seem to be around.”

  “The Quorum would love to get up close and personal with the Stones, right? Trust me, it will come running when it gets the invitation to this little shindig. It wants something it thinks you have, so why don’t we give it a chance to find it?”

  I shudder at the thought of Quorum operatives in my house, rummaging through my things.

  Touching Carl’s things.

  But of course, that means nothing to Jack.

  “While they’re scoping us out, Abu and Arnie can sweep their houses. Emma can divert the neighborhood security cameras beforehand—and put some here in the house. Ryan can send a few other agents. Their cover will be the catering crew. Every cup and plate they touch will allow us to gather fingerprints that can be matched to Acme’s database.”

  He’s right, though. If we take the Quorum down, then it will have been worth it.

  “But what if they plant bugs?”

  “Don’t worry! Emma will find any bugs and squash them.”

  I sigh. “While I order ground chop from the butcher, you tell the kids that we’re hosting the biggest block party Hilldale has ever seen.”

  Our shindig is the event of the season.

  Who would have guessed that Jack is such a party animal? The Hawaiian shirt is a bit much. Or maybe it’s his golf cap, which proclaims US Grade-A Beefcake.

  The calypso band is a nice touch. The musicians are all Acme agents. Seriously when do these guys find the time to rehearse?

  Best news of all: there was no need for patty duty. Acme agents are manning the gourmet burger truck that has been wheeled into the back yard. Other ­operatives, dressed as cater-waiters, are wielding trays holding small plates of tasty treats and jugs of Long Island ice teas.

  Our neighbors are loose and happy.

  One prime suspect is missing: a guy named Mac Archer. Supposedly he’s married. The nail salon gossip is that she’s a road warriorette with a heavy-duty corporate gig. Maybe that’s just his cover.

  That’s okay. Soon Rave-On will be calling on him. Here’s hoping he’ll think his wife is pretty in pink lipstick.

  The rest of the suspects—the Greens, the Blacks, and the Smiths—are here already. I’ve ruled out the Smiths since they are both over seventy, and he’s in a wheelchair. Tim and Betty Green seem too uncomfortable, so their stick-in-the-mud demeanor must be legitimate. (Spies try hard to fit in.) The Blacks are young, hip, and pregnant. But is her baby bump real? I can’t very well follow her into the bathroom, and I certainly can’t punch her in the gut—

  Unless she punches me first.

  In any event I’ve made sure that all of our new neighbors have a glass in hand, even if it’s just filled with fruit juice. We’ve got to toast our winning team, don’t we?

  We’re in the middle of that toast, too, when the one person I least expect walks out of the kitchen toward Trisha and me:

  Aunt Phyllis.

  So much for Ryan’s contention that a free trip to China would keep her out of our hair during this mission.

  “Well, well, well! While the cat’s away, the mice throw quite a par-tay!” She takes a glass of the spiked tea off a tray held by one of the Acme waiters.

  I give her a hug and a kiss, then shoo the waiter away to indicate that her prints don’t have to be dusted. “Wow, Phyllis, I thought you’d still be in the Far East—”

  She sniffs. “Frankly, I got homesick after two weeks. But I’ve got to admit it: that country has some of the best Chinese food I’ve ever tasted! Almost as good as Jennie Low’s.” She scans the party. “Quite a crowd, isn’t it?”

  Trisha hugs her legs as if she’s never letting go. “Aunt Phyllis, I’ve missed you so, so much! This much! . . . Oh, and guess what? Daddy’s home!”

  “Poor sweetie, I wish that were true.” She pats Trisha on the head.

  “But it is, Aunt Phyllis, it is! Tell her, Mommy!”

  Phyllis stares down at her then shifts her gaze to me. What the heck am I going to say?

  Before I can open my mouth, Trisha points back toward the kitchen door. “Look, what did I tell you? There he is.”

  Aunt Phyllis turns around just as Jack walks into the kitchen. I breathe a sigh of relief that he has disappeared just in time, then bend down to whisper in Trisha’s ear, “Honey, why don’t we let Daddy be a surprise, for after the party? In fact, why don’t you take Aunt Phyllis to get a hamburger—”

  Oh. My. God.

  Trisha is right.

  Not that she knows it.

  Carl is standing there, not twenty feet away from me.

  It can’t be. It must be a ghost—

  No, it is really him. Except he’s blond now. His hair no longer close-cropped, but longish, and he has a mustache.

  His eyes sweep the yard but pause when they see me—

  They are filled with longing.

  Mine must be, too.

  That is all he needs to see. Slowly he nods, and puts a finger to his lips . . .

  Then, very casually he walks out through the back yard gate, toward the driveway.

  Trisha and Aunt Phyllis are already halfway to the burger trailer as I wend my way through neighbors who greet me with compliments for my hostessing skills, and good wishes for my family.

  If only they knew.

  The next thing I know, Jack is wrapping his arms around me and nuzzling my neck. Despite the crestfallen look on Carl’s face, I resist the urge to shrug him off too soon, in order to follow Carl. If I do, I’ll give my husband away—

  Something I refuse to do. I can’t lose him a second time.

  Instead, I’ll lose Jack.

  Poor Jack.

  Poor me.

  Chapter 15

  Establishing a Good Neighbor Policy

  A “good neighbor policy” is integral to winning new friends and influencing frenemies!

  Welcoming new families with a pie is always a good start. Feel free to warn them of some of the no-no’s that will have them ostracized by others. For example, using the pets of others as rifle practice is frowned upon, as is sleeping with other women’s husbands—albeit their husbands may argue that it moves you to the top of their list for favored neighbor status.

  Should your naughty new neighbors resist your suggestions, invite them over to see your new media room. The fac
t that it doubles as a torture chamber should encourage them to tow the line!

  Carl is halfway down the block before he stops short and turns to make sure that I’m there following him.

  Of course I am.

  Then he ducks into the high-fenced alley that runs between Maple and Acacia.

  There he waits for me to run into his arms.

  I don’t know if the dampness on my cheeks are my tears or his fervent kisses. He holds me as if he never wants to let go of me.

  I know this now: there is no way I’d let him.

  I don’t know if I’m crying for joy, or in sorrow for the hell I imagine he’s been through.

  Maybe my tears are for the grief that hollowed out my heart long ago.

  When, finally, our lips and hands and hearts are still, he knows what I have to ask him:

  “Why, Carl? Why didn’t you contact me before now?”

  As if my heart weren’t already shattered to pieces, his tortured sigh pulverizes it into a fine dust. “I was compromised, Donna. For your protection, and our children’s, I had to play dead.”

  “It was when I picked up your cell phone that night, wasn’t it? That man with the strange accent asked for you—”

  He winces. “Yes. But please, sweetheart, don’t blame yourself. It was just as much my fault. If I’d turned off my phone . . .Well, we can’t relive the past.”

  The tears flowing down my face speak for me:

  If only we could.

  Carl wipes them away with his kisses. “I thought that as long I was dead, you and the kids were safe”—the light in his eyes fades in an abyss of jealousy—“I guess I never figured I’d be . . . replaced.”

  Is the guilt in my heart reflected on my face?

  Yes. It is why he turns away from me. “That son of a bitch!” He slams his hand against the fence, scaring the Conover’s dog two doors away, which howls in protest.

  I wish I could howl, too. But no, I can’t.

  Instead I lie.

  It is the only way in which his quest—and mine—is worth it.

  “Carl, I—it’s not what you think. We haven’t . . . we haven’t been intimate. Ryan asked me to pretend he was you, in order to reel in the Quorum once and for all. If they presume you’re alive—”

  “How brilliant of Ryan to use my family as bait,” Carl snarls.

  He feels betrayed—by Ryan, yes; but by me, too.

  “You know I would have never agreed to Ryan’s plan had I known you were alive! And he would never have suggested it. All you had to do was send us a message—any kind at all.” My heart is racing because I am so angry:

  At myself.

  At him. “Why didn’t you, Carl? Don’t you know me well enough to realize that I’m the one person on Earth you could have trusted?”

  “I tried, once. Late one night, I came to the house.” His laugh is laced with bitterness. “I was greeted with a bullet. Caught it in the leg.”

  “That . . . was you? I thought it was a burglar!”

  He nods. “I took off because I thought you might have already called the police, too.”

  The police? But of course he can’t run to them. No one can know he’s alive but me, because he was burned.

  It’s why he can’t come home to me.

  We stand there for what seems like an eternity before he answers me: “As long as I was out of your life, you were safe. But now that the Quorum has infiltrated anyway—”

  “Yes, I know. We’re honing in on them—”

  He stares at me. “What do you mean, ‘we’?”

  “Well—” Okay, how do I break the news to him gently? “—you see, I work for Acme now. I wanted to find your killers. Joining the good guys was the best way to do it.”

  Before he can protest, I add, “And we’ve eliminated all but a handful of possible—”

  I can’t understand why he’s laughing at me. All these, years, all my hard work—all my heartache—

  And he finds that funny?

  No, not really. He takes my face between his palms so that he can look me in the eye, so that I make no mistake how grave our situation is:

  “You sweet, trusting fool! You let the Quorum move in with you! Jack Craig is its leader.”

  Chapter 16

  Lie Like a Rug

  People judge you by your rugs, which is why it is important to choose the right one for every room, and to take great care of them.

  Wool is preferred, with a high knot count. Persian rugs are known for their beauty, and for maintaining their value.

  Baking soda is the green way to clean, and it deodorizes as well. Add white vinegar, which removes mildew and odors and many kinds of stains.

  Heaven forefend someone should soil or permanently stain this important attribute to fine living! However, if a rug is ruined, it can be recycled: as the inauspicious disposal conveyance for the culprit’s body . . .

  As the breath leaves me, Carl catches me in his arms.

  He covers my mouth with his hand in order to silence my wounded scream, my incoherent rant.

  Finally, when my anger is spent, when my heart is beating normally again I murmur, “What about Ryan? Is he in on it, too?”

  He shrugs. “I don’t know—not yet, anyway. One thing’s for sure: besides Jack, there may be another mole inside of Acme, so be careful. After I found the car bomb, I didn’t know who to trust. Up until now, that policy has served me well.”

  Up until now.

  Is he’s wondering if he’s made a mistake, coming in out of the cold—to me? I cling to him, as if doing so will prove that this notion is dead wrong.

  Dead is the operative word here.

  “Whether he is or isn’t, I’m not taking any chances now.” He takes my hand in his and stares down at it, before bringing it to his lips to kiss it, oh so gently. “I’m renting a house as ‘Mac Archer.’ I’m a block over, on Locust Street. Number four-one-five.”

  “Ah, yes. The man with the workaholic wife.”

  His frown deepens. “Yeah, apparently she’s on the job 24/7.”

  I flinch at his jibe. I hope he never finds out I’m sleeping with the boss.

  “Listen, Donna, I want you and the kids to get out of here, as soon as possible. What the Quorum is planning will be devastating.”

  “What do you know about it?”

  “Only that it’s a nanobomb. And it will be ignited at some big public event, soon: less than two weeks. Tens of thousands will be exposed to it, and die instantly. Even more will be contaminated with biotoxins—” He shakes his head sadly. “I love you too much to lose you again.”

  But he won’t.

  Not this time.

  “I can kill him, you know,” I say. “He trusts me. It would be so easy.”

  A ghost of a smile haunts his lips. Still, he shakes his head. “I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

  “You’re kidding me, right? That asshole drives you into hiding, ruins our lives, upsets our children, and me! I—”

  Carl’s smile disappears altogether. “What about you?”

  I feel my blush creeping all the way up to the crown of my head. “I . . . I don’t like being betrayed.”

  “I don’t like it either.” The accusation in his voice makes me want to cry. “But you’re right. I have no one to blame but myself.”

  “Then it’s settled. I’ll take care of it.” Even as I say this, my heart sinks as I steel myself at the thought of killing the man I thought I loved.

  The man with whom I betrayed Carl.

  “No, Donna. I can’t let you do it. At least, not just yet. First off, if you eliminate him too soon, they’ll send someone else to finish the job. Also, if Ryan is in on it, you’ll be a suspect, and the Quorum will put you on the top of its hit list.”

  “Ha! I’m already on it
.”

  He glances at me sharply. “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve had a couple of murder attempts on my life. Not only that, they’ve tried to break into the house.”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize that.” The light goes out of his eyes. “I’ll take care of it.”

  “Aren’t you doing enough to take them down?” Gently I stroke the face I’ve missed for so long. “They’re searching for something they think you left behind. And for the life of me, I don’t know what that is. What are they looking for, Carl?”

  He shrugs. “You don’t want to know. But don’t worry, I kept it with me. I would never put you and our children at risk that way.”

  “I knew it.” Still, I love hearing him say it. For the first time since he went rogue, I feel safe and protected.

  My Carl has come home to me.

  “Donna, Jack Craig has to stay alive until we find out how and when the bomb is to be planted. Understand?”

  It’s my turn to shrug. All of a sudden I can’t stand the thought of having Jack near me.

  Of having him touch me.

  But since we don’t know who else is Quorum, you can’t let on that you know.” His smile is faint. “But don’t worry. The minute we get what we’re looking for, he’s all yours.”

  All mine.

  There was a time when I thought Jack was my future, my salvation.

  In a way, I guess he still is.

  “I’ve got to get back,” I whisper.

  He ignores that. Instead his eyes drink me in, as if I am his emotional oasis. He pauses, though, when he gets to my neck. “Your locket: I never thought you’d take it off.”

  I sigh. “When you died . . . it reminded me that I’d never see you again; that you’d never have the chance to hold Trisha in your arms. Don’t worry, it’s in a safe place.”

  “Wear it the next time we meet, okay?” He smiles. “Can you slip away tomorrow?”

  “Now that you’re back, nothing can keep me from your side. You know that.” I grasp Carl’s hand. I still can’t believe that my hand doesn’t go right through him, that he isn’t a mirage.

  But no, he is very, very real. His lips tell me so, as does the way he pulls me toward him. There, up against me, he feels so hard and thick and long. I would let him take me right here, right now, and think nothing of it, because I miss him so much.