1 The Housewife Assassin's Handbook Read online

  Even Mary and Jeff pick up on it. So does Abu, who slides out the back door of his van.

  Our kids. Carl’s eyes glitter with hate when he hears that from Jack. “Just trying to be neighborly,” he murmurs with a smile. He bends down by Trisha, but he’s looking up at me. “You want it, don’t you, honey?”

  Doesn’t he see the longing in my eyes?

  Jack does.

  Before I know it, Jack has punched Carl in the gut.

  Carl doubles over in pain. Our children gasp as Jack tosses him onto the ground and puts his heel on Carl’s throat, leaving my husband gasping.

  As the kids look on in horror, Abu grabs Jack’s arms from behind while I shove him off.

  “Jack, dude, cool it,” Abu murmurs in his ear.

  The way Carl smiles makes me realize that Abu’s cover has been blown.

  Thank goodness Carl is one of the good guys.

  Hearing Abu’s plea, Jack freezes. His chest rises as he takes a deep breath. Finally he moves his foot off Carl’s neck.

  Then he takes Trisha’s hand and walks away. Mary and Jeff trail behind him.

  Not me. My legs and heart are leaden. It’s as if the whole world has stopped. I want to help my husband, but doing so will give him away. So instead I just stare down at him.

  “Donna! Are you coming?”

  I look up to see Jack frowning angrily at me. He is already a full block down the street.

  I wish he were a million miles away.

  No. In truth, after what he just did to Carl, I wish he were dead.

  Chapter 20

  How to Make Your Bed

  A beautiful bed starts with a streamlined look—and that means hospital corners! To make one, simply drape the sheet evenly over the bed, leaving about one foot of fabric hanging beyond the head of it. Now stand beside the bed, toward its center, and pick up one of the side hems. Pull it toward you into a taut crease, then raise the creased section over the mattress so the sheet makes a triangular tent over the bed. Next, smooth the sheet flat along the mattress’s side. Then fold the creased section down over the side and tuck the sheet snugly under the mattress. Repeat the process at the foot of the bed.

  Although this ensures a flat surface, any dead bodies in the bed will spoil a clean tailored look. Solution: A colorful array of bolsters and pillows will cover up even the messiest corpse!

  “You’re so damn good. Jesus, Donna, why do I remember you as some innocent young thing?”

  I laugh as I prop my head up on one elbow to look at Carl. I’ve no doubt that his compliment is warmed by the afterglow of our vigorous lovemaking. “Because I was, once. But that was before life roughed me up. Hadn’t you heard? I was widowed. I had to adapt.”

  The minute I say that, I could bite my tongue. His eyes, glazed with the warmth of sex, suddenly go cold.

  “What does that mean, ‘adapt’? What exactly has Ryan got you doing over there at Acme?” He jolts straight up. “I presume it isn’t an office job or you’d be at work right now.”

  The moment of truth has come. Sort of. “You’re right. It’s not an office job. I’m . . . an operative.”

  He lets that sink in. “Operative, or honeypot?”

  He wants me to level with him: to admit that I lure men into sexual traps that will kill them.

  To ’fess up about the fact that I’m the one who does the killing.

  But I don’t want him to see me that way. I want to be the woman he remembers, not the killer I’ve become.

  It’s too late. By not answering him, I’ve told him what he really didn’t want to hear.

  He can’t face me. No, let me put it this way: he doesn’t want to look at my face while we make love yet again.

  Or I should say, while we fuck. Why else would he flip me over, onto my knees? Why else would he press his broad-fingered hand on the small of my back, as if to hold me in place:

  In submission to him.

  He need not worry that I’ll fight, let alone bolt. I love him too much to leave him.

  I am ready for him to take out his grief in losing me—the real me.

  Be careful what you wish for . . .

  His other hand cups an ass cheek tightly, as if weighing his options. His decision is to wrap his fingers around the lacey strand of my thong and twist it so tightly that I flinch at the pain he inflicts. I don’t remember our lovemaking ever being this . . . rough.

  He grunts as he enters me. My gasp is more pain than pleasure. “Carl, please! You’re hurting me!” I try to pull away, but he’s too strong for me. I can’t believe he doesn’t care.

  Or else he’s punishing me.

  He moves in and out of me, like a piston, slamming into me from behind until I am raw.

  Finally spent, he groans and collapses onto my back. Our hearts are beating so fast—

  But not in tandem, as they once did.

  I shove him off. “I didn’t enjoy that.”

  His eyes narrow as they sweep over me. “Maybe you’d like it better with Jack.”

  “Don’t start that again, please. Either you trust me, or you don’t.” Obviously he doesn’t.

  “No, I’m being serious. I want you to fuck him.”

  I’m so angry that I jump out of the bed. “Don’t, Carl. Don’t play games with me.”

  “You know me better than anyone. If I play, it’s to win. Period. And I know you want to help me do that. So, what do you say?”

  “I say you’re sick.” I reach for my blouse and start buttoning up. “I say you can go to hell. I’m not yours to use as bait.”

  “Honey, think for a moment: if you do, he’ll have no reason to be suspicious when you’re over here.”

  He has a point.

  Besides, it gets me off the hook for lying to Carl about Jack and me in the first place.

  Still I don’t like it. I try to put myself in his place: would I have told him to make love with the enemy?

  Not if there was a chance for them to fall in love.

  There is only one way to get him off this stupid idea: “You’re an idiot. I’m not Jack Craig’s type. Besides, he already has his little neighborhood fuck buddy.”

  “Oh yeah? Who’s that?”

  “Nola Janoff.”

  When Carl hears her name, the smile fades from his face. “Ha. So he’s making it with the neighborhood slut.”

  I’ve called her that so many times that hearing it from him shouldn’t bother me, but for some reason it does.

  “How do you know they’re fucking?”

  “I’ve caught her sneaking around our house. He tries to pretend that he’s using her to get information on the Quorum, but he’s such a man-ho—”

  Carl’s laugh sends chills up my spine.

  “I take it you’ve met her?” I try to sound casual, but I desperately need to know.

  He pauses, then nods. “Sure. At the grocery store. She tried to pick me up.”

  “Did she succeed?”

  Carl clears his throat before answering. “I’m not into whores. I’m into you, babe. You know that.” His kiss, so hard and so deep, leaves me dizzy.

  No, that is not what has me breathing so hard . . .

  It’s the knowledge that he is lying to me. That little catch in his throat is his tell.

  I grab my jacket and skirt and head for the door. I’m too pissed to listen to his crap.

  “Donna, wait.” Even stumbling into his jeans, he beats me to the threshold. “Why leave so soon?”

  “I’m a mother, remember? I have to pick up my kids.”

  “They’re not ‘yours’, they’re ours.” The thought that I may think otherwise is so bitter to him that he spits out the words. “Speaking of which, I told you I thought you should get them out of town.”

  “Yes, well . . . we have a few days left�
�”

  “You need to take them now.” He pulls out a slip of paper from his back pocket, and a car key. “I’ve secured a safe house for you, just north of San Francisco, in Mill Valley. It’s fully equipped, the schools are great, and the rent has been paid for a full year in advance. You can take the car in my garage. The registration is clean.”

  “But I—we can’t leave now! Jeff’s next game for the league’s national title is on Saturday! He’d be heartbroken if I took him out of town before then. They’ll be playing in Anaheim’s Edison Field. The game is being televised on ESPN2. It’s just two days off, so we have plenty of time—”

  He shakes his head adamantly.

  “Besides, I want to help you stop Jack and the Quorum—”

  “This isn’t up for debate, Donna. I don’t need your help. I need to know that you’re safe.”

  “But tomorrow is the parade for the team—”

  He takes me by the shoulders, and stares right into my eyes. “Don’t you get it? If you don’t leave by tomorrow night, it will be too late!”

  “Why do you say that, Carl? What do you know?”

  “I—” He pauses. Since when does he feel he has to watch what he says to me?

  He no longer trusts me.

  Thanks to Jack.

  His cough tells me so.

  “What I know is that your housemate, Jack, is trying to throw everyone off the scent. So don’t believe a word he says. Just get the hell out. I warn you, do it right after the parade. I’ll join you as soon as I can.”

  He’s telling me that the nanobomb will be detonated even sooner than we thought.

  I nod, but that’s just because I’m too confused to do anything but grab my clothes and head for the front door.

  “Nice necklace,” Jack says as he pulls my hair gently off the nape of my neck. “Is it new?”

  My skin burns under his touch.

  I’ve succeeded in avoiding him since we last made love, the night of our burger party. What I’d give to have one of the kids burst in on us now.

  But no: they are all tucked in their beds. It’s adult time.

  Despite Carl’s insistence that I submit to Jack, his touch leaves me feeling soiled. A few days ago I would have welcomed his lips on mine. Now the smell of his warm breath makes me nauseous—

  But I suck it up. “This necklace is a family heirloom,” I murmur, grazing my lips on his cheek. “It’s been a while since I’ve worn it.” I feign a yawn. “Gee, I’m so exhausted—”

  He’s not buying it. He probes my lips apart with his tongue—

  And pulls me closer, so that my belly is against his hard-on.

  He’s not going to let me say no.

  Okay, then. It’s show time.

  He lifts my hand and kisses it, gently, before placing it on his face. Feeling his scratchy five o’clock shadow on my palm used to be such a turn-on . . .

  Now I just want to gouge out his eyes.

  Chapter 21

  Frozen vs. Canned

  Frozen fruits and vegetables are great time savers. The process of freezing holds in much-needed nutrients, and defrosting just takes a few moments, by pouring the right serving amount in warm water. Unfortunately, cans are lined with plastics containing BPAs, so stay away from them. However feel free to add BPAs to the meal of anyone you wish to assassinate. Granted, the death will be slow, but the trade-off is that it will also be painful!

  Hilldale has declared Friday a local holiday in honor of the Wildcats’ big game tomorrow. There will be a parade down Main Street. Every local business has sponsored a float for members of the teams, each one decorated in colorful florets made of tissue paper, by a different middle school class.

  Jeff will be riding on the float provided by Beyond Heavenly, so he’ll be sitting atop a humongous cupcake.

  I would have balked if it were a giant bong.

  Mary and her gal pals, Babs and Wendy, cheer and squeal as the school’s band marches by. Trisha has a prime seat: on Jack’s shoulders. It irks me, but what am I going to do, yank her off and tell her to run as fast as she can to the man who stares longingly at her from across the street?

  I know it breaks Carl’s heart to see our children falling in love with his nemesis.

  I’m making a promise to myself right now: with or without Carl’s approval, my last act before we leave Los Angeles is to break Jack’s heart.

  By sticking a knife in it.

  Jack is wearing dark shades, so I don’t know if he sees Carl, but I’m guessing he does, considering that Carl is in plain sight of us.

  Since we last made love, Jack has been polite, but distant—both emotionally and physically. Not that I’ve seen him much these past few days. He doesn’t come home most nights.

  With all I know about him, I feel for our team. Emma is pulling her hair out about the lack of online static. Even Ryan’s usually stoic facade is showing some cracks.

  I’m dying to tell him what I know about Jack.

  If Carl doesn’t give me permission tonight, I may do it anyway.

  Okay, this is odd: Penelope is practically running down the block, and angrier than I’ve ever seen her. When she spots me, she jerks her head to beckon me over. Normally I’d ignore it, and certainly today of all days I don’t need her drama. Still, I don’t need her ruining the parade for the rest of us, so I stroll over.

  As if that will defuse any emotional explosion. “That bitch! It’s Cheever’s big day, and his ride stood him up!”

  “Excuse me?” Does this mean that she’s now allowing Cheever to date? (That would be a surprise, considering that Penelope has yet to cut the umbilical cord that ties him to her. This is not a metaphorical exaggeration. I know for a fact that she keeps a piece of it in a keepsake box under her pillow.)

  “It’s that damn Nola!” Just saying our comely neighbor’s name has Penelope hyperventilating.

  Wow, Nola . . . and Cheever? Talk about robbing the cradle!

  “She was lending us her Thunderbird for the parade! Of course she insisted on driving it herself. She also asked if I’d lend her one of Cheever’s baseball uniform shirts—although heaven knows it would have been much too small for her—”

  And doesn’t Nola know it . . .

  “But she never answered when I rang the doorbell.”

  “She’s probably sleeping off some date.”

  “You mean, sleeping with some date. Although I doubt she sleeps much in that bed of hers! Do you know she has a swing hanging over it?”

  “Really? How would you know that?”

  “Paul said so—” Suddenly her eyes get big. “I mean . . . she asked him over for an appraisal—”

  I’ll just bet she “appraised” him.

  Not that I’d say that to Penelope.

  I don’t have to. I think the same idea has just dawned on her. She bares her teeth. “Why that—that—”

  “Ladies, is something wrong?” Jack asks calmly, as if he’s talking to two children.

  The nerve of him.

  Completely ignoring him, I pat Penelope’s arm. “You know Nola. Unless you’re a man panting after her, she’s a total flake. If you want, Cheever can ride on the Beyond Heavenly float with Jeff.”

  She sniffs disdainfully. “On some pom-pom’ed cream puff? That would be such a letdown for my sweet little man­—”

  “You mean, she didn’t answer the door?” The concern in Jack’s voice angers me.

  I shrug. “Big deal. So Nola overslept. She must have been up all night.”

  He takes Trisha down off his shoulders and hands her off to her big sister.

  The next thing I know, he’s running down the block, in the direction of our home—

  And Nola’s.

  One of Penelope’s penciled-in eyebrows arches curiously at this interesting turn of events.r />
  I’d love to erase it from her face. Maybe I’ll intercept her at her next facial, and do just that.

  With a straight razor.

  In the meantime Cheever can walk, for all I care.

  As I hurry down after Jack, I shout to Mary: “Watch your little sister! I’ll be right back.”

  Jack is banging on Nola’s front door.

  Now he’s picking the lock. When it springs open, he runs inside.

  Well, I guess he can’t pretend anymore that he doesn’t care about her.

  Of course, I follow him in. This ought to be good.

  It isn’t. The place is in shambles. Suitcases are half-packed, as if she left in a hurry—

  But no, there is her purse: open. Her cell and her wallet are still in it—

  Jack lurches from room to room, calling her name—

  Would he care this much if it were me he felt was in danger?

  Why do I even care what he thinks of me anymore?

  But I can’t deny that I do.

  Finally he stops short, in the kitchen. “Do you hear that barking?” He looks out the window, into the back yard. “It’s got to be Rin Tin Tin. But where is he?”

  I stop to listen. “The garage maybe, or the basement—”

  There is nothing in the garage except for Nola’s prized Thunderbird.

  We run back into the house, to the basement door, where Rin Tin Tin’s yelps can be heard loud and clear.

  We find him frantically clawing at the freezer. When Jack lifts the lid, his face loses all of its color.

  I have to take a look:

  Nola’s skin is blue from the cold. Frost clings to her nostrils and her eyelashes. Her hands reach toward the lid, which is scratched and dented where she tried to claw or bang her way out.

  No one should have to die that way.

  Jack holds me steady as I heave what’s left of my lunch. When I get done, I’m hunched over, taking deep breaths—

  Then I knock him in the gut with an elbow.

  As he keels over, Rin Tin Tin whimpers and growls and lunges at us, upset at my assault on his mistress’s friend while she lies in her frozen sarcophagus. I reach for the closest possible weapon to use against Jack: a shovel. But before I can grab it, Jack lunges for my ankle, and I fall face down. Despite my kicking and screaming, I can’t escape his stronghold. The concrete is too slick. He jerks me closer and closer . . .