The Housewife Assassin's Garden of Deadly Delights (24 page)

“Making it even harder to track the source,” Jack reasons. “Is there any possibility that the corn syrup was used in the other cookies?”

Arnie sighs mournfully. “Let me put it this way—the FDA doesn’t want to take any chances.” I’m sure he’s thinking of his own sugar fix.

“Arnie, where is the truck now?” I ask.

“Satellite surveillance shows it’s just east of the Arizona-California border.”

“Got it. We’ll do what we can to contain it. Alert the FDA, okay?”

“Already on it.”

As you travel through the Los Angeles Metroplex, I-10 goes from being bumper-to-bumper (snaking through downtown), to stop-and-go (passing East Los Angeles), to flowing steadily (in and around Pomona), to practically empty (Thousand Palms).
 

When we’re fifty miles east of Indio, heading toward California’s border with Arizona, Arnie calls. “The driver has stopped to grab a bite to eat. It’s a place called the Hot Wheels All-Nite Truck Stop. I’ll send you the coordinates.”

Jack laughs. “It’s not necessary. I already know it. In fact, it’s just fifteen minutes from where we are. The FDA can meet us back here. We’ll call when we’ve secured the truck.”
 

Jack knows of some all-night truck stop, in the middle of nowhere?
Interesting.
“One of your old hang-outs, I presume?” I ask.

“Not quite, but yes, I’ve been there. Do yourself a favor: pass on the cherry pie.”

I’m sure there’s a story in this. I’ll have to pry it out of him one day with a piece of my own homemade cherry pie.

The DeeLiteFull Bakery truck sits by itself in the parking lot of the Hot Wheels All-Nite Truck Stop.

As instructed by Jack, I pull the car around to the back lot, but I keep the engine running.
 

The back door is closed. There’s a tin bucket beside it labeled, SMOKERS LOUNGE.

Nice touch.

“Okay, here’s the plan,” he says. “I’ll wait here while you drive back around to the front. Order a coffee, make goo-goo eyes with him, get cozy, grab his keys, and then tell him you’ve got to go to the little girl’s room. I’ll meet you here and you can hand them off to me. Then go back in and distract him until I leave with the truck.”

“I may have a better idea. Just be standing by the truck, so that when I toss you the keys, you’re ready to go.” I reach for the door handle.
 

Jack grabs my hand to stop me. “Donna, if anything should happen—well, I’d like you to…what I’m trying to say is, will you—”

I put my fingers over his lips. “Jack, when will you learn not to ruin a perfectly good caper with your poorly timed romantic proposal?”

He feigns shock. “I thought any proposal was a good proposal.”
 

“Men! You’re all alike!” I kiss him—
hard—
on the mouth. When our lips part, I whisper, “Just keep trying.”

And I’m out the door.

I roar back into the front parking lot. The DeeLiteFull’s delivery guy hears me, alright.
 

I pull up right below his window booth, so that he can watch as I purse my lips and apply an undercoat before running over them with a special custom lipstick—in this case,
Cherry Noir.
One smooch and it’s beddy-bye time.

So that he gets the right idea, I wink at him and then blow him a kiss.
 

He’s poised to chew a bacon strip, but he freezes. Finally, he rewards me with a grin. Considering how many of his teeth are missing, I wonder how long it will take for him to gum it down? I guess I’ll find out if I stick around long enough to watch him do it.

This guy better not have stinky breath to go along with his rotted teeth.

As I suspected, the café is practically empty, except for lover boy, a potbellied cook, and a bucktoothed waitress scratching her head over a Mad Libs Sudoku flip book. Delivery dude is gaunt, tatted, and eager to make my acquaintance. The truck’s keys are on the table, next to his plate of bacon and eggs.

“Is this seat taken?” I point to his side of the booth. By the way I ask, you’d think it was rush hour at Grand Central Station.

“Only if you’re buying,” he chortles.

I ease down beside him. “Depends on what you’re selling,” I giggle. I signal the waitress.

She sighs heavily. Gee, I hope I’m not stealing her boyfriend.
 

By the time she saunters over, I’ve made up my mind what I want: outta here.
 

Instead, I order an egg over easy, bacon, and a cuppa. That should keep both her and the cook busy while I flirt with my new beau.

“You’ve got quite an appetite.”
 
His unibrow rises to his monk’s cut.

“If only you knew,” I say coyly.

He’s not only eating his eggs; he’s wearing them, too—on his upper lip. I reach across him for the paper napkin dispenser. Oops, I graze his forearm with my breast. It doesn’t seem to perturb him.
 

At least, not above his waist.

With napkin in hand, I wipe off his egg mustache. Yep, that’s got his attention.

We lock eyes.

The next thing he knows, we’re locking lips, too.

It’ll be the last thing he’ll remember before dozing off.

I leave him face down in his bacon and eggs, pocketing the keys as I go.

The waitress is too busy to notice him, or me, heading for the front door.

I trail Jack in the truck to the Indio town limits. As promised, FDA agents are waiting for us.
 

Jack tosses them the keys to the DeeLiteFull truck, and jumps in my van. Instinctively, he reaches over to kiss me—

Before I can stop him.
 

The whole way back, Jack sleeps like a baby.
 

By the time we hit Orange County, he’s awake and refreshed.
 

“Did I nod off?” he asks.

“Yes,” I reply. “And as your penance, you have to go with me to Hilldale Elementary to break the news to the Daisies that they won’t be selling cookies this year.”

“They’ll never know what a better choice that was than the alternative.”

I’m just happy that we avoided a disaster that would have haunted our children for the rest of their lives, had they survived it.

Trisha and Aunt Phyllis wave at us we pull up in front of Hilldale Elementary School. They aren’t alone. The whole Daisy Scout troop is present, accounted for, and raring to go on their cookie deliveries.
 

The first to get her order fulfilled is the school’s principal, Miss Darling. As a former scout herself, having a successful troop was one of her stated goals upon joining the school. She stands front and center with the mother who made it all possible: Lori.
 

“Yikes. This should be awkward,” Jack murmurs.

Suddenly, an idea comes to me. “Let me handle this.”

Jack laughs. “Gladly.”

I’ve barely parked my car when everyone runs over. In no time, my SUV is surrounded.

The color leaves Jack’s face. “I’ve seen when mobs get angry. Maybe we should just skedaddle.”

“Chicken,” I tease. Frankly, I’m just as frightened. For all I know, what I have to say may get us tarred and feathered, but it’s worth a try.

Some of the girls have their noses pressed against the SUV’s window. But their faces fall when they realize there’s nothing in the car.

“Where are all the cookies?” one girl shouts.

She’s not the only one who’s noticed either. The crowd’s concern starts as a murmur, but crescendos into a wail of panic.

I jump out of the car and hold up my hands to silence them. “I’m sorry, but I’ve got some very bad news. The truck carrying the shipment of cookies bound for Los Angeles met with an accident. All the cookies were destroyed. I’m so sorry; we won’t be getting any this year.”

The crowd’s disappointment is shouted in unison. In no time at all it’s joined by the scouts’ sobs.
 

“Why—this is awful!” Lori exclaims. “If we have to return the purchasers’ money, the troop will go bankrupt!”

“All the troops in the area are facing the same problem. However”—I take a deep breath—“I think I have a solution, if we’re all willing to pitch in.”

“What is it?” one anxious mother asks.

“We make the cookies ourselves—with the help of our Daisy Scouts.”