The Housewife Assassin's Guide to Gracious Killing (12 page)

Of course Jack’s right. 

“After what he did to you—after shooting you—I had every right to take him out. You say you’d forgive me, but let’s be honest with each other. If I killed the father of your children, he wins. He’d still stand between us. Between you and me, And between Mary, Jeff and Trisha and me.”

“But they don’t know about him!”

He shrugged. “Life has many twists and turns. Anything can happen to either of us. When it does—”

“You mean ‘if.’ And even if ‘it’ did happen, to one of us, the other would keep them safe. The other would be there to help them through their pain, to keep our memory alive.”

“Donna, that’s just it. When it comes to me, their memories are too new.”

“Jack, they love you! You’re the only dad they’ve ever known. And their memories of you are all good ones. Whatever they remember about Carl has your face on it.”

“Don’t you think Carl knows that? Donna, why do you think he can’t stay away?” 

“Don’t worry, Jack. I’ll take care of him.”

“It’s what he’s counting on—that one of us comes gunning for him! It’ll allow him to justify what he wants to do to us.”

“No, I don’t mean ‘take care of him’ as in kill him. Although, yeah, under the right circumstance… Listen, Jack. What I’m trying to say is I’m making it legal. I’m divorcing him.”

Jack turns his head to stare at me. He’s no longer in profile and the shadows hide his features in pitch darkness, but I can imagine the grin on his face, the love in his eyes.

I’m not prepared for the disbelief in his voice. “You’re not serious, are you?”

“Yes, of course I am.” Why isn’t he doing cartwheels around the room? “I thought you’d be happy about this. I’ve already talked to a lawyer and explained the situation.”

“Wow. I would have liked to be a fly on the wall to hear that conversation.”

“Get real. Do you think I told him everything? I’m not stupid. I just told him what he needed to hear.”

“Tell me! I need a good laugh.” He stands up and heads to the far wall, where the shadows are the deepest. Now I can’t make him out at all.

“Nothing about Carl’s profession. Or mine, for that matter. Just that Carl deserted us five years ago, and I’m ready to move on.”

“What will you do when your lawyer finds out you’ve been living with your ‘husband’ for the past year?”

“He won’t. He’s a paper pusher. We’re filing in absentia. Abandonment will be the legal reason. All’s well that ends well.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Quit being so negative! Afterward, you and I can make it legal… If you want.”

Silence.

What the hell?

The room is so dark I can’t even see him. But I can smell fear.

I toss a pillow at him. The smack is accompanied his grunt. “What was that for?” he mutters.

“For your head. Go sleep in the bathtub.”

“There’s a dead body in there, remember?” Arnie can’t come and dispose of her until bright and early tomorrow morning, when he’s allowed back in to collect all the dead blooms he’ll be gathering throughout the estate’s sixty-six rooms. In hindsight, it’s the perfect way to cover up the smell of a rotting corpse. 

Jack can’t see my shrug. “Maybe she’s your type, now that we’ve established that I’m not.”

“You’re being silly. Of course you’re my type… I mean, at least you’re breathing.” 

“Hardee har har.”

I feel him flop down on the bed beside me. But when he tries to hold me, I push him away.

“Donna, don’t be angry with me. It just surprised me that you’d spoken to a lawyer before you talked to me.”

“Gee, I guess I wasn’t expecting you to freak out!”

“Lower your voice. I’m not freaking out. I’m… trying to process what it all means.”

“It means I’ll be free of him. It means we can be together.” I have to blow my nose or else I’ll choke on my tears, my snot and my shame. “It means we can quit pretending to be man and wife, because it’ll be true.”

“You realize this will make things worse between you and Carl, right?”

“He’s tried to kill me. Twice. How much worse can it get?” I shrug. “Jack, tell me the real reason you’re upset.”

“I… I just don’t know if the timing is right.”

Now it’s my turn to sit up in bed. “Oh? Just when will it ‘be right?’”

“Wrong choice of words. Forget I said that.”

I get up, taking the covers and my pillow with me to the chaise lounge by the window. “Tell you what. When you feel the time is ‘right,’ you let me know. Until then, we’re just two operatives on an assignment. When this is over, feel free to ask for a transfer. We’ll call it a ‘divorce.’”

His laugh is weak. If he’s hoping I’ll join in, he’s got another thing coming. Finally, he stops. “You don’t really mean that…do you?”

I want to say no. I want to tell him that I love him with all my heart, and that I’d die if he left me. I want to run to him and have him hold me in his arms, kiss me, and tell me that he’s sorry for being a stupid idiot; that I took him by surprise, but now that it’s sunk in that I’ll be free to be his, and that it’s his wish, too.

Instead, I say nothing.

I feel nothing. 

I might as well be the corpse in the other room.

I realize now it isn’t Carl who stands between Jack and me, because there never was a Jack and me. 

I turn and bury my head in my pillow at the thought that, once again, the man in my life has deserted me.

Chapter 11

When the Party's Over

Some guests refuse to leave, even when no one else is left at your soirée.

If you’ve got a reveler who can’t take your graciously subtle hints that it’s time to call it quits, don’t be shy about letting your feelings be known. Go ahead, pull out the heavy artillery.

Yes, I’m being serious: A tank, or a couple of missile launchers, pointed at his car, will do the trick of getting him out of your hair, your house, and your sightline—

If he runs quickly enough.

“I found him,” says the voice on the other end of my cell phone.

I’m too groggy to recognize it. What time is it? 

I open one eye and scan the room for a clock. The one over the fireplace says it’s a few minutes after eight o’clock. Jack has already slipped out.

Good. Who needs him, anyway?

Who am I kidding? 

“Hey, did you hear me?” The voice on my cell phone is getting louder, more impatient. “I said, I found your husband.”

I’m too tired for games. “Which one?”

“The one you’re trying to get rid of! Carl Stone.”

“Oh…yeah.” Now I recognize the voice. It’s Alan, my lawyer. “I saw him, too. Last night.”

“Jeez! Did you serve him yourself?”

“What? No.”

“Too bad.” Alan sounds depressed. “I left a copy of the summons, with your aunt, along with your signed papers. She didn’t give them to you?”

“No, I’m… I’m staying at a friend’s. He showed up over here.” The thought of serving Carl has me fully awake. “Alan, I won’t be able to serve him myself. You see, I’m at work. But if I give you Carl’s location and schedule, you can take care of it, right?”

 “Just tell me when and where, and I’ll get Bulldog over there.”

“Um… Bulldog?”

“My best process server. He’s got a one-hundred percent success rate.”

“Super! I’ll text it right over.”

“Booyah!” Obviously, Alan is psyched.

Okay, now I am too. “Booyah!” I shout back.

I need coffee. Or a lobotomy. 

No, what I need is a divorce.

I call down to the kitchen to order breakfast in bed. I deserve it, right? It’s been a hell of a week, and it’s just started. 

“Madame has a preference for her eggs?” the disembodied voice at the other end of the phone asks.

“Three of them: sunny side up, please. And French toast. And lots of bacon, crisp.”

“Madame has a healthy appetite.”

“Madame thinks you should mind your own business.” I slam down the phone receiver. It’s my pity party, and I’ll eat if I want to.

I open the bathroom door to discover I am indeed alone. Arnie has successfully removed the corpse of the assassin maid from the bathtub. He must have done it while I slept. I wonder if Jack let him in, or if he’d already taken off before Arnie got here.

I wonder where Jack is now. 

This thought has me aching for him. 

I should take a cold shower, but instead I run the water just this side of hot.

I’m about to jump in when I hear a ping on my cell phone. Emma has just texted me President Asimov’s itinerary, which she pulled off the shadow feed. In the two days prior to POTUS’s arrival, he will see and be seen all over Hilldale. And since Carl will have to tag along, Bulldog has several opportunities to slap him with the summons. 

Today’s photo ops include a ten o’clock meeting with the mayor, in which he will be given the key to the city. Then, at eleven o’clock, he’ll stop by the local middle school, where he’ll answer questions from Mary’s class, the eighth-graders, who have been studying world geography and international current events. 

After a lunch back at the Breck homestead, Asimov will meet with the press. 

Babette and I will join whatever summit attendees have arrived for a sumptuous dinner. Afterward, Breck and Asimov are having a private confab with a few of them, in his office. Jack isn’t invited, but by then we’ll have the bug in place, thank goodness.

The following afternoon, Asimov is treating the summit’s guests to a grand performance of the Kiev Ballet, which is in town for the week. Babette has arranged for the students in Janie’s ballet class to attend, as well as her new BFFs, the members of the Hilldale Women’s Club. Needless to say, Trisha and her friends are beside themselves. I imagine the same can be said about their mothers.

And finally, that evening, unbeknownst to Babette, Breck has arranged for a surprise birthday extravaganza for her. The theme is a circus, which will be set up somewhere on their estate.

Speaking of clowns, I text Emma a request to yank a straight-on picture of Carl off the security feed. A second later, I’ve received it. I pass it forward to Alan via text message, along with Carl’s whereabouts over the next couple of days. 

One way or another, I’ll be a free woman.

Maybe freer than I want to be. 

I’m just about to jump into the shower when there is a knock on the door. This time I’m smart enough to ask, “Who is it?” before opening it.

“Your breakfast, Madame.”

Yea! That was quick. I open the door—

Carl is holding my tray. “Rise and shine, sleepy head.”

“Sorry, not what I ordered.” I try to slam the door shut, but he’s already got his foot in there. I could stomp on it, but what’s the use? I’ve got to play nice. Ryan’s orders.

With his golf shirt over khaki slacks, he’ll certainly fit right in on Hilldale’s well-manicured and never-mean streets. The only giveaways that he’s not just another well-heeled suburban dad are those six-pack abs and his jacked biceps: a sight rarely seen in a town where desk-job paunch is more the norm.

I wrap my thin silk robe around me all the tighter with one hand, and point to the coffee table by the chaise with the other. “I didn’t know you were doubling as a butler. Just drop it there. I’m sort of in a hurry. Jack and I are about to take a shower—”

Carl frowns. But yes, he hears the water running. His face goes blank for just a moment. With a smirk, he sets down the tray and kicks off his shoes before sprawling out on the bed. “Great. Get him out here. I’ve got something important to say, and he needs to hear it, too.”

The nerve of him! I don’t know what irks me more: that he’s not wearing socks and has his stinky feet on my bed, or that he’s about to catch me in a lie. “Jack is—he’s indisposed. Just speak your mind, Carl, and then get out of here.”

He pats the bed. “What’s the rush? Sit down. Make yourself at home.”

“Didn’t you hear me? I said Jack and I are—” 

“Yeah. Something about jumping into the tub together. Sounds like fun. In fact, maybe I’ll join you.” 

He springs up and heads for the bathroom. 

I run toward the door, but I’m too late. He opens it and looks around. The glass shower door reveals I’m lying to him.