The Housewife Assassin's Deadly Dossier (18 page)

Seeing what she pulled up on Carl, he was almost afraid to ask, but he had to: “What kind of OSINT have you found on Donna?”

“Apparently, she’s not much for socializing—online, anyway. Ryan should appreciate that. I haven’t found any accounts for her on Twitter, Pinterest, Instagram, or Facebook. I’ll keep monitoring her internet activity for any social media log-ins.” She swiped the screen again. Mary’s face appeared. She was older now. “On the other hand, her eight-year-old, Mary, has a Facebook account.”
 
From what I can tell, Mom hasn’t caught onto this fact yet. As for email, the Internet browser used by the family Stone isn’t the most secure one out there.” She rolled her eyes.

Wow, thought Jack, Mary is her mother in miniature—Donna 2.0! He wondered what Trisha looked like, now that she was no longer an infant.
 

Well, he’d soon find out.
 

Jack forced a smile onto his face. “All the same, let’s see if the former Donna…what’s her maiden name again?” He picked up Carl’s personal information file. “Here it is—Donna Shives. Let’s see if any other anomalies pop up in your research that might burst Ryan’s bubble about her.”

“You know, he wasn’t always a fan.” She slid a single sheet of paper his way. It was an Acme memorandum:

To: Carl Stone

Fr: Ryan Clancy

Re: Recent Change in Your Personal Status

It has come to my attention that you’ve recently married. First and foremost, let me congratulate you on your nuptials. At the same time, I presume you are well aware that Acme protocol mandates that the company be informed of any change in personal status—especially an issue as important as an engagement, let alone a marriage. Such information, provided in a timely fashion, helps alleviate any uncomfortable situations that may arise in light of the background check that will take place, according to Clause 14(a)(5) of your employment contract.

Again, my best wishes to you and your new bride.

--Ryan

“Talk about cold.” Jack frowned. “I guess Ryan wasn’t a happy camper when he found out Carl dodged company protocol.”

“Why would Carl do that?” Emma asked.

“Great question. I presume the former Miss Shives holds the answer.”

She paused. “Have you met her?”

“Nope. And by the way things look, I never will, either. And neither will you. Ryan has given strict instructions that she’s never to know about this investigation. He’ll tell her after she agrees to join Acme.”

Emma nodded. “I don’t blame him for wanting it that way. It’ll be easier for her to say yes if the vetting has already taken place. In the time since Carl’s death, Ryan has gotten to know her pretty well, hasn’t he?”

“I guess.” Jack tipped his beer can at her. “Still, that doesn’t mean she’ll be his Femme Nikita.”
 

Emma clinked his can with hers. “Something tells me if push comes to shove, she’ll be able to take care of herself.”
 

He shrugged. “Look, I’ll bet you a pizza we’ll dig up something that takes her out of the running.”
 

Based on everything he’d already learned about Donna—including the stuff he left out of his final report on her husband’s death—he knew it was wishful thinking on his part.

Here’s hoping she won’t sacrifice the life she has in order to avenge Carl’s death, he thought.
 

“I’ll take that bet, in a heartbeat. In fact”—Emma rummaged around the desk until she found a specific file, and handed it to him. “I’ve dug up a couple of very interesting items already. One is her second grade teacher’s assessment. Another may or may not have anything to do with Donna. The person of interest is never positively identified, but considering the dates and locations, not to mention what we just saw on the video taken from the shooting range, I’m pretty sure it’s her.”

He looked down at the file, curious as to what it held.

“If we’re ordering the pizza now, you’ll have to front me the cash.” Emma smiled. “I’m living on an intern’s salary, remember?”

He sighed as he handed her a twenty.
 

As an afterthought, he added, “Anything but anchovies!” At the same time, she asked, “How do you feel about anchovies?”
 

In unison they countered, “Okay, half and half.”

The harder decision—and one he’d have to make himself, was what to do if Donna turned out to be right for the job.

He’d do anything to protect her.

He’d even lie about her to Ryan.

He hoped it wouldn’t come down to that.

From the look of the file Emma had handed him, he had a long night ahead.

[From the student record archives of the Pasadena Country Day School, Mrs. Lawson’s Second Grade Class Parent Correspondence Copy file:]

Dear Mrs. Shives,

A note of thanks for the basket of tasty blueberry muffins, delivered to me this morning by our sweet little student, Donna. I shared them with the other teachers and Principal Conklin, all of whom were very appreciative!

The note in the basket mentioned your apprehension that Donna isn’t endearing herself to the other second grade students, especially the other girls.
 

Sadly, there may be some credence to your concerns.
 

If you remember, the decision to allow Donna to skip a grade was one taken with great caution on both your part and that of the school’s. Her scores in both the Stanford-Benet and Wechsler Intelligence Scale tests were so impressive that holding her back would have been a grave discourtesy to her.
 

And while she lacks the social maturity that comes when a child’s beginning grade in school is the first as opposed to the second grade, Donna is certainly an “old soul.” Personally, I dislike this overused term. But in this case, I feel it is apropos.
 

Donna is indeed wise beyond her years.

She may not be as old as the others in the class, but she certainly takes on the role of “big sister” with some of the meeker children in the class. Unfortunately, her naturally sweet demeanor and strident sense of right and wrong have put her at odds with some of the more dominant children in the class.

Cases in point: One of our volunteer playground mommies was privy to an interaction between your daughter and some of the other second-grade girls, who don’t have her inclusive sensibilities. During one of the girls’ less thoughtful acts towards a shy little boy, this mommy likened Donna’s somewhat colorful chastisement of the clique to that of a “sailor on a drunken binge.”
 

In a second incident later that week, after this particular second-grade girls’ clique had cordoned off a section of the playground as their private domain, one of our student teachers watched as Donna coerced them into the janitorial shed and threatened to leave them in there to starve unless they allowed some of the other girls to play with them.
 

Rest assured, the girls were released from captivity by the end of the play period.

The complexity of the trap she set was certainly impressive (according to the report she dressed it up as a “Disney castle”), and would make any Cubbette scoutmaster proud. (I understand you head up the neighborhood troop for that age group). And frankly, I was more concerned when I heard the girls were drawing straws to determine which of them was to be eaten first, should it come to that.

Still, in light of these incidents, I think it’s fair to say that Donna’s skills at conflict resolution are certainly in need of fine-tuning.

That being said, I hope you can work with me in encouraging her to curtail her candid remarks and more strident actions during times of confrontation.
 

Yours truly,

Mrs. Lunsford

Lead Teacher – Second Grade

From the Los Angeles Police Department’s video transcript of the confession of Boyd Rutherford McGinnis, a.k.a. the Lover’s Lane Executioner:

McGinnis:

…and then I made him eat the barrel of my Beretta. His brains spattered all over the girl. That’s okay. I made his last few minutes on Earth pretty darn memorable, what with the way I rode that little lass—right there in front of him. “At least one of us got to break her cherry,” is what I told him. Turns out she really wasn’t a virgin, but he didn’t need to know that.

Detective Concha:

That would be the Dempsey girl, right?
 

McGinnis:

Yep. Little Debbie Snack Cakes is what I called her.
Whooeee!
How she loved them things! Was a two-fisted eater, too! Disgusting, like she was raised in a barn. Pretty damn funny considering where I buried her. She had enough meat on her bones that I kept her around for—let’s see now, six months? Maybe seven. She was a beggar, that one. That’s exactly what you want in a pet, isn’t it? She would do anything to stay alive, if you catch my drift? Well, at least it kept me off the streets for a while. You boys must have felt like you were on vacation.

Detective Concha:

Not exactly. Scum like you always resurfaces, somewhere, somehow. You know what they say, ‘Shit floats to the top.’ So, what you’ve just said would account for the gap between November and May of that year. But it wasn’t the longest time between killings. Of course, what we didn’t know at the time was you had been permanently retired. In fact, it’s been over thirteen, maybe fourteen years…Boyd? Jeez, guy! You look like you’ve seen a ghost.

McGinnis:

I…Yeah, okay, actually there was an incident that made me reconsider my ‘legacy,’ if you will. Now that the doctors say I’m a goner anyhow, I guess if the world is going to know about everything—which, from what you’ve recorded already, you can see how you boys were pretty sloppy, picking up the pieces and all—

Detective Concha:

Trust me, Boyd. I only wish we’d caught you in the act. We would have put you out of your misery, and some of those poor kids would still be around today. So what happened? Did you get hit on that psychopathic head of yours and finally come to your senses? Or did the heavens open up and an angel descended, giving you salvation?

McGinnis:

Hell, no, wasn’t any angel! It was…it was…a
she-devil
! [Sobbing]…

Detective Concha:

Geez, Boyd, get a hold of yourself! Here, take a swig of your Coke.

[Silence...Gulping. A loud burp.]

McGinnis:

You’re right. The last killings were the Jamison boy and that big-titted girlfriend of his—the one with the red panties. Of course, you wouldn’t know what color they were, since I took them with me—as a souvenir. That one was a wildcat! Fought the whole time I was up inside of her. I saw right off that she would have made a lousy pet. Nothing else I could do but put a bullet in her head afterward. But then, I was so pissed at myself for losing the chance to take someone home with me that I broke my own rule—you know, at least six weeks between hunts—that I went out the very next week. It happened up in Laurel Canyon, on a dead-end street where a builder had a couple of spec houses with a great view of the whole city. But he must have gone bust or something, because the houses were never completed. The high school kids used to go up there and feel each other up. I thought it might be a great place to pick off a few, but…well, things didn’t go as I’d planned.

Detective Concha:

What do you mean?

McGinnis:

Usually I’d wait until they were down to their underwear, but this girl wasn’t having any of the boy’s shenanigans. She’d just slap his hands away, like some sort of prude. Hell, I don’t think he got as far as second base. Fine by me. If she were a virgin, I’d rather break her in myself. Besides, them kind of girls make the best pets. So I smacked the gun against the window. That scared the Bejesus out of them—well, the boy anyway. He was wetting himself even before he got out of the car. But not her. She just sat there, staring at me, as bold as you please. I yelled at her to come out, but she shrugged. So I slapped the cuffs on him, and then I took the gun and stuck it in his mouth, just to show her that I meant business. That usually had the girls begging and pleading. They’d rather give it up than watch the poor boys’ brains get spattered all over the place.