The Housewife Assassin's Guide to Gracious Killing (16 page)

“If that’s the case, I can honestly say I can’t blame her.” He lowers his voice, so that the girls can’t hear him. “Janie’s au pair, Antoinette, quit this morning without any notice. She’d been complaining to Babette about Breck’s ‘inappropriate attentions’ toward her. That’s not all. Every time Breck comes near Janie, she gets angry and clams up. The night before last, after he came into the room and berated her mother in front of her, the little girl wet her bed. She made Antoinette change the sheets quickly, and had her promise not to tell Trisha. She doesn’t want to lose your daughter’s friendship.”

“Poor baby! Abu, do you think he’s abusing her?”

“I… I can’t say. But I do know he gets touchy-feely around her. And he had no qualms in groping the au pair in front of her. But when Janie told her mother and it was confirmed by Antoinette, Babette accused Antoinette of flirting with Jonah.”

“Talk about denial!”

“You can say that again. For Antoinette, it was the final straw on the camel’s back. As much as she loves Janie, she’d already heard rumors from the other servants about Breck’s slap-and-tickle routine with Janie’s previous au pairs. Oddly, though, she left a couple of things behind.” 

He walks over to Janie’s bedside table, and opens a drawer. “See this crewel work? It’s a scarf she was making for her mother’s birthday. And she didn’t take her library book. There will be a fee on it in another week. Also, she left behind her favorite sweater.”

“Did you mention this to Babette?”

“No. But I did tell Edwina.”

Since Asimov came to town, Edwina has been laying low, coordinating all the behind-the-scenes activities to make sure the summit runs smoothly. 

“I guess the resignation of a babysitter isn’t high on her list right now.”

“On the contrary, she seemed quite concerned. Angry, in fact.”

“Well, it does make more work for her.”

“Oh, she wasn’t angry at Antoinette. She’s fed up with Breck. I’m sure she’s been through this drill before, and she’s tired of it. My guess is that she’ll be the next to quit.”

“He’d be lost without her. From what I can see, they have some sort of dysfunctional symbiotic relationship.”

“You’re telling me. I think she knows where the bodies are buried—literally.”

That stops me short. “What do you mean by that?”

“She asked me into her office to pick up a print-out of the annual chart from Eddie’s dog astrologer—hey, don’t laugh! Trust me, you don’t want to know what’s in store for this poor mutt. Anyway, right as I walked in, Breck called her into his office and reamed her out. Something about a new transport company she’d hired losing a shipment from Moscow on the way to some private island. ‘It wasn’t perishable, was it?’ she asked him, almost as a joke. He slapped her for it, said she knew it was, and that he’d dock her pay if it wasn’t found. She didn’t cry out, but she had his handprint on her face when she came back out.”

Abu is right. Why would Edwina put up with such a vicious prick?

I kiss Trisha good night and walk out the door.

Lucky me, I’m walking past Breck’s office just as his meeting with Asimov is breaking up. Three of the attendees—the North Korean defense minister, some Arab sheik who had seemed jealous of the attention Babette paid Jack at dinner, and Idi Amin Junior—give me knowing leers as they pass me in the hall. From what I can see, the only other person left in the office with Breck is Asimov and his ever-present shadow, Carl.

Just at that moment, the nervous young butler I remember from dinner scurries out of another hallway, and slams into me. The vodka bottle on his tray tilts precariously. I grab it before it falls, while he steadies the accompanying two tumbler glasses. 

“Oh! Excuse me,” he mumbles. “They… they called down, said to get this up here, while it’s still chilled.”

He shrugs helplessly and skedaddles, beating me to the reception alcove leading into Breck’s office. Edwina, who must have been sitting at her desk in the corner, has risen to stop him. He freezes, as if he’s seen a ghost. 

“You can’t enter until I inspect that,” she admonishes him.

He looks frantic. “But… the kitchen said I’m to deliver it immediately—”

Her smile is calm, her tone soothing. “This will only take a moment.”

She takes the vodka in hand and confirms the seal has not been broken. She then lifts the first glass to the light, and follows suit with the second.

“Smudges,” she notes with a disapproving sigh. She takes a cloth from a drawer and wipes them thoroughly. The second time she holds them up to the light, she smiles.

“Perfect!” she proclaims as she hands them back to him.

He nods, picks up the tray again, and heads into Breck’s office.

At that moment, Edwina looks up and sees me. Concern flashes in her eyes. Is it for me? Perhaps. She’s fully aware of Breck’s agenda for me.

Before I can raise a finger to my lips to quiet her, she calls out, “Sir, your midnight appointment is here.”

I’m the lamb being led to the slaughter.

Asimov smirks at my appearance in the doorway. Carl’s only acknowledgement is a blink of his eyes. When Breck walks around the desk and puts his hand low on my back—much too low—Carl gets it.

Only I take notice of the way in which he flexes his fists.

For once, I appreciate his jealousy. Or is it concern? I’m kidding myself. I know better.

“Ah! Just in time to join us for a good night cocktail! We’re having a stellar vodka. It’s a gift from President Asimov’s special reserve.”

He points to the bottle, which the butler is about to set down on the desk.

Apparently, being the center of attention is the last thing the butler wants. His hand shakes as he drops the tray onto the desk, causing the bottle to fall toward the floor.

Carl catches it, just before it hits the ground.

He looks up at the butler, whose face is drained of any blood. 

Carl rises slowly with the bottle. He hands it to the butler. “Open it,” he says.

The butler’s eyes get large. Mutely, he nods and twists off the top.

Carl nods. “Now, pour some into a glass.”

The butler’s hands shake so hard that half of what he pours ends up onto the tray.

Carl picks up the glass, then holds it up to the light. Through a satisfied smile, he murmurs, “Thank you.”

The butler heaves with relief. 

He has almost reached the door when Carl says, “Now, drink it.”

The butler stops cold. “I—I beg your pardon, sir?”

“I said drink it.” He walks over to the man, glass in hand. “Here you go. Down the hatch.”

For just a moment, the butler stares at it. There is no fear in his eyes, no resignation. Just surprise. He takes the glass, but pauses before sipping the clear spirits. After coughing down the last of it, he looks up with a shaky smile.

Then, choking, he clutches his chest and falls to the floor.

“What the hell!” Breck shouts.

Edwina comes running into the room. At the sight of the butler gasping his last breath, she screams and drops to her knees, sobbing. 

Asimov, shocked, mutters something in Russian, which I am sure is some expletive. Then he turns to Carl. There’s an angry exchange between the two men in the president’s native tongue. Whatever Carl says to him seems to be calming him down. Carl calls into his headset, and within a moment, four more of Asimov’s security detail are in the room. Two of them examine the body before carrying it away, while the others hover over Asimov.

“The vodka was poisoned.” Carl may be stating the obvious, but his superiors still stare at him in disbelief.

When Breck finally speaks, his voice is actually trembling. “But… how? The bottle was sealed.”

Carl shrugs. “I’m guessing the seal was broken, then resealed.”

Breck shakes his head, still in awe that he skirted death. 

I find it hard to believe the trembling butler was the Russian dissident we’ve been looking for. The telltale sign will be fingerprints, if they are on file anywhere.

In any event, I’m relieved Breck now has something to occupy his time. Slowly I back out of the room.

“Wait, madam,” Carl commands me.

I laugh. “You’re not serious, are you? You think I have something to do with this?” 

“You were in the hallway with the butler prior to his entering the room. How do we know you didn’t slip him the tainted bottle?”

“That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard!” I look from him, to Breck and back again. It doesn’t help that now Breck is looking at me as if I’ve grown horns.

Well, screw him.

I mean, he can dream on, if he thinks I’m going to screw him!

Not that he’d want to, now that he thinks I almost killed him. Ha! If I wanted to kill him, it wouldn’t be in front of witnesses. I’m too smart for that. 

But, yeah, it would be as painful as a poison.

I’m still contemplating all the ways in which I could make him squeal like a piggy when it dawns on me.

Carl is really trying to pass me off as an accomplice to the killer. 

Why, the nerve of that guy! If he thinks this is the way to stop me from divorcing him, he’s got another thing coming.

I’m not afraid of staring him down. “Oh yeah? In this get-up, where would I hide the bottle?” My dress is too tight. They can all see that. At least, now they’re looking above my neck, too. “Besides, if you check the security feed, you’ll see I wasn’t carrying anything.”

Carl walks over to the computer on Breck’s desk to do just that. He replays a few minutes of the video, freezing it when he gets to the moment the butler bumps into me. “Right there, you had a few moments in which to put a syringe through the seal.”

“I told you, I’m not carrying a syringe. But if you care to search me…” I lift my arms. And yes, there is a smirk on my lips.

Carl frowns at my attempt at humor, then turns to Breck. “I’m sure your guest would like to clear up any questions which may arise about her proximity to this attempted assassination. I’ll escort her to her room, where I can interview her more thoroughly.”

Breck nods distractedly. I guess even he’s not kinky enough to bed someone who could kill him.

If only I’d known this earlier, I could have shown him some of my handiwork. Wolverine, for example. Oh well, live and learn.

“So, you’re going to ‘interview me more thoroughly?’” Carl and I are almost at my bedroom door when finally I break the silence between us. “That has got to be one of the worst pick-up lines I’ve ever heard.”

“Hey, you should be thanking me. Anyone else on Asimov’s security team would be grilling you under a hot light, then renditioning you to Siberia for another little chitchat. And besides, it got you off Breck’s radar for a while,” he mutters. “By the way, it’s not half as funny as your silly attempt to divorce me.”

“It’s not silly. I’m serious. It’s time we part ways. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we’re not good together.”

“Sorry, babe. I’m in it for the long haul. Till death do us part, remember? Besides, you’ll have to catch me first.”

“I did catch you! That is, I sic’ed Bulldog on you, and he served you.”

“Oh, contraire, mon ami. From what I remember, I never touched the summons.”

“Liar! I saw you, with my own eyes! And besides, that’s the whole point in having him do it for me. He’s a legal witness.”

“Not any more, he isn’t.”’

“You didn’t… Oh, my God, Carl! Did you exterminate him?”

“Nah. He’s still breathing… I hope.” He pauses in thought. “How long can someone stay in the trunk of a car?”

“Depends. Did you drive him out to the desert and leave him there?”

“No. I had a couple of the boys leave him in East South Central. I figured someone would jack the car eventually, hear him screaming and let him out. Not that it’s much of a car. The dude drives a Pinto. Who does that these days, anyway?”

We’ve reached my door. But no way will I unlock it and let Carl in. I make this clear by leaning against the knob.

He ignores the obvious and leans in over me, anyway. “Donna, I want you to know I was proud of Mary today. She gave it to that asshole, Asimov, right between the eyes. You’ve done a great job with her. With all three of them.”