The Housewife Assassin's Guide to Gracious Killing (21 page)

“I couldn't care less about Carl! My question was about you. Really, us. I guess what you’re telling me is that you haven’t… that you haven’t…”

“Exactly. I haven’t. I pay the ladies what they’re owed, then listen to them bitch about their boyfriends. From what I gather, it’s hard out there for a ’ho.” He rewards me with a naughty leer. “That said, if you want to walk around the house in a G-string, pasties, and high heels, I’m all for it, although, I don’t know how the kids would take to it. There’s an ‘ew yuck’ factor when it’s your mom who’s parading around like a—” 

“I would never walk around the house like that! Our bedroom… maybe. If you wanted me to.” 

To prove that he does, slowly, gently, and with practiced hands, he strips me of everything.

Except for my heels.

His gaze takes me in, top to toe. Admiration, lust, anticipation, it’s all there.

As he pulls me down onto him, I murmur in his ear, “Maybe we can buy the house next door, and give it to the kids as a gift. Then I could walk around naked all day… and so could you.” 

“I’ll call the bank on Monday, to arrange for a loan.”

“Ha! As if we’d qualify!”

Even as I say it, I wish I’d bitten my tongue instead. Man, talk about a cock-blocking mood killer!

But not for long.

And yes, the heels have a lot to do with that.

Chapter 17

Cocktails before Dinner

Yes, cocktails before your evening meal are a must! Not only does appointing one of your guests as a bartender make for useful busywork while you put the finishing touches on your meal, it loosens tongues for vibrant conversation around the table.

A word of caution: resist the urge to serve sweet, frothy or frozen drinks, which may ruin the appetite. Stick to martinis—preferably dirty, most certainly gin—which allows for a complimentary flavor to your appetizers, and ensures a healthy appetite.

Here’s a great little tip: If a guest gets sloppy and crass, the taste of a knock-out drug such as Rohypnol won’t be noticed if the right olives (Spanish Queen green, pitted and stuffed with nothing; I repeat, nothing) are part of the drink. Cheers!

I get to the Sand Dollar a few minutes early. I’ve already reserved what used to be our favorite table: out on the deck, next to the rail, where the waves from the Pacific crash up against the rocks below. 

I also make sure we’ll be served by my favorite waitress, Anna. She is fast, discreet, and knows what Jack and I like to order. No doubt she’ll raise a brow at seeing me with Carl, since he was before her time. She need not worry. Her excellent service will be duly rewarded. 

And one way or another, tonight Carl will be served with his summons.

I’ll be left with the tab, but it will be worth it.

I’m already seated. The martini in front of me is gin, dirty, and shaken.

My hands are shaking, too. I blame it on Carl, who has suddenly appeared on the deck. The first place his eyes go are to this table. 

Ah! So he hasn’t forgotten it, or us as we were so long ago. 

He can’t hide the look of longing he has for me. As for me, I have to blink back my tears for our loss. My smile is hardened by the resolve that it is time to move on. I’ve worn a soft cashmere boatneck sweater, better to show off the heart-shaped pendant necklace he gave me so long ago. I’m hoping he remembers it, and that it softens his resistance to my request that we go our separate ways. 

But then it is wiped completely off my face when he takes my outstretched welcoming hand to pull me out of my chair and into his arms.

Is it the heart, the soul, or the mind that remembers the feel of every kiss? Perhaps all three play a role in my memory. I can just imagine the heart pumping out the desire that makes me ache for it, while the mind reminds me of all the reasons why it is so wrong to want to feel his lips on mine again. 

But it is the soul that is scarred with the footprints of our mutual journey. It starts with a cautious dance of shared attraction. Then the race to passion. The waltz of true love and commitment. The sure and steady walk down the aisle of matrimony, where we promised to love and cherish, until death do us part.

Until Carl’s death.

For five and a half years beyond that hideous, glorious day when he was presumed dead and Trisha came into the world, I believed he’d been an honorable man.

Stunned by his miraculous return to life, I believed every word of his supposed mission to save the world.

Until I found my dead neighbor in her freezer, where Carl left her to die.

When, finally, he admitted the truth–that he’d resurfaced in order set off a nanobomb at the same nationally televised Little League event where the Democrat’s nominated candidate for president was tossing out the first ball, and oh, by the way where our son was to pitch—the blinders came off fast.

My soul now knows our paths need not cross any longer.

This is why I am divorcing him.

Later, if push comes to shove, I’ll kill him, too.

As for this bittersweet kiss, let him think what he will. I get to ruin his appetite later: both for me, and for the bloody steak he’ll order. 

Call it just desserts.

“Thanks for inviting me,” he says, as he pulls back from the kiss. “Ah! You're wearing the necklace I gave you.”

“In memory of all the good times.” Does he hear the regret in my voice? I can’t help it. The truth may hurt, but it sets us free. “Shall we order?”

I’ve kept the conversation light through our shared appetizer of oysters on the half shell, and our main courses of surf (mine) and turf (his). We’ve also moved from martinis to white wine. This way, I’ve got a fifty-fifty chance he’ll be too drunk to shoot me, should he decide the easiest way to get the kids is to knock me off first.

Don’t think I haven’t thought of doing the same to him.

To keep things civil, I’ve been dropping tidbits I know he truly hungers for: any news about our children. “Trisha loves ballet. I’m so glad Babette was able to secure the tickets to Swan Lake.”

“In truth, you should thank Asimov for that,” he says with a shrug. “It pays to have friends in very high places.”

Asimov, a friend? Try an enemy—of the state. I know this hasn’t been proven yet, but there’s still time, so I let that slide. For now, anyway. “Jeff has turned out to be a serious athlete. But he’s frustrated that every other guy on his basketball team is taller. I keep reminding him that there’s a good reason his coach chose him to be the team’s center. He’s the highest scorer on the team.”

 “That kid! He’s amazing.” Carl’s smile is wistful. “Is there a fall baseball league here?” 

I nod. “Yep. And he plays in it, too.”

“Is he strengthening his pitching arm?” Carl lettered on his high school baseball team and got a college athletic scholarship because he was such a great pitcher.

“Fabulous. He’s always first on the mound.” I hesitate, then add as nonchalantly as possible, “Jack has worked with him on his two-seam fastball, and his curve ball. He’s better with the former than the latter.”

Carl shrugs. “Well, Jack can step aside, now that I’m back in town. Oh, and he can move out of my house, too.”

I drop my fork gently on my plate. Has he noticed my knife has disappeared from the table? I hope not, because I may have a better use for it than cutting my scampi. Right now, it’s hiding in the right sleeve of my cashmere dress. In the meantime, I have to bide my time. “Have you noticed how tall Mary has gotten since—?” 

How do I put this delicately? I can’t just come out and say since that time you tried to blow all of Los Angeles, including your family, off the map. 

I finish the sentence with a smile. “I mean, since the last time you saw her?”

“Yes, she’s grown into quite a beautiful young lady. Not to mention how outspoken she is.” Even as he smiles, his eyes narrow. “I’m guessing she gets that from my side of the family. We all know her demure sensibility comes from you.”

I click my wine glass with his. Good of him to play nice. 

“Is Mary dating anyone?”

I chuckle at this absurdity. “Oh, no! She’s too young to date. She’s not even thirteen yet!”

“Ha! Thought so. She’s got the wool pulled firmly over your eyes.” 

He pulls out his smart phone and hits a few digits. What comes up is an audio file notated as Mary’s Boyfriend Stepping out of Line. 

“What the hell, Carl? You mean to tell me you’ve been monitoring our daughter’s phone? That’s an invasion of her privacy!” 

“Okay, then, I’ll delete it.”

He reaches to press a button, but I stop his hand. “Well, since it’s already done.”

I’d like to smack that satisfied smile off his face. Instead, I sit motionless while he presses another button on his cell phone. The next voice I hear is that of Trevor, Mary’s latest crush: “So, like, while your mom and dad are at this big party, can me and some of the guys come over and play Spin the Bottle with you and Babs and Wendy? I swear, nothing below second base.” 

What the hell?

I scramble for my purse and my sweater. “Put the rest of my meal in a doggy bag, and take it back to Breck’s joint! I’ve got to get home, like, yesterday—”

“Whoa, whoa! Calm down.” He pats my hand gently. “It’s all taken care of.”

“What do you mean by that? Oh my God! Carl, tell me you didn’t eliminate him?”

“No, of course not. I just thought I’d teach him a lesson. Or two.” He leans back. “Let me put it this way. The kid won’t be kissing our daughter anytime soon, but he can still use his teeth to eat.”

I rise to leave, but he grabs my wrist. “Donna, I’m joking. I texted his mom a copy of the audio file—anonymously, of course. Because she’s another Hilldale helicopter mom who’s afraid of what others will think of him, I’m sure she was mortified. He’ll be in lockdown for at least a month. Heck, for all I know, after what she just heard she may keep him on a tight leash until he’s twenty.” He pours more wine in my glass. “You can thank me later. I know how.”

“Ain’t gonna happen, Carl.” I gulp down my wine in one long swallow. “Look, I know you’ve had your fun with the process servers, but it’s time to face facts: I no longer want to be married to you. Forget that you deserted me five years ago. Forget your ‘occupation—’”

“You mean our occupation, don’t you?”

“Yes. Guilty as charged.” I fling my napkin onto my plate. “We may do the same job, but here’s the difference between you and me. First, I work my career around my kids, not the other way around. And second—and this is a very big point, Carl, so listen up—I’m one of the good guys. I’m not scheming with despots and dictators to take over legitimate governments. I’m not selling WMDs on the black market. And I’m certainly not blackmailing heads of state with the threat of nuclear war.”

“Everyone is a bad guy, Donna. Every politician, every head of state, every corporate baron, and every righteous jerk who wants to cram his cause down the rest of our throats. Frankly, I enjoy tweaking their noses and taking their lunch money.” To my shock, he has the audacity to lean in and tweak my nose. “Speaking of self-righteous know-it-alls, enlighten me. When you snuff out a target, does an angel get its wings? I don’t think so. And yet, you don’t hesitate to sneer at your neighbors.”

At that remark, a few heads turn our way. “Keep your voice down!” I hiss at him.

He ignores me. “Like I was saying, you sneer at your neighbors because they stab each other in the back. Well, at least they don’t use real knives.” 

He jerks my arm straight down. The knife drops out of my sleeve and clatters when it hits the floor.

Once again, the other patrons look up from their dinners and frown at us.

I smile and wave. Show’s over. “That’s it, Carl. I’m out of here.” I tap Anna on her arm as she passes. “Can you bring our check, please?”

She nods, and walks off.

“What’s your end game with Breck, Carl? Don’t leave me in suspense. I know you’re dying to tell me.”

“If I do, I’ll have to kill you.”

I’m laughing so hard now that others are staring. “Since when do you need an excuse?”

“You’re right. I don’t. Because when the time comes, there will be no way you can stop me.” The smug bastard takes a sip of his wine. “As for Breck, I love new experiences. Lucky me, I just happened to be the right guy in the right place, at the right time. I’ve impressed him with my security skills.”