Authors: Leslie Langtry

Mint Cookie Murder (24 page)

BOOK: Mint Cookie Murder

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Calm down, Gin. Just use the patented answer.
"A motivational speaker on the East Coast. You?" Nice transition.

"I've worked for political clients mostly." He went on to name a number of senators, mayors of major cities, and the like. He seemed legit. I was just grateful none of the names had been on my list in previous years. "So I understand your area of interest." He pointed to the books. "I'm kind of an assassination nut myself."

I leaned back in my chair, appraising the situation. That was what we did, by the way—appraise situations. You didn't think we just barged in and gunned people down, did you? No, that'd be soooo Squeaky Fromme. I decided that Diego was definitely safe to talk to, and certainly a candidate for some killer sex.

"So what's your favorite assassination in history?" I asked. I never got to ask civilians this question. This could be fun.

Diego looked to his right, deep in thought. "I guess it would have to be Kennedy. All that conspiracy stuff is pretty interesting."

I smiled. I knew who had been on the grassy knoll that day. Assassination tales had been my bedtime stories.

"Too recent for me," I responded. "I like the questionable cases too, but further back. I prefer Philip of Macedon."

"Ah." His gravelly accent sent shivers down my spine. "Murdered at his daughter's wedding reception. I thought they knew who did that."

No one knew that. Well, except the thirty-five members of the Bombay family. It had been on a test we had to take when we turned ten. Let's just say that another guy took the fall for that particular assassination. Rule #1: If you can make it look like someone else did it, go for it.

"That's what some historians think."

"And you know the truth?" Diego-My-Love responded. I pictured myself licking every square inch of his body.

"Of course not," I said. "That's what makes it my favorite."

"I like you, Ginny Bombay." Diego leaned back in his seat. "You're not like other women."

You have no idea.
"Sure I am," I said. "Just like all the other female bodyguards you meet at Borders."

Diego shook his head. "No. You actually eat." He pointed to my dessert. "And I've never seen anyone salt their latte before."

My mind scrambled for purchase on slippery thoughts, "Oh, that. I do that to counter all the sweet stuff." Nice try. But the latte was terrible with salt in it. Really, don't try it. Assassin fun fact #1: Did you know you could kill someone with a simple overdose of table salt?

"I hate it when women eat only salads and fruit. It's not right," Darling Diego continued.

"Well, you know what Erma Bombeck said," I responded. "Never turn down dessert. Think of those poor women on the
Titanic
who waved away the dessert cart."

Diego laughed. It was amazing. I made him laugh. It was the most incredible feeling of euphoria, and I wondered how I could get him to do it again.

"Just one thing," he asked. "Who's Erma Bombeck?"

I rolled my eyes. "A woman writer. She was very funny."

"I don't care who she is," he said, "I'm just happy to see a woman who enjoys her cake."

I chose not to be offended by the remarks of the future Mr. Ginny Bombay. "Good. Now prove you're not a hypocrite and go get yourself one." I pointed to his salad and whole grain bagel with veggie cream cheese. "Cuz that is not food."

He leaned forward, eyes twinkling. "Only if you will wait for me." I think I nodded or something because he laughed and walked to the counter. I'm pretty sure it took all my faculties not to be naked when he returned.

And so for the next two hours, Diego and I had a great time. We talked about nothing really, and yet the conversation seemed so profound. At least, I think it was. It was all I could do not to hit him over the head and drag his unconscious body to the nearest hotel. Not that I'd ever done that.

Imagine my horror when I looked up at the clock (the only time I took my eyes off him, I might add) and saw I had only ten minutes to pick up Romi from school.

"Shit! I've gotta run!" I said gracefully, as I shoved my books back into the bag.

"Wait," Diego protested. "Here's my card. Call me and I'll take you to dinner."

"Deal!" I shouted behind me as I ran from the store. I slipped the card into my pocket, threw my things into the minivan, and raced to Kennedy Elementary.

Romi ran from the door of the building into my arms. She weighed next to nothing but always managed to knock me back a few steps. I didn't mind. In fact, her strength would be a benefit to her training.
Did I really just think that?

"Virginia!" A booming contralto filled the air. I watched as the other parents scattered as soon as they heard the woman's voice. Cowards.

Great. Vivian Marcy. I really hated that bitch. President of the PTA, member of the School Board, and for some reason, Romi's Room Mom. I had grown up with Vivian Marcy. We'd been in the same class in school, and she'd been an evil witch there too. For YEARS I'd prayed she would turn up on my hit list.

Unfortunately, Vivian still hadn't pissed off anyone enough to warrant a death contract. On several occasions, I thought of taking one out on her myself, but figured I'd get busted. Bombays aren't allowed to come up with the targets, unless it's family. Still, hope springs eternal.

I knew I wasn't the only one who hated her. Since childhood she had spread her withering gaze like a thick layer of rancid mayonnaise. (Hey! That kinda rhymes!) The bitch dominated everyone around her. I had stood up to her once, early in my elementary school years. She'd managed to spread the rumor that I had syphilis cooties. None of the other second graders had known what that was, but they were convinced they'd catch it if they talked to me. So I'd punched Vivian in the nose at recess. The next day, she came down with a raging case of chicken pox, or as my classmates insisted—syphilis cooties.

While I'd enjoyed the fact that kids had been afraid of me, let's just say I didn't get a lot of play dates. Fortunately, I'd had Dak and Liv.

My dream hit would be to give Vivian syphilis cooties. A real mean, permanently scarring kind that would give her eternal body odor and halitosis. Of course it doesn't exist, but I keep the candle of hope burning.

"Well," Vivian said as she closed in, "if it isn't Virginia. Just who I was looking for."

'SCUSE ME WHILE I KILL THIS GUY

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