The Housewife Assassin's Deadly Dossier (21 page)

He had to find some reason to convince Ryan that his scheme wouldn’t work.
 

He put his hand on Phyllis’ shoulder. “Perhaps you have some mementos that can help make the case that we have the right man.”
 

“I’ll tell you what, there’s a box in the garage—top shelf, marked ‘Shives.’ Big bold letters. When Donna came home from the hospital with her last little one, I stayed with her for a while. Donna tossed out a lot of stuff she just didn’t want anymore—family photos and old letters, that sort of thing. She said it made her sad. I’m holding onto it anyway, in case the little ones get curious about their mama’s folks. Heck, Carl had no family to speak of, so that makes me a living history lesson. Feel free to dig around in there. Just be sure to return it when you’re done making your case, okay?”

She waved him off to go back to her pruning.

He found the box, no problem, and put it beside him on the car’s passenger seat. He’d take it to Emma, back at the Venice apartment, which she used as her office, now that he was working from Hilldale. He could have her meet him, at Nola’s, but he guessed she’d feel just as uncomfortable as he did with Nola’s extracurricular activities.

Periodically, on the drive back to Hilldale, his eyes shifted toward the box. It bothered him that the items, which memorialized the average person, could be reduced to a sixteen-inch-by-twelve-inch-by-twelve-inch-square corrugated box.

For spies, it was even less. Nothing personal, no mementoes from their past, a mostly undocumented, unremembered life.
 

Perhaps the guns they left behind—that is, if they were not government-issued.

In most cases, even their IDs were false.

“Are you interested in Donna’s recipe book?” Emma asked.

Jack thought for a few moments, then shook his head. “I’m guessing there is nothing in it that can shed light on her character—unless she’s entering a county fair cooking contest.”

Emma nodded as she tossed the book to one side. “Hey, did you see this?” Emma held up a small pink leather book. Its pages were clasped in the middle with a band. “It’s Donna’s diary.”
 

He held up his hand. “Now, that’s what I’m talking about. Toss it over.”

“I don’t know if I should. It’s pretty old. The binding may give way.”

He walked over to retrieve it. It took just a second to pick the tiny lock, even without a key.

It was in Donna’s handwriting, alright. The first passage dated to her tenth birthday. The last was around the time she dated Carl.

Good, he thought. At least we’ll get some sort of idea if she had an inkling of how serious Carl’s job was. Maybe even some ideas of his actions, or moods.
 

He opened it and started reading.
 

The passages written when she was ten were all sunshine and lollipops.
 

By the time she was eleven, the tone of her musings were darker—she’d figured out her mother was sick, although neither Dave nor Mary Shives spoke of her mother’s illness to her.

She wasn’t too popular in school to begin with. Her anxiety made her less so. One pal stuck it out with her—an older girl, named CeeCee. She was popular, and took Donna under her wing, like a big sister.

At first, anyway. Somewhere along the line, the relationship went south. In the diary, Donna didn’t elaborate. But the heartache was there on the pages, both in prose and poetry.

Perhaps it had to do with the girl’s boyfriend, a boy named Bobby. Jack could read between the lines: although the boy was several years older than Donna, she had a deep, schoolgirl crush on him.

Whereas Donna knew it would go nowhere, CeeCee must have felt otherwise. The telltale signs were her taunts toward Bobby at Donna’s expense.

At that point, Donna wrote
, Why does CeeCee hate me so much? Does she suspect how I feel about him?

One passage in particular was particularly poignant: about a tender kiss she’d shared with Bobby.

And CeeCee’s reaction to it: heartless.
 

Cruel.

Jack did an Interpol data base search for CeeCee Connelly.

When he found her, he let out a low whistle.

“What gives?” Emma asked.

“I just found a couple of credible sources who may be able to give us some relatable insights on Donna. The husband is a top investor in the tech world, and the wife—”

Emma snorted. “What, Aunt Phyllis’ farfetched memories aren’t good enough for you?”

Jack held up a finger to shush her. He was already punching in the number he needed.
 

“Hi…yes, is this Bobby?...Oh,
Bob
. Yes, well, my name is Jack Craig. I’m with Acme Industries, and I’m calling in regard to a background check on a potential employee. You would have known her from her maiden name—Donna Shives. Your wife would have known her as well…Oh? Yes, of course it’s not necessary to speak to her, too. I can imagine you both have very busy schedules. Your insights will be sufficient…Yes, I understand you knew Miss Shives—Donna—over two decades ago. Still, as a government-sanctioned agency, you can imagine our background checks have to be very thorough…Yes, I see. So you’d describe her as ‘honest’…and a straight shooter…Ha! Yes, I know, no pun intended…an honest and heartfelt individual…the bravest person you’ve ever known? Wow, that’s very high praise, sir…I’ll be sure it all gets in the report. Yes, she’s doing well—three children, still living in California…Tell her what? That you ‘have always thought the best of her?’ Um…I’m sorry Bob, in my capacity I won’t be talking to Donna directly…Good, I’m glad you understand…Yes, thank you for your time and help. Good-bye.”
 

Jack clicked off the line and sat quietly.

“Something wrong?” Emma asked.

He snapped to attention. “No, I guess not. The way that guy described Donna, I could tell he…he cared for her. And he certainly didn’t want me talking to his wife. Sounds like there was some bad blood there.”

Her eyes narrowed. “That makes Donna ‘the one that got away.’ With first boyfriends, those flames never grow cold. It’s the essence of arrested development.”
 

“Is that so? Has your first boyfriend sought you out?”

She smiled. “They
all
seek me out. I’m unforgettable.”

Obviously, so is Donna, he thought. I can vouch for that.

Chapter 16
Passive Probe

A mission in which an operative passively observes and records details about a target, location, or organization is called a passive probe.

If a date offers to passively probe you, allow him to do so at your own risk. Fair warning: nine months later, you may find yourself with a new mission.

“I heard from Ryan this morning.” Nola didn’t look up as she buttered her toast. “Crack of dawn. Ugh. You’d think the man would know better. I’m a working girl, after all.”

Jack frowned. “Let me guess—he’s checking up on my progress.”

“That wasn’t exactly how he put it.” She put down her knife and met his eyes. “I would use the word ‘non-progress,’ if it existed. To be quite frank with you, his exact words were, ‘Why in the hell is he dragging his fucking feet?’ At that point I reminded him he was talking to a lady with delicate sensibilities—”

“Sweetheart, you curse like a sailor.”

“Only while in the throes of passion, darling.” She honored him with a sly smile. “So, how in the hell would you know?”

“The walls in this joint are paper thin,” he muttered.

“Next time I’m out and about, I’ll pick up a pair of earplugs for you.” She hesitated. “Seriously, Jack, what’s taking so long? Emma says she checks out fine on paper. Other than Hilldale’s Stepford Wives, you can’t find anyone who speaks ill of her—and only because she out-über-mommies them at every turn do they dislike her. To top it off, the woman runs mini-marathons for fun! And as much of a martyr as she is about the dearly-departed Carl, I’d say Donna Stone is ripe for the picking.”

“That’s the whole point.” He rose from the table, exasperated. “If she says yes to Ryan, her reason better be rock solid! If it’s revenge-driven, she may be more of a wild card than he would want. She’ll put others’ lives at risk, the way I put Carl’s on the line. And with three kids—his three kids, I might add—she’s got too much to lose.” Seeing the doubt on her face, he threw up his hands in disgust. “Why am I the only one who sees this?”

“Because you’re the only one in love with her.”

Jack nodded. It felt good to admit it.

“Look, I need you to do me a favor,” he muttered.

Curious, she tilted her head to one side. “Only if it’s fun.”

“I guess it could be, in the right light. Ask her to go out with you.”

She sighed. “Hey, I know there are a lot of rumors flying around about me, but seriously, I don’t swing that way—”

“No, not…! Hey, if anyone would know that, it’s me, okay? What I mean is a girl’s night out. Just the two of you. I’m sure her aunt would be happy to babysit. Tell her—I don’t know, tell her you need a shoulder to cry on, then take her to a nice, quiet bar. Get a few drinks in her, to loosen her tongue. If you let your hair down, she might, too.”

“What’s the point, Jack?”

“I want to hear from her, how she feels—about him. I’m tired of trying to figure it out with second-hand intel. I want to…I want to hear it from her.”
 

“In other words, you’ll mike me.”

“Yes. In fact, I’ll take a seat where I can see her.” And not just because he missed her, or that this would be a chance to see her, up close and personal.

He wanted to be there to see her face when she opened up.

Nola nodded. “Sure, okay, I’ll try it. But don’t get your hopes up. In all likelihood, she’ll say no.”

“It doesn’t hurt to ask.”

Nola tossed on a jacket over her negligee and started out the front door.

Jack sighed. “Whoa, hey—aren’t you forgetting something?”

“Oh! You’re right!” Nola turned around and ran upstairs.

A moment later when she came down, she had on stilettoes.

She’s hopeless, he thought, as she headed out the door.

“Donna said yes, she wouldn’t mind going out ‘with a friend,’ was how she put it,” Nola added.