The Housewife Assassin's Handbook (13 page)

“But—I can’t do work here tonight! I’ve got to stay home with Jeff and Trisha—”

“Just ask your foreign exchange student to sit for them. She’s got nothing better to do, right?”

Oh, no, nothing at all, just saving Los Angeles from being blown off the face of the planet sometime in the next three weeks. And instead of slinging Tater-Tots, I could be checking out the weirdos who live next door to Hayley.

“By the way, Hayley, you’re on kitchen duty, too,” adds Penelope with a vicious smile.

“What? Why me? Why not Tiffy?” Her voice tells us she’s frowning, but we certainly can’t see it. Those weekly Botox injections have paid off in that ghastly smile and glass-smooth forehead.

“Because I need Tiffy at registration, and then out on the floor, making sure all the girls are having a great time.”

“Oh yeah? Then what will you be doing?” I presumed the question sounded innocent, but from the stares I’m getting from Penelope and her entourage, I guess I’ve overstepped some boundary.

“Oh, don’t you worry. I’ll be taking care of the men.”

I’ll just bet you will.

I’m so angry about getting roped into kitchen duty that I poke my thumb with a pipe cleaner. Blood spurts out. Quickly I grab one of the tissues and wrap it tightly around the cut.

Hayley snatches it away. “Oh my goodness, Donna! We’re short on the pale blues. Couldn’t you just suck on it?”

Rarely have I let the phrase “suck on it” go without a good pistol-whipping. I carry a Lady Derringer for moments like these.

But yeah, okay, I’ll suck it up. For now, anyway.

“Mom, you’re not going to school—looking like that, are you?”

Mary has every reason to be horrified. Besides plain black pants and a severe black button-down cotton shirt, I’m wearing the requisite hairnet.

Next to my daughter’s darling prom dress—what with its pale blue fitted strapless top and its short flouncy ivory skirt with its  puffy bow in the back—I look like what I will soon be: the cafeteria lady.

It doesn’t help that Jack is bounding down the stairs, dressed in black tie and a perfectly fitted tux.

Armani, of course.

Mary’s shame is momentarily mollified at the sight of him. Both she and Trisha gasp in unison. Their father is too handsome for words, a life-size Ken doll. 

For just a second I’m wishing it was their real father standing there for them to admire. But then I force myself to be happy that they’ll have at least one memory to share—if not of Carl, then at least of a man who is a good enough actor to make them happy again.

Jack gives Mary a tender hug. Trisha doesn’t want to be left out and throws her arms around his waist. Jeff looks up from his Wii just long enough to give an appraising nod.

When Jack glances over at me, his eyes widen, and so does his grin. I cross my arms as a warning to him: say one word, and we’ll see who’s left standing.

He takes the hint. Instead, he opens the front door and bows grandly. “Now, now Mary. One of us has to be Cinderella. Here’s the great news: no pumpkin tonight. Ladies, our chariot awaits.” He jingles the keys to the Lamborghini.

“Yes!” Mary’s eyes are big as saucers. It’s her first time inside the Jackmobile. All of the other girls will be so jealous.

The big girls, too.

It’s my turn to be gracious. “Since you two are going in the two-seater, I’ll take my car.”

As I brush past him, he whispers in my ear, “Hairnets can be sexy—if that’s all you’re wearing.”

I guess I didn’t make myself clear about making fun of Cinderella. This time to make my point, I step on the toe of his John Lobb tuxedo shoes. 

His groan tells me he finally gets it. At the very least he’ll be limping during the first dance.

As Jack and Mary drive up into the school parking lot, Mary’s friends, Wendy and Babs, lead a group of girls who come running out to greet them. They all look beautiful. Full war paint has been applied, and their hair is piled high on their heads or flowing in shining locks down their backs (bare, for the most part). Silk and taffeta swirl around us in a rainbow of colors. 

I pull in just as Mary introduces them to Jack, one by one. His dazzling smile is not lost on any of them. Their cheeks pink up under his warm gaze.

So do Penelope’s cheeks, and that of the rest of her pack. Always the queen bee, Penelope glistens in a gold-sequined St. John sheath, cinched at the waist. I’m given a one-minute reprieve as she simpers and preens. “Well, well, well, so this is Carl Stone. Finally, we meet! You’ve been such a mystery man that we were beginning to think you were a ghost!”

That gives her no right to act as if he’s also her mystery date.

“If I’d known what great company I was missing, trust me, I would have stuck around some more.”

The women giggle coquettishly. But the fantasy that he actually means what he says dissipates under Penelope’s white hot glare. “Donna, I presume the cupcakes are in your car?”

Oh heck. I knew I forgot something. 

Seeing the color drain from my face, Jack puts his arm around Penelope’s waist. “I’m the one who’s to blame—Penelope, isn’t it? Donna delegated the task of loading them into her SUV, but in the rush to get here, I simply forgot.” He throws me a wink, and then tosses me his car keys. “Honey, take my car back to the house. It’s quicker.” He pauses and winks. “Unless you’d rather I go for them.”

And leave me with this coven? Hell, no.
 
“Don’t be silly. You all go on in! You’re right, I’ll be back in no time at all.” I smile, but I’m panicking. Beyond Heavenly closed an hour ago. 

That means I’ll have to break into the bakery to get them.

Jack leans over to give me a kiss. “Don’t forget to turn off the alarm,” he murmurs.

“Piece of cake,” I mutter back.

A hundred and forty-four of them, to be exact.

Another reason I’m happy he took the Lamborghini. I’d rather have chocolate icing smeared on his backseat, not mine.

I’m dangling from a rappelling wire, high above the wall of shelves where John Mathews, the owner of Beyond Heavenly, stores the boxes containing his cupcake orders. 

I thought I could just pick the back door lock, but I was sorely mistaken. Not only has he installed a webcam and a silent alarm that alerts the police, but a laser motion system as well.

Emma was able to disarm the first two, but the latter may take another hour or so, which is why I’m now playing Catwoman, ducking and dodging the rays that crisscross the space below me, forcing me to play a perverted game of Limbo.

For the life of me, I can’t figure out why John feels the need to have tighter security than the Pentagon. Granted, he’s selling a helluva lotta cupcakes. The shelves are chock full of orders! I guess everyone in Hilldale has a sweet tooth, although you wouldn’t know it to look at the tight-bodied yummy mommies who roam our streets, which leads me to believe that poor Hayley isn’t the only one chewing and spewing.

As if a size six should be considered a weight problem.

It’s too dark to read the tickets on the boxes, but I’m guessing that twelve dozen cupcakes equates to the biggest boxes on the shelf. Since time is of the essence, and my body is too tired to shift into any other Cirque du Soleil contortions, I grab the largest order I can find, then pull my rappelling cord. 

Like a rocket, it hoists me up back through the skylight—

And I hit the roof on my butt. 

So much for poise and agility. Yet another reason why I’ve got to quit skipping my Pilates class.

One of the six double-dozen boxes goes skittering on the slick roof tiles. I grab it before it free-falls onto the street below—

Just in time, too, because right then a cop car drives by, checking for anything that looks suspicious. If it were raining cupcakes, I’d say that would qualify.

At the very least, I’d certainly have a lot of explaining to do.

“Where the hell have you been?” Hayley eyes me suspiciously. “They’re already done with the salad course! If Penelope hears you’ve been slacking off, she’ll hit the roof. You’re lucky Carl is keeping her occupied.”

Yeah, I’ll just bet he is.

 She grabs the boxes out of my hands and places them on the table, but she’s unable to resist taking a peek. “Yummy! Look at these! They are so adorable!”

She’s right. They come in a rainbow of colors. But something about that makes her frown. “Ha! John must have gotten the order wrong. They were only supposed to be decorated in the party’s theme colors: blue, with green polka dot wafers. Oh well, Penelope can strong-arm him for a discount.”

Darn it! So I picked up the wrong order after all. If Penelope does make his life miserable, I’ll let him know that I’ll make up the difference.

Speaking of making life miserable, I peek out the kitchen door to see if Penelope is bugging Jack. I’m happy to see that Mary and Jack are dancing together—

Until Penelope taps Mary on the shoulder, to cut in. From the winces on both Mary and Jack’s face, I’m guessing it hasn’t been the first time this evening.

“Hey, shouldn’t Penelope be in here, helping us?” I turn to Hayley. She looks guilty because I’ve caught her stuffing a cupcake into her mouth. She groans as if in the middle of a chocolate-induced orgasm. “They taste as good as they look! It must be the kind of chocolate he uses. It’s so deep … and rich!”

She takes yet another. I snatch it away, but she’s too quick for me. “My goodness, Hayley, control yourself. Those are for the kids, remember?”

Just then Tiffy sticks her head through the kitchen’s swinging door. “Where the hell have you been? I had to help Hayley pass out the salad! Hayley, slap those birds on the plates, double-time. And you, Stone, get moving! We got a mob of hungry teens out there!”

Hayley looks up innocently. Her hands—and the cupcakes they hold—are now behind her back. 

Dare I leave her alone with the whole box? Let me see: there were a hundred and forty-four in there. I guess if two or three go AWOL, they won’t be missed—

Tiffy shoves a tray of plates into my hand, and nudges me out the door, leaving me no other choice.