The Housewife Assassin's Horrorscope

by Josie Brown

  “She’s supposed to be talking directly to Aunt Phyllis,” I shout back. “Hand the phone to her.”

  “Aunt Phyllis is not here,” Trisha yells.

  “Yes, she is,” I retort. “She’s in the backyard—fourth bush on the right!”

  I hate working from home. The only advantage is that, with a click of a button, I can access all of our home’s security cameras, not to mention every Sec-Cam in Hilldale. (The only real perk in being on our community’s neighborhood watch program.)

  It’s now Thursday. In the past couple of days, I’ve discovered all of Aunt Phyllis’s hiding places. It’s been a much-needed distraction from looking through file after file for any hint as to Horoscope’s function.

  I fully get that Aunt Phyllis hates dealing with a micromanager who second-guesses every decision. At the same time, I see Penelope’s point: Phyllis had no right to put the PTA in the red.

  Granted, prom ticket sales are breaking all records. The kids are excited about the theme, the food, the games—

  And then news got out to the Muggalos that Talon is the house band. To accommodate the demand, Jeff designed a raised thrust stage., and we can provide VIP seating on three sides.

  By Saturday morning, fingers crossed, the PTA will not only be in the black but have made a tidy profit. Aunt Phyllis will be in the clear.

  More importantly, so will I.

  No doubt, my banishment from the office has caused me to be sorely missed there. Still, it surprises me that Arnie is the only one who’s reached out. Granted, it was to inquire when he could expect his chicken potpie, but still...

  I guess the rest of my team is too busy scanning these darn files.

  Trisha has tracked down my aunt. Our camera has no audio, but I can tell that Phyllis is none too happy that I found her yet again. The giveaway? Her body language: She glares up at the security camera and gives me a middle finger salute.

  Jeff knocks on the door. “You missed dinner,” he says. He’s holding a covered dish.

  “You’re a sweetie.” I beckon him forward.

  He grimaces. “Don’t thank me until you’ve tasted it.”

  When I uncover it, I see his point: Phyllis figured out a way to burn soup and salad.

  I sigh and shake my head.

  Jeff looks over my shoulder. “What are you working on?”

  “I’m doing keyword searches through a bunch of files. It’s tedious as all get-out.”

  He leans over to read a few of the ones opened on my laptop screen. “Wow! Some of these files are humongous!”

  “That’s why it’s taking so long.”

  Jeff clicks a file I’ve yet to open. The title:

  RULERSHIP

  “That’s a funny word! It has a sci-fi vibe,” he points out.

  It dawns on me: “No, really, it’s a term used by astrologers when discussing zodiac signs—something about planets and which signs they affect the most strongly…”

  Just as I say this, an idea springs to mind. I open the file.

  It shows two columns. One is filled with astrological terms—sun signs, planets, words like “cusp,” “domicile,” “degrees,” “nodes,” “exaltation,” and on and on.

  The other column holds mathematical equations, scientific terms, and software code.

  It’s the key code to Operation Horoscope.

  Apparently, Jonathan hid it in his horoscopes.

  I jump up from the desk and kiss Jeff over and over and over.

  My son pretends to fight me off—but only for a few seconds. “Hey, shouldn’t you save all that loving for Dad?” Then it hits him: “How long will he be gone, anyway?”

  “I…don’t know.” I turn away from him so that he doesn’t see my frustration.

  “Hey, Mom, I hate to ask but…would you mind if we order pizza? No one really touched the soup and salad.”

  “Sure, go for it.”

  “I guess we should order three since you’re eating too and Evan is home again.”

  “He is?” Oh, dear. I hope Mary didn’t go into another emotional tailspin while I’ve been in here working…

  “He’s attending a memorial tomorrow, so he came home a day early for prom.”

  I’d forgotten about Jonathan’s funeral.

  “Three pizzas are fine,” I reply.

  “You never know—maybe Dad will show up in time,” Jeff adds hopefully.

  I wait until he shuts the door before calling Ryan with the good news about the cipher.

  I pray it puts me back in his good graces.

  There may well be several hundred people at Jonathan’s memorial service. Held in the Segerstrom Center for the Arts, this modern, multi-level concert hall is a fitting venue for a tech engineer-slash-ground floor billionaire who loved classical music and donated to many orchestras, both local and far-flung.

  A small orchestra plays now at the base of the concert hall’s massive floating circular staircase.

  It’s a beautiful setting, but the Segerstrom’s size—several stories within the circular atrium—makes it a nightmare for the thirty or so Acme operatives who must scan all the faces in the crowd for any Russian assets already posted in the Interpol facial recognition database.

  I too must mingle.

  I don’t have to worry about Evan. BlackTech’s employees are ubiquitous and eager to draw him into conversation. Those who remember Evan as a toddler playing with his LEGO bricks on the floor next to his father’s desk now stand in awe of the tall, handsome young man he’s become. They start by patting him on the back, then toss out a memory they hope he shares with them. Eventually, though, worry creeps into their voices. Evan grimaces at their questions: Will the company be sold? Are there to be layoffs? And, most importantly, who will now be their fearless leader?

  He stutters through his answers.

  Maybe he needs saving after all. I start up the staircase to make my way to him when I feel a hand on my arm:

  It’s Lee.

  Surprised, I smile. “What brings you here?”

  “I see it as emotional support for Evan. You know, his father was a close friend of mine too. Plus, I’d met Jonathan on several occasions—most recently, and sadly for him, when I canceled Operation Horoscope.”

  “Frankly, from the letter he left with Evan, I’d say he was quite relieved—until he got wind that somehow it’s still a go.” I shrug. “I guess his death proves it.”

  “You know, that’s what bothers me. I ordered the paperwork that killed it. Hell, I signed it! The thought that, somehow, all trace of it has been erased from the Pentagon’s databases…”

  Lee doesn’t finish his sentence. His frustration shows itself in his clenched fists.

  I know just how to change the subject. “We’ve had a breakthrough or two since we last met. Regarding Operation Flame, Acme ID’ed the malware that breached the grid. Interestingly enough, the perpetrator may also be connected to Operation Horoscope.”

  “You’re on your A Game, Mrs. Craig! But I’d expect nothing less.”

  Thinking about my all too recent suspension, I blush. “It’s always a team effort.”

  Lee laughs heartily. “Speaking of your team, where is that dutiful husband of yours?”

  I look skyward. “Still on special assignment for POTUS.”

  He laughs. “Should be interesting to see who Edmonton’s mole hunt turns up.”

  Well, speak of the devil.

  Lilith is here—

  With Jack.

  Like all of us, Lilith is dressed somberly. Her black cocktail frock is unadorned but elegant. Her hair, upswept, accentuates her almond eyes.

  Jack is in a dark suit. It’s a size larger than he typically owns, giving him the illusion of aging stockiness.

  Because Lilith is looking down at the crowd in the center foyer, she doesn’t see Jack’s eyes lock with mine. His nod is imperceptible.

  Lilith recognizes someone too because a frown rises on her lips.

  She is looking at Lee. />
  She nudges Jack. I read her lips: Can you take me home now?

  He answers her with a peck on the cheek before taking her in hand and—

  Lee is saying something to me? “—called into chaperone duty?”

  “I’m sorry…what did you say?”

  Amused that he caught me off-guard, Lee follows my eyes upward. “I asked if my services would be needed at the prom—you know, to tackle the hellions spiking the punch.”

  I laugh. “Your offer is tremendously appreciated. But considering everything that can and will go wrong, it’s best that you stay as far away as possible. No need to sully your reputation.”

  “Not to worry. The impeachment took care of that.” By his grimace, he’s only half joking.

  “There is one thing you can do. Since the rest of the family will be at the high school, can Trisha hang with Janie?”

  “No problem there.” He sighs. “You know, all those two discuss these days is boys. Okay, and soccer. But mostly boys.”

  I pat his shoulder. “Get used to it—until she finds the right one.”

  Hearing this, Lee’s eyes sweep over me. He’s always wanted our friendship to be more than just that. Still, he’s accepted the parameters I’ve put on it.

  My heart belongs solely to Jack.

  I’m glad Jack opted for the elevator. All we need is for Lee to see him heading our way and burn him to the target.

  “I saw Jack.” We are driving home when Evan springs this on me.

  “I did too,” I admit.

  “Don’t worry. I didn’t say anything to him.”

  “Good. For obvious reasons, I didn’t either.”

  He lets that sit for a while. Eventually, Evan asks: “Who was the woman with him?”

  “That information is only given out on a need-to-know basis.” My tone is light enough. Still, he knows me well enough to grasp that I’m serious.

  We drive in silence for a few minutes. Finally, he asks: “How do you two do it?”

  “Which part?” I ask.

  Evan looks out the window. “Everything! But I guess the hardest part is when you have to pretend not to know each other.” He hesitates: “And—the killing.”

  “The first is easy. It’s make-believe. The second is the conundrum. It’s not fun. It’s not easy. It’s hard to forget. Harder to forgive.”

  “But somehow you do.”

  “We have to.” Or else we wouldn’t be able to live with ourselves.

  We couldn’t live with each other either.

  Evan and I don’t speak again until we reach Hilldale. Then he says, “You know, should anything happen, I’ll always be there for Mary.”

  He really didn’t have to tell me that.

  And I know he’ll be there for Jeff and Trisha too.

  He is family.

  A sliver of sunlight slips through the drapes, revealing Jack in silhouette.

  “You’re home,” I whisper. “So, it’s done?”

  He doesn’t answer. Instead, he strips down, walks over to the bed, and climbs in next to me.

  I don’t know if his mouth is hungry for mine because he missed me or because he is so desperate to forget what he did tonight. Foreplay is not on the agenda. Random acts of love aren’t possible after deliberate acts of war.

  Tonight, I am his salvation. As such, I yield to his touch: strokes, probes, slaps, prods, and the ultimate pierce.

  Sex isn’t always about pleasure. Sometimes it’s about easing the throbbing pain in the recess of one’s heart.

  Can I absolve him of his guilt? No. It will haunt him as long as he lives.

  I can only love him despite it.

  Afterward, when our heads clear and our heartbeats slow, I ask, “What went wrong?”

  Jack doesn’t move, but he sighs. “It just…it just didn’t feel right.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He shifts so that he’s on his side facing me. “Granted, some of the craft was there. When it came to surveillance, she was always on high alert. Although she hid it, she conceal-carried. And she had a great rapport with her students. I could imagine her being successful at turning a few. But…” Jack shrugs, perturbed.

  “Of course Edmonton showed you her dossier.”

  “Yes. And it read like a master spy’s.” He shrugs. “Still, I didn’t expect her to fall for my patter so easily.”

  “If she’s been embedded for a few decades, maybe she responded out of loneliness. And hey, you’re not hard on the eyes—even in your ‘old man’ getup.”

  He chuckles gently. “I guess, what I’m trying to say is…she was too easy.”

  “Give yourself a little credit. Maybe the truth is that she was too horny.”

  He shakes his head. He’s not buying it.

  “Here’s the sixty-four thousand dollar question: did she try to recruit you too?”

  “Not at all. And my cover made me an ideal candidate: I spoke several languages, I was retired and loved to travel. I would have made an ideal asset. And she knew I hated the current administration.”

  “Based on that, half the country could be recruited,” I mutter. “Hon, seriously: my guess? You were too damned desirable.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “She could have really liked you and didn’t want to draw you into the dirty part of her life.” I wrap his fingers in mine. “I guess we’ll really never know. Well, at least Edmonton will be happy.”

  “For whatever that’s worth.”

  Possibly nothing.

  We’ll find out soon enough.

  12

  Fire Signs

  Aries, Leo, and Sagittarius are the Zodiac signs that embody qualities found in the element Fire. This includes a willful nature, energy, passion, and a mercurial temperament.

  For example:

  Your bestie is an Aries. You notice that she has a habit of picking up the wrong guys, all who have fallen in love with her passion. (Others—certainly not you!—might characterize her ardor as sluttishness. But I digress…)

  As it turns out, her ex-boyfriends have had a propensity for cheating on her. Her heart has been broken more times than a supposedly sixteen-year-old hooker’s cherry. Her way of dealing with it is to start this dead-end wrong-guy wrong-love cycle all over again.

  What’s a best friend to do?

  PUT OUT THE FLAME.

  Firefighters are always on alert, ready to douse the next nasty blaze. Sadly, the same has to be true of a fire sign’s bestie.

  So, tell her the truth. Let it sink in. Recognize that other mistakes will be made. Offer a shoulder to cry on. Don’t judge.

  On the upside, she does exactly the same for you.

  Despite the chaotic evening ahead of me, I dutifully go into the office to join the rest of my team.

  Jack and I take our seats next to Dominic, who is swiping his Tinder app: left, left, left…

  Before finally pausing, nodding, and swiping right. Satisfied, he leans into me and whispers, “By the way, Old Girl, in my quest for love eternal, I’ve taken your advice to heart.”

  I give him a fist-bump. “Super! When does your vow of silence begin?”

  He frowns. “I don’t think that’s what you meant. At least, I didn’t take it that way. Instead, I am ‘opening my kimono,’ as they say—and as widely as possible.”

  Emma claps her hands. “Like at Chippendale’s! Want to give us a sneak peek now?”

  Dominic scowls. “I was speaking metaphorically.”

  Emma’s mouth purses into a pout. “Again, you disappoint me.”

  “Still, this new philosophy works for the right woman—or perhaps I should say, ‘women!’ It’s gone over swimmingly!” He leans back, triumphant.

  “Refresh my memory,” I say. “Exactly what did I say to you?”

  “To be less self-centered. To consider the feelings of those I meet. To judge others by their actions, not their words. To look beyond the superficial and the physical.” His eyes cloud over. “To do every
thing I can to forget Lucky.”

  He’s not kidding.

  I’m not either when I reply, “And you will, Dom—eventually.”

  As Dominic turns back to his phone, Jack takes my hand and kisses it.

  It is at this very moment that our fearless leader chooses to make his entrance. Noting our very public display of affection, Ryan declares, “As predicted, all’s well that ends well.”

  I wait until he turns back to answer a question from Abu before sticking out my tongue at him.

  Jack sighs at my impertinence.

  It’s great to have him back.

  “Arnie’s deductions led to finding the bad actors who initiated Operation Flame,” Ryan begins. “But what we’ve discovered—again, thanks to Arnie—is that Flame was a diversion for a bigger crisis: Operation Horoscope.”

  Eyes open wide at this revelation.

  “Dominic discovered Lawrence and Howard’s last names and majors: Dougherty and Freedman, respectively. Lawrence’s specialty was cybersecurity. Howard’s was data mining—both of which fit perfectly with Lilith’s agenda.”

  Nods and grimaces are exchanged.

  “And another team win: Donna discovered Jonathan’s key code for Horoscope,” Ryan adds.

  I grin as my co-workers give me a round of applause.

  “Now, Emma, fill us in on what the cipher has revealed,” Ryan requests.

  “From what we can tell, Jonathan relayed the project's design to his handler, little by little, via postings of what he wrote as his own horoscope,” Emma explains.

  “Where did the postings appear?” Jack asks.

  “On the Internet,” Emma replies. “Twitter, in fact. Jonathan used the handle, ‘OurHorrorscope.” All one word and spelled like the scary word, ‘horror.’”

  “Talk about dark humor,” I mutter.