The Housewife Assassin's Horrorscope

by Josie Brown

  The woman looks at her watch. “I’m sure he’s napping. Even if he’s not, visiting hours are almost over—”

  “Look, Mrs. Crenshaw, Arthur was my mother’s only brother! She’s passed now, and since I’m out here on business, I felt I should stop in and pay my respects. I may never get another chance!” I wipe my damp face with the back of my hand—and immediately drop the book again.

  Again, Mrs. Crenshaw reaches down for it. As she hands it to me, she shrugs. “Well, I guess it wouldn’t hurt. It is a special occasion after all. Follow me.”

  The facility is a single-story U-shaped building. We walk down the long hall, almost to the very last room. A thin floor-to-ceiling window beside the door allows us to look into his room. Arthur, slack-jawed, sits alone, in a wheelchair. A television, mounted to the wall, is tuned to a game show.

  Mrs. Crenshaw whispers: “Don’t be disappointed if he doesn’t respond. This hasn’t been one of his better weeks.”

  I nod. Slowly, I walk over to him. Bending beside him, I murmur, “Hello, Arthur. It’s me—Lilith.”

  His eyes widen. They roam over me hungrily.

  Thank goodness, Mrs. Crenshaw has already stepped out and shut the door behind her as he places his hand on my breast.

  So Lilith looked like me, once a long time ago.

  As repulsed as I am, I squelch the urge to slap away his shriveled old claw. “We don’t have time for that,” I keep my tone promising. “I’m here about Horoscope.”

  His eyes gleam with recognition of the name. “My God! Is it time?”

  “This week. Horoscope launches this week,” I answer.

  “All these years…” He shuts his eyes, lost in the past.

  “Arthur, I’m worried.”

  “What about, my sweet?”

  “I was just wondering: Was there ever a way in which I let you down?’

  Although shaking, he reaches up to pinch my cheek. “Never, my dear! Just look how far you’ve come!” He chuckles. “Not as far as Scorpio, but still…”

  Noting my grimace, he adds, “On the other hand, you are fearless!” Arthur leans in. “However, Scorpio is ruthless. And sadly, my dear, when it comes to power, the rule has always been survival of the fittest.”

  “I’ll remember that,” I retort. I think about the only other unaccounted students: “To tell you the truth, Arthur, Scorpio is worried about Sagittarius and Virgo.”

  “Why? They have proven themselves to be loyal! One to the cause, the other to the man,” Arthur huffs. “Don’t play the silly, worrisome little woman, Lilith. It doesn’t become you.”

  At least now I know Sagittarius and Virgo are in play—or were. If Arthur’s mind has slipped so far as to mistake me, a perfect stranger, for Lilith, he may not really know their status—or, for that matter, Scorpio’s.

  Their actual names and whereabouts aren’t nearly as crucial as Horoscope’s launch date and location. Time to turn on the charm. I lean in: “Oh, by the way, Arthur, what target did the Kremlin finally decide on? New York? DC?” I pause before adding, “Los Angeles?”

  He gives me a strange look. “Don’t be such a fool! Why would the US aim its most diabolical weapon on one of its own cities? You know as well as me that it was London all along—Westminster, to be exact.” His eyes gleam. “The moment it’s discovered that the US used Horoscope on its most vital ally, all the other Democratic nations will also turn against it! And who will they ally with next? Russia, of course!”

  We are launching Horoscope?

  But how? And from where?

  Arthur takes my hand. He runs the tip of his index finger up the center of my wrist. “You must know how pleased I am with you,” He whispers. “And of course, Scorpio will be here soon too. He’ll want me at his side when Horoscope is initiated.” He looks around, as if saying so will make it true.

  It takes all my power not to shiver at his touch. “Where is Scorpio now?” I purr.

  “Don’t play games!” He says impatiently.

  “I haven’t seen him in a while.”

  He looks up at me sharply. “You know exactly where he is! In the…” his eyes narrow as he scrutinizes my face. He looks down at my neck. “You’re not wearing it…”

  At that moment, he realizes Lilith is not here after all.

  Before I can react, he grabs his fork off the luncheon tray on his side table and stabs it in my thigh.

  Son of a bitch!

  I leap back into a bookcase, hitting so hard that its books topple off the shelves. The ones high above me fall onto my head and chest. Stunned, I fall to the floor.

  With all his might, Arthur stumbles out of his wheelchair toward the nightstand. He opens a drawer and fumbles around until he finds what he’s looking for—a tiny vial. With shaking hands, he pours something into his hand:

  It’s an L-Pill—cyanide, the Russian operative’s final solution.

  I’ve got to keep him from taking it!

  I stumble to my feet and run to his side—

  But it’s too late.

  It doesn’t go down easy. He gags. He foams at the mouth. Soon he is shaking. His heart pounds too fast for the blood rushing through it.

  Death comes with a jolt and a sigh.

  Ah, hell.

  It’s not easy undressing a dead man. After I lay him out in his bed, I cover him with the blanket. There is a vase in the bottom cabinet of his bathroom sink. I put the roses in there, and then lay the book, open, on the nightstand.

  There are a few items in the drawer: a pencil, a notepad, and an address book that is anything but what it seems: no names, just a series of innocuous words in two columns on each page.

  One more thing for Emma to decipher.

  By the time I get home, Jack is already there.

  He’s packing.

  “You’re going to DC?” I ask.

  “No. Just up the road: north of Santa Barbara. POTUS refused to discuss my mission on the phone. Instead, he suggested that I report to him there. It’s some posh political fundraiser tied to an art installation. I guess he wants to mix business with the pleasure of firing me in person.”

  “He can’t do that!” I insist. “You were just following his orders!”

  “He can do whatever he wants.”

  “And Ryan is going to let him?”

  “If he wants to keep Acme operational, he has no choice.”

  I watch as Jack buttons up his tuxedo shirt. If he’s going to get sacked, at least he’ll look like a million dollars.

  And if I’m going to do the voodoo that I do so well, I’ll have to do the same. I know just the dress: a long-sleeved backless diamond studded indigo sheath that hugs every curve.

  I fold my arms at my waist. “I’m going too.”

  Jack eyes me suspiciously. “Let me guess: you think you can charm him the way you did our previous Commander in Chief.”

  “It’s worth a try, right? And besides, what have we got to lose at this stage?”

  “Other than my career and your dignity? Absolutely nothing,” he retorts blithely.

  I wrap him in my arms. “You won’t win this argument, Mr. Craig. Besides, Acme’s plane is waiting.”

  His kiss is sweet and all too short.

  Something may go down in flames tonight, but it won’t be Jack’s career.

  17

  Ascendant

  Ascendant refers to the angle at which the next zodiac sign approaches from the East.

  The term is also used about one’s birth! Astrologers note the specific time and location of your “rising sign” as it ascends from the East because it guides your actions: how you present yourself to the world, and how you cope with adversity.

  We enter the world with such high hopes! Do we ever live up to the expectations of our destiny?

  Your mother would answer with a resounding, “YES!”

  Bless her! She’s always on your side, even when the sun, the moon, and the rest of the universe aren’t—beginning with those snotty little girl
s in your kindergarten class.

  “You’re awfully quiet, Mrs. Craig.” If Jack’s mild tone is supposed to counterbalance the worry in his eyes, the attempt has failed miserably.

  The flight isn’t a long one: a good deal less than an hour. Still, we’ve been quiet since settling into our plane’s seats. I’ve been staring outside the closest window, following the coastline. It’s always a beautiful sight at sunset.

  I force a smile on my lips. “I’m just enjoying the view.”

  He knows I’m lying. We’ve tried to hide our anxiety from each other. We’re failing miserably.

  Suddenly, I notice something odd. “We’re passing over the Santa Barbara Airport!” I point below us, where another private jet is now landing.

  “Actually, we’re touching down at Vandenberg,” Jack replies.

  Makes sense, since it’s where POTUS will have landed.

  Maybe he’s planning to sack Jack right on the tarmac. If so, Jack was right. I didn’t need to get all gussied up.

  Not that I say this to Jack.

  “POTUS’s host lives a half-hour away,” Jack explains. “The event is being held at the weekend hacienda of some venture capitalist: a guy named Charles Riley. He owns his own vineyard outside of Lompoc.”

  As we get closer to Vandenberg, I notice that ours isn’t the only private plane circling for a landing. There are at least three others. “This must be some shindig. And they also have clearance to land at a military base?”

  “Sure, why not? It’s a political fundraiser. The stated excuse is that it's some art installation. I expect a few other illustrious politicians will be there too, swilling at the donor trough.” There is a tightness in Jack’s tone.

  I’m beginning to think he has every right to be concerned. Edmonton is such an arrogant prick.

  So that Jack doesn’t see the concern on my face, I stare down at the landing field. Our plane must now be cleared for landing because there’s a steady drop in altitude.

  Something on the base’s largest launch pad catches my eye. “What’s that?” I point it out to Jack.

  “My guess: the next payload to JSOC–the Joint Space Operations Center. You know, the 9th Combat Operations Squadron is based here.” He takes a closer look. “Nope, on second thought, it’s not large enough. Maybe it’s a MilStar launch: satellite communications. The 148 SOPS—Space Operations Squadron—is located here too.”

  We are now close enough to read the writing on the missile’s bulbous head:

  ASCENDANT

  The World’s Largest

  Communications Satellite Constellation

  “Charles Riley holds the controlling interest in Ascendant,” Jack explains.

  “The commercial space load company?”

  “One and the same. There must be a commercial launch happening soon.”

  Written on the center of the one-hundred-plus-foot-long missile’s vertical body are the words:

  Universal Peace

  “Wishful thinking,” Jack mutters. “Or a public relations stunt.”

  “If I were to guess, it’s the latter.” I lay my head on his shoulder. “Still, one can dream, right?”

  As our plane approaches low and slow, I notice the plane landing ahead of us. It’s painted with an interesting logo—

  A blue Mohawk logo with a frantic scroll of letters that spell out

  TALON

  Well, what do you know? This should be quite some party.

  For everyone but Jack and me.

  Security on the base is heavy. Talon is still being detained by the time we’re on the tarmac.

  I hope he was smart enough to leave any drugs or dope at home.

  Seeing me, he mimics a double-take. The next thing I know, I’m enveloped in a bear hug. “Well, if it ain’t the gorgeous gal with the great gams!” He holds out his hand to Jack. “You’re one lucky dude.”

  “Thanks. I think so.” Jack shakes his hand. “The name’s Jack Craig.”

  After we settle into one of the limousines ferrying guests to the party, I ask Talon, “How did you get on the VIP list?”

  “I know the artist, Jacob Grommet, personally! I already own some of his works.”

  “Nice.” For someone else. My preference in art is less bland, more provocative.

  “Not really,” Talon admits. “Myself, I like it when they paint body parts—particularly those of the female persuasion.” He gives me the once-over, as if he’s got X-ray vision.

  He only wishes.

  “The best thing I can say is that Jacob’s paintings are humongous”—Talon separates his arms as wide as he can—“and that’s what counts. I’ve got way too much wall space! Need to fill it up fast.” He thinks a beat: “Frankly, I’ve got too many houses. Time to unload a few.”

  I won’t mention that Penelope’s ex is a realtor. In fact, I think it best not to mention her at all. I’m depressed enough without having to hear him bemoan his lost love.

  In any event, he’s still yammering away: “I’m proud to say I was the first benefactor to jump on board with this project: launching a GIGANTIC peace sign in the sky so that the whole world can join in one great oneness of love! How cool is that?”

  “You’re quite the wordsmith,” I purr.

  Talon blushes—something I would not have been able to see if he were still slathered in his iconic red paint.

  “The launch is taking place tonight?” Jack asks.

  Talan laughs raucously. “It’s why we’re all here, bro! Charles’ spread is a perfect viewing site. Makes sense, since he’s invested enough in Ascendant to have a front row center seat for its success. His crib is only two miles from the launch pad. Yo, check it out.”

  He nods toward the mansion beyond the gate now in front of us.

  The large, modern, terraced glass-and-steel structure hugs its hillside like a second skin. We can hear the muted chatter coming from the guests mingling at the bars and buffets set up on the large terraces of all five levels. Tiny lights twinkle under recessed eaves, assuring that nothing will divert the guests’ attention during Ascendant’s launch.

  Eventually, our limousine is waved through.

  “So glad you could join us, Mrs. Craig.” As with his other guests, Charles Riley greets me at the front door with a warm handshake and a hearty hello. He’s got just enough gray in his sideburns and a pouch around his waist to give away the fact that he’s a few years over forty.

  Charles chuckles as he shakes Jack’s hand. “Any friend of the President’s is also a friend of mine. That goes double for his beautiful better half.”

  “I know I wasn’t on the guest list, so thank you for accommodating me,” I say, blushing.

  “Speaking of President Edmonton, I promised I’d find him promptly upon my arrival,” Jack replies.

  “His motorcade is on its way. He asked me to have you wait in my study.” He waves over a member of POTUS’s advance team. “Please take Mr. Craig to my study on the top floor.”

  Jack nods casually before walking off with the Secret Service agent toward the grand foyer’s elevator. He hides his gallows mood well.

  Charles turns back to me. “Besides the President, my other guest of honor is Jacob Grommet.” He beckons to the artist, who’s been corralled by Talon. They walk over together.

  Charles and Jacob are of similar age, but the resemblance ends there. The artist is short and wiry. His beard is unruly, as is his hair, which flairs out like a wire-coiled halo. He’s so jumpy that his handshake is quick, limp, and damp.

  I wonder if he’s hopped up on something.

  I look from him to Talon. “So, you and Jacob are old friends?”

  “Yep!” Talon exclaims proudly. “I guess I was one of your first patrons, right, Jake?”

  Grommet frowns. “Jacob.”

  “Sorry.” Talon shrugs. “Old habits die hard. Hey, I’m über-proud to be a small part of this endeavor. Tickled pink!”

  Jacob grimaces. “Don’t be so modest.” His reply isn’t
appreciative but terse.

  “It’s true, bud! Hell, getting your satellite as part of the Ascendant’s payload cost a pretty penny, right? And the biggest pile of chicken feed came from…what’s it called again? Oh yeah—the Horoscope Foundation.”

  Horoscope.

  “I’ve never heard of it,” I reply coolly.

  Talon shrugs. “Yeah, I hadn’t either. But when it comes to art, there are angels everywhere, right? And tonight, after Universal Peace is launched, the angels can hover around the coolest light show ever!”

  Jacob stares down at his watch. “Our esteemed President is cutting it close,” he grumbles.

  “Not to worry. Ascendant’s launch won’t happen until he gets here,” Charles reminds him.

  Grommet frowns. “I’ve got some last minute items to check on before the launch. If you’ll all excuse me.”

  As he walks off, Charles turns to me. “Don’t mind Jacob. Unfortunately, his ‘brooding artist’ act is real and twenty-four-seven.” He shrugs. “ What would you like first, a glass of champagne or a tour of the house?”

  “I opt for the tour. Let’s save the champagne for toasting Ascendant's launch.”

  “Sounds great to me.” He leads the way.

  “You’ve got quite a collection here.” I’m admiring Charles’ gun vault, which is a veritable munitions museum.

  Our tour begins at the lowest level. After reviewing Charles’ extensive wine cellar and poolside cabana, we go up to the second floor (a massive staff kitchen), then to the third level (four guest suites), before making our way to the fourth: a living room and dining room that could easily seat twenty-four guests. The floor’s movable walls convert this cavern into cozy alcoves when the house isn’t filled with two hundred of Charles’ nearest and dearest acquaintances.

  Somewhere along the tour, we picked up a couple of champagne flutes, but thus far we’ve held to our promise to toast as Ascendant is launched.