The Housewife Assassin's Tips for Weddings, Weapons, and Warfare (Housewife Assassin Series Book 11)

by Josie Brown

  “Really, Donna! How could you forget your bachelorette party?”

  Can she hear my groan above all the hubbub? Probably not. “Really, Aunt Phyllis, you don’t have to do this—”

  Her chortle ricochets through the room, along with the throbbing techno-music that is playing in the background. “‘Have to?’ Who are you kidding? I want to! You’ll see when you get here.”

  “You’re there—now? But it’s still eight and a half hours until—”

  “There are a lot of delicate details to go over with the staff. And you know I’ve always been a hands-on planner.” She giggles raucously. “Be sure you’re on time. In fact, I’ll tell Evan to drop you off. That way, in case you get tipsy, you won’t be driving. You can go back in the limo with Emma, Mary, and me. Now remember, be here at nine sharp! Don’t keep all your girlfriends waiting.”

  “My girlfriends? What girlfriends?” A little warning sound clicks in my brain. “Wait…did you say Mary is with you? Aunt Phyllis, she’s under twenty-one! I won’t allow it!”

  “She’s very mature for her age,” my aunt insists.

  “No!” In case she’s hard of hearing, I shout my answer.

  “I am, Mom,” Mary pipes up in the background. “You say so all the time. Plus I’m your best girlfriend—and your maid of honor. I promise not to drink anything stronger than cola. Can’t I just, you know, watch?”

  Allowing my daughter watch strange men thrusting, grinding and stripping down to their skivvies won’t ease my guilt for agreeing that Babette can be my matron of honor. “I said no—and I mean it!”

  I’m so loud that everyone turns to witness the ruckus.

  I put my hand over my voice receiver and hiss, “Look, Aunt Phyllis, with all that’s going on right now, you really don’t have to—”

  Suddenly, I hear a crash, followed by a male voice, yelling, “Lady, you’ve been warned! You can’t touch the dancers—”

  “So many details, so little time! Gotta go!” Aunt Phyllis’s sign-off is an abrupt click.

  I look up from my cell phone to find my whole mission team staring at me.

  Arnie nudges Emma. “That’s it. You’re not going.” He’s still sore that she was so starry-eyed over Lee last night.

  “Oh no?” She frowns back. “Who’s going to stop me?”

  “Me!” Arnie retorts. “And…and little Nicky.”

  “Wrong! I’ve already lined up Mary’s pal, Babs, to babysit. If you think you’re going to guilt me into staying home while you’re out with the boys—”

  “Quiet, everyone!” Ryan’s eyes roll heavenward. “The fate of the Middle East hangs in the balance, and you’re concerned about some bachelorette party?”

  Dominic pats Jack’s arm. “Not to worry, old boy. Our ladies of the evening will conduct themselves with a little more decorum.”

  “How is that possible?” I mutter. “You’ve rented out the Playboy mansion.”

  “Good God, Donna!” Dominic puffs up like an African white masked owl whose nest is under siege. “You hacked my emails?”

  “No, Emma did.”

  Dominic rotates his glare to her.

  She shrugs. “An engagement present for Donna. And, by the way, you should check the small print on your party contract. It specifically states that it does not include the grotto.”

  “Bollocks! Why, Hef promised me!” Dominic whips out his cell and stalks into the kitchen, slamming the door behind him.

  Ryan shakes his head. “Are we ready to get to work now?”

  “Shouldn’t we wait for Dominic?” I ask sweetly.

  “I don’t have all afternoon, and neither do you,” he growls. “Speaking of which, will Babette be at your bachelorette party?”

  Shaking my head, I declare, “Good God, I hope not! Although, knowing her taste in men…Oops! Sorry, Jack! No offense.”

  “None taken.” From his frown, I know he’s lying.

  Ryan leans over so that we’re nose-to-nose. “Invite her.”

  “It wouldn’t be appropriate for a first lady,” I insist. “And besides, it’s too late.”

  “You can tell her the invitation got lost in the mail or something. Just make it happen.”

  “Right.” I shake my head at the thought. “And while she’s stuffing twenties in some dude’s G-string, I can grab her cell phone—”

  “Sounds like a plan.” Ryan leans back, all smiles again. Okay, maybe that’s an exaggeration. Let me put it this way: at least he’s not frowning. “The sooner we figure out which of them is our target, the sooner we can take him or her down. Besides, we have an added incentive.” The thought is sour enough that he purses his lips. “Tell her, Emma.”

  “Like all devices assigned to White House personnel—POTUS and FLOTUS included—the cell phone that sent Xia the texts is equipped with sophisticated encryption technology. So, please excuse our team for taking so long to crack it.” She smiles modestly. “Breaking the encryption allowed us to follow various trails: digital breadcrumbs, as it were. Our big find? Well, besides the correspondence with Xia, the cell’s text archive shows that the messages were blind-copied to another cell phone.”

  Jack whistles in surprise.

  “We can’t tell if it was one of the White House’s dark devices,” Emma continues, “but we’re working under the presumption that it is. If so, obviously this person was also integral in Catherine’s assassination.”

  “Emma will text you with the cell’s MEID—that is, the Mobile Equipment Identifier number. That way you can call Todd Courtland with it. If it was, in fact, White House issue, he should be able to tell you who was assigned that particular cell phone.”

  Nodding, I hit Todd’s number on my cell.

  He picks up in three rings. “Mrs. Stone, a pleasure to hear from you.” The warmth in his voice surprises me.

  “Why, thank you, Todd. And we greatly appreciated the very comprehensive list you sent over,” I assure him. “I have another request. If I give you the Mobile Equipment Identifier for a White House-issued cell phone, can you give us the name of the person to whom it was assigned?”

  He hesitates a moment, but finally murmurs, “Of course. Let me grab a pen.” I hear rustling. A moment later, he’s back on the line. “Shoot.”

  I read him the fifteen-digit number.

  “I’ll check it out and get back to you. Hey listen, I’ll be in town soon—a few days before the wedding, in fact.”

  I laugh. “If you’re hinting around for an invitation, no need to worry. I’ll add you to the guest list.” Sure, why the hell not? Everyone else in the world is on it.

  “Oh! Gee, thanks. But, yes, I’m already on it, as part of POTUS’s entourage.”

  No surprise there.

  “Got to run now,” Todd adds. “There’s a bill on Capitol Hill that needs some arm twisting. My best to Jack.”

  I click off to find the man in question scrutinizing me.

  Jack is scowling. “Another admirer? Will he stand up to object the declaration of us as man and wife?”

  “I’m sure Babette will beat him to the punch,” I counter coolly.

  Ryan drills me with his eyes. “Speaking of our illustrious first lady, invite her to your bachelorette party—right now. This isn’t a request; it’s an order.”

  “Go ahead, I dare you,” Jack mutters under his breath.

  “Okay, you’re on.” I stick out my tongue at him. “Odds are, she’ll say no, anyway.”

  “Good. Call her now.” Ryan motions to my cell phone. “But do it through the White House switchboard. Although Lee knows we have his number, can’t let Babette in on the fact that we’ve got hers too.”

  Jack frowns at the implication: that Lee specifically gave me his private cell number, so that we could coordinate our rendezvous while plotting against Carl.

  I nod, then punch in the preferred number. When the phone is answered, I give my name and ask for Babette.

  Narcissa picks up. “Donna! What a surprise! Why, Mrs. Chif
fray and I were just talking about you!”

  “Really?” Ouch. What now? “Babette’s ears must be burning as well.” Given half a chance, I’d light the match myself. “I am so, so, sorry, but somehow Babette got left off the invitation list for my bachelorette party.”

  “No, she did not,” Narcissa declares sternly.

  “Oh…” I look helplessly at Ryan. “It was unintentional—I swear! Just a silly little oversight! I hope she doesn’t assume otherwise—”

  “Donna, please!” Narcissa’s cutoff is curt. “We know it wasn’t an oversight because the invitation arrived. Late, granted, but mail that is sent via the White House takes an extra day or two by courier—so you’re forgiven.”

  Whew. “Oh. Thanks.” I guess.

  “But, unfortunately, Mrs. Chiffray will have to pass on the honor of attending”—I hear papers being shuffled—“quote, Donna Stone’s Bachelorette Bash Extravaganza at the Meat Market Lounge, where you will partake in private dances from such illustrious hot bods as Luscious Louie, Take-It-All-Off Artie, and Built-Like-A-Brickhouse Benny, along with swag bags that include milk chocolate dongs, Gummy balls, fuzzy cuffs, and edible manties, endquote.”

  Ryan slaps his head in frustration. Now that I know what’s in store for me, I know how he feels.

  “Yes, well, I thoroughly understand that it’s not quite Babette’s thing.” In a different setting, perhaps Luscious Louie would have fit the bill, but I’ll never get Narcissa to admit that.

  “However,” she continues, “as your matron of honor, Babette feels somewhat remiss that she hasn’t been able to attend to you in the traditional manner. That being said, she asks that you join her later this afternoon at the Hotel Bel-Air’s Spa La Prairie, where she’s arranged for facials, mani-pedis, deep-tissue massages, and a steam.”

  “Really? Wow! That’s, well, quite sweet of her.”

  Ryan tosses his hands up to the heavens in silent prayer.

  “Two o’clock, then. The first lady looks forward to bonding with you. Sisters from another mother, as it were.” I haven’t heard such enthusiasm since the last funeral I attended.

  “Certainly, I’ll be there. Please thank her—”

  Click.

  “—for me.” I stare down at my disconnected cell phone.

  Ryan turns to Jack. “Did you invite Lee to join us?”

  “What? No! I was hoping it would be just us guys, as opposed to us guys and POTUS’s Secret Service detail, watching our every move.”

  “You’ve got a point,” Ryan concedes.

  “Why does he have a point, and yet I don’t?” I ask.

  “You’re lucky it all worked out,” he reminds me. “The Secret Service won’t be allowed into the spa’s locker room. So, while she’s getting her massage or takes her sauna or whatever, you can grab her cell phone and scan it. That way, we’ll know for sure if the cell that was used to contact Xia was hers or Lee’s.” He grimaces at the thought that it might be POTUS’s.

  I can’t say that I blame him. At the same time, I’m now willing to accept it.

  It’s not like I have a choice.

  Dominic sticks his head back into the room. “Jack, we can have the grotto as well if we move the event to tomorrow night instead. What do you say, old boy?”

  I bat my lashes at Jack. “Yes, old boy, what do you say?”

  “Sure, whatever.”

  My cell phone buzzes. The Caller ID shows that it’s Lee.

  I hesitate long enough that Ryan’s eyebrow goes up.

  Of course, I answer it. “Hi, Lee, what’s up?” I’m trying to keep the quiver out of my voice, especially since every tick and whisper can be heard by the rest of my Acme team through their ear buds.

  Hearing that it’s POTUS, Emma sighs longingly.

  Arnie slams his hand on the table.

  Ryan snaps his fingers for Arnie to behave.

  “With Jack away at his bachelor party, I was wondering if you’d be free for drinks tomorrow evening.”

  “Um…”

  Ryan nods vigorously.

  On the other hand, Jack sits stone-faced. I wonder if he’s having second thoughts about cutting Lee from his bachelor party guest list.

  “Sure, okay. There, at Lion’s Lair?”

  “No. Babette will be entertaining here.” He sounds so sad. “Besides, I’m getting cabin fever. This gives me an excuse to get out.”

  “Where then?”

  “Balboa Island. I have a private home at my disposal, on South Bay Front, at the corner of Sapphire. Shall we say eight?”

  “Yes, okay.” I hesitate before adding, “Lee, how did you know about Jack’s party?”

  He laughs. “Abu is in the wedding party, remember? He texted for Lurch’s approval to get the night off. ”

  Abu winces and shrugs, Sorry.

  I roll my eyes at him. “You know, Jack would be thrilled if you joined them tomorrow evening.”

  “Thrilled? What the hell, Donna?” Jack mutters.

  I hold my finger to my lips to shush him.

  Lee laughs uproariously. Did he hear Jack?

  In any regard he says, “As the leader of the free world, my days hanging at the Playboy Mansion are over. Besides, you’re a hell of a lot more fun to hang out with, than any Bunny.”

  It’s my turn to laugh. “Thank you for that. I’ll see you then. Goodbye.”

  Always the gentleman, he waits until I hang up first.

  “Well, that’s a lucky break!” Ryan exclaims.

  Jack must not think so, because he leaves the room.

  “What’s that smell?” I ask my facialist. I lay as limp as a rag doll after the pummeling by a masseuse who must get off on the phrase, Ouch, ouch, ouch!

  “It’s a bit strong,” the facialist admits. “It’s the astringent we use on your face before putting on the finishing touches. Works miracles.”

  I can’t see because of the cucumber slices on my eyes, but I can certainly smell it. “Wait…Is it…bird crap?”

  “Well, yes. Nightingale droppings, to be exact. But don’t worry, it’s been sanitized with UV rays. It’s filled with protein and you’ll immediately see a luster to your skin. Soooo worthwhile!”

  “I guess if it makes you barf, you can think of it as a weight-loss inducer too,” I retort dryly.

  “I never thought of that, but I guess you’re right!” She giggles. She sponges off the bird poop in order to slather on some thick white goop.

  “My friend—is she here yet?” It’s been over two hours since Babette had a note sent to my spa suite, informing me that she was running late from her shopping spree on Rodeo Drive.

  “Oh, yes,” the facialist assures me. “She should be done with her massage by now. She had an aromatherapy steam bath set up for her as well, so your friend may be tied up for quite some time. Her room, the Presidential Suite, has its own sauna.”

  “Ah! Good to know.” If that’s the case, there’s no time like now to get her cell phone.

  The facialist looks further down Babette’s checklist. “Oh! And, after the steam, she’s booked a Vampire facial lift.”

  I frown. “What exactly is that?”

  “All the stars do it. The doctor takes your blood, then re-injects it into your face. The new stem cells reinvigorate the growth of collagen, fatty tissues, and blood cells. You’re practically a new person!”

  “I’m sure she’ll be singing its praises,” I murmur. Anything that would make Babette more human is worth a try. Then again, she may be disappointed when they won’t let her drink it. “Would you excuse me? I think I’d like to take a nap.”

  “Sure, no problem. We have to let this protein cocktail set for a while, anyway.” The woman looks at her watch. “I’ll be back in forty minutes.”

  “Perfect,” I murmur. I try to smile, but whatever she’s put on my face is already hardening.

  Just as she heads out the door, my cell buzzes. It’s Todd.

  “Got anything for me?” I’m barely moving my lips
because the goop on my face is hardening.

  “Yes…and no. The cell is assigned to one of the cleaning crew. This person had limited access to both POTUS’s office, and the first family’s personal quarters.” He sighs. “However, he is no longer with us.”

  Interesting. “As in, quit?”

  “As in, dead. His name was Bradley Kazinsky. He was killed by a hit-and-run driver as he was crossing Constitution Avenue after one of his shifts. Sorry, Donna. I wish I could have been of more help to you.”

  “Me too, Todd. Have a good night.” Drat.

  My facial cream has hardened enough that it’s now a glistening, albeit featureless mask. Not that it matters. By the time I wrap my hair in a towel and tighten the sash of my plush robe, Arnie has disengaged the hotel’s security webcam so that I can take care of business.

  I slip off into the direction of the Presidential Suite.

  Zeb is guarding the entrance to Babette’s room. He doesn’t look happy. Two other agents in his detail have positioned themselves strategically within fifty feet of the path to her private cottage. My only way in is to pick the lock on the wrought iron gate on the stucco wall of the cottage’s courtyard, which for some odd reason, isn’t being watched.

  It opens just in time. One of Babette’s toy soldiers is headed this way. The way he’s adjusting himself, I guess he doesn’t have a hollow leg.

  As I suspected, Babette has left the cottage’s French doors wide open on this warm, breezy day.

  The bed is rumpled. Apparently, the masseur gave her quite a workover. There is a hissing sound coming from a room on the far side of the bathroom. I assume it’s why she’s moaning so loud in the sauna.

  Or else it has something to do with the very expensive man’s suit folded nicely on the desk chair.

  Damn that Babette! She used our little gal pal excursion to slip away for a hookup!

  Why am I not surprised?

  I recognize the cell phone from the other night—or perhaps its twin. In any case, it’s White House standard issue.

  I pull out the scanner and attach it to Babette’s phone. I muffle the first buzz that gets me through the passcode. A moment later, I have to do the same with the second buzz because I hear rustling on the other side of the door.