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

by Josie Brown

  He grabs my hand and out the door we go.

  Jack and I have just entered Lion’s Lair’s foyer rotunda when we hear Arnie’s voice in our ear buds. “The signal is coming from the roof terrace.”

  We start down the hallway and leap into the elevator.

  When the doors open next, it is on an idyllic tableau of a full breakfast alfresco.

  Lee is at the head of a wrought iron table that seats eight. The chair opposite his—Babette’s—is empty.

  However, Todd is there, as are Eileen, Janie, Frannie, Narcissa, and Trisha.

  Seeing us, Narcissa stands and starts our way. She’s not smiling. “Oh! Since it’s a sunset wedding, we weren’t expecting you for several hours.” She purses her lips, “In fact, I’d hoped to save you the trip of coming at all. Babette isn’t feeling well, and won’t be attending.”

  “It’s not her cell,” Arnie mutters in our ears.

  “Good to hear,” I say.

  The others stare at me. “Oh! I don’t mean Babette. I hope she feels better soon. But, yes, we talked yesterday—when she was feeling under the weather.”

  Lee leans back. His head is cocked, as if he doesn’t believe me. Not that I blame him. He is quite aware of my opinion of his wife. Hey, can I help it that, by coincidence, my outburst describes how I really feel about Babette’s absence?

  Very slowly, Jack circles the room one way, while I go in the opposite direction. As I pass Eileen, Arnie murmurs, “No go.”

  I nod. Perhaps keeping my mouth shut is best.

  “As such, and because of the preparation needed for the summit taking place the day after tomorrow, the wedding has been cancelled,” Narcissa continues.

  Lee frowns. “This is all news to me.”

  She purses her lips. “Sorry, sir, but it was Mrs. Chiffray’s wish that we do so. In fact, last night Chantal sent out the cancellation missives to all the guests.”

  While she blathers through this weak excuse, I walk by Todd. “Arnie says, “Also clear.”

  I know I should take it at face value, but I whisper back anyway: “Are you sure?”

  “Positive,” Arnie replies.

  Narcissa is finding it hard to hide her annoyance at my obliviousness. “But of course I’m sure! Ask Chantal yourself,” she smirks. “Quite frankly, she found it a fairly easy task, since none of the guests who RSVP’d were close, personal friends of yours anyway.”

  At that moment, Jack passes Lee. Arnie mutters, “In the clear.”

  “POTUS is now free to know the status of this mission,” Ryan reminds us.

  I’m relieved for him. Lee’s world is crashing down upon him in other ways.

  Jack shrugs his disappointment, but shakes his head, to warn me off any sudden revelations to this roomful of suspects.

  I’m now walking by Janie and Trisha—

  “Donna, it’s next to you! There!”

  “No…Can’t be.” I shake my head adamantly.

  “I swear,” Arnie and Narcissa proclaim in unison. But whereas Arnie is being sincere, Narcissa mocks her declaration by crossing her heart.

  “Okay, yeah, whatever,” my response is to both of them.

  Lee seems more taken aback than me. “This is bullshit, Narcissa! What the hell is wrong with Babette?”

  “I don’t…I don’t know, sir. I’m only following orders.”

  “Not a good response,” he warns her. “It didn’t work at the Nuremberg Trials, and it doesn’t cut muster here.”

  As she babbles through yet another weak explanation, I kiss Trisha on the forehead. “Good morning, sweetie. Ready to go home and get dressed for the wedding?” I’m angled in such a way that I’ve given myself enough cover to snatch Trisha’s cell phone, which lies beside her orange juice glass. I lift it up and walk a few steps away with it.

  Confused, Trisha’s brow furrows. “But…But Mrs. Chiffray said it was called off.”

  “It’s not the one,” Arnie assures me.

  “Yep… Well, we’re just doing it differently,” I tell my daughter.

  Trisha frowns. “Can I still wear my dress?”

  “But of course,” I assure her, patting her head.

  As I place it down, I reach for the one beside Janie’s plate—

  But it’s gone.

  “Janie, where is your phone, honey? Trisha was raving about it. Maybe I’ll get the same model for her.”

  Janie giggles. “I never carry it because only Mummy calls me. Frannie must have it.” She points toward the elevator door. “See?”

  She’s right. Frannie stands in the elevator. The phone, encased in a bedazzled pink and purple shell, is in her hand.

  Her eyes meet mine.

  She knows.

  I run to the elevator—

  The doors close in my face.

  “Is there another way off the roof?” Jack asks Lee.

  “A staircase, there.” Lee points to the other side of the roof. “What the hell is happening?”

  I’m closer, so I reach it first. “She has the phone that called Xia!” I shout. “Tell Secret Service to capture and detain her, not to—do anything else!”

  The children’s eyes open wide with concern. The last word I want to use is “kill.”

  I run down the stairs.

  Jack is on my heels.

  We stop on the next level down, Lion’s Lair’s fourth. “She could be on any of these floors,” he points out. “We should split up. Take four and two. I’ll take three and one.” He’s off.

  Slowly, I open the door. I’m not packing heat, for obvious reasons: the Secret Service would have taken any weapon from me. They would have done the same to Frannie, so maybe we’re on even footing.

  Except for the scissors whizzing toward my face.

  I duck in time. The scissors pierce the door behind me.

  I grab them. “She’s on four,” I murmur into my ear bud.

  From what I can tell, I’m in a foyer for the master suite. It contains a study, as well as a bedroom and an ensuite bathroom, both leading out to their own terrace.

  I scan the study, ducking around the desk to make sure she isn’t hiding there.

  Nope, she’s behind the door.

  I realize this when a heavy book slams mid-center into my back.

  By the time I right myself, she’s run into the bedroom.

  The bed is empty. For some reason, it hasn’t been made yet.

  Frannie tries the bathroom door, but it’s locked from the inside. If Babette is in there, I pray she stays put.

  I have Frannie cornered. She crouches into a defensive position, ready for my attack.

  “The Secret Service will be busting in here any moment now,” I remind her. “Make it easy on yourself.”

  “They can’t get in here. I locked the elevator, and the door to the stairs is bolted from the inside.”

  “Who are you, and why did you order Catherine’s hit?”

  She inches toward the terrace door. “Who I am is not important. Catherine’s time was over. She was a threat. The same goes for Xia.”

  “As was the poor White House janitor. You ran him over with your car, then stole his cell phone.”

  She shrugs. “There is collateral damage in every war.”

  I strike at her with the scissors.

  She dodges just in time. Her attempt at a sidekick misses my gut by an inch.

  “You’re Quorum, aren’t you?”

  “But of course!” She smirks. “The true masters of the universe, funding a world that thrives on commerce through chaos.”

  “Wow, now that’s a truly snappy slogan.” I swing the scissors again, this time drawing blood as I slice her thigh.

  She screams and stumbles as she backs out onto the terrace. Still, she riffs the party line. “You may stop me, but you know better than anyone that the Quorum is a thirteen-headed hydra. Each time you chop off a head, another grows in its place. I’m just one of many who have burrowed deep within the corridors of power.”

 
I roll my eyes. “Get a grip, Frannie. At most, you’re a pawn. Granted, a well-placed one. It was you who gave Salem the detailed schematic of Lion’s Lair for the attack on the summit in two days, wasn’t it?”

  Her eyes grow big. “How did you—”

  “Does it really matter—now that he’s dead?”

  “My Salem—dead?” Frannie’s anguished cry is that of a lover’s.

  Make that two lovers: Babette’s voice echoes hers from the far side of the terrace.

  The first lady is dressed only in a silk robe. Her hair is disheveled and her eyes red-rimmed. She’s been crying.

  She must have heard our voices and come out of the bathroom to investigate the ruckus.

  Now she knows Salem’s fate as well.

  Rage roils from her deep despair. Surprisingly, this time it is not aimed at me. She marches up to Frannie. “You were a nobody! I made you a confidant! I trusted you with”—Babette turns toward me, as if seeing me for the very first time—“with my child! And he was fucking you too?”

  Frannie does the worst thing possible. She smiles.

  There is something even crueler she can do: taunt. “You were much too easy a conquest, Babette, and much too needy,” she sneers. “We laughed about it often.”

  Shamed, Babette lowers her eyes.

  She doesn’t need to raise them in order to throw an elbow into Frannie’s stomach.

  Frannie’s gasp is sharp, but her scream is even louder as Babette, furious, shoves her over the balcony.

  I rush to the edge. Four Secret Service men stare up at me.

  Another three rush in through the battered door: Zeb, and others in his detail. Instinctively, he covers Babette. The other two tackle me to the terrace floor.

  I’m not released until Lee shouts, “Stand down! Stand down!”

  I am lifted up by Jack, who cradles me in his arms.

  Lee is doing the same to Babette.

  Chapter 18

  Old, New, Borrowed, Blue

  Traditional weddings demand that every bride wears something that represents these four items:

  Something old. Preferably, an heirloom. That being said, see if his mother isn’t willing to part with any jewelry worth six figures or more. If she says, “Hell, no,” take it as a broad hint to how the rest of your life will be, now that she is in it.

  Something new. This is where ditching your flannel nightie for brand-new lingerie comes in handy. (No, the Spanx you need to get into your wedding dress doesn’t count.)

  Something borrowed. See “Something old.” The fact that his mother won’t realize you broke into her safe to get her antique ring until she sees it on your finger shouldn’t deter you from at least trying to kill two traditions at once.

  Something blue. Should your groom be as upset as his mother at your light-fingered snatch, payback is obvious: a wedding evening in which the debauchery he longs for falls on deaf ears—thus the term, “wedding ball blues.”

  “I love weddings!” Aunt Phyllis exclaims. “All the men get soused—which means that they’re easy too!”

  “You have a one-track mind,” I chide her.

  My aunt shrugs off my admonishment. “At my age, having any mind at all is a blessing.”

  “So I take it that wherever this wedding takes place, it’ll at least have booze?” I ask slyly.

  Mary and Trisha snicker. Trisha wags a finger at me. “Mommy, we’ve already told you—it’s a surprise.”

  Wherever they take me will be perfectly fine.

  I’ll be with those who love me most.

  It’s been an afternoon of laughter with my bridal party—Phyllis, Mary, Trisha, and Emma—who are here to assist me as I dress. I’ve never seen them lovelier.

  Or happier.

  I am blessed.

  Each has her role. Trisha’s assignment was to lay out all the items in Emma’s large make-up case. She was determined to doll me up. “Glam, but not Goth, right? Like an Oscar nominee,” is how Emma put it.

  “Works for me,” I assure her.

  “Mommy, I know what counts for ‘something new.’” Trisha points to my dress. “But what is your old, your borrowed, and your blue?”

  “Ah, good point,” I sigh. “I haven’t even had time to think about it.”

  “I’ve got your blue,” Aunt Phyllis declares. From her purse she pulls out a pale blue silk garter. “The boys at Meat Market Lounge were supposed to put this on the bride.” She winks broadly at me. “Since you ran off so early, the honor was all mine.”

  I shake my head in awe. “That doesn’t surprise me.” As I slip it on my leg, I add, “You’ll get it back after the honeymoon. That way it kills to birds with one stone: something borrowed and something blue.”

  Aunt Phyllis arches a brow. “So happy it’ll be getting a little action.”

  “As for my something old”—I open my jewelry box and pull out the antique heart-shaped locket that was left to me by my mother. I hold it up to the others—“I’ll wear this.”

  I put the locket in a safe place after Carl disappeared. It was too precious to wear, since it held the only picture I had of him. The locket’s other side holds a photo of our children. When Carl came back to me under the guise of taking down the Quorum, I started wearing it again, but only on special occasions.

  Long ago I should have replaced his photo with one of Jack. I’ll do so on our honeymoon.

  I now hand it to Mary, who clasps it around my neck.

  Each step of the way, Aunt Phyllis and Mary have been taking turns capturing these special moments with my aunt’s digital camera. The photos may not be as polished as the ones Mario Testino would have shot, but who cares? They’ll be candid, which is the only way to truly capture the raw emotions of the day.

  I can’t wait to see the look on Jack’s face.

  I close my eyes to imagine it:

  His eyes widening in astonishment of all that he finds beautiful about me—not outside, but within;

  The catch in his throat as he stumbles to find the words to express his awe;

  And, finally, the sly grin that promises fun and games when the dress comes off.

  Aunt Phyllis scrutinizes me through my vanity mirror. “If I had your figure, I’d be beating them off with a stick.”

  At the very least, the past week of running around in search of the terrorist embedded in the White House has helped me drop a pound or two. My wedding gown fits like a glove.

  Noting my bliss, Aunt Phyllis’s gaze shifts to Mary. “I guess you’ll soon be breaking hearts too, missy.”

  Mary, who has the honor of zipping me up, shakes her head. “Life is much too short to play those kinds of games.” She blushes. No doubt she’s thinking of Evan. Jeff has teased him unmercifully about the Bunnies’ care and feeding of him. “The right guy for me will have to prove himself every step of the way”—she pauses when our eyes meet in the mirror—“like Dad does for Mom, each and every day.”

  Dad. These days, it rolls so easily off her tongue.

  As it should. As hard as Jack works to prove his love for me every day, he has done the same for her.

  “I think Evan is hot.” Aunt Phyllis’s declaration to Mary comes with a wink and a nudge to me.

  Mary’s cheeks pink up. “Obviously, I’m not his type. You saw that for yourself.”

  “A boob job does not a relationship make.” My aunt’s advice is cockeyed, but sage in its own way. “He’ll grow out of it. They all do. Sort of.” She looks down at her own ample bosom, which looks smashing in her gown.

  The dress she chose was enthusiastically approved by Mary and Trisha: an ice blue Kay Unger column gown boasting a bateau neckline and three-quarter length sleeves, with sequins embedded in its full-length lace overlay.

  The final touch: Emma does my hair. First, she sweeps it into a low topknot—loose, with tendrils falling on either side of my face.

  Gazing at my reflection in the mirror, Trisha whispers, “My mommy is beautiful.”

  “I
’ll second that.” At the sound of Lee’s voice, everyone freezes.

  His eyes find mine in the mirror. The depth of their sadness breaks my heart. Neither of us regrets our friendship, just the circumstances that put us together.

  And keep us apart.

  We were drawn together by a mutual enemy. Carl was the face of it. He may be gone, but the Quorum lives on.

  Our allegiance only survives on our trust. It is why Lee is here, now.

  Emma taps Mary and Aunt Phyllis on the arm. “We still have some last minute details to call in to the venue,” she reminds them.

  “Oh…yeah, right!” Phyllis tries to sound convincing, but knowing her, the moment she heard Babette ditched on the wedding, I’m sure she pulled out her trusty Rolodex and called in some favors.

  I fully anticipate that Jack and my I-do’s will be shouted over “B Sixteen…again, B Sixteen…” and “N-Four…I said, N-Four…” in one of the many bingo parlors between here and Pasadena.

  Yet another great memory we’ll share.

  I wait until the door is closed before teasing him: “You do know it’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding, don’t you?”

  “That bit of bad luck is only reserved for the groom.” The regret in his voice hangs heavy between us.

  “I’m glad you’ll be attending, Lee. It means so much to me.”

  The fact that I don’t mention Jack in the same breath is not lost on Lee. He chuckles. “Attending? I’m marrying you and Jack. I think you realize how special you are to me, Donna. Frankly, I wouldn’t have missed this for the world.” He is now close enough to stroke my head. Very gently, he wraps a tendril of my hair around his finger. He waits until it uncoils, then sighs. “I wish I could have waited until you got back from your honeymoon for your debriefing of Operation China Doll, but as you can imagine, I’m curious about your findings, what with Frannie’s death this morning.”

  I nod. “I know.” Other than my vanity stool, the only chair in the room is piled high with the sweaty clothes I wore earlier today, as I chased around after the very evildoers that are now on his mind too. I can only offer him the bed for a place to sit. I nod toward it. “I think you should take a seat.”