The Housewife Assassin's Garden of Deadly Delights (22 page)

Traffic on the six-lane Santa Ana Boulevard is heavy enough that the truck only gets as far as two blocks down the road before it’s stopped at another light. From where he’s sitting, the only thing to stare at is the filthy backpacker who’s standing on the median with a sign that reads SACTO.
 

The backpacker isn’t too happy when I decide to give him some competition. And, since I’ve already opened all the buttons of my blouse and tied it right below my lace bra, I’d say it’s really no contest.
 

When I hold out my thumb, the driver of the Exodus truck blows me a kiss.

I blow one back, then I toss my head. Because the light is six seconds from changing, I lick my lips as an incentive to speed along this courtship we’ve got going.

He takes the hint. Reaching over the cab, he opens the passenger door.

As I hop in, I notice that Backpacker has unbuttoned his flannel shirt and tied the ends together, right below his moobs.
 

Good luck with that, pal.

“You’re a doll,” I coo. “Whattya say to pulling over until the traffic lightens up? That way, I can thank you, all proper like.” To make my point, I purse my lips.

I don’t have to ask twice.

He screeches around the first corner. Lucky us, it’s a dead-end alley.

If you’ve never held a gun under a man’s testicles, you should give it a try, just once anyway. He’s chattering so hard that it takes me a full five minutes to get him to confess that he knows exactly what he delivered; that, yes, Wellborne paid him to do it; and yes, this is his last delivery.

Jack pulls around the corner, just as I’ve cuffed the driver’s hands.
 

“What took you so long?” I ask.

“I stopped for these.” He holds up a bouquet of pink roses.

He’s earned a kiss.

“So, all’s well that ends well?”
 

“Yes,” I say emphatically.
 

“Great. I’ll call Abu to swing by and pick me up, along with your new boyfriend. By the way, I’ve got Mary’s water bottle with me, so that he can take it into the Acme lab for content analysis.” He tosses me the car keys. “Are you fine with picking up the kids?”
 

He doesn’t have to ask twice. I take my flowers and scram.

First stop: Hilldale Elementary School.
 

The carpool line is almost at a standstill, what with all the Daisy Scouts rapping on the drivers’ windows and asking them to buy yet one more box of cookies, so that the troop can be number one in the state.

“Mommy, we’re only a hundred boxes away from first place,” Trisha announces, as she hops in the car.

I sigh. “Okay, we’ll buy ten more—but that’s it.”

This earns me a kiss.

Even before I get to Hilldale Middle School, there is a text from the school—unfortunately, from Principal Belding:

See me.

Jeff is in trouble?

I double-time it to the school, swerving toward the curb outside the administration building.

I walk into Mr. Belding’s office to find Jeff already there, as well as Cheever and his mother, Penelope Bing. Belding sits behind his desk. There is nothing on it except for a sheaf of papers.

Since I can read pages upside down, I can make out Jeff’s name. It’s his term paper:

A Comprehensive Look at Terrorism in Today’s World

Perhaps Jeff is getting a commendation?

Noting my baffled look, Belding says, “Not to worry, Mrs. Stone. Jeff has shown exemplary work in his Current Events class.”

My shoulders relax, as does my frown. “Oh! Well, congratulations, Jeff.” I pat him on the shoulder, but he doesn’t smile.
 

So, why is my son so sad?

“Are you aware of the fact that Mr. Karman shared Jeff’s paper with an outside source?”

“Um…no,” I say softly.

“I thought not,” Belding declares. “Unfortunately, in doing so, Mr. Karman broke a cardinal rule of the school.”

“Oh. Well…did he have a reason for doing so?” I ask.

“I didn’t ask for one,” Belding said smugly. “Again, the fact that he did it is reason enough for the immediate termination of his contract.”

“Don’t concern yourself, Donna,” Penelope says smugly. “He was acting strangely in so many other ways, too.”

“You mean, using his lunch hour for a private prayer session?” I ask.

Her eyes narrow into tiny slits. “You know about that?”

“Cheever made sure everyone knows…or is that your doing, Penelope? And since when is it a crime to pray behind closed doors?”

She turns bright red under her makeup foundation. “I’m certainly not going to apologize for my concerns in times of terror!” She tosses her frosted mane. “Frankly, if anyone should be on alert, I’d think it would be
you
.”

She doesn’t know the half of it.
 

And, frankly, she doesn’t have the clearance for me to tell her.

Without another word, I put my arm around Jeff’s shoulder and leave.

Emma calls. “Congratulations! Wow, talk about a crazy mission! I’ll bet you’re happy it’s over!”

“Totally,” I admit. I cup my ear to the phone and move into the dining room so that I can hear her over Trisha’s tallying of her sales to date. “I’m ready to get back to normal. Speaking of which, your Daisy Scout cookies should be here any day now.”

“You mean Arnie’s order. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled.”

I laugh. “Not a fan of the cookie, eh?”

“You hit the nail right on the head—too many sweeteners, too many additives, too many fillers, and too many calories!”

“Yes, I’ve seen Arnie in a bathing suit. It’s obvious who has the sweet tooth in your family.”

“I’ve got my fingers crossed that Nicky won’t inherit it, but I don’t hold out much hope.” Emma sighs. “Hey listen, I called for two reasons. First, the water sample you left with Abu to be tested in the lab contains Rohypnol. I’ve texted you a PDF of the formal lab results.”

“Thanks, Emma.” So, it’s as we suspected.
 

“Secondly, I finally had a chance to research the connection between the two men you called about a couple of days ago—Omar Karman and Abdul Al-Salami. As it turns out, they went to college together—Stanford. Al-Salami is currently a professor there, in the area of International Studies. Karman is a middle-school teacher—at Jeff’s school. Or, I should say, he was.”

“Yes, I just found out he’s been fired.”

“Did you also know he committed suicide?”

I drop into a chair. “Say that again?”

“It happened this afternoon. He hung himself. It was the last thing that popped on him on SLTLE—the United States’ integrated law enforcement database. His death hasn’t made the news yet because LAPD hasn’t contacted his next of kin, in Yemen. They may never find them, what with everyone fleeing ISIL over there. It was one of the reasons he wrote about in his suicide note—well, that, being let go from his job, and all the prejudice he’d encountered.”

“What he wrote doesn’t surprise me at all,” I murmur. “Emma, do you have a number for Professor Al-Salami?”

“I have his direct faculty number as well his cell number.” She reads them off.
 

“Thank you for this. Hey, if you need more Daisy Scout cookies—”

She laughs. “You mean, if Arnie needs more cookies! And yes, we know who to call.” She’s still chuckling as she hangs up.

I’ve got nothing to laugh about.

I dial the number she gave me.

“Ah, Mrs. Stone! It’s almost as if you’d read my mind,” exclaims Abdul Al-Salami.

“I… I beg your pardon?”

“A friend of mine—Omar Karman—is a big admirer of your son, Jeff. I can see why. Your son’s grasp of the problem of terrorism is incredible. More importantly, the insights he shows in his paper’s conclusion are similar to that of many who have been studying the topic for the past decade.”

“Professor, why did Mr. Karman share the paper with you?”

Professor Al-Salami chuckles. “He’d hoped to convince me to make an exception for Jeff and offer him a position in Stanford’s Summer High School program, where I teach a course in International Studies. One of the classes is on this very topic. Of course, I agreed to accept him. I sent Omar my answer in an email an hour ago.”

“But he never responded,” I murmur.

“No, not as of yet.”

“Mr. Al-Salami, I’m so sorry to be the one to break the news to you, but Mr. Karman committed suicide this afternoon after losing his job.”

He says nothing. “May he rest in peace,” he whispers finally.
 

“I have to tell you that my son’s paper was the issue behind his termination. You see, another parent took issue with the fact that it was forwarded from the school without the principal’s permission. She used this misstep to lobby for Mr. Karman’s resignation.”

“Was that enough to get him fired?” Professor Al-Salami asks.

“That—and, in my opinion, her prejudice against him.”

“I’m personally familiar with the issue of prejudice.” The hardened edge in his voice makes me wince.

“As much as it pains me to say so, should that be reason enough to withdraw your offer to my son, I’d understand completely.”

“If it were, her prejudice would win out, would it not?” he reasons. “To honor Omar’s request, his friendship, and his life, the offer stands. I leave the decision in the hands of you and your son.”