The Housewife Assassin's Garden of Deadly Delights (23 page)

The pain in his voice breaks my heart.

I wait until Jack gets home, then we knock on Jeff’s door together. At first, he doesn’t answer. Finally, I hear a muffled, “What is it?”

“I think you’ll want to hear what I have to say,” I answer.

We hear his footsteps. The door creaks open, but Jeff backs away until he’s up against the bed.
 

“Mr. Karman is dead. He committed suicide this afternoon.”

Jeff staggers back onto his bed. “It’s—it’s because of my paper, isn’t it?”

“No, Jeff. Your paper was the catalyst that small-minded people used as the excuse to get him fired. As it turns out, he was tired of the prejudice he encountered here, and he was concerned about the whereabouts of his family, who had fled terrorists in his birth country of Yemen.”

The enormity of the news has Jeff stunned and shaking his head.
 

“I also want to tell you that I just got off the phone with Mr. Al-Salami.”

“Emma found him? But, of course,” Jeff says in answer to his own question.

“Mr. Al-Salami went to school with Mr. Karman. He’s now a professor at Stanford. During the summer, he runs a two-week workshop for high school students who are interested in the area of International Studies. Mr. Karman had forwarded your paper in the hope that he’d accept you into the program, despite your age. After reading it, Professor Al-Salami agreed to do so. He was also impressed with it.”

Jeff’s eyes grow large. “Wow…” Suddenly, he frowns. “But I can’t! I wouldn’t feel right about it!”

“I thought you’d react that way, and I warned the professor it may be the case. He pointed out to me that the position is open, if you want it. He feels since your attendance was Mr. Karman’s final request, he hopes you accept. That way, both of you can honor his memory.”

“I don’t know.” Tears roll down Jeff’s cheeks.

Jack sits down beside my son. “Jeff, prejudices are built on ignorance and fear. The more we learn, the greater chance we have of overcoming them. This isn’t solely about Mr. Karman. It’s also about you.”

Jeff nods. He knows what Jack means: if Jeff is going to conquer the fear from the trauma of being held hostage, hearing it discussed openly and factually is a good start.

“Take the night to think about it. If you agree, I’m sure the professor will be glad to hear from you.” I go to his desk and write down Professor Al-Salami’s email and phone number.
 

We aren’t out the door before Jeff picks up his cell phone. “Hello…is this Professor Al-Salami? My name is Jeff Stone…”

I have yet one more reason to be proud of my son.

Chapter 14

Bare Roots

Besides seeds, seedlings, or potted in dirt, another way in which a plant might be sold is with “bare roots”—in other words, with all soil removed from its roots, so that the purchaser can more fully judge its healthiness. This method is predominant with trees, shrubs and perennials. Hint: The plumper and lighter the root, the healthier it is. It should bloom beautifully.
 

Just as it’s easy to hide a sick plant in a pretty pot under lots of soil or peat moss, it’s a cinch to mask a nasty disposition beneath a fake smile, false words, and a beautiful face. The root of a person’s true character lies deep under the surface. Their actions are what casts light on who they truly are.

Judge your friends by that and your relationships will probably blossom for a lifetime.

The next morning, Mary and I arrive at the school an hour before classes. We head straight to the gym and knock on Coach Lonergan’s door.

Mary’s coach doesn’t seem at all surprised to see us. She ushers us in. “Mary, I’d heard you’d called in sick yesterday. I presume it had something to do with your performance at the game.”

Mary nods. “Coach Lonergan, it’s not what you think.”

Coach Lonergan holds up a hand. “Please don’t apologize. I know the pressure you’ve been under since making the team. But I must admit, considering your determination and skill set during our practices, I was surprised and ultimately disappointed at your performance during the game.” She hesitates, then adds, “Not everyone thrives in a competitive spotlight. If you feel the pressure is too great, I’ll understand if you wish to resign from the team, and I won’t stop you. However, if you’re willing to give yourself a second chance, then by all means, I am too.”

Mary sits straight up. Her coach’s words of encouragement are all she needs to put her at ease and to put a smile back on her face.
 
“Thank you, Coach, for believing in me. And yes, I’d be honored to continue on the team. However”—she takes a deep breath—“my actions at the game had nothing to do with anxiety, or illness, for that matter. Sara, Cara and Tara drugged my water bottle.”

She places a thumb drive on the desk in front of Coach Lonergan. “This contains video evidence of the girls breaking into my locker and tampering with my water bottle. The second file is a report from a lab that analyzed the contents of the bottle. I was drugged with a roofie.”

Coach Lonergan’s eyes open wide.
 

“Coach, I know what you’re thinking—that this will devastate the team—”

“You’re wrong,” Coach Lonergan interrupts her. “If anything, I’m thinking of the criminal charges they’ll be facing—if you choose to prosecute them.”

Mary thinks for a moment, “Really, I hadn’t thought about that. I’m hoping that the shame of knowing what you and their parents will think of them will be enough.”

“It won’t. They’ll also be kicked off the team—and I’m sure that once I make the principal aware of this, they’ll be expelled from school, too.” She shrugs. “A team is only as strong as its leaders. It’s one of the reasons I’d hoped you’d stick it out with us.”
 

“If that’s the case, I’ll accept your offer to keep me on the team.” Mary stands up to shake her coach’s hand.

Coach Lonergan stands up too—but hugs Mary instead. “I’m sorry you had to go through this. And I’m sure having to break the news to me wasn’t easy.”

Mary laughs. “I won’t lie to you: I would have loved to have skipped the roofie, and gotten back a day of my life. Maybe someday I can laugh at seeing a video of me on the court. And, no, I don’t take any joy in telling you what Sara and the others did to me. I only wish they didn’t feel the need to hate me.” She shrugs. “Then again, a wise person once told me, ‘Every experience, even the tragic ones, are an opportunity to grow stronger.’”

Mary gives me a wink.

There’s nothing more enjoyable than a day in which the only thing you do is exactly nothing.

Case in point: today, because there is no world crisis that needs my attention. And now that my daughter has dealt with her bullies, all family crises are taken care of as well.

Jack has a different way to unwind. By the time I get home, he has already mowed the front lawn. The way I see it, better him than me.

I sit on one of the chaises on the back terrace. My mind is busy planning tonight’s dinner menu. We look forward to a quiet evening at home with the kids. I’ll let Jack play chef and toss a few burgers on the grill. I’ll make my patented potato salad, and I’ve got a killer recipe for kale salad.

In the meantime, I’ll just sit here and do…
absolutely nothing.

Until the phone rings.
 

The caller is Lori. “Donna, I’m in a panic! I’ve just had a call from the Daisy Scouts headquarters that the cookies are on a truck, to be delivered there, in Palm Springs! I’m in a bind. My oldest daughter has her ballet recital this afternoon. If we can’t pick them up by three o’clock, we can’t get them until Monday afternoon. Would you mind picking up our portion of the shipment?”
 

Yes, I would, but clearly, someone needs to help Lori. She does so much for the Daisy Scouts already. So, I lie. “Sure, no problem.”

“Thank you! You’re a lifesaver! I’ll text you the address now.”
 

“Who was that?” Jack asks.

“Lori. She asked if I’d meet the troop’s cookie delivery at the Daisy Scouts’ headquarters—in Palm Springs, of all places.”

“Would you like some company?” He winks at me. “I’ll even let you drive the new Jackmobile.”

I sigh my disappointment. “I’ll take a rain check. The order is so large that we’ll have to take the van. But sure, you can tag along."

Really, it was the wink that did it, but he doesn't need to know that.
 

And we’re off.

We’re tooling up I-405 when Arnie’s Caller ID lights up on my phone.

“If you’re calling about the Daisy Scout cookies, don’t worry. I’m on my way to pick them up now.”

“So, you’ve heard from Ryan?”

“What? Now Ryan wants cookies, too? He always claims he’s allergic to them.”

“He’s allergic to Daisy Scouts, not their cookies,” Jack says. “I’ve caught him gobbling them up by the handful in Acme’s break room.”

“Donna, the corn delivery driver came clean with another drop of Exodus corn—or in this case, corn syrup, to DeeLiteFull Bakery, in Phoenix. They make custom cookies—specifically, for Daisy Scouts.”

“Oh no,” I murmur.

“Wellborne had an accomplice at the corn syrup processing plant. Dominic was sent to pick him up.”

“He’s home? Well, it’s about damn time,” I mutter. “I can’t wait to see his lovely tan.”

“At least Dominic got what we needed to track the deposit into Wellborne’s account,” Arnie informs us. “Unfortunately, it was a dead-end. The funds were issued by a private company in Hong Kong.”
 

“Well, that certainly strengthens our suspicions that the MSS was involved,” Jack replies.

“As for Wellborne’s bakery accomplice, he’s already squealing,” Arnie continues. “Wellborne insisted the corn syrup was to be used in a specific batch of cookies: snickerdoodles. To confirm his accomplice’s statement, Acme hacked into DeeLiteFull’s security feed and production database. We have verification that the corn syrup was delivered, and that it was used as instructed. This cookie batch—along with other varieties—is now on a truck heading west on I-10, toward Palm Springs. From there, it will be sorted into the individual troops’ shipments, and sent all over the country.”