The Housewife Assassin's Hostage Hosting Tips (Housewife Assassin Series Book 9) (21 page)

His tale is not pretty. “After Dad died and Mom went to prison, I was left on my own. As you know, I was in the middle of my junior year at Overton Prep, in Massachusetts. My parents had already paid my tuition through my senior year. You get a bit of a break if you do it, or you can earmark the difference to the school’s scholarship fund. Dad opted to do that instead.”

Of course, he would. He was always generous to those less fortunate. I knew this firsthand.

“I was a straight-A student. I was also a co-captain of the lacrosse team, and of the JV basketball team. But when news came out about Mom’s role in Dad’s death, suddenly it was like I couldn’t do anything right at Overton.” Shamed, he drops his head. “I couldn’t sleep at night. I was distracted by all that was going on. My grades dropped, and I wasn’t holding my own on either team.”

“Surely your counselor at Overton acted as your advocate to your teachers and the head of school,” I point out.

He snorts. “Hardly! Like all the counselors on staff, Mr. Shackleton is a psychiatrist. His way of helping was to give me ‘something to sleep.’ The dosage he gave me was so high that I missed many of my morning classes, not to mention a practice or two. When I asked him to lower the dose, he refused. When I took it upon myself to cut the dosage in half, it was used as part of the reason for my permanent suspension, along with my falling grade point average.”
 

“Between grieving the loss of a parent, and the anguish of learning that your mother, the president-elect, was going to prison, of course there was a chance your grades would suffer,” I murmur. “I can’t believe anyone could blame you for your mother’s deeds–”

“Oh, I can,” Mary exclaims. She blushes and looks down. Her father may be dead, but she’s left to shoulder the infamy of his shame.
 

As am I, Jeff, and Trisha.

“She deserved to go to jail.” He looks me straight in the eye as he states it as a fact, nothing more or less. “Frankly, she deserves–well, worse. But I’m paying for it, too. You know what they say: ‘The sins of the father…’” He looks sideways at Mary. “Or, in this case, it’s the mother.”
 

“Did you check into other schools?”

“When I applied to other private preps, the drop in my GPA was the excuse they gave to turn me down.” He shrugs. “We had the farm in Massachusetts, but because Mom was a senator, I grew up in Georgetown. I applied there, to the local public schools. It turned out to be a very big mistake. This is what happens when you’re a wealthy white kid who won’t hand over his ATM card to the school’s bad-ass gangsta.” He pulls up his T-shirt to show me cigarette burn marks.
 

Seeing me flinch, he tucks his shirt back into his jeans. “I’m not that rich anymore, anyway. Without my dad at the helm, his company is in a free fall. My mother’s legal fees are humongous, and our personal financial manager has made some bad calls too.” Just speaking of the problems weighing him down makes the tiny lines on his forehead seem to grow deeper. “Mrs. Stone, I didn’t know where else to go. The trusts are bleeding cash at such a fast rate that I’ll be broke before I reach my twenty-first birthday. The D.C. townhouse is in foreclosure. As for the farmhouse, it was paid off years ago, but I’ll never go back there. I’ve already put it on the market. The only lookers are those who want to see where ‘the killer senator’ lived.”
 

I don’t blame him in the least for not wanting to go back there. It’s where his mother gave a hit man the order to kill his father.

Carl was the hit man.

It’s something I can never tell Evan. Or Mary either, for that matter. Not after seeing the deep sadness in her eyes as she listens to her dear friend’s plight.

Not after watching her as she lays her hand over his and squeezes it tightly, in solidarity.

And certainly not after agreeing with her when she implores, “Mom, it’s okay if Evan stays here with us, isn’t it? He can finish high school here, at Hilldale High.”

“It’s fine with me. He can take the bonus room over the garage. However”–I pause and take a deep breath–“despite your feelings for your mother, I think you should tell her your plans, Evan. She has a right to know.”

He shakes his head. “She has no say in my life anymore.”

“You may think that’s the case, but until you’re an emancipated minor, she still has some authority over you.”

He shrugs. “I’ll file as soon as possible. But I’m through with her. Feel free to tell her yourself.”

Great. It’ll be the cherry on the cake of my day.

Seeing my face, Mary says, “Mom, I promise–no more playing hooky.” She holds her head high as she adds, “And no more fights with the other kids when they say cruel things about–about my father.”

Evan murmurs, “Mary, I’ll be there for you. No, really, we’ll be there for each other.”

As I make Evan a second cup of cocoa, I hold in my tears to the point where I can’t talk, because I know I’ll choke on them.

When I finally pull myself together, I say good night and go upstairs to bed. First thing tomorrow, I’ll call the Federal Prison Camp in Alderson, West Virginia to ask if they can accommodate a visit to Inmate Number 27955-101, known to the outside world as former President-Elect Catherine Martin.

Emma purses her mouth into a sour frown. “Um…are you sure they’ll be okay? I mean, Nicky’s been so fussy lately. I can’t seem to get him to sleep. Not to mention, Phyllis seems pretty busy this morning.”
 

She has reluctantly agreed to allow Phyllis to watch her newborn while we go on a run. Ironically, Emma’s limited exposure to my aunt has never really caught her in the best light.
 

Noting her frown as Phyllis puts Nicky’s bassinette on top of the dryer while she sorted the laundry, I pull her out the door with me before she changes her mind. “I’ll admit it, Aunt Phyllis can be absentminded, but trust me, Emma–Nicky won’t end up in the dryer or something.”

I conveniently neglect to mention the time Aunt Phyllis once took then four-year old Jeff with her to her senior poker night. Because it was the first time she won every hand, one of the other ladies (I use the term lightly) claimed my son was counting cards for her.

He was, but the point I’m making is that they got out of there in one piece.

Okay, granted. Phyllis lost her upper bridge somehow, but as long as Jeff held on to all of his fingers and toes, I chalked up the evening as a success.

The jogging trail I’ve suggested takes us out of Hilldale, through nearby headlands overlooking the Pacific Ocean. On purpose, I haven’t mentioned the Acme mission at all. Instead, I’ve kept the topic on the shenanigans involving the prom. Emma shakes her head when she hears about the pedophile photographer. When I get to the part about the Tarot card reading, she’s laughing so hard that she has to stop.

We’re at the very top of the hill, so it’s as good a place to catch our breath as any. As we gaze out over the Pacific Ocean, Emma exclaims, “Wow! Beautiful!” She sighs deeply. “Thanks for talking me into doing this.”

I squeeze her bicep. “Hey, you were the one complaining that you’re no longer the lean, mean fighting machine you once were.”

She smiles. “I guess getting out again in the middle of the day for fresh air and sunshine is one of the perks of being a lady of leisure, even if it’s only temporary–I mean, in my case, anyway.”

I open my mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. What is there to say, anyway? She’s right. I, on the other hand, have a permanently out-to-lunch status.

In the wake of three deaths, make that
persona non grata
status.

Emma takes my silence as tacit approval. “Boy, I’ll bet you’re ecstatic that the whole ‘replacement’ situation is finally over.”
 

What does she mean by that? Has Ryan come to his senses and realized that no one can follow in my footsteps?
Well, about damn time
.

“It was inevitable, right?” I lift my head, better to bask in the glory of it all.

“I can’t believe it happened so quickly! And to get Mara Portnoy, of all people!”

And just like that, my fantasy of being irreplaceable dissipates in the stark bright light of reality. “What do you mean?”
 

Realizing that she’s once again the bearer of unexpected news, Emma grits her teeth. “I thought Jack would have mentioned it to you. After all, it was his idea. She was the Acme sparrow based in Istanbul. Before that, she was based in Paris, around the same time as Jack. She retired, too. It’s been at least five years by now. No one knew why. The typical rumors went around–you know, burn out. But Ryan left the door open for her to return if she changed her mind. Jack had the bright idea of reaching out to her. We were all surprised she said yes. ”

“Oh.” I nod and twist my lips into something I hope resembles a grin. “Well, at least it’s someone I won’t have to vet.”

“Considering Jack’s previous experience with her? I’d say not. I guess when you’re partners as long as they were, every wink and nudge is shorthand.”

“This Mara woman was Jack’s partner? He’s never even mentioned her name to me!”

Emma takes a step back, as if once again she’s put her foot in the proverbial
merde
. “It was before my time, but from what gossip Dominic told Arnie, apparently they had a falling out over…well, someone.”
 

Was it Jack’s now-deceased wife, Valentina?

If so, Mara would find it ironic that he is now living with the woman who was married to the person Valentina left Jack for: Carl.

I shake off Emma’s concern with a tap on the shoulder. “Last one home is a rotten egg.”

“Why bother?” she mutters. “You’ve always been faster than me–not to mention I already feel like a rotten friend.”

Still, she must be game because she takes off down the hill, leaving me in her dust.

She’s seen me angry. I guess she feels the bigger her head start, the better.

We get home to find Nicky sound asleep, albeit still on top of the dryer, which rocks as the clothes within it tumble around furiously.
 

“I can’t believe it,” Emma murmurs. “He’s out like a light–finally!”

She gives Phyllis a hug, but my aunt waves her off. “A little trick every mother should know. They miss the motion in the ocean.” She moves her hands back and forth in unison as her eyes drop to Emma’s wasp waist. “You’re just a little thing! I’ll bet he was, too, when he finally came out of you.”

Emma nods. “He was barely six pounds. Came early, in fact. The stress of the job, I guess.” She nods toward me. “This one has her priorities straight. I may follow her out of the racket.”

Dear sweet Emma, can we ever really leave it behind? Be careful what you wish for…

Emma looks at her watch. “Crikey! I’m late for…” She looks over at me and winces.

Ah, so she’s got to jump on a phone conference for an update on the mission’s status. “You don’t want to miss the call,” I say evenly.

Before Aunt Phyllis can object or pshaw, Emma smacks her with a kiss and grabs Nicky’s carrier. “Grab the diaper bag and walk me out,” she suggests to me.

The tone of her voice promises so much more than goodbye.

As she positions Nicky in his car seat, she says, “I’ve got some big news.”

Guilt. I love it. Always delivers.

“Arnie and I have set the big date–finally.”

“Oh!” Not what I expected, but hey, I’ll run with it. “Great. For what?”

“Our wedding!” She is totally exasperated with me. “Ironically, for next Sunday. I say ironically because, A, we’d hoped for a longer lead time and, B, it was the only date available in the place where we want to hold it. We got so lucky that there was a cancellation, apparently a groom with cold feet.”

“Lucky–for you and Arnie, anyway. Where is it?”

“Griffith Observatory, during a full moon.”

I laugh. “You aren’t werewolves, you know!”

“Please don’t tease me.” Her cheeks pink up. “It’s just something I told Arnie I wanted to do, a very long time ago. Like an elephant, he never forgets anything. He made all the arrangements–except for the most important one.”

“Let me guess. He forgot to order the invitations.”