The Housewife Assassin's Garden of Deadly Delights (19 page)

“Jeff, all people—no matter where they’re from—have different customs. And every religion is different in how it is practiced and in regard to its traditions. You can be devout in your religious beliefs without being a terrorist.” I sigh. “Please don’t buy into Cheever and Mrs. Bing’s paranoia.”

“I’m not! I swear!” Jeff frowns. “Mom, Mr. Karman sent my paper to someone else!”

“How do you know this?” I ask.
 

“Because I saw him do it. He went to the faculty copier room with it. When he was done, he put it in a manila envelope. The man’s name was Arabic too”—he closes his eyes as he thinks. “It was Abdul Al-Salami.”

“What is Mr. Al-Salami’s address?”

Jeff shrugs. “It was all I could read. I…well, I ducked when Mr. Karman turned my way.”

With what Jeff went through, I can see why Mr. Karman’s act might alarm him. “Okay, Jeff, I defer to your gut feelings on this situation. In the meantime, I’ll do some research on both Mr. Karman and Mr. Al-Salami, if only to put your mind at ease, one way or another.”

Jeff’s way of thanking me is to kiss me on the cheek.

By the time I pull into the Hilldale High School gym’s parking lot, both of us have dried our tears.

I text Emma the two names, adding:
No rush, but when you get around to it.
 

The way the Exodus mission is going, that may be never.

Chapter 12

Sucker

The term “sucker” is used to describe plant growth—say, a sprout—originating from the rootstock of a grafted plant, rather than the desired part of the plant.
 

Sucker growth should be removed, so it doesn't draw energy from the main stalk of the plant.

Humans are sometimes also described as suckers. This occurs when they are duped into doing something that makes them look foolish.

Should someone try to make a sucker out of you, feel free to remove their head from their body. That way, they don’t draw energy from your life.

The Hilldale High School Girls Varsity Basketball team tears out onto the court to the
Rocky
theme, like Amazons ready to do battle with lesser beings.

That is, everyone but Mary. She takes up the rear and fairly stumbles out. When she is halfway across the court, she rubs her eyes, as if waking up from an afternoon nap.

I know she came in late, but still, she had plenty of shut-eye. What could be wrong with her?

The air is charged with the exhilaration that only comes from a local rivalry, such as Hilldale’s with today’s competitor, the Newport Harbor High School Sailors. Add to this the fate of the regional title and you can understand why the bleachers are wall-to-wall anxiety.

Thank goodness Evan saved everyone seats, on the aisle of the center column of seats, in the last row. Aunt Phyllis is already here too.
 

I kiss her cheek. “I thought you’d be here later. Didn’t you have an art class earlier this afternoon?”

“Yes. We’re painting nudes, and some of those guys are hung.” She sighs appreciatively. “As tempting as that is, I wouldn’t have missed Mary’s first varsity game for anything in the world.”
 

While the other girls are already going through their warm-up drills—tossing free-throws through the end-court hoop, passing basketballs up and down a drill line, and dribbling in figure-eights and cross-overs—Mary stands there, twirling a strand of hair around her middle finger. Finally, Coach Lonergan runs over to her. Whatever her coach is saying has Mary nodding her head vigorously, and running over to join her teammates, who are dribbling.
 

Her own moves are less than stellar, if not downright embarrassing. She loses her ball at least four times. Not only that, she misses four out of five hoop shots.
 

Each time it happens, Sara nudges Cara, who nudges Tara.
 

I hate seeing them enjoying her distress.

“What’s wrong with Mary?” Jeff asks.

“Beats me,” Evan answers. He’s so worried that he paces the bleacher behind us.

Trisha covers her eyes with her hands.
 

I feel like doing the same.
Something is very, very wrong.

When the ref blows the whistle, the players run to their respective sideline benches—

Except for Mary. She heads off in the wrong direction. When she realizes what she’s done, she flips around, but the crowd is already laughing. She turns beet red as she shuffles to her seat on the bench.

If her teammates aren’t staring at her, they’re angrily inching away from her.

It’s going to be one heck of a long game.

I can’t blame the coach for keeping Mary sidelined until the last few minutes of the game, considering that my daughter has barely moved from whatever zombie state she’s in. Why is she catatonic? Has making the varsity team been too overwhelming?

When she finally gets pulled off the bench, it’s only because Hilldale’s lead is ten points, and state rules are such that she has to be played, if only for a few minutes. But her footwork is lethargic at best, comical at worst.
 

Still, she manages to get right under the basket. And in that instant, Cara passes her the ball. Mary dribbles and shoots—

Right over the backstop.

The crowd roars with laughter.

Thank goodness the buzzer goes off.
 

While the other girls shake hands with the losing team, Mary stands under the basket, frozen in her humiliation.

When Sara and her posse pass her, they jostle her so hard that she falls to the floor. She has to crawl before she stands up.

Jack and I lead the family in a trot from the bleachers to where she sits. Evan beats us to her.

Her eyes are damp, but the tears don’t seem to fall. Jack helps her to her feet. She walks to the car with her head bowed. “I’m sorry. I screwed up,” she whispers. “Please—take me home.”

“Your clothes and books—where are they?”

She shrugs. “My backpack…is in my gym locker.”

“I’ll get it for you,” Evan offers. “Bay G, locker number fourteen-ninety-two, and the combination: it’s four-one-five-four-one-five, right?”

She stares up at him. “How did you know?”

“Don’t you remember? A couple of weeks ago, you left your library book at school by mistake. I was still here, so I brought it home with me.”

She nods absently. “Yeah…I remember…I think.”

“Go on home with Jack and Trisha,” I tell Mary. “Jeff, Evan, and I will bring it with us.”

I watch as Jack puts his arm around her and leads her out of the gym.

“That wasn’t Mary out there,” Evan insists.
 

“I know what you mean.” I throw up my hands. “Maybe the pressure of playing her first game got to her, coupled with all the head games played on her by those mean girls. But whether it was or wasn’t, it’s what her coach will judge her on. I’ll move the car to the front of the gym. Meet us there after you grab her gear.”

Evan nods as he trots off toward the gym.
 

Jeff shakes his head angrily. “Mom, that’s not fair to her! Just because she screwed up once—”

“Jeff, I agree wholeheartedly. Still, it’s not our decision to make. We have to prepare her for the possibility that she may be released from the team.”
 

Jeff shrugs.

It’s not until I’m halfway across the gym floor that I notice Jeff isn’t following.
 

When I turn back around, I notice he’s sitting back in the bleachers. He’s pulled out his laptop. “I’ll meet you at the car in a minute!” he shouts. He waves me off.

Homework…now?

I start to object, but what’s the use?

I head to the parking lot.

By the time we get home, Mary is up in her room with the door closed.

“She’s sleeping,” Jack tells us.

“I’m glad.” I plop down in the kitchen banquette beside Jeff. He’s still on his laptop. He hasn’t looked up from it since we left the gym.

“After the game, I wanted to take everyone out for pizza,” Jack says. “But since Mary isn’t in the mood to celebrate, I asked Aunt Phyllis and Trisha went to pick up Chinese food instead.”

“Great idea.” I sigh. “Although, I don’t think anyone has much of an appetite.”

Evan holds up Mary’s gym bag. “Should I take this up to her room?”

“Leave it with me.” I hold out my hand. “I’ll throw her gym clothes in with the wash.”
 

When I open it, I’m met with the sweet and sour smells of sweaty clothes, socks, and sneakers. I pull them out, but leave her deodorant, liquid soap, shampoo, hair conditioner, comb, brush and moisturizer in the bag. Her water bottle is also in the bag. It’s only half-full, so I take it to the sink to empty it. I’ve unscrewed the twist top and I’m just about to pour it out when Jeff yells, “Mom—
don’t
!”

I freeze, then turn to him. “What’s the matter?”

“We may want to keep it as evidence.” He motions me over to his computer screen.

I come closer to find myself looking at a row of gym lockers. The banner hanging on the wall proclaims
GO HILLDALE WILDCATS!
 

“What is this?” I ask.

“The security footage by Mary’s locker.”

I stare down at him. “Jeff, how did you get this?”

“I hacked into the school’s database. I’ve watched Emma do it a few times—you know, when she worked out of the bonus room over the garage. Look, I know it’s illegal unless you’ve got a permit, but this is important, right? Mary shouldn’t be kicked off the team because she was drugged!”

He points to the screen.
 

Darned if he’s not right.

The time stamp is one-thirty, which would make it prior to the game.

Sara, Cara and Tara walk up to the lockers. While the other girls stand guard, Sara works the combination until it opens. She then unzips Mary’s gym bag and pulls out Mary’s baby blue water canister. She takes off the screw top, and pours something out of a tiny envelope into the bottle. She screws the top on, shakes it, puts the canister back in the gym bag, and closes the locker, twirling the lock in place. The girls run off, giggling.

After a ten minute time lapse, Mary can be seen at the locker, taking out her bag. She’s yet to put on her basketball team uniform.
 

The first thing she does is to take a swig from the bottle before hurrying off.

“Was Mary dumb enough to give them her combination number?”

“I doubt it,” Evan insists. Suddenly, his face goes white. “When she called me about her library book, she was with Sara and the others. I could hear them in the background. Maybe they overheard her.”

“My guess is that you’re right.” I stick my nose into the bottle and take a sniff. “I can’t smell anything, but that doesn’t mean anything.”

“If it’s a roofie, it wouldn’t have an odor, anyway,” Evan points out.
 

“Even if it turned the water blue, since her canister is that color anyway, Mary would not have noticed,” I add.
 

“After dinner, we’ll take this to Acme. Ryan can run a chemical analysis. We can leave for TasTee from there,” Jack suggests.