The Housewife Assassin's Guide to Gracious Killing (8 page)

Instead, I look her right in the eye when I say, “Yes, Hayley, I do.”

“Well, we think it’s marvelous that you’ve reached out to some of our new neighbors, in the hope of filling the gap,” Penelope declares briskly. “And you, too, Carl.”

Jack chokes on his cake. “Um… come again?”

Penelope honors him with an innocent smile. “Seems that Donna is great friends with Babette Breck.”

“Tiffy saw you at ballet practice with Trisha, Carl. She noticed you seemed quite chummy with Babette, too.” Hayley can’t wait to get that out. She gives me a sidelong glance. I’m sure she’s hoping for an explosive reaction.

Well, she isn’t going to get one. “Oh? I didn’t know your son, Logan, takes ballet, Tiffy.” 

Tiffy blushes. Logan is nine and a bruiser. Her husband, Rex, is a Neanderthal. He would bust a gut if his kid participated in anything but football or wrestling. “Oh… no! Logan wouldn’t be caught dead in a ballet studio. I was at the pharmacy when I saw Carl with Babette, and...” 

Her voice trails off. We can all figure out why, but I want to rub it in, anyway. “That’s odd,” I say as innocently as possible, “the pharmacy is four blocks away, on another street. You must have ex-ray vision.”

Penelope’s fork clatters onto her plate. “The point Tiffy is trying to make is that we find it admirable that you’ve taken Babette under your wing.” She waits for the others to nod in agreement, which they do vehemently, like Bobbleheads in an Orange County tremor. “That said, we presume you’ll want to introduce her around at the next Hilldale Women’s Club luncheon. You know, membership has its privileges.”

“Really? No, I didn’t know. Maybe someday you’ll invite me to join.”

The women look from one to the other. I guess it somehow slipped their minds that I’d never been invited.

Yes, I’m having fun watching them eat a little crow with their cake and coffee.

Penelope clears her throat. “I’m sure it’s an oversight on someone’s part. It will be rectified immediately, of course. Hayley, please make a note of it.”

Hayley reaches in her purse for a pen and a tidy pad, in which she scribbles something down. I’m guessing it’s REDRUM REDRUM REDRUM…

I turn to Penelope. “You said something about privileges? By any chance would those include a vacation from school carpool for, say, the next month?”

Penelope’s eyes narrow. She mutters something under her breath (I’m guessing an expletive), but comes to her senses before saying it out loud. Carpool duty is a small price to pay, should I reel in Babette for her.

“I’m sure Tiffy and Hayley can arrange something.”

Her lackeys wince, but they know the drill. 

Now that the ball is in my court, they head for the door. “The luncheon is Monday, one o’clock, the grand salon at Chez Chien Lunatique.”

For their benefit, Jack wraps his arms around me as I wave good-bye. 

For my benefit, he doesn’t laugh at the fact I’m now roped into some silly club, which only wants me as a member because I’m their connection to the most renowned trophy wife in town. 

I’m sure Babette would trade that notoriety for a few real friends, and a husband who adored her instead of mocked her.

She may not find this in the Hilldale Women’s Club, but if it gets her out from under Breck’s thumb for a couple of hours, I’m sure she’ll be just as willing to fake a friendship or two.

Chapter 7

Dealing with Awkward Moments

Despite a hostess’s attempt to assure her guests mingle well and have a marvelous time, someone is bound to do, or say, something, which makes everyone else feel a bit uncomfortable. Should that occur at your party, the best way to make amends is to laugh off the offense.

Payback comes later. In a dark alley. With a lead pipe.

At the next party, the loudmouth will behave as if the cat got his tongue (which may be the case, after you’re done with him).

Supposedly, the best divorce lawyer in all of Orange County is Alan Shore, of the law firm Young, Frutt & Berluti. “Best” is another way of saying every ex-wife in the county swears by him, and every ex-husband in the county swears at him, or whenever Alan’s name is uttered out loud.

This makes him the perfect attorney to represent me in my divorce.

I hand him a copy of the most recent picture I have of Carl. Considering his ability to disguise himself, I’m sure this is an exercise in futility. Besides, the picture is tiny, taken from an antique locket I wear around my neck. 

Don’t ask me why I keep the picture in there. I guess it reminds me of better, simpler times. When I was married to a man I loved and trusted.

Those days are long gone.

Obviously, I can’t divulge everything about our break-up. For example, since Carl was never legally declared dead, I can’t use that as the basis for a divorce. What I can do, is say that he deserted me five years ago.

“Gone? For five years? Great,” Alan crows. “Abandonment makes it a slam dunk for you to keep the rug rats! Do you know where he is now?”

Hmmmm. Tricky question. The real Carl is on the FBI’s and Interpol’s most wanted list, so my guess is finding him is a long shot. The fake Carl, my Jack, is part of the Breck foursome at the Hilldale Country Club with Hans, Franz and Breck. Needless to say, I don’t want a process server anywhere near him, since I haven’t yet broken the news to him of my divorce filing. I’m waiting to surprise Jack with the news that I’m a free woman, when no one—specifically Carl—can stand between us.

I bat my eyes, feigning hurt and innocence. “Let’s just say he’s long gone. I presume we can file in abstention?”

Alan stops mid-happy dance. “What’s the fun in that? This can be a real booyah!”

Um… no.

“Look, Alan, here’s the thing. I want to fast-track this divorce. I don’t care if it’s not a fun thing for you. This isn’t some high-profile, he said-she said. There will be no ‘booyah’ moments. I just want you to file the paperwork and follow through.”

Alan’s pomp deflates somewhat. “Yeah, okay, I hear you. But, lady, if you seriously want this to move at anything other than a snail’s pace, we have to at least make an attempt to find him.”

“Sure, okay, tell you what, if by some miracle he shows up in the next seventy-two hours, he’s all yours.”

“Booyah!” he shouts.

How did I know he was going to do that?

At four hundred bucks an hour, I don’t have time for this nonsense.

Besides, I’ve got a ladies’ lunch to attend with my new bestie. 

“I don’t know why I said I’d join you. Truthfully, I should be finalizing the menus for the summit with our chef.” Babette sounds guilty as she slides into the passenger seat of my car. “But Jonah insists I go. He thinks I should take advantage of this opportunity to meet some of ‘the natives,’ as he calls you and the others down the hill. Besides, Edwina has everything under control. She always does.” 

“I’m sure the pressure has been incredible on all of you. You won’t regret it. The ‘natives’ are friendly, I promise.” Famous last words.

 I look behind me as I steer down the long driveway leading out of Lion’s Lair. Seems we have an escort. Although I could do it easily once we hit the mean streets of Hilldale, I fight the urge to lose Babette’s security detail. “Besides, those kinds of business details are Edwina’s job, aren’t they?”

“Yes, of course.” She sighs. “But Edwina takes on so much and never complains. I’d hate it if she ever left Jonah.”

“Wow, I guess if she’s that efficient, he really is lucky to have her.”

“No, I’m lucky to have her, too. His last three assistants were whores.”

Her harsh words cause me to run a red light. Babette’s security detail sails through it, too. Unfortunately, Breck’s men in the black SUV get pulled over by Officer Fife. I can’t help but smile at the thought of how they’ll try to bully him, and only make matters worse for themselves. He’s itching to use that one bullet he’s been issued for his pop gun.

“I take it, then, you didn’t like them much.”

“That’s an understatement! It’s hard to think well of someone when you find them in bed with your husband.” Babette’s voice shakes with anger. “It’s why I find it so difficult to make friends. If they don’t want something from me, they give freely of themselves—to him.”

What can I say to that? Absolutely nothing.

Babette shrugs off my silence. “Don’t worry, Donna. I know you’re different. Edwina showed me the security feed of my husband’s attack on you.” I glance over just in time to see her eyes tear up. “Since I’m sitting here now, I presume you’re not pressing charges, which would be the death of the summit—and my marriage.”

“I know how important the summit is, Babette. I wouldn’t do anything to stop it.” Just the opposite, in fact. Not that I can say that to her.

As if reading my mind, she pats my arm. 

So, Edwina saw the security feed prior to Arnie erasing me on it, and she showed it to Babette, as opposed to covering for her boss? Interesting, to say the least. I can’t wait to hear what Jack and Ryan think of this.

I hit the gas. Now that I’m free to go the speed limit, we may actually make the meeting on time. The sooner we get there, the sooner we can leave.

Something tells me Babette will be of like mind after a half-hour with the sure-to-be fawning Penelope and her Hilldale coven.

A half hour? It only takes ten minutes for Babette’s worse fears to be realized. 

“We’ve all been dying to meet you,” Penelope gushes, practically pushing me out of the way as she takes Babette in hand. Immediately, she introduces her all around. The way the members of the women’s club are ooohing and ahhhhing at her reminds me of the Munchkins when Glinda the Good Witch arrives in her bubble.

Or in Babette’s case, a Toyota Highlander Hybrid.

Oh, what a world, what a world.

Seeing that Penelope has already seated Babette in the chair next to hers and that the rest of the chairs around their table are already taken, I tap Hayley on the shoulder to point this out. “Where am I supposed to sit?”

Hayley smirks as she points to an easel, which holds a bulletin board. “The seating chart is over there.”

“Thanks.” For nothing. 

I walk over the board. I have to scan it twice before finding my name. I’m placed at a half-filled table, in the Siberia between the ladies’ room and the kitchen door. Figures.

If this were high school, it would be branded the loser’s table—not that I’d say that to my tablemates. The way they’re sucking down their mojitos, I’m guessing they’ve already figured this out. 

“My name is Carla Fontaine,” says a woman with a squalling baby. “And this is Lucinda Manley.” She points to a woman who tops out at over three hundred pounds, a crime in a room filled the anorexically challenged. “And Tara Wills.” 

From the looks of things, Tara’s social faux pas is that she’s got the figure and the face of a human Barbie doll. Oh yeah, and her top is open to her navel. Tara tilts her head at me. “Carla’s sitter bailed on her, Lucinda is fine with her weight, and Penelope’s idiot husband once made a pass at me. So, what put you on Penelope’s shit list?”

I flop down beside Lucinda. “So many reasons, so little time.”