The Housewife Assassin's Killer App (32 page)

Her flirtation hits its mark. The man, intrigued, laughs and answers, “You tell me. Hasn’t everything I’ve done been worth it?”

It’s Carl’s voice.

He’s here too?
 

Oh…shit.

But of course. He’s heading the auction himself.

Suddenly, the woman turns in my direction—

It’s Serenity. She’s buttoning her Oxford shirt. When she sees me, the color leaves her face. “Oh—Lucy! What are you doing here?”

Instinctively, Carl turns toward the open door.
 

So that he doesn’t see me, I dodge to one side of the threshold. “I...”
 

Steady. Alter your voice.
 

Sneeze.
 

“I’m here to”—Ach-
CHOO
!—“deliver a message to Mr.…Mr. Babbage”—Ach-
CHOO
!—about the private gathering in Gaylord’s—” I keep my voice high and nasally.

She steps outside, swiftly slamming the door after her. “Yes, I delivered the message already. Nothing to worry about, he’s all set to go.” She eyes me suspiciously. “How about everyone else?”

“All present and accounted for.” I sneeze again, just for good measure.

She frowns. “Good…Listen, if you’re coming down with a cold, maybe it would be a better idea if you stay away from Gaylord. He’s a bear about the conference already. The last thing he needs is to get sick. He’d then blame me for hiring someone with typhus or something—”

I sniffle and nod. “If you say so. I feel so guilty, just staying in my room.”

She pats my shoulder, even as she steers me away from the cabin. “Not at all. We can all use a little rest and relaxation”—she blushes again—“Well, you know what I mean.” She stops, lost in thought. “And you’re in luck! We have the monks for the duration of the retreat. Frankly, I thought more of the guests would have snapped up appointments with them, but it seems that their dance card is pretty empty. With what we’re paying them, I hate to think that they’ll spend the rest of the time praying or meditating or just twiddling their thumbs. One of them intimated he was into golf, but a good stiff wind will send his robe flying, and he didn’t bring his khakis. Should I send them over to do a colonic on you?”

“Me?”
Yikes.
“Oh, no, please don’t bother! I’m sure some honey and lemon in my tea will fix me right up! I’ll be fine and dandy in the morning.”
 

And far away from here, if we’re lucky.

I wave as I head back into the woods.

I guess I should tell her that her shirt is inside out and that her buttons are crooked, but I’ll give Doreen that honor.

Chapter 18

RAID

In technology, the acronym RAID stands for "Redundant Array of Independent Disks." It is a method of storing data on multiple hard disks, but in such a way that your computer sees them all as one very large disk.
 

The good news is that within this configuration, they operate much more efficiently than a single hard drive.

As a parent, we look for efficiencies in all sectors of our lives. It is why we sometimes raid our children’s rooms and computers, looking for things that will make their lives more complicated than necessary—drugs, booze, troubled friends or over-age boyfriends–especially if it results in a school suspension or time in front of a judge.
 

The great news: within this parental configuration, your children will operate more efficiently without doing a single day of hard time.

“Now that we know Carl is here, we’ve all got to stay out of sight,” I warn Jack and Dominic.

Dominic smiles. “No problem there. Now that we’ve got location readings on all the targets’ cabins, we’re good to go on collecting the rest of the keys.”

Jack points to his latex Milton mask. “And I’m hiding in plain sight, remember? Unless we run into a snag, we’ll be long gone before they even serve dessert.”
 

“Let’s not be so cocky.” I don’t want to say it out loud, but seeing Carl here has spooked me.

“It works to our favor that there are no security cameras facing the guest quarters,” Jack reminds me. “So that we have an extra pair of eyes, the Acme satellite is pointed at Lark Island. Through it Arnie and Abu will track the whereabouts of our targets. He’ll know the minute they leave for the cocktail party. With dinner starting around eight, and ending by nine-thirty—maybe a quarter to ten—we should have plenty of time to find the game keys and search Carl’s room for the thumb drive containing the full stash of intel, then get the hell out by boat. Abu has it hidden in a cove, about a half mile from here. Take the path to the tennis courts, then veer right when you see the sign for deer crossing. Because everyone is freaked out over ticks, the path is rarely used. When we’re all aboard, we set sail for the closest airport—Roche Harbor, on the big island. George is waiting for us there.”
 

“The chickens have scattered,” Arnie murmurs in our ear buds.
 

“I’ll take Abdullah and Carl’s cabins,” Jack says. “Dominic, you take Ivan’s. Donna, that leaves you Ji Wong’s.”

“On it.” I grab a couple of towels from Jack’s bathroom.
 

“Where are you going with those?” he asks.

I shrug. “It’s my cover. Unlike you two, I’m a mere servant in this joint.”

When we reach the door, I caution them, “So that we keep track of each other, and the time, keep your ear buds on at all times.”

Before I’m over the threshold, Jack pulls me in for a kiss. It’s slow and gentle. It promises so much—mostly his return to me. Apparently, it’s also a vow: “This time, Carl goes down for good.”

I pray he’s right.

I’m still in my employee garb—in other words, invisible to those guests heading to the lodge for cocktails, and to the other Gryphon wonks who are scurrying about. The footpaths are clear. Still, it’s twilight, and the tall trees cast long shadows.
 

No one looks twice when I knock on Ji’s door with my stash of plush towels.

As Arnie predicted, there is no answer. I enter. The wood panel blinds are closed. The only light in the room illuminates a small Buddha seated on a small altar on the dresser.

I guess Ji won’t be leafing through the Gideon Bible in the bed stand drawer.

The closet holds two suitcases. His clothes—mostly slacks and golf shirts—hang in the closet. One suitcase, a hanging bag, and a small valise are on the floor, along with three pairs of shoes: hiking boots, golf shoes, and sneakers.

I search the suitcases first. Nothing is inside of them, or in the pockets. I check for false bottoms, but come up empty-handed.
 

The same goes for the valise: empty.

The pockets of his clothes are the same: no little gold key.

I search his bed—under the sheets and pillows, the mattress, and the floor beneath it. His bed stand drawers are empty. The toiletries in the bathroom have no false bottoms or sides. He didn’t hide it in the toilet tank, or in the showerhead, or the soap dispenser.

I’m getting desperate. Did he take it with him?

“Donna, doll, check Buddha for a false bottom.” It’s Hal.

“It’s okay. Our little buddy has been cleared,” Arnie says, as if reading my mind. “He’s been scanning our teams’ lenses with me, and helping me watch the secure cam feed for trouble.”

“
Arnie has a new bestie… Arnie has a new bestie…”
Emma’s sing-song taunt isn’t cruel this time, but playful.

“Ah, you’re just jealous,” Arnie teases her back.

I lift Buddha and shake it. Hal is right—a false bottom.

I take the golden key, and I’m out of there.

“In the clear,” I murmur, as I walk toward Jack’s cabin.

“My first stop was successful,” Jack mutters back. “Now, on to Darth Vader’s lair.”

“Mr. Fleming, an ETA, please,” I ask.

“Finishing…up…now,” he gasps.

His breathing is labored. Oh no—did he run into trouble?
 

I take a detour toward Ivan’s cabin, just in case he needs help.

By the time I reach the door, he’s coming out of it, hopping into a shoe. His shirt is unbuttoned, too, revealing sculpted abs that are hairless and tanned.

“Jesus, Dominic,” I hiss. “What the hell were you doing in there?”

“Whatever it took.” He tosses me the golden VIP key.
 

“With…
Ivan
?” I shake my head in awe. It’s true he puts country before anything.
 

He glares down at me. “Hardly, old girl. I never thought you doubted that I’m into birds! So is he—the big-breasted of the species.”

“Next you’ll tell me she was guarding the key.”
 

“She was doing nothing of the kind. Naked as a jaybird, in fact.”

“What excuse did you give her for being there?”

“I told her one of us was in the wrong cabin. Like me, she thought we could make the best of it.” He shrugs. “Alas, I think she’s much too exhausted for Ivan.”

“You’ve always gone above and beyond the call of duty,” I mutter. “Jack, where do you stand?”

No answer.

“Jack, can you hear me?”

Laughter rings through my ear piece.

Not Jack’s.

Carl’s.

“Sorry, sweet Donna, but your boyfriend is all tied up.” Carl’s voice is suddenly vicious. “If you want to see him alive, you’ll need to bring those keys with you—
now
.”
 

Carl is out front of his cabin, on one of the Adirondack rockers that grace its wide front porch. He is whittling a short thick stick with a Swiss pocketknife. Already, the point is sharp.

I’d love to stab him in the heart with it.

Instead, I ask, “Where is Jack?”

He nods toward the door. “Inside, waiting for you.” As I move toward the threshold, he says, “Nope, not yet.”

I stop cold.
 

“You might as well, wifey. I’ve got the three that were in Jack’s possession, so it’s game, set, match.” He smiles slyly. “Besides, you want to see him alive, don’t you? Timing is of the essence. Or as they say in
Wonderland
, ‘tick tock, tick, tock.’”