The Housewife Assassin's Handbook

Chapter 8: Starve a Fever, Feed a Cold

Loved ones with fevers and colds both must be nurtured, but in different ways. For a fever, drink lots of hydrating fluids (water, Gatorade), but go light on the food. Soda crackers are okay.

For a cold, bring on the chicken soup-and steam a few sprigs of thyme to inhale, with the patient's head under a towel, to catch the soothing aroma.

However, for targets with the sniffles: suffocation is a quick, natural way of elimination.

If going gentle into the night doesn't matter but elimination of the body does, find a remote spot, off the beaten path. Tidy Tip: Dig deep, and be sure to cover the body in a heavy layer of slaked lime-also known as calcium hydroxide, or Ca(OH)-which accelerates decomposition and kills odors that attract animals who may want to dig it up. A layer of dirt, then another of the slaked lime before a final half-foot of dirt. The bugs will help finish the job!

*****

Acme's conference room wall displays a live, interactive satellite map of Hilldale. Homes and businesses that have been cleared are spared the blue X's that dot the screen. Besides satellite surveillance and GPS tracking via cell phone numbers, we've also cleared any seemingly suspicious cell phone calls.

At this point, background checks have been run on all but thirty persons of interest.

Our top suspects, whose homes are marked in red, are the single homeowners and childless couples who have resided in Hilldale less than two years: the Kelseys, the Langleys, and the Whites.

"We should put the Kelseys on the top of the list," I say.

"Why?" asks Emma. "They've got a kid."

"We haven't confirmed that. He's supposedly away at 'prep school,' so it could be a front."

Jack nods approvingly at me.

I turn my head so that he can't see me blushing.

A faint smile lands on Ryan's lips. "Well, then let's turn up the heat. Arnie, why don't you show Donna her cover?"

Arnie's thin lips break into proud grin. From under the conference room table he pulls a round yellow polka-dot hatbox that touts the slogan Rave-on Cosmetics. The lid comes off to reveal a cornucopia of lipsticks, perfume vials, nail polishes, eye shadows, you name it.

"I don't get it. Is this your way of telling me I need a make-over?"

"Of course not." The way Jack says this isn't so convincing. "Going door-to-door peddling this crap will get you into your neighbors' houses quicker than us waiting around for an invitation. Every housewife gets a sample lipstick. In reality, it monitors all cell phone, wireless, and G4 devices within a 2,000-foot range-"

"Whoa, hold on there a minute, cowboy! Why me?"

"Because we're running out of time." There is nothing ominous about the way Ryan says this. He's just stating a fact that none of us wants to hear.

Jack rolls his eyes skyward. "Look, I'd do it myself if I thought anyone would buy me as the Rave-On Lady."

It's on the tip of my tongue to tell him that there isn't a woman alive who wouldn't be tempted to buy what he's selling, but I stop myself just in time.

He's got a big enough head already.

As we walk out the door, Abu murmurs, "Rave-On's commission structure is quite lucrative. Remember to ask Ryan if you can keep what you make."

*****

"I've been dying to meet you, too," murmurs Midge Kelsey.

"I guess Rave-On gives us a wonderful excuse to get to know each other." I'm grinning so widely that I'm sure I look like a lunatic. "Mind if I come in?"