The Housewife Assassin's Handbook

Chapter 12: Can She Make a Cherry Pie?

Pies are so much fun to make—and so simple! All it takes to make a tender, flaky crust is the right amount of vegetable shortening, cut into flour with a sprinkle of cold water, and just a pinch of salt.

Cherries have the right sweet-to-tart taste—and are also a good source of poison! Just crush the pits or stems. There you'll find prussic acid, also known as hydrogen cyanide: easy to sprinkle into both the filling and the crust. How sweet it is!

*****

We have less than three weeks to figure out what the Quorum is planning. Needless to say, the stress has turned all the adults in the Stone household into the "Grumpensteins," to use a phrase coined by Trisha.

The only good bit of news: Jeff keeps winning games for his team. They have advanced to the California World League finals.

True to his word, Jack hasn't missed a game, but he still refuses Whitey's entreaties to coach Jeff and the team's other two pitchers.

I wish he'd keep his word to me and clean up his room. Or at least do his laundry.

Oh yeah: and he could be honest about the fact that he's slipping out of the house at least three nights a week. Seriously, is Nola that great of a lay?

Not that I give a crap.

Just to prove the point, I've tossed his laundry in with ours. Oops, my red thong went into the wash with his Oxford shirts! Tsk, tsk, they've turned a pretty pink hue.

*****

It's dinnertime. Jack, Mary, and Trisha have gone to pick up Jeff from practice. I'm in the pantry when they walk back in through the kitchen door. My kids are giggling and shushing each other. When I see their guilty faces, I know why: their mouths have turned blue.

"What the heck have you been eating?" I ask suspiciously.

"Nothing," they say in unison.

I glare at Jack. "Dinner is almost on the table, and you took the kids to get popsicles?"

"Mommy, it's not a popsicle," laughs Trisha. "It's cotton candy!"

Her brother pokes her.

I close my eyes to shield my frustration. "Go get cleaned up. NOW."

The children know better than to argue. Instead, they scamper out of the room. I grab a potholder and toss the now overcooked spaghetti noodles into the sink. "Great, just great!"

"Aw, don't be so grumpy," Jack says cheerily. "They'll have their appetites back in no time."

"They won't be hungry for at least an hour, if they don't have a stomachache first. You knew I was making dinner when I sent you to pick up Jeff."

"And you know that pink isn't my best color."

Ah, so that's what this is all about...

Touché, Mr. Craig.

He pulls my red thong from his pocket. "Considering you only wear them—as you put it—'on special occasions', I was surprised that this was the culprit."

"So sorry. I guess if you did your own laundry, it wouldn't have happened." I grab for them, but he's too quick for me.

"A memento. Finders keepers, right?"

"I'm sure you say that to all the girls. And, by the way, where's Mary?"

"I gave her permission to sleep over at Babs's."

"You did what?"

"You heard me. What's the harm in it, anyway? So they stay up all night making crank calls to Trevor and his posse—"