The Housewife Assassin's Killer Christmas Tips Read Online Free PDF Page B

husband forgets to load and start the dishwasher.
    The good news, at least for the kids, is that Jack bought enough pizza to feed a small army, so everyone gets a reprieve from my stopgap menu of soup and sandwiches.
    Besides the kids, Ryan, Jack and myself, I’m also hosting Emma Honeycutt, who handles communications and signal intelligence between Jack, Ryan, and me. Because of Emma, we hear any and all scuttlebutt that may lead us to our target. Her pie of choice: artichoke and spinach on a cornmeal crust.
    I’m not the only one who notes this. Ernie Locklear, our tech ops expert, has a crush on Acme’s resident goth girl. I forgive him for talking with his mouth full (and for ordering a deep-dish pineapple and ham, double mozzarella) because his surveillance bugs, spy toys, and computer worms have saved my ass more times than I can remember. Unlike most techies, Arnie isn’t afraid to get out into the field. When needed, he acts as a cutout, something he doesn’t mind because it allows him to dip into his closet of disguises. This is a bennie for the rest of us. If you’re stuck for a Halloween getup, he’s your go-to guy.
    Last, but never least, is Abu Nagashahi, the Sikh who heads our watcher teams and handles drops and conducts passive probes. Let me put it this way. No one ever suspects the guy who drives the neighborhood ice cream truck.
    He picks up a little pocket change that way, too. Never a bad idea for those of us trying to get by on a government paycheck.
    If you haven’t guessed it already, I’m the team’s swallow. That is, when I’m not acting as its hard woman.
    Cheever stares at our naked Christmas tree. “Hey, why isn’t your tree decorated?”
    I slap his hand away before he tips it over. “We just haven’t had time.” Heck, I’ve barely had time to put a wreath on the door. So far, the only Christmas bling we’ve set out are my collection of twenty-two snow globes, many that I’ve had since I was a kid.
    “Morton picks up one off the mantel. Sometime during our first year of marriage, Carl brought it home from a trip to New York. It shows the skyline and skaters around the tree in Rockefeller Plaza.
    Morton pumps it like it’s a martini shaker. “Hey, look! Global warming!”
    I grab it out of his hand. “No touching. Or I’ll…”
    I let the sentence trail off into some dark alley of his imagination. He backs away slowly, his hands held high.
    If it’s not one thing, it’s another. Just as Cheever is about to cram a slice into his face, I grab hold of his arm. “Whoa, cowboy! That’s not gluten free. And I’m guessing it’s not organic, either.”
    He frowns up at me. “Screw that! It’s pizza!”
    “Sorry, but no! I don’t want your mom to declare war on me.”
    “Oh, yeah? Well, what do you think would freak her out more, knowing that I ate this, or that you took us to the worst part of town, where we were robbed and nearly killed?”
    He’s got a point.
    I shove a full box of pepperoni pizza in his direction, and pray his symptoms don’t include barfing all over my brand new carpet or testing the flush efficiency of my low-flow toilets.
    As both the adults and the kids chow down, for the first time since walking through the door I notice my five-year-old is nowhere in sight. “Jack, did you forget to pick up Trisha?”
    The grin fades from Jack’s face. “Nope. But fair warning, she left Janie’s house in a funk. I tried to get it out of her, but all she’d say was, ‘Mommy told me a big fib.’ When we got home, she went straight up to her room and slammed the door. I called up to her when the pizza came, but she claims she’s not hungry. The next thing I know, the gang’s all here. I’m sure she’ll come down when she’s hungry enough.”
    Aw, heck. What did I do now?
    I turn to my eldest. “Mary, honey, do you mind going upstairs to see if your sister wants to join us for dinner?”
    Mary shrugs. “I’m sure Trevor will go, if you ask him… now