The Housewife Assassin's Handbook by Josie Brown Page B

button-down cotton shirt, I’m wearing the requisite hairnet.
    Next to my daughter’s darling prom dress—what with its pale blue fitted strapless top and its short flouncy ivory skirt with its  puffy bow in the back—I look like what I will soon be: the cafeteria lady.
    It doesn’t help that Jack is bounding down the stairs, dressed in black tie and a perfectly fitted tux.
    Armani, of course.
    Mary’s shame is momentarily mollified at the sight of him. Both she and Trisha gasp in unison. Their father is too handsome for words, a life-size Ken doll. 
    For just a second I’m wishing it was their real father standing there for them to admire. But then I force myself to be happy that they’ll have at least one memory to share—if not of Carl, then at least of a man who is a good enough actor to make them happy again.
    Jack gives Mary a tender hug. Trisha doesn’t want to be left out and throws her arms around his waist. Jeff looks up from his Wii just long enough to give an appraising nod.
    When Jack glances over at me, his eyes widen, and so does his grin. I cross my arms as a warning to him: say one word, and we’ll see who’s left standing.
    He takes the hint. Instead, he opens the front door and bows grandly. “Now, now Mary. One of us has to be Cinderella. Here’s the great news: no pumpkin tonight. Ladies, our chariot awaits.” He jingles the keys to the Lamborghini.
    “Yes!” Mary’s eyes are big as saucers. It’s her first time inside the Jackmobile. All of the other girls will be so jealous.
    The big girls, too.
    It’s my turn to be gracious. “Since you two are going in the two-seater, I’ll take my car.”
    As I brush past him, he whispers in my ear, “Hairnets can be sexy—if that’s all you’re wearing.”
    I guess I didn’t make myself clear about making fun of Cinderella. This time to make my point, I step on the toe of his John Lobb tuxedo shoes. 
    His groan tells me he finally gets it. At the very least he’ll be limping during the first dance.

    As Jack and Mary drive up into the school parking lot, Mary’s friends, Wendy and Babs, lead a group of girls who come running out to greet them. They all look beautiful. Full war paint has been applied, and their hair is piled high on their heads or flowing in shining locks down their backs (bare, for the most part). Silk and taffeta swirl around us in a rainbow of colors. 
    I pull in just as Mary introduces them to Jack, one by one. His dazzling smile is not lost on any of them. Their cheeks pink up under his warm gaze.
    So do Penelope’s cheeks, and that of the rest of her pack. Always the queen bee, Penelope glistens in a gold-sequined St. John sheath, cinched at the waist. I’m given a one-minute reprieve as she simpers and preens. “Well, well, well, so this is Carl Stone. Finally, we meet! You’ve been such a mystery man that we were beginning to think you were a ghost!”
    That gives her no right to act as if he’s also her mystery date.
    “If I’d known what great company I was missing, trust me, I would have stuck around some more.”
    The women giggle coquettishly. But the fantasy that he actually means what he says dissipates under Penelope’s white hot glare. “Donna, I presume the cupcakes are in your car?”
    Oh heck. I knew I forgot something. 
    Seeing the color drain from my face, Jack puts his arm around Penelope’s waist. “I’m the one who’s to blame—Penelope, isn’t it? Donna delegated the task of loading them into her SUV, but in the rush to get here, I simply forgot.” He throws me a wink, and then tosses me his car keys. “Honey, take my car back to the house. It’s quicker.” He pauses and winks. “Unless you’d rather I go for them.”
    And leave me with this coven? Hell, no.   “Don’t be silly. You all go on in! You’re right, I’ll be back in no time at all.” I smile, but I’m panicking. Beyond Heavenly closed an hour ago. 
    That means I’ll have to break into the bakery to