The Housewife Assassin's Hostage Hosting Tips (Housewife Assassin Series Book 9) by Josie Brown Page A

murderous bunkmate, no matter what secrets were divulged, would make an ideal sous chef during the preparation of your world famous blue cheese mushroom caps, especially if he had kitchen duty while in the hoosegow. (Added bonus: should someone try to wheedle the recipe out of him, he knows how to use a shiv and hide a body.)

    Pucci Tedeschi is shorter than she looks in her photo. I guess the mile-high honey blond bouffant threw me off. She’s also thinner and has a tiny frame–except where it counts, if the hanging tongues of all the men she saunters past is any indication.  
    So far, she’s passed every task adequately. Although her martial arts skills are limited, they’re effective. Acme’s MA instructor finds this out the hard way when he grabs her in a chokehold from behind and says, “Let’s see how you’d protect yourself when I do this to you.”
    A second later, he’s doubled over as she grabs and twists his ball sack. When she slams a fist into his throat, he’s down for the count.
    Crude, but effective.
    On to her lie detector test, when she’s asked if she affiliated with any known terrorists, her response is, “I know every psycho mob hit man in Jersey. Does that count?”
    It doesn’t, and the rest of the questions go just as smoothly, so it’s on to the next task: psychological testing, with our in-house psychiatrist, Doctor Bellows.
    Afterward, she’s asked to leave the room so that he and I can go over the results. The good doctor’s glasses fog up as she sashays out. Even after he removes them, his eyes don’t leave her. I guess she cured his nearsightedness. Go figure.
    When he collects himself, he reports, “No panic disorders or phobias. However, there is a touch of adult antisocial behavior, a smidge of impulse control disorder, and a sprinkling of sadomasochism.”  
    Sounds like a recipe for trouble–or for an excellent sparrow. “In other words,” I declare, “she’ll make a perfect hit woman.”
    “Yes…except…” he hesitates, then adds: “Her narcissistic personality disorder is somewhat worrisome.”
    “Tell me, doc, is that something you’d find in, say, Dominic Fleming?”
    At the mention of Acme’s blond British Adonis, Dr. Bellows rolls his eyes. “He’s a textbook example! In fact, he is the textbook example.” Bellows picks up the latest issue of The British Journal of Psychiatry and leafs through it until he finds what he’s looking for, and hands it to me.  
    It’s an article entitled, The Triple Threat of Egocentrism, Vanity, and Megalomania: Can This Patient Be Saved?  
    Dominic’s picture is there, all right, as a centerfold–
    And sans a stitch of clothing.
    I turn it sideways so that I can take it all in, pun intended. No doubt about it, he has a lot to be proud of.
    I turn back to the first page of the article and notice the byline: Dr. Alfred Bellows. “Congratulations on its publication, Doctor. This photo, however…”
    He nods. “Yes, well, Dominic gave me a few to choose from. To put it mildly, this was the most acceptable. On the plus side, this issue of the magazine has sold more copies than any other since 1963, its first year of publication.”
    “All’s well that ends well. And considering Acme’s success with Mr. Fleming, I presume Ms. Tedeschi is a shoo-in.”
    “Certainly,” Bellows assures me, beaming.  
    Speaking of Dominic, he insists on following Pucci and me to her next test in Acme’s shooting range, if only to “make sure our comely guest is shown how to hold something as long and hard as Benelli M4.” He holds his large hands apart and gives her a saucy wink, just in case she’s too naïve to get the double entendre.
    Um, hardly . Her eyes drop below his belt buckle. They grow exponentially at the bulge she sees there.
    “I refuse to take no for an answer,” Dominic proclaims airily.
    “I’ll say,” she purrs.
    I sigh. “O… kay ! What do you say we get this show on the road?”
    “Sure, but can I