Read Online The Housewife Assassin's Garden of Deadly Delights by Josie Brown - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Josie Brown
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don’t you?”
“Yeah?” Cheever taunts him. “Well, you haven’t noticed it here in Hilldale—right under your own nose too.”
I look at Jeff in the rearview mirror. As I suspect, his eyes open wide with concern. “What the heck are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about that teacher you’re always sucking up to: Mr. Karman.”
“You’re nuts,” Jeff snorts.
“No, I’m not! I looked in his window during lunchtime. He was on his hands and knees, on a blanket, mumbling something—just like they do in the terrorist movies. I asked my mom, and she says that means he’s a muslin, which means he’s an Arab, which means he’s probably a terrorist,” Cheever says smugly.
“The word is ‘Muslim,’ not ‘muslin,’ which just so happens to be a fabric, not a religion,” I point out. “And by the way, not all Muslims are Arabic. And whereas it’s the dominant religion in Arabia and all of the Middle East, this can also be said about fourteen countries in Africa, most of Indonesia, some of Russia, and a few small countries in South America. And, guess what? Two million United States citizens are Muslim as well.”
“Why do you know so much about it?” Cheever asks. “Is it ‘cause your old man was a terrorist?”
I slide the car to the curb and turn off the engine. “The point I’m trying to make, Cheever, is that one doesn’t have to be Arabic to be a terrorist. Or Muslim, either. You can be Methodist, or Catholic, or even an Atheist! To be a terrorist, all one has to ‘be’ is willing to hurt or kill others to make one’s point—”
Jeff’s head is down.
Oh hell, I’ve gone too far.
“Which ‘one’?” Morton asks.
“Any one !” Jeff yells. “That’s the point—any one can be a terrorist!”
The next thing I know, he’s climbing over Morton to get out of the car. Slamming the door, he trots off.
At least he’s going in the direction of the house.
I turn to Cheever. “Mr. Karman hasn’t hurt anyone. Your mother is wrong—not to mention hurtful, and unnecessarily cruel. ”
“No? Well, at least she hasn’t killed anyone— like you have .”
I start the car. I’d give the little brat the ride of his life, except for the fact that I’m afraid he’d pee his pants, and this is Jack’s new car, after all.
The only good to come out of my so-called conversation with Cheever is that the rest of the ride to Trisha’s school and then home is made in silence.
I’ve just walked into the house with Trisha when I get a text from Evan. It reads We’re stranded.
Jack hasn’t yet left SeedPlenish? I guess he’s been detained.
Jeff seems to have calmed down. He gives me a hug and nods absentmindedly when I ask him to watch Trisha while I go get his sister from practice.
On top of his knapsack is his research paper. The grade: A+++.
I can see why. The finishing touches included maps, PowerPoint organizational charts, timelines, and pictographs of recent attacks.
If I showed it to Ryan, he’d hire him on the spot. But somehow, I don’t think Ryan would let him off in the afternoon for baseball practice, so it’s a nonstarter.
When I pull up in the new Jackmobile, Mary and Evan are standing with Sara, Cara and Tara. Mary runs over to me and asks, “Mom, would you mind if they come home with us? Sara is third-year French. She wants to show me some tricks to ace my exam.”
Sara leans over her shoulder. “We want to make sure she keeps up her grades so that she can stay on the team.”
I’ll just bet.
I shrug. “Sure, hop in.”
“It’s not what you think,” Jack insists when, finally, he gets home. “Trust me, I was on a reconnaissance mission.”
“Thought so. With the in-house evangelist, I presume.”
“If it’s any consolation, it was one drink and out.”
“I hope you slipped her a truth serum.”
“I didn’t need to. All it took was a Mai Tai.”
I shake my head. “Why am I not surprised? And what golden nuggets did you
“Yeah?” Cheever taunts him. “Well, you haven’t noticed it here in Hilldale—right under your own nose too.”
I look at Jeff in the rearview mirror. As I suspect, his eyes open wide with concern. “What the heck are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about that teacher you’re always sucking up to: Mr. Karman.”
“You’re nuts,” Jeff snorts.
“No, I’m not! I looked in his window during lunchtime. He was on his hands and knees, on a blanket, mumbling something—just like they do in the terrorist movies. I asked my mom, and she says that means he’s a muslin, which means he’s an Arab, which means he’s probably a terrorist,” Cheever says smugly.
“The word is ‘Muslim,’ not ‘muslin,’ which just so happens to be a fabric, not a religion,” I point out. “And by the way, not all Muslims are Arabic. And whereas it’s the dominant religion in Arabia and all of the Middle East, this can also be said about fourteen countries in Africa, most of Indonesia, some of Russia, and a few small countries in South America. And, guess what? Two million United States citizens are Muslim as well.”
“Why do you know so much about it?” Cheever asks. “Is it ‘cause your old man was a terrorist?”
I slide the car to the curb and turn off the engine. “The point I’m trying to make, Cheever, is that one doesn’t have to be Arabic to be a terrorist. Or Muslim, either. You can be Methodist, or Catholic, or even an Atheist! To be a terrorist, all one has to ‘be’ is willing to hurt or kill others to make one’s point—”
Jeff’s head is down.
Oh hell, I’ve gone too far.
“Which ‘one’?” Morton asks.
“Any one !” Jeff yells. “That’s the point—any one can be a terrorist!”
The next thing I know, he’s climbing over Morton to get out of the car. Slamming the door, he trots off.
At least he’s going in the direction of the house.
I turn to Cheever. “Mr. Karman hasn’t hurt anyone. Your mother is wrong—not to mention hurtful, and unnecessarily cruel. ”
“No? Well, at least she hasn’t killed anyone— like you have .”
I start the car. I’d give the little brat the ride of his life, except for the fact that I’m afraid he’d pee his pants, and this is Jack’s new car, after all.
The only good to come out of my so-called conversation with Cheever is that the rest of the ride to Trisha’s school and then home is made in silence.
I’ve just walked into the house with Trisha when I get a text from Evan. It reads We’re stranded.
Jack hasn’t yet left SeedPlenish? I guess he’s been detained.
Jeff seems to have calmed down. He gives me a hug and nods absentmindedly when I ask him to watch Trisha while I go get his sister from practice.
On top of his knapsack is his research paper. The grade: A+++.
I can see why. The finishing touches included maps, PowerPoint organizational charts, timelines, and pictographs of recent attacks.
If I showed it to Ryan, he’d hire him on the spot. But somehow, I don’t think Ryan would let him off in the afternoon for baseball practice, so it’s a nonstarter.
When I pull up in the new Jackmobile, Mary and Evan are standing with Sara, Cara and Tara. Mary runs over to me and asks, “Mom, would you mind if they come home with us? Sara is third-year French. She wants to show me some tricks to ace my exam.”
Sara leans over her shoulder. “We want to make sure she keeps up her grades so that she can stay on the team.”
I’ll just bet.
I shrug. “Sure, hop in.”
“It’s not what you think,” Jack insists when, finally, he gets home. “Trust me, I was on a reconnaissance mission.”
“Thought so. With the in-house evangelist, I presume.”
“If it’s any consolation, it was one drink and out.”
“I hope you slipped her a truth serum.”
“I didn’t need to. All it took was a Mai Tai.”
I shake my head. “Why am I not surprised? And what golden nuggets did you
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