Read Online The Housewife Assassin's Handbook by Josie Brown - Free Book Online

orders. 
    “What, do I look like Ben or Jerry to you?” Abu’s eyes have shrunk into angry slits. 
    “You know what? Why don’t I treat Billy?” I murmur reassuringly, as Abu slips me a Tamarind Chili ice tube. In this neighborhood, it is an odd flavor, something no one else likes, which is the whole point. 
    “What’s that?” Billy eyes my treat suspiciously. “It looks good! Hey, I want one, too!”
    “There’s only one,” Abu growls, “and it’s hers.”
    “But that’s not fair! She said she’d buy me whatever I want!”
    Abu and I look at each other. This is no ordinary ice pop, and we both know it. Encrypted on the inside of the wrapper are my mission orders.
    Nevertheless, I grace Billy with a smile. “Sure, it’s yours if you want it. My, you’re a brave boy! Not many kids love ice cream spiced with tamarind.”
    “What? What the heck is that?”
    “A Thai spice. They use it a lot in Mexico, too. To make chili. See? This has chili in it.” I point to the wrapper, where both ingredients are listed in big curvy letters.
    He wavers for just a moment, then says, “Forget that crap! I’ll take the Reese’s. And remember, it’s on her.” He grabs his bar and saunters off.
    “Brat.” Abu shakes his head sadly. “When I signed up for this gig, I thought it meant encryptions, translations. You know, the usual desk jockey stuff. Instead I find myself in this monkey suit. Sheez, what I won't do for my country! Hanging around all this ice cream, too. Want to take a guess at my last cholesterol count?”
    I nod sympathetically but take care to hold the ice cream tube away from my slacks. It’s hot out here, and it’s leaking. “You're telling me! I've put on five pounds since they've come up with this cockamamie mission retrieval system.”
    “Yeah, well, if it weren't for the extra cash flow–”
    “Wait … you mean to tell me that they actually let you keep what you make?”
    I’m still steaming over Abu’s nice little bonus when Lassie, always on the lookout for a treat, snatches the Tamarind Spice tube out of my hand, and runs off with it into the bushes. 
    I chase after her, but no amount of begging or threats can loosen the tube from her slobbering mouth. In one noisy gulp, the who/what/where/when of my mission has been swallowed whole. 
    Is it worth waiting to see if what comes out the other end can be decoded? In a word, no. I’ve already taken a lot of crap for my country, figuratively. I refuse to do so literally, too.
    Always empathetic, Abu rolls his eyes. “Look, I’ve got to go finish my rounds first, but I’ll tell Boss Man about your little problem. Try a Google search in a half-hour, okay?”
    Acme has an emergency back-up system: in dire emergencies, the encrypted message is uploaded online. But unfortunately when it’s done that way, they make the encryption harder to break. Still, it beats the alternative: explaining to Ryan that the dog ate my mission.
    Mary is pounding on the car horn. “Mom! Mom! Can we go home now?”
    Holding Trisha’s sticky hand, I head toward the car and try to figure out what phrase to use while searching for Ryan’s alternate message: Tamarind Chili Cone? F. Scott Fitzgerald? Mommy Dearest?
    Whatever it is, it will have to wait until after Mary and I have our long-needed chat.
    I have come to the very important decision: Mary will finally get what she so desperately wants:
    I’m laying Carl to rest. Tonight. Once and for all.

    Something is different in our house. I can just feel it. 
    Whatever it is, the kids are oblivious to it. Jeff, figuring that my talk with Mary will keep me too busy to notice, runs up to his room to sneak in a half hour of Call of Duty: Black Ops before I remind him that homework comes first. Sensing a serious showdown, Trisha follows him upstairs, knowing full well she can tune us out in the perfect Barbie universe waiting for her in her room. 
    “Mary, I’m sorry that Mrs. Bing was such–such