The Housewife Assassin's Guide to Gracious Killing by Josie Brown Page B

never been invited.
    Yes, I’m having fun watching them eat a little crow with their cake and coffee.
    Penelope clears her throat. “I’m sure it’s an oversight on someone’s part. It will be rectified immediately, of course. Hayley, please make a note of it.”
    Hayley reaches in her purse for a pen and a tidy pad, in which she scribbles something down. I’m guessing it’s REDRUM REDRUM REDRUM…
    I turn to Penelope. “You said something about privileges? By any chance would those include a vacation from school carpool for, say, the next month?”
    Penelope’s eyes narrow. She mutters something under her breath (I’m guessing an expletive), but comes to her senses before saying it out loud. Carpool duty is a small price to pay, should I reel in Babette for her.
    “I’m sure Tiffy and Hayley can arrange something.”
    Her lackeys wince, but they know the drill. 
    Now that the ball is in my court, they head for the door. “The luncheon is Monday, one o’clock, the grand salon at Chez Chien Lunatique.”
    For their benefit, Jack wraps his arms around me as I wave good-bye. 
    For my benefit, he doesn’t laugh at the fact I’m now roped into some silly club, which only wants me as a member because I’m their connection to the most renowned trophy wife in town. 
    I’m sure Babette would trade that notoriety for a few real friends, and a husband who adored her instead of mocked her.
    She may not find this in the Hilldale Women’s Club, but if it gets her out from under Breck’s thumb for a couple of hours, I’m sure she’ll be just as willing to fake a friendship or two.

Chapter 7
    Dealing with Awkward Moments

    Despite a hostess’s attempt to assure her guests mingle well and have a marvelous time, someone is bound to do, or say, something, which makes everyone else feel a bit uncomfortable. Should that occur at your party, the best way to make amends is to laugh off the offense.
    Payback comes later. In a dark alley. With a lead pipe.
    At the next party, the loudmouth will behave as if the cat got his tongue (which may be the case, after you’re done with him).

    Supposedly, the best divorce lawyer in all of Orange County is Alan Shore, of the law firm Young, Frutt & Berluti. “Best” is another way of saying every ex-wife in the county swears by him, and every ex-husband in the county swears at him, or whenever Alan’s name is uttered out loud.
    This makes him the perfect attorney to represent me in my divorce.
    I hand him a copy of the most recent picture I have of Carl. Considering his ability to disguise himself, I’m sure this is an exercise in futility. Besides, the picture is tiny, taken from an antique locket I wear around my neck. 
    Don’t ask me why I keep the picture in there. I guess it reminds me of better, simpler times. When I was married to a man I loved and trusted.
    Those days are long gone.
    Obviously, I can’t divulge everything about our break-up. For example, since Carl was never legally declared dead, I can’t use that as the basis for a divorce. What I can do, is say that he deserted me five years ago.
    “Gone? For five years? Great,” Alan crows. “Abandonment makes it a slam dunk for you to keep the rug rats! Do you know where he is now?”
    Hmmmm. Tricky question. The real Carl is on the FBI’s and Interpol’s most wanted list, so my guess is finding him is a long shot. The fake Carl, my Jack, is part of the Breck foursome at the Hilldale Country Club with Hans, Franz and Breck. Needless to say, I don’t want a process server anywhere near him, since I haven’t yet broken the news to him of my divorce filing. I’m waiting to surprise Jack with the news that I’m a free woman, when no one—specifically Carl—can stand between us.
    I bat my eyes, feigning hurt and innocence. “Let’s just say he’s long gone. I presume we can file in abstention?”
    Alan stops mid-happy dance. “What’s the fun in that? This can be a real booyah!”
    Um… no.
    “Look,