"Daddy," I say, dropping the scoop back into the tub, "I didn't know it's you." Then I climb down the bed and adjust my purple silk nightgown.
He hums as he walks into the room. He stops in the middle of the large room with his back towards me and places his hands at his back. Then he says, "I heard your job in Miami was successful."
"Yes, sir," I answer, bowing my head a little.
"That's wonderful," he says, his voice void of any emotion. His lack of emotion in speech or mien makes it really hard for me to know when he actually means that.
He turns around to face me. "However," he says, looking all around but me, "there's still a loophole."
A loophole? There's no way. I did my job so thoroughly even the crew was shocked at all the things they missed.
"I don't blame you," Daddy continues, "as it's a mistake on my part."
My head sharply lifts up at his words. He never admits his mistakes; if ever, rarely. It truly must be his fault if he acknowledges it.
"I have a simple task for you."
"Anything, Daddy."
"There's a priest in town called Father Geoffrey Lane. You're to ice him by whatever means necessary. He's tied to Miami, and if he's not taken care of immediately, it'll be detrimental to our business."
I nod to show my understanding of the task ahead.
"Tonight, have your rest. Jericho will hand over the file on the priest in the morning. Then you deal with him as you see fit."
His eyes shift to the bed and I follow his gaze. It lands on the ice-cream, causing me to silently cuss under my breath. I'm not supposed to appear sloppy before him. Reflexively, my hand flies to my mouth and my fingers touch the partially cold cream on the side of my mouth. Oh, boy. He must think I have nothing better to do than eat my life away.
"Trouble in Miami?"
"Huh?" I say staring, dazed, at him.
"You only take ice-cream when you don't have the opportunity to make good use of your wrath." He narrows his eyes at me. "I hope there isn't something you're hiding from me concerning your mission."
"No, sir," I stammer. "The mission went well."
His eyes appear doubtful. It doesn't stop him from saying, "Good."
Immediately, he removes both hands from behind him and struts towards the door. He opens it but doesn't head out as he says, "I suggest you do your job tomorrow discreetly. Any sort of attention from the media connecting us to him won't be ideal," with his back to me.
"I know, sir," I assure him despite he knows how thorough I am—well, I can be. It aches my heart that he doesn't trust me enough to not repeat instructions I already know to me.
His next action is to leave the room and slam the door shut, which causes me to flinch.
I sigh in relief as I throw myself on the bed and grab the tub of ice-cream. So much for having a break from Miami.
***
Thanks to the detailed description of Father Lane's residence at the parish, I'm able to infiltrate it without drawing much attention to myself. The only step left is for me to get to his brunch before the housekeeper that takes it to him gets it to his office.
You must be wondering what means I have devised to carry out my father's instructions. It's just as he said: discreet and should not be a red flag in our family's direction. Luckily, Father Lane is in his sixties so it mostly won't be suspicious when he dies of a heart attack. Don't worry: I'm not going to scare him to death. All I need do is put a few drops of wolf's bane in his tea and within some hours he's left to join his Lord.
It's helpful that there are so many housekeepers around the parish so almost no one knows who I am. Grateful to the Intel from the parish, I adequately avoid the head housekeeper so as not to get questioned of my identity and what my business is at this part of the parish.
Pacing about the Father Lane's office, I see the old lady assigned to his personal needs with a tray of food in her hands. Cordially, I make my way towards her.
"Father Lane asked me to bring his brunch today." I smile in the most polite way I can to avoid suspicion.
She stares at me, confused. "I always bring his meals to him."
"Well, he specifically asked me to handle his needs today. He says you can take a break today. He knows you need it."
A smile slowly creeps onto her face. "Really? I have been craving for a break today. My son comes home from Iraq today and it would mean the world to him if I'm there to pick him."
I nod, confirming her question. "He also sends his regards to your son."
"Oh, thank God," she says, grinning. "Mijo will be so delightful for the day off."
I take the tray from her. "Indeed."
She doesn't stop grinning as she says, "Thank Father Lane for me." She then squeals and claps her hands twice before turning around.
I shake my head as a smirk schools on my face while I watch her dance victoriously. Daddy must have prepared for Father Lane to get taken care of today. Otherwise, it wouldn't have been so easy to get rid of her.
Swiftly, I turn around and make haste to Father Lane's office. As it should be, he isn't in his office yet so it gives me ample time to remove the vial of wolf's bane in the pocket of my maid's uniform. I ensure enough drops enter his tea and put the vial back in my pocket before I add sugar and cream just the way he appreciates.
Once I'm done, he enters the office.
I mix the tea thoroughly before I curtsy with my head bowed. He barely acknowledges me as his eyes are fixed on the binder in his hand.
No one has to tell me to get out of there with haste before he realizes I'm not his personal housekeeper.
A sigh of relief leaves me once I shut the door. I hang around the office so I can be sure he's eaten his brunch. According to the file I got, it takes him about fifteen minutes to be done with the meal so in due time I will enter to take the tray away. Now, it's only just to be patient and hopeful no one notices I'm out of place.
Two minutes into waiting for Father Lane, I hear voices in the distance. When I decide to check out who they belong to I don't believe my eyes. Sure, they are priests, dressed in their signature black and clerical collar, but the tallest of the pair is more familiar than he should be, especially as I don't spend my Sundays in church. He's the very man I desired so much to drain his body of his blood last night.
In a jiffy, all the rage I felt last night, which I buried under a big tub of ice-cream, a night of beauty sleep, and a morning of devious planning, come to the surface. I feel the sting in my bottom lip, caused by me biting down hard my thirst for vengeance. And then, I realize something: he's a priest.
Yes, it's already obvious that he's a symbol of holiness but it makes perfect sense to me now. His state of righteousness is the very reason I got rejected when I attempted any of my moves.
A devious smirk creeps onto my face as an idea grows in my mind. Why give him a merciful death when I can watch him suffer from temptation?
As soon as he and his fellow priest reach Father Lane's door, I smile like an innocent girl and say, "Good morning, Fathers."