The Mystery Megapack

family celebration at her home Friday night at eight. You’re expected to attend.”
    With a quick nod, Mom walked out. Everyone in the office turned away, embarrassed, and I felt something in me break.
    It was one thing for Mom to belittle me in front of friends and family. That I’d grown used to. But now she’d polluted my work environment. Undermined my authority. And thrown Becca in my face. Again.
    Escaping my colleagues’ pitying glances, I went to my private office and paced.
    Becca always got everything, yet she was such a witch. Joe and my nephew, Charlie, would be so much better off without her.
    And Mom. She claimed to love me, but she only really loved herself—and Becca.
    In a flash, a plan unfolded in my mind. So simple. I could kill both birds with one stone.
    Well … I wouldn’t actually kill them both.
    * * * *
    As soon as school let out that afternoon, I headed over to Becca’s. I gushed over Joe’s news and the tasteful, all-white Christmas lights they had strung up outside. (I always liked the multi-colored ones myself.) Then I suggested Becca model the suede coat Mom had bought her for Hanukkah. On her way to the closet, Becca made a snide comment about my treadmill. I let it go—and swiped her spare house key.
    A little later I drove to the hospital where Joe works for advice on what to get Becca for Christmas. In the few minutes he could spare to chat, Joe left his office twice to deal with patient issues. As I’d hoped. He was only gone a minute or so each time, but long enough for me to find his prescription pad and rip off a sheet. On the way out of the hospital, I passed a drug cart helpfully left alone in a hallway. I swiped some random pills and hurried out. That evening, I had a copy of Becca’s house key made. Everything was falling into place.
    When school let out the next afternoon, I returned to Becca’s. I knew the house would be empty, Charlie with his nanny at a Mommy and Me class, Joe at work, and Becca out playing mahjong. I wiped down her key and put it back. Then I went into her study, got on the Internet, and ordered some OxyContin using Becca’s email and credit card number (so helpful that Joe filed all the bills neatly in a desk cabinet). Then I faxed in my fake prescription. My handwriting didn’t look anything like Joe’s, but that didn’t matter. What was important was my handwriting looked like Becca’s.
    Come Friday morning, I called in sick. But I was actually feeling giddy. Knowing Joe was at work and Charlie would be at the park with the nanny, I phoned Becca and told her about great Christmas sales going on at Macy’s and Lord and Taylor. She actually thanked me and raced out.
    I headed over to her house, parking down the street so the neighbors wouldn’t notice my car, and let myself in. While I waited for the drugs (I paid extra for delivery by 11 a.m.), I played around in Becca’s cabinets, switching salt for sugar, that type of thing. When my package finally came, I shoved the receipt in the back of a drawer and went home, only to return a few hours later for Joe’s dinner.
    I felt a little bad about ruining his celebration, but it couldn’t be helped. It was especially nice that Mom had invited one of her friends from the National Heritage Museum to dinner at Becca’s to show Joe off. Now I’d have a witness to the tension between Mom and Becca.
    Priceless is the best way to describe everyone’s faces, especially Mom’s, as they tasted the supposedly sweet and sour chicken that was actually salty and bitter. Becca’s mouth hung open. She’d always prided herself on being the perfect cook and hostess.
    “I’m sorry,” she said. “I can’t imagine what went wrong. Please have more of the salad and rolls.” She hurried into the kitchen to try to pull something else together. Mom followed her.
    “If you didn’t have time to cook a proper dinner, Becca, you should have told me,” Mom said in her usual whisper that could be heard in the next township. “You’ve embarrassed me. I typically count on Gwen for that.”
    Before Becca could defend herself, Mom emerged from the kitchen, a tight smile on her face. “Madeline,” she nodded to her friend. “Why don’t we go out for a proper meal? It’s on us, of course.”
    In seconds Mom, Dad, and Madeline headed for the door, while Becca shot daggers from her eyes at Mom’s back. I was so happy, Mom’s jab at me hardly registered.
    I went home soon after, singing “Jingle