The Misadventures of the Laundry Hag - #2 Swept under the Rug

by Jennifer L. Hart

  The guy with the south Boston accent laughed. “Didn’t you hear? The company shelved all overtime, due to the economy. Why pay us hardworking stiffs extra when third party can do it for less?”

  ‘No overtime,” I echoed; my voice hollow in my ears.

  “Nah, but he’ll be in for his regular shift at two. Or you could try him at home, if you’ve got the number.”

  “I have the number, thanks.” Not like he’d answer that line either.

  How many times had Neil left the house claiming he was going to pick up a little overtime? Just since the holidays, at least two dozen I could call to mind. How had I missed this?

  Shoving all of my emotions away, I turned on the car and pointed it toward home. I’d made it about a block when I pulled over at a Cumberland Farms, hopped out and stuffed Dr. Bob’s homework in the trash. I had cleaning to do and an unwilling partner to light a fire under; homework was not going to happen this week.

  Breezing into the house on the prow of the North Wind, I slammed the door and bee-lined to my war pantry. The new customer, a divorced man new homeowner, had been utterly clueless about what kind of cleaning he’d needed. “Can’t you just come over and clean?” He’d whined.

  That was exactly what I planned to do. Exhaust myself, not thinking about Neil, his movements, his phone or any other depressing thoughts. Just clean and make some money, little Mary flipping Sunshine with a Swiffer.

  “Is everything all right?” Penny’s flat vowels and lack of g’s grated on my last nerve.

  “No, every thang is NOT all rite. Did you get an appointment with an obstetrician yet?”

  Penny nodded and glanced away, but not before I saw the hurt in her eyes. Damn, what was I thinking? Mocking a pregnant woman. When had I become a bully?

  I exhaled between clenched teeth. “I’m sorry, Penny. Please ignore ninety-five percent of what comes out of my mouth. I’m not upset with you, okay?”

  She nodded, but I knew it wasn’t okay. Was it the girl’s fault I was used to being queen bee around here and had taken serious umbrage to being displaced by the pregnant princess? And she was a girl, barley out of her teens, if I was any judge. “How old are you, Penny?” I asked.

  “I’ll be twenty-two in April.” Her chin jutted out and I smiled.

  “That’s about how old I was when I took over caring for Josh and Kenny.”

  “Good for you.” Penny spun on her bare heel and marched off to the bedroom. Apparently, I had some serious fence mending to do there.

  “Marty!” I bellowed. No answering shout. After stuffing every spray, foam and squirt bottle I could think of into my carrier, I opened the garage door. Marty and the boys were in the middle of weight bench reps. I waited for Josh to finish a set before speaking. “Hey Marty, we need to leave in ten.”

  Kenny traded with Josh and Marty moved to the spotter’s position. “I’ll be ready as soon as we finish here.” He waved me off.

  Loading my supplies only took a minute. Restless, I stomped to the den and flicked on the computer. Neil had promised to look into the property rights for the advertising sight, but I didn’t want to think about what Neil had or hadn’t done right then.

  The website was still saved under my favorites and after a quick scan, I didn’t pick up any copy write protection on company names or slogans. So why hadn’t the dead bird sender just snagged my entire name instead of only the logo? Might be a weird coincidence.

  I surfed to Google and typed in Phoenix, bird just to see what would surface. First was the Wikipedia page, which I ignored, ‘cause any Joe Schmoe could add stuff on there. The next was a link about the mythology around the Phoenix, which symbolized immortality, resurrection and life after death. Fascinated, I began to read.

  * * * *

  “Maggs, I think it’s clean enough.” Marty gestured at the innocent stainless steel sink I’d scrubbed with a vengeance. My new client, Lucas Sloan, was nowhere to be found, but his brother had let us in to “do our thing.” The old ranch home, a similar layout to my own abode, was in desperate need of some TLC. Other than a massive T.V. and beat-up recliner, the place held only cardboard boxes. And about two years worth of grime.

  “I’m doing shiny sink, 101.” I answered my brother as I scoured the last of the Comet from the basin. “I’ve already bleached it to remove set-in stains and all that’s left is to Windex it to a shine. This should be done every six months.”

  Mary leaned against the counter. “Fascinating, truly. “ I caught his eye roll in my peripheral vision.

  “Did you finish vacuuming?” I asked, while I spritzed the basin.

  “Yup and I even used the attachments for the corners and whatnot.”

  “How about the master bedroom?” I wiped down the swan neck faucet.

  “Done, as much as I could. Looks like the guy’s living out of a suitcase. There weren’t any hangers in the closet or pharmaceuticals in the medicine cabinet.”

  Being a snoop, I’d already noted the lack of medicine. “It’s a rental. Ben, the guy who let us in, says that Sloan is in a custody battle and he wants the place spic-n-span before the court sends someone out here to evaluate.”

  “Poor bastard,” Marty shook his head. “Bad enough his marriage broke up but now he’s gotta live under a microscope to spend time with his kids. How come the wife always gets custody?”

  Ignoring Marty’s stall tactics, I pointed at the Swiffer duster. “See if you can reach that light fixture in the foyer. Oh and the ceiling fan in the den.” Lucas Sloan’s personal life was none of our business, and while that usually didn’t stop me from sticking my nose in, I didn’t have the fortitude at the moment.

  Leo had once charged me with having a “bad case of the shoulds.” As in, one should organize a library by author and by genre and Kenny, you should have thought of that before we left the house. He claimed it was part of my control-freak personality and asked how I benefited from knowing how something should be done. I’d taken his musings as a rhetorical question.

  Marty grumbled and skulked out of the kitchen. I studied the sink, confident that my labor had helped. While the 1970’s era kitchen didn’t exactly sparkle, it did appear tidy and nothing pointed to a salmonella outbreak. My work was done.

  Lugging my Rubbermaid bin of cleaning supplies towards the door, I noticed an envelope stuffed under the phone base. The logo on the upper left hand corner caught my gaze. Safari Power Solutions with the slogan, Go on Safar,i while we do the work. I was pretty sure it was a subsidiary company owned by one Markus Valentino. Neil had also dropped the name a few times in reference to some project or other at his job.

  Peeking around the corner to note Marty’s whereabouts, I set my bin down and picked up the envelope. It was open and empty, but a phone number had been scribbled on the back. For no apparent reason, I keyed the number into my cell phone but before I could hit send, the front door opened.

  “You all done in here?” Ben Sloan called out, not coming all the way into the house. From his vantage point, he could only see the hallway leading to the bedrooms and the living room. Luck on my side, I slid the envelope back under the phone and hefted my bin.

  “Just about,” I smiled and he grunted in response. If this euphoric personality was a family trait, I could understand why Sloan’s marriage had tanked. “We still have to pack up our supplies. Here’s one of my cards, could you give it to your brother for me?”

  Ben nodded and pocketed my card. I called to Marty and humped my load of cleaning paraphernalia to the Mini Cooper.

  Hot on my heels, Marty dumped the duster and vacuum unceremoniously into the back, making the car dip and bounce. What had I been thinking, buying this clown car to haul all of my crap? While I’d watched a video where the car held fifteen bags of quick dry cement, it could only do it with the rear seats down and my vacuum was an industrial strength model, translation, BIG. On a normal day, I had to drop my cleaning stuff at home before I could pick up the kids. Ah, who was I kidding? I loved t
hat car.

  While Marty loaded the rest of our gear, I filled out an invoice and walked it over to Ben. He took one look at the total and sucked in a breath. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Um, no.” My prices were very reasonable and I’d never had any complaints about my results. Sometimes being a neat freak was a benefit.

  “Shit, Lucas can’t afford this. He still owes me fifty bucks.”

  “Mr. Sloan asked me to clean the entire house, which I did. He knew what my hourly rates were before I showed up today.” I made an effort not to sound defensive, but Ben’s scowl told me it didn’t work.

  “Whatever lady, I’m just saying this is more than I make for two and a half hours of real work.”

  Dickhead. I could have gone into the whole breakdown of supplies, insurance, my partner’s fee—which I would set aside in a secret account for him until after the baby arrived—but why bother? “Have a nice day.” I said instead and hurried back to the car.

  “What was that all about?” My brother asked as I turned the engine over.

  “Another satisfied customer.” I sighed and glanced over to Marty. He had a bit of fuzz stuck in his short hair and he hadn’t bothered to shave. “The guy balked at the bill. Fortunately, he’s not the one who’s supposed to pay us.” We cruised around the Cul-de-sac and headed back to the main road.

  “He didn’t pay you?” Marty fidgeted with the temperature controls and I slapped his hand.

  “Give it a sec, it’ll warm up. It wasn’t his house, Marty. Don’t worry; I have an arrangement with the other Mr. Sloan. ”

  “You should get the money upfront.”

  I sighed. “Sprout, no one is going to pay their cleaning service upfront, especially not a new client who has yet to inspect the job.”

  “But what happens if that guy tries to talk his brother into stiffing you?” Marty would not let the subject drop. “I mean, what would you do then?”

  My first impulse was to answer that I’d send Neil over to persuade the guy to change his mind. I flinched, my thoughts skirting away from Neil as they had done all afternoon. “Probably threaten to take him to small claims court.” I said instead. “After what the guy has been through with a divorce and a child custody battle, he’d probably rather cough up the money than have another reason to go to court.”

  “I still say it’s risky. One of these days, you’re gonna get burned.”

  I slammed on the breaks and we jerked to a stop six feet before the stop sign. Marty’s words had reminded me of the cut and paste fax. “The Phoenix is rising, you’re gonna get burned,” I muttered.

  “What?” Marty asked.

  “Never mind.” After the reading I’d done on the myth of the Phoenix, I knew the bird symbolized rebirth and eternal life. The Greeks and Ancient Egyptians also believed it was connected to the sun god, who enjoyed its song and unique status, for there could only be one alive at any given time. According to myth, the bird lived from anywhere from 500 to over 1000 years and that when it felt the breath of Death hovering, it would build its own funeral pyre and be swallowed by the flames. A new Phoenix would then rise from the ashes of the blaze to start the cycle all over again.

  Although everyone else believed the note was some type of kinky foreplay, I’d seen fear on both of the Valentinos’s faces. Discounting that theory, the Phoenix is rising would probably refer to the rebirth part of the myth. The you’re gonna get burned, however, made no sense. Other than in the X-Men character, the Phoenix was not portrayed as violent or vengeful. Several of the articles I’d uncovered had even stated that the bird possessed healing powers. And there was still no explanation for the charred hawk.

  “We’re gonna make a quick trip to the police station.” I told my brother and made an illegal U-Turn at the next light.

  * * *

  Chapter Eight

  “Maggie,” Detective Capri’s expression was pained. “I’ve yet to reach either of the Valentinos. They haven’t filed a report, so I’m without evidence to pursue.”

  Same old song and dance. “There is something going on with them, I can feel it. First the fax about the Phoenix and then the charred bird.”

  “You could notify P.E.T.A about the bird, maybe they can do something, but if Mr. Valentino wants the matter dropped, my hands are tied.”

  I blew air between my lips, attempting to get my hair out of my face. “You told me to trust my instincts. Well, they’re screaming that all is not well here. Somebody used my logo to deliver a nasty message, bringing me into the fray.”

  “Maggie, I’m telling you to back off. If Valentino finds out you’re making a stink about this, he might sue you for slander.”

  Crap, I hadn’t thought about that possibility. Bad enough Marty had me fretting over being stiffed by new clients. To top that off, it was getting into tax season and since I was self-employed, I’d have to pay for my earnings, pitiful though they may have been last year. I really couldn’t afford a lawsuit.

  “Fine,” I said. “I’ll let it go, but I swear to you something is going on with them.”

  Capri offered me a stiff smile. “Noted. Now, I think you’d better get going if you want to be on time to pick up your kids.”

  “No school today, due to the snow,” but I took the hint anyway.

  Marty was seated by the check-in desk and I noticed the Stegosaurus from calamities past smirked at me as I collected my brother.

  “Can we stop at the store?” Marty asked as I pushed my way out into the frigid afternoon air.

  “Which store and what are you after?” Knowing his agenda ahead of time solved many problems since there was a history of Marty realizing he’d misplaced his wallet while we held up the checkout line.

  “I was thinking Wal-Mart; I need to get Penny some gloves and warm socks.”

  I sighed. My day was crappy enough without adding a trip to Wal-Mart into the mix. In its inception, Wal-Mart was a great idea, the first real buy anything at anytime store. Unfortunately, the hunt for a great deal brought out the viciousness in people and buying a pack of toilet tissue usually resulted in several bruises on my person as well as raised blood pressure. “She can borrow anything of mine that she needs.” I told Marty even as I merged with traffic migrating toward the superstore.

  “How about underwear?” Marty raised an eyebrow.

  “Yeah, that’s not going to happen. Besides, I should restock some of my cleaning supplies.”

  “Thanks, sis.” Marty grinned at me.

  “Do me a favor and call the house. Ask if anyone needs anything, since we’re going.” Some jackass in a Sienna barreled through the red light at the intersection and I simultaneously slammed on my breaks and pounded the horn. “What’s your problem, pal!” I shouted, even though it was fourteen degrees outside and my windows were rolled up. The vehicle kept moving at its bat-outta-hell speed. Where were Hudson’s finest when you needed ‘em?

  I proceeded through the light to the cadence of annoyed horns from every direction. Superb day, all around.

  Marty spoke to whoever had answered on the house phone. I couldn’t help but note we were on Broad Street traveling South past Forestvale Cemetery and would soon be approaching Technology Drive, which meandered uphill to Intel. Part of me wanted to cruise the parking lot in hopes of spotting Neil’s Escort, and had I been alone I might have succumbed to the impulse. However, with Marty in the car to witness my actions, the notion lost its appeal. I merged onto 85 South and found my way into a parking space.

  Marty snapped my phone closed. “Nobody needs anything.”

  Of course not. Nobody would need anything from the store until five minutes after I’d unpacked the purchases. Then, I’d be hit with a bevy of, “Hey Mom why didn’t you get more…?

  The Hudson Wal-Mart was not a Supercenter, which meant I’d have to make another stop for groceries. “Make it fast, Sprout and remember whatever you buy we have to fit into the car.”

  Marty nodded and was off. Having left my coupon
book at home, I decided to forgo the cleaning supplies on this trip. Instead, I browsed a display of coolers and outdoor furniture, (jumping the seasonal gun a bit weren’t they?) but my thoughts were on Neil. With a bit of distance, I realized there could be a perfectly acceptable reason why he had lied to me about the overtime. In retrospect, I should have picked up on the lack of extra money in our account, since I was the financial guru in our house, even if I did have to do some math. That I didn’t notice must mean something, but damned if I knew what.

  “Hey, Maggie,” I turned around and blinked when I saw Eric. I opened my mouth, but what could I say to him? Making a scene in the gym after he’d been caught in the act was one thing, but I was not about to start screaming at the scum-sucking dickweed in the middle of Wal-Mart. Low though they may be, a girl has to have standards. I compressed my lips together and shot daggers at him with my gaze instead.

  “I, um, wanted to apologize for the unpleasantness at the gym the other day and wanted to make sure you knew we valued your family’s membership.”

  “Message received.” I turned away in dismissal, but Eric caught my arm.

  “The owner fired Sylvia.”

  “What?!” I shrieked in outrage. “Why?”

  Eric shuffled his feet, unwilling to look me in the eye. “Well, membership has dropped off, what with the economy and all…. And her classes have been less than half full since December. After the incident, he said one of us had to go.”

  “So even though the incident was your fault, you let her take the fall?” The man was lower than a snake’s belly.

  Eric huffed his indignation. “I’m the assistant manager and a full-time employee. It made good financial sense to—”

  I held up a hand in his face. “Save it for someone who gives a rat’s ass.”

  He hung his head. “She won’t return my phone calls or let me into the house.”

  “Can you fault her, really?”

  “Get off your high horse, Maggie. Sylvia isn’t perfect and she wasn’t carrying her weight in our marriage. It would have ended sooner or later.”