The Misadventures of the Laundry Hag - #1 Skeletons in the Closet

by Jennifer L. Hart

  “Sounds like a plan to me, although I must point out you don’t have a very thick accent, it’s a bit different than a Bostonian intonation is all.”

  Now that’s a compliment.

  “I heard about your little adventure last night. A friend of mine works dispatch and recognized your name. I was a little surprised to say the least, since I thought you were going to keep your head down for a while.”

  I made a vague gesture with my hand, trying to make light of the most mortifying situation of my life.

  “I thought I’d come by and let you know you’re barking up the wrong tree.”

  “But the tattoo! I know Greg was Mrs. Kline’s lover, I saw the tattoo!”

  “Latest lover, you mean. The Kline marriage was littered with similar indiscretions, which is why I zeroed in on Mr. Kline. It must have reached a point where the man needed to kill her just so that he could retain a shred of dignity.” Patterson shook his head. “But you held true to being Mr. Kline’s alibi, and Greg has an even better one. He was having a, ahem, full body wax at a local spa.”

  Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeewwwwwwwwww!

  As Kenny would say, “Way, way, TMI.”

  “So, both the current lover and the husband have alibis. This definitely appears to be a crime of passion, at least according to the medical examiner’s report. Twelve rounds at close range was no theft gone awry. No, someone wanted to make good and sure that Alessandra Kline left this earth forever.”

  Warning bells clanged in my head. I took another sip from my tepid coffee and puzzled out exactly what wasn’t right.

  “The husband has some strange fetishes, as I assume you’ve noticed. His little torture room and whatnot, but your alibi shoots that theory down the crapper, so I’m left with a violent crime of passion, with no possible suspects. Or, at least, too many to sort through.” He sent me a meaningful look that I couldn’t decipher, and the clanging grew louder.

  “Why are you telling me all this?”

  He looked pained. “I shouldn’t be revealing evidence to a civilian, but I need an in.”

  “An in? To where?”

  “Alessandra Kline’s social circle. The people she ran with, so to speak. When dealing with the elite, I have to tread very carefully and with a ridiculous lack of evidence I can’t afford to even let on that they’re under investigation, or they’ll lawyer up faster than you can say O.J.”

  “I still don’t see how I….”

  “With your cleaning service. You’ll be privy to what goes on in these people’s homes.”

  “Are you asking me to spy for the police department?”

  His response was automatic. “Absolutely not. If, however, you happen to come across information which would be of assistance in this or any investigation, we would be most appreciative. You’re only a witness to Mr. Kline’s whereabouts, not to the crime itself. This might make you a target, you and your family.”

  “What!”

  “Think about it, Maggie. Without you, Mr. Kline has no one to place him at his house at the time of the murder. You’re standing smack in between a killer and his scapegoat.”

  “What about the cook? She saw me hitting on Mr.Kline!” I clapped a hand over my mouth a second too late. “That is, I ummm….”

  Patterson studied me for a few heartbeats. “You were hitting on Douglass Kline?”

  “Not intentionally. He seemed so downtrodden, and I wanted to comfort him. It wasn’t sexual.” Even if he thought it was.

  Patterson cleared his throat. “Well, the cook has disappeared. We found an airline ticket to Venezuela in her room, dated two days ago, but no other personal information. We’re still trying to track her down. It’s too soon yet to assume foul play, but I think a little caution on your part would be prudent.”

  I zoned out, staring straight over Bradley Patterson’s left shoulder. His words made a morbid sort of sense, and I tasted bile in my throat. I could be in danger, and Neil and the boys by proximity. My family was in jeopardy because I was tired of clipping coupons and shopping at frigging Wal-Mart. A tear slid down my cheek.

  Bradley Patterson handed me a tissue, which was good because I never have a tissue when I need one. And I really needed one right then.

  “I know this is a lot to handle, Maggie, and I’m not asking that you do anything you think would put you at further risk. This may be a way to tie up both of our problems, nice and neat, and capture a killer before he strikes again.”

  I don’t think I responded as Detective Patterson slid his card across the counter to me and let himself out. I gnawed on my lip and spaced out.

  Exactly what was I supposed to do now?

  * * * *

  It seemed like hours ago that I’d decided to stay out of it, to let the police fill in the gaps. But that was before I’d discovered my family was in the line of fire.

  Shit. I really wish I could go back to dealing with the gray hair and dandruff.

  By the time I’d showered and dressed, Neil and the boys had returned from the basketball courts. Kenny and Josh peppered me with questions, all of which I had not so skillfully evaded. I gave them a vague explanation, since they’d seen the paper and knew about Mrs. Kline’s demise, but left out my own involvement.

  “But what about the bruises?” Josh asked me. He was the more serious of the two and he hadn’t forgotten my flip remark about police brutality.

  “It was an accident, sweetie. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Why don’t you go finish your book for school?”

  The boys grumbled a little more before heading off to their room.

  Neil shook his head at me. “They’re getting older. They understand more than I think either of us realizes. Half-assed explanations aren’t going to cut it anymore.”

  I knew he was right, but it’s near impossible to turn off that Mom instinct which demands that I shelter and protect my children from the harsher realities out there in the world.

  “So, what happened?” The boys had definitely inherited their sense of persistence from Neil.

  “We’ll talk about it later.”

  “Maggie….”

  “Please, love, I want to forget about it for now.”

  That was easier said than done. I spent the day cleaning the house, having the boys assist me whenever possible, and taking stock of the pantry items we had on hand. I was without an escape from my troubled musings, which put a damper on an already thankless day of chores.

  We had almost finished dinner when the doorbell rang. I stiffened in front of the running tap water, a plate suspended in midair. Neil searched my face before going to see who had stopped by, the boys close at his heels.

  “Uncle Marty!” I relaxed as the jubilant greeting reached my ears. I dropped the plate in the sink and dried my hands on my jeans right before I was lifted off the ground.

  “Hey there, big sis! Boy, you look like shit.”

  “Oh, save the woo for your harem, Marty. Where have you been?” I hugged my errant sibling and lectured him at the same time, an art form I’d perfected a decade ago.

  As was typical, Marty ignored me. “You didn’t think I’d miss your Thanksgiving dinner, did you? No, even us up-and-coming business tycoons need to relax now and again.”

  Neil looked as if a thundercloud had taken possession of his eyebrows. “So what’s the new job, skin diver for Roto-Rooter?”

  Neil’s lack of enthusiasm for my brother’s aptitude knows no bounds.

  “It’s a surprise. Nice digs you got here, brother-man.” Marty winked at Neil, whose grinding teeth echoed throughout the kitchen.

  An involuntary twitch started in my right eye—the reaction comes about when the men in my life are brought together. It pains me that my husband and my brother can’t get along, and their trading of insults takes sibling rivalry to a perverse level.

  “So, where am I crashing out?” Marty looked around the kitchen skeptically.

  “You can stay with us, Uncle Marty; you can even sleep in my bed
!” Kenny was eager to sacrifice his own comfort for more time with Uncle Excitement. My brother may be a complete baboon’s behind when it came to a career, but he’s the fun relation.

  Of course, the competition is pretty thin.

  The boys were getting Marty all squared away, and I turned on Neil with a vengeance.

  “Would it kill you to be decent to him? Or, Heaven forbid, nice?”

  “It might.” Neil’s gaze traveled down the hallway. “It’s hard to believe he beat out a million other sperm.”

  “Neil!”

  “Uncle Scrooge, I tolerate him because he’s your brother. But the navy has a term for his life. Malingering. It’s a punishable state of being.”

  “Well he’s not in the military, and while he may be lazy some of the time—”

  Neil whirled on me. “All of the time. And I don’t want to hear anything from that cache of excuses you keep at the ready for his defense. You did the best you could with what you were given, and he’s an adult. He’s responsible for his own pile of crap and he has been for the last decade.”

  My lip trembled, and Neil softened in his attack. “I’ll try harder. For you. But if he calls me brother-man one more freaking time, I’ll….”

  I put my fingertips over his mouth. “Duly noted. And I appreciate it.”

  Neil slung an arm around my shoulders and steered me to the front porch.

  “While we have a moment of peace, I want to hear about this morning.”

  The words came pouring out of me like air from a deflating balloon, and I felt just as empty when I finished.

  Neil shook his head. “No, that detective is playing games with you, Uncle Scrooge. He’s using your fear to manipulate you.”

  “Maybe. I was thinking I’d ask Francesca to hire me and recommend me to some of her and Alessandra’s acquaintances, you know, to get my foot in the door?”

  “Less than a week ago you were ranting like a loon about how you didn’t want one cleaning job, and now you want to pick up more?”

  “Things change.” I wasn’t exactly thrilled by that fact, but I had been scheming all day, and denial wasn’t going to help any of us. “I’ll hire someone to go with me; you know, an assistant or partner, so I’ll never be alone in a potential murderer’s company.

  “I should have killed that detective when I had the chance,” Neil muttered.

  “You have to admit he has a point. I’ll have access to the Kline’s social circle, and most people don’t look twice at the help.”

  “Maggie, five minutes with you, and anyone can see you’re no help.”

  “The insults aren’t helping,” I said as quietly as possible. I was trying not to antagonize Neil.

  “Okay, here’s what we’ll do. I’ll be your partner.”

  I laughed in his face; I couldn’t help it. It wasn’t very often that Neil was the one to come up with the ridiculous suggestions.

  “What?” Neil put his hands on his hips, which only enhanced my giggle fit.

  “You have a job, remember?” I said between gasps for breath.

  “Yeah, but I can take some time off or rearrange my schedule or something.”

  “Neil, you put in your time saving the world. I know you want to keep me out of harm’s way, but it seems that fate has other plans. I’m no warrior, but I can help, and it’s better than sitting around here worrying about whether or not our sons are in some maniac’s crosshairs.”

  We sat in silence for a time, staring up at the moonless night, and I caught the faint hint of chimney smoke. The moment was utterly serene, and I knew it wouldn’t last.

  Neil finally asked, “Who did you have in mind to ride shotgun?”

  “I wasn’t thinking of anyone in particular,” I admitted.

  “How about I make a few calls tomorrow, see what the network can come up with?”

  The network is Neil’s list of contacts, some SEALs, both former and active duty, as well as a handful of other people he trusts. It operates on the whole six degrees of separation theory, you know, ‘I know someone who knows someone who can do….’ fill in the blank. Neil and a few of his buddies started the network before we’d met, and it’s grown to almost global proportions.

  “Please, find someone discreet, not like the thugs who helped us move in.”

  Neil grinned. “You didn’t like Little John and Tiny Tim?”

  “Like has nothing to do with it. One of them did number two in our bathroom, and an hour later my air fern was all withered.”

  “You shouldn’t have left it in the bathroom.”

  “Discreet, Neil. No plant killers or toxic avengers, please.”

  “Ever at your service, milady.”

  * * * *

  I spent most of Monday on the phone. Francesca was more than willing to help when I told her I wanted to expand my cleaning service. I intentionally neglected to mention the subsequent information hunt, since I wanted to be circumspect with my investigation. She told me to come over and ‘do my thing’ on Tuesday night, since she had guests coming in for the holiday. “It’ll be the perfect opportunity for me to talk you up,” she said with enthusiasm.

  “Is your brother-in-law going to be there?”

  “No. The poor dear is so traumatized by what happened to Alessandra, he wanted to be alone. I’m going to go over with some leftovers and grieve with him on Friday. Maybe you could check in on him, Maggie? He’s going to have to fend for himself, especially since the cook quit.”

  For selfish reasons, I was glad I wouldn’t have to face the woman who’d seen me clumsily attempting to comfort Mr. Kline.

  Neil had been burning up the PC keys and emerged from the den, triumphant with a half dozen contact names and numbers he’d unearthed through the network. He assured me that all were available and living in our area. On that score, he was right, but none were interested in cleaning other people’s houses. When I hung up the phone at three-thirty, I was no closer to securing a partner than before.

  “Maybe I should ask Marty to come with me for tomorrow evening’s job,” I suggested when I told Neil about the results.

  “We’re looking for Remington Steele here, not the guy in the red-shirt on Star Trek. What was his name? Oh yeah, Ensign Dead-meat.”

  The phone rang, and I answered on the second ring while managing to roll my eyes at Neil.

  I’ve got mad skills.

  “Mrs. Phillips? This is Josh’s teacher, Ms. Martin.”

  “Hello, Mrs. Martin.” My tone was neutral, but as the silence reigned, I realized exactly what had happened.

  “Oh, God, I’m so sorry, Ms. Martin! I forgot about our meeting! Are you still at the school because I can leave right now and I’ll be there in ten minutes, less if I make all the lights. Oh, I am so sorry, really, for wasting your time like this and….”

  I couldn’t stop the verbal diarrhea from bubbling out. Neil made calm down motions with his hands, and I stopped my rant in order to show off my driving finger. He knows I hate to be told, even wordlessly, to calm down.

  “I have to leave now, Mrs. Phillips. I’ll be traveling out of town for the holiday, so we can reschedule our missed meeting for after the vacation. For now, your son’s F for the missed assignment stands.”

  I really didn’t appreciate her huffy tone and I felt awful that poor Josh had to suffer the humiliation of an F because his mother was a spaz. “But—”

  She cut me off. “You can call the administration office and reschedule at your convenience.”

  The receiver clicked in my ear, followed by the dial tone.

  “I guess you have to return that Mother of the Year award, huh?” Marty snarked from the doorway. Neil started toward him, but I got there first and slugged him. The oof sound he made when my fist connected with his gut satisfied my bloodlust, and Neil and I left Marty doubled over in the doorway.

  Chapter Eight

  A fitful night and too many thoughts to process had left me strung out by Tuesday morning. My mind was like a washing
machine, agitating through potential cleaning partners and had spun out nothing. Life 1, Laundry Hag 0. Neil had offered repeatedly to come and clean with me, and while I knew he would do an excellent job at both the cleaning and the protecting (he was ex-military after all), I didn’t want to leave Marty in charge of the boys at night. My brother may be a great uncle, but he’s my last resort for a baby sitter, right behind Pee Wee Herman and Joseph Stalin.

  Kenny and Josh had a half day at school due to parent-teacher conferences. I had a two-thirty appointment with Kenny’s teacher, but since Ms. Martin had vamoosed to parts unknown, our book report conversation was set up for a week from Thursday. The sinking sensation in my stomach had turned to anger at both my own thoughtlessness and Ernest Hemingway. It’s true—alcoholics hurt more than themselves, even after death.

  I’d taken a toothbrush to the baseboards by the time Marty staggered into the kitchen at eleven-thirty. He poured a mug of coffee, which I was sure had grown cold hours before, and sloshed a healthy amount on my gleaming countertop. After adding sugar to both the cup and the mess on the formerly clean work area, he took a sip and grimaced.

  “Coffee’s cold. When did you make it?”

  “Around six-thirty, when I got up.”

  Marty squinted at me. “Do you wake up at the ass crack of dawn every day?”

  “Actually,” I responded as I took a sponge from the sink and cleaned up after him, “I was awake at five, but didn’t get out of bed until six-thirty. So it was before the ass crack of dawn.”

  “Like the plumber’s crack of dawn then.” Marty snorted and took another swig of coffee. “You know, Maggs, you should probably take a little more care with your appearance; you look like death warmed over.”

  I had tied my hair back with a red bandana and I sported my bleach-stained jeans and a ragged flannel that I refused to let Neil wear anymore. “I’m dressed for cleaning, for work Marty, you should try it sometime.”

  “Hey, I have a job, a potentially awesome job, which is going to make me some serious capital.”

  I put the sponge aside and gave my brother my full attention. “Okay, I’m braced for it. Hit me.”