“They’ll arrive between one and two. It should take about four hours, though.”
“That’s fine.” Janie twisted the chord to her land-line phone. “Don’t women work for you?”
“Our regular cleaning staff is mostly female. They do the bathrooms, kitchens, baseboards, deep dusting, a thorough vacuuming, even behind furniture, and clean the windows inside and out. The full treatment would be $199.99 for up to three bedrooms, and I could send two tomorrow morning if you’d like that done as well. It shouldn’t take them more than three hours at the most. Then if you sign up for regular cleaning, it’s $59.99 twice a month.”
Janie mentally tallied the amount of money in her checking account. She’d received her Social Security widow’s check that week. “Oh, why not? I am sure the place can use it. Very well, then. The whole kit and caboodle.”
After she hung up the phone, she scanned her kitchen, dining room, and living room. Then, she strolled down the hall and peeked into her bath. Her forefinger slipped across the top of her mirror as dust motes floated down. The baseboards revealed a slightly fuzzy, gray line across them in the corner by the commode. Cat hairs stuck to the edges of the bathtub. “Ugh. Yes, well worth the money. But what will I do with Mrs. Fluffy?”
As if on cue, her furry companion meandered in and leaned against her leg. Janie reached down for the animal and cuddled her to her chest. “How would you like to go to the spa at the pet store for the morning?”
The cat let out a howl and wiggled out of her arms. She jumped to the floor and dashed into the bedroom, her plumed tail flopped to one side.
Janie huffed. “Well, you have no choice in the matter, missy, but I’ll wait until the sunrise to dig your carrier out of the broom closet. No since having you quiver under the bed all night.”
~*~
Cornering her cat was no easy trick. Mrs. Fluffy heard the hinges on her carrier creak and slid as far as possible beneath the queen-sized bed. Janie bent down and lifted the bedspread. She stretched for a tail and whisked the feline out. A few protesting howls and five scratches later, she pushed the stubborn beast inside and closed the door. Janie rose and massaged her lower spine. Lifting a twelve-pound cat in a carrier would not be easy on her back. It had to be done. She swallowed two aspirin, picked up the cat-tote, and proceeded down the hall.
Silence reigned until Mrs. Fluffy saw the car. Then her protests began in earnest. No one within a two-block radius needed an alarm clock that morning. The furry menace moaned and meowed in increasing decibels all the way across the alley.
“Hush. It’s seven thirty on a Saturday morning.”
The animal’s complaints grew louder. Red-faced, half from excursion, and half from embarrassment, Janie shoved the displeased critter into the passenger seat. She clicked her own safety belt and hightailed her vehicle down the alley before someone called the American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty of Animals’ local office.
By eight fifteen, she returned, to-go breakfast sack in hand, with just enough time to swallow her egg white, turkey sausage, and Swiss cheese biscuit, and wash down her gullet with a couple of gulps of fat-free vanilla latte. Already, she wanted a nap.
The two maids arrived at eight thirty with buckets, cleansers, scrubbers, and smiles. One was Hispanic, the other of Russian descent. Janie introduced herself.
“I am Olga, and this is Juanita. If you have special soaps and cleaners you wish us to use, show us where they are.”
“Oh, I’m sure your products will be absolutely fine. Let me give you the grand tour.”
She showed them her condo. They followed, cheerful but all business.
Olga asked several questions, which Janie appreciated. The Russian maid grinned. “Better to ask than do it wrong. My—how you say?”
“Motto?”
“Da, that is word.” Plan devised, Juanita took the back half of the house while Olga tackled the living room, dining room, and kitchen.
Janie wandered in as she scrubbed the Formica countertops, making sure to replace the items which normally sat there exactly as she had found them. “Thank you, Olga. You’re quite thorough. Would you like some lemonade or ice-cold water?”
“Yes, please. Juanita may wish some as well.”
Janie opened the fridge and pulled out the pitcher. “Are there many of you who work for Maid to Order?”
“Oh yes. They have fifteen cars for maids so at least thirty girls.”
“My daughter hired one named Miranda, but I hear she left.”
“Yes, I think so. Though I never work with her. Juanita and I always together. Though, for large jobs we join Marta and Ra’naa.”
“Ra’naa? Mrs. Jacobs spoke highly of her.”
Olga wiped out the sink and polished the spigot. “Yes, she come from India, I think. No, Nepal. But don’t worry. We all show papers to be in the U.S.” She flashed Janie a quick smile.
“I’m sure you do.”
Olga stretched to wipe the top of the refrigerator. Janie scrunched her shoulders when squiggles of dust bunnies sailed off. Then the maid wrapped her arms around the appliance and shimmied it from the wall to sweep behind it.
“Oh my. No telling what you’ll find.”
The maid peeked out. “We are used to it.” Her broom shuffled out two toy mice covered in grunge, a bottle cap from a milk jug, and three twist ties. She snickered. “You must own cat.”
“Yes. She is at the vet’s. I didn’t want her getting underfoot.”
As Janie wondered how to explore the topic of the worker from Nepal, Olga picked up the conversation again. “Ra’naa is hard working. She is raising money to bring her family here. She is oldest.”
“I see. None are here yet?”
“Not so far. She is in a household of five children. At least I think she say so. Her father passed away and her mother ill after the birth of her littlest one. She wants them to come first.”
“How tragic. Perhaps my church can help. I’d like to meet her.” Immediately, Janie felt a twinge in her gut. OK, Lord, I’ll bring the matter up to the Outreach Committee. Promise.
Olga’s face beamed. “How kind. Yes. I will let her know. However, she didn’t work all last week. Not like her.”
Janie wondered why? Guilt? Sorrow? Ra’naa couldn’t be the slain girl, could she? No. Blake reported the autopsy confirmed she’d been recently pregnant. Olga never mentioned that. Janie scrawled her name and cell phone number on a notepad. “Here. Give this to her when you see her.”
The maid folded the piece of paper and slid it into her pocket.
So Ra’naa had no little sister in the states. Perhaps the Hindi girl behind the convenience store was a friend. Or the whole thing could be a coincidence. Though not in huge numbers, it seemed to her more people from that part of the world had relocated to this area in the past year. And there had been the social media article about them stealing teen identities.
A thought hit her. Wouldn’t immigrants from the same country huddle together? It would be only natural for a new immigrant to seek out a sense of belonging with people of similar language and culture. Odds were Ra’naa knew the dead girl. A tingle slithered up the back of Janie’s neck.
She left to check on Juanita and take her a glass of lemonade. Perhaps pump her for a bit of info as well. But Juanita spoke little English and stated she’d only met Ra’naa a few times.
SIXTEEN
The sun blasted through the sparkling windows to greet Janie’s clutched eyelids. Sunday morning. She yawned and stretched then sunk back into the pillows. The clean aroma of the cleansers the maids used still hovered. Watching them labor had made her exhausted. She never realized how little she actually cleaned, more like picked up and dusted around. Those ladies moved furniture to wipe behind them. Each time they discovered another pocket of grime, they would assure her most homeowners don’t take the time to do what they did. That’s why people like Janie hired them.
Her fresh sheets and covers snuggled around her, beckon
ing her to stay under them. With Mrs. Fluffy spending the weekend at the boarders until the carpet cleaners did their thing on Monday, a rare treat to sleep in tickled the edges of her psyche. She rolled over and closed her eyes. Maybe she’d attend the late service which started at eleven.
Twenty minutes later, Betsy Ann phoned, asking if Janie wanted to eat breakfast with her. “No, thanks. I’m moving a bit slow this morning. How about lunch? Oh, going with George to the park for a picnic after services. Maybe dinner, then? Good. See you this evening. Have a good day.” She hung up and flopped back onto her pillow.
Ten minutes after that, Ethel called because she couldn’t read the last ingredient Janie had hen-scratched for her lemon bars and she planned to make them for her small dinner group.
Finally, the boarding place phoned to say Mrs. Fluffy wouldn’t eat. Did Janie want to pick her up?
So much for a lazy Sunday morning. Janie humphed as she slid from her bed. She threw on a pair of slacks and a pullover blouse and drove to retrieve her spoiled rotten animal. Mrs. Fluffy would have to spend the day in her carrier on Monday while the men bustled around...if she lived that long.
~*~
All through the service, Janie fidgeted. She spotted Blake and Melody two rows up. Their teenagers would be clapping and praising to a contemporary band in the youth worship area down the corridor. The slight thump of the bass speakers throbbed through the sanctuary walls as the ushers passed the offering plates.
At last, the congregation said, “Amen.” She waved to her daughter. Melody edged through the crowd and gave her a brief hug. “What’s happening with you?”
Janie explained about her decision to hire a cleaning service.
“I’m glad you went with Maid to Order. I’ve always been pleased with them.”
“You didn’t tell me they do an extra amount of hard cleaning. Monday, a crew comes to clean the rugs. If they do half as good of a job as the maid, Miranda, you hired for me when my ankle was injured, I’ll be satisfied. Olga and Juanita, the ones who came this time, were exceptional as well.”
Blake came up. “But you had the rugs cleaned right before Easter.”
Melody arched an eyebrow.
Janie sputtered. “Well, shampooed. I didn’t care for the work that company did. Should know better than to answer a flier they put on everyone’s door knob with a rubber band. Left a sticky residue which attracted every speck of dirt. Plus, your men traipsed their muddy shoes all over them last month after the rains while they fingerprinted everything in sight.”
“An intruder did invade your home, Janie. Protocol.”
She rubbed the tiny scar on her neck, a warning from Mildred’s nephew’s knife blade. “I know.” Janie clicked her purse shut and draped it over her arm.
“Let me know if they do a good job. I may get my carpets and drapes done, too.” Melody hugged her again before whisking away to gather her brood, leaving a swirl of her perfume behind.
“I hope it doesn’t cost a bunch.” Blake winked. “I’m glad you’re preoccupied with normal things instead of stirring up trouble and chasing false leads, though.” He followed his wife down the corridor, hands jammed into the back of his slacks’ pockets as if guarding his wallet.
Janie tucked her lips together. Then she glanced at the ten-foot cross hanging over the altar. Well? It’s not as if I lied. I just didn’t correct his assumption. Sometimes silence is golden, you know.
A slight rumble sounded. She stopped. Probably someone moving one of the huge speakers around in the youth room, right?
~*~
Monday morning the doorbell rang promptly at nine. In walked the foursome to steam-clean the rugs and drapes. Janie, too tenderhearted to cage her pet, sequestered Mrs. Fluffy in the bathroom with water, food, and her litter box. She closed the door, envisioning the havoc the stubborn animal would render in retaliation. She hoped the shower curtain survived.
As the workmen gently moved furniture and placed breakables in boxes, Janie half-observed, her brain churning. Did Olga give Ra’naa the message? What if the girl never returned to work?
She grabbed her cell phone and stepped out onto her back stoop, away from the hum of the steamer. Recalling how Jamie, her techie grandson, showed her, she did a search for the Maid to Order and cyber-dialed the number. The same pleasant sounding voice answered.
Oh boy. I can’t say it’s me. That would raise too many questions. She cleared her throat and forced her vocal chords an octave higher. “Hello. I heard from a friend of mine one of your maids does a thorough job. I wondered if I could book her.”
The woman asked if she knew the name.
“Yes. I think it was Raja, maybe Rava. My friend says she’s from Nepal or someplace like that.”
The receptionist asked her to hold on. Another voice came on the line after two stanzas of an old Frank Sinatra song.
“Yes, this is Mrs. Arnold. You were inquiring about one of our staff?”
Janie explained again as she squinted her eyes, hoping the lady wouldn’t ask for her address and phone number.
She did.
“Ethel MacDaniels. I live in Sunset Acres and Mrs. Jacobs recommended you. I hear a Nepalese girl, perhaps named Rava, often cleans and she always does an exceptional job. May I request her?”
“Her name is Ra’naa.” Mrs. Arnold pronounced it slowly and spelled it out. “Unfortunately, she is out ill at the moment and we are not sure when she will be able to return to work.”
Janie’s heart sunk. “I see. Well, perhaps in a week? No hurry. I’m just getting up in years and I know I am not cleaning as well as I need to be.”
“We would be more than happy to send over another team...”
“Oh, that’s OK. I mean, I’m sure all of your workers are topnotch, but, well...” Janie sputtered. Lord, forgive me for this.
“Very well, Mrs. MacDaniels. I have your number here on my caller I.D. Let me see what I can arrange, and I’ll let you know tomorrow. Have a good day.” She clicked off.
Caller I.D.? Why hadn’t she thought of that? A brief spurt of anxiety chilled her. Janie leaned against the post on her back porch and traced her movements. A smile etched over her mouth. Thank goodness she’d booked the services currently making a ruckus in her condo through her landline. To have the same number pop up would have definitely raised red flags.
Oh boy. Now she had to call Ethel to let her know her house might soon need a cleaning.
SEVENTEEN
Janie talked non-stop before finally halting for a breath. “Well?”
“Hmm.” Ethel’s voice sounded even over the receiver. So far so good. “Very well. By the way, when do you obtain the DNA results on Aisha?”
“Don’t know. Maybe a week or so. Why?”
“In all the mystery novels I’ve read, the main concern is the trail getting cold. I think interviewing this Ra’naa is of the utmost urgency.”
“I agree. Do you interview her or do I, pretending to be you?”
“Why don’t we both do it? By then Mildred should be moved out and into her own abode, so the timing is right. You can arrange to be over for a visit when she arrives.”
Janie smiled. Luckily, Ethel agreed to play along. By the lilt in her voice, Janie surmised she was flattered to be included in the plot. “I owe you.”
“Nonsense. What are friends for? Anyway, we’re trying to make sure that poor dead girl gets justice, right?”
“Exactly.”
Ethel snickered. “It does feel good to be back in the game, doesn’t it? Sorry I gave you such a hard time at first.”
Janie agreed. “I wasn’t very kind to you either. No matter. I better check on the crew. Talk soon.”
~*~
Monday came and went with no further word from Maid to Order. Janie decided if she hadn’t heard from Ra’naa or Olga by midweek, she’d tell Blake. What Ethel said made sense. The trail grew colder day by day, even if it proved to be a bunny trail.
Then on Tuesday, as she, Eth
el, and Betsy Ann traipsed across the complex to visit their friends in the assisted section, Janie’s cell phone rang. The caller ID confirmed it came from the maid service.
“Yes?”
“Mrs. MacDaniels? Mrs. Arnold calling. We can set you up for this Friday at nine in the morning. Will that work?”
Janie mouthed the day and time to Ethel who nodded. She spoke in the fake voice. “Yes. Perfect. Thank you.”
She hung up. “Whew. OK. Ra’naa will be here Friday morning.”
“I’m glad she’s alive and well.”
“Me, too. Maybe she did catch a virus.”
Betsy Ann parked the heels of her hands on her hips. “OK, ladies. Spill. What am I missing out on here?”
“Janie feared Ra’naa had been the girl slaughtered behind the Get ’em and Go.”
Janie spun to face Ethel. “As did you.”
Betsy Ann frowned. “Wait. Hold on. Who’s Ra’naa?”
“We’ll tell you at lunch.” Janie began strolling toward the facility again.
“Oh no. I want to know what half-baked, harebrained scheme you two are knee deep in.” She planted both feet to the ground, knees locked and gave them the teacher look. “Now.”
With honest penitence, the two led her to one of the park benches and explained everything.
Betsy Ann listened, her face fluctuating from stark white to flushed red and back again. She lowered her head and wagged it. “I cannot believe you two are getting involved again. No wait. Yes, I can.”
“We’re not asking you to, Betsy Ann. You helped me retrieve the sample from the baby. You did more than enough.”
She gazed at the white fluffy clouds for a few minutes. Then she rolled her eyes. “OK. I’m in all the way. George, too…if you need him. The deceased girl does deserve justice.”
“Exactly what I said.” Ethel held up a finger. “Plus, the poor baby deserves to know the circumstances of her birth.”
“If the two are connected.”
“They must be.” Ethel patted her friend on the shoulder. “It only makes sense.”
“Perhaps. Let me know what George and I can do.”
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