The Misadventures of the Laundry Hag - #2 Swept under the Rug Page 10

  I made it through most of the song before the wheezing grew too insistent to ignore. The song finished and I sought the player again, stopping at the bottom of the hill by the intersection leading out of the neighborhood. Moving off the road in case a car drove by, I thumbed through the list again. What now? Robert Palmer maybe? Or no, that kick-ass Billy Squire song they used on the commercials for Burn Notice. What was it called again?

  Shit, Josh had shown me how to search by artist, but I’d forgotten. I made a few requests from a menu button and spotted an artist menu. I was so busy fiddling that I didn’t notice the car at first. After all, there were plenty of nine year old blue Ford Escorts in the area and some of them even had a Support the Troops magnet on the left rear panel. But it was the other decal, with the Laundry Hag Cleaning Services and my cell phone number that nearly stopped my heart.

  No, this couldn’t be right. Neil had left our house ten minutes ago. His car should be at least eight miles away by now. He’d said he was late, had hustled off without giving me a kiss goodbye because he was late, damn it. What would he be doing, not even a mile from our house…?

  My vision clouded over and I bent at the waist, struggling with the urge to vomit. He’d just left me, after we’d had so much fun sullying the washing machine, and now he was parked in someone else’s driveway? The double entendre made me gag.

  “Move,” I muttered under my breath. Standing and gawking wouldn’t get me anywhere and the sweat I’d accumulated from my exertion was solidifying on my skin, the cool morning air chilling me to the core. Unfortunately my feet took the command in the wrong direction. Without intent, I made my way to a copse of evergreens in the adjacent lot and leaned against a pine for support. Without my electric blue parka, I blended in with the Spartan landscape and I hunkered in to watch for Neil.

  In the back of my mind, I knew I couldn’t stay here forever. Neil’s typical shift started at nine, which roughly translated into ninety minutes from now. I’d be a hag-popsicle by then, plus kinda late getting Josh and Kenny off to school. The thoughts buzzed around like disgruntled bees, but I didn’t budge from my bird’seye view of the front door.

  The house was a fixer-upper Cape Cod with a tiny screened-in back porch tagged on an afterthought. A small building, probably a garage, squatted perpendicular to the main house. Both sported aluminum siding in a Robin’s egg blue and were trimmed in white. The gutters needed to be cleaned, the house was surrounded by leafless elms and oaks, and there was a big sheet of plywood over one of the upstairs windows.

  My hands were numb inside my dollar store knit gloves when the front door opened and Neil stepped out onto the porch. He smiled at someone who remained out of sight and spoke softly, too far away for me to hear. Frozen fingers gripped the tree as I leaned closer, hoping to catch a vibe from the scene, but it was over quickly and Neil trotted down the steps and backed his car out onto the road. Counting to fifty, I unglued my hands from the poor pine and scooted across the open area to the house. No way was I leaving until I knew who lived inside.

  * * *

  Chapter Eleven

  “Does this look all right?” Dressing for a society luncheon was not on my list of top ten favorite pastimes and neither Marty nor Penny had been any help, so I accosted Leo as he answered the door.

  Standing in the foyer of my in-laws estate in Cambridge was like entering a new world. The floor was Italian marble, the statuary classic Roman design and the curtains were thick, allowing only the softest glimmer of light in to illuminate the interior. I’d only been to the house a handful of times, but on every visit I couldn’t help but hum that ditty from Sesame Street. One of these things is not like the other… My Gap pants and faux Prada purse certainly didn’t belong.

  Leo ushered me into one of the many sitting rooms and turned me around for a 360-degree inspection. “I like the pearl color of the blouse on you, very new money in combo with the black slacks, if you get my drift, but those shoes—”

  I held up a hand to his lips. “I know they’re awful but I didn’t want my feet to freeze.”

  “How many times do I need to tell you, invest in a pair of classic black pumps and you won’t go wrong.” It wasn’t a question.

  “I’ve told you I can’t walk in heels,” I shuffled my gray winter boots, adjusting the pants so they hid more of my footwear. “Picture me in heels, walking across an icy parking lot. Now look me in the eye and tell me the vision doesn’t include an ambulance.”

  “Darling, where you’re going, you won’t have to walk farther than the valet drop off in front of the building.”

  I cringed. “Yikes. This doesn’t sound good for me. Got any tips, oh czar of haute couture?”

  Leo leaned in and wrapped an arm around my shoulder. “You look great and unfortunately it’s too late to do much about the shoes, but your manner needs some work.” He had the grace to shift his weight and glance away.

  “Hit me,” I sighed.

  “Well, you need to remember not to exhibit fear. Show no weakness. They can smell the stink of apprehension like bears emerging from hibernation. So whatever you do, don’t limp or you’re done for.”

  I glared at him as he fiddled with my diamond necklace. “Way to pep me up before the big game there, coach. Now that you’ve filled my head with that lovely comparison, how do you suggest I cage the fear?”

  He winked at me. “You could go with the classic ‘picture them in their underwear’.”

  Gack. Not if I didn’t want to gauge out my own eyeballs.

  “Seriously Maggie, You’re a hard working self-employed woman with a hotty of a hubby who comes from money. Do you really feel inferior to Laura’s gaggle of persnickety geese?”

  Yeah, I did, but I wasn’t about to reveal that to Leo, who was a God, but his resume said otherwise and he might take offence. “Speaking of my self-employment, I made a few calls this morning and I have some leads for night cleaning gigs. Tell Richard to call me and we’ll try to meet up for the interviews.”

  Leo kissed my forehead. “Bless you and your efficient attitude. I told him we could count on you.”

  “I meant what I said; you’re pairing up with Marty whenever you’re free.”

  “Why don’t you just ask Neil to help? “

  I swallowed around the tennis ball lodged in my esophagus. “Neil’s been…busy. Lots to do, at work I mean.” The loathsome quiver in my voice slipped out. After seeing the pretty mid-thirties mom preparing her two sons for school inside the run-down house, I didn’t know what to make of Neil’s stopover. Like any true Southern Belle, I’d decided not to think about what I’d seen, at least until tomorrow.

  Leo spun me around, but I couldn’t meet his gaze. “What’s going on?” he whispered. I opened my mouth to answer, but Laura chose that moment to breeze in, full steam ahead. I imagined if a female Preying Mantis wore designer suits she would dress like my mother-in-law. Laura sported an expensive and masterfully cut black suit which accentuated her lean frame, the skirt stopping above her knees. A celery green mandarin collar wrapped around her graceful throat and added to the image of predatory hunger. She was a beautiful, deadly force of nature. Just like her son.

  I blinked repeatedly and Laura frowned at me. “What are you wearing? And why do you look like you’re about to cry?”

  “Go easy on her boss lady. Our Laundry Hag looks like she was ridden hard and put away wet.”

  Laura’s nostrils flared and I swore I saw smoke. “Oh honestly, Leopold! Could you be any more vulgar?”

  “It’d take some doing.” Leo murmured and tossed me a wink before exiting the room. My smile was wan as I faced my doom.

  “You look lovely, Laura, and I’m fine really, just my allergies acting up.” I didn’t let her comment about my wardrobe bother me—it wasn’t even a blip on the radar at the moment.

  Laura shot me stink-eye for a moment then presented her back and called out. “Leopold, we’re leaving now. If anyone from the office telephones, forward t
he call to my mobile phone.”

  “Will do, Mrs. P,” Leo hollered from the kitchen. “You took a full day off?” I marveled as Laura slid her arms into her wool coat. She shooed me outside and shut the door. “And why shouldn’t I? There is more to life than work, dear.”

  Missing a step, I caught myself on the iron hand rail and glanced around, nervously watched the sky for the four horsemen of the apocalypse. Good thing I wasn’t in heels, I might have broken my neck.

  Laura frowned at my display and then shook her head. “Really Margaret, you need to pay attention.”

  Nodding, I remoted my Mini open and bit my tongue. This was shaping up to be a long afternoon.

  Laura gave me directions with the efficiency of a drill sergeant and soon we were idling in Boston lunchtime traffic. I wracked my brain for some benign topic, but Laura had her own agenda.

  “Neil mentioned that the two of you were in therapy.”

  I gagged on my own saliva. “Well…um…that is—” Former SEAL or not, I was going to beat him to a quivering pulp. “Really dear, you don’t have to be so ashamed. Many a strong marriage has required an intervention at some point.” “My marriage doesn’t need an intervention—” I protested but Laura wasn’t finished.

  “After all, men and women think differently, experience the world differently, so it’s perfectly acceptable to call in a trained professional for interpretation. I hope you checked out the woman’s credentials though. Lots of these so called “therapists” are nothing but hacks who’ve invested fifty dollars to print up an online degree. A classical education is best.”

  “He’s a PH.D and Neil did the research, so—”

  “Really Maggie, you rely on my son too much. While Neil is perfectly capable, you should take some pride and accomplish things for yourself. Set a positive example for Kenny and Josh; teach them to value strong, smart women so they will….”

  Laura droned on and on and on, while I concentrated on the ancient rusted-out Volvo in front of us. The damn thing was practically held together by bumper stickers, both political and irreverent. My favorite was fat people are harder to kidnap. I laughed out loud, and started to cry, imagining poor Candie Valentino. Was she all right? I sobbed as my brain presented all sorts of grotesque possibilities.

  “For heaven’s sakes, what’s the matter with you today? One might think you were—” Laura snapped her teeth together with an audible click.

  I sniffled and reached for the pack of tissues in my cup holder. “What were you about to say?”

  Laura shook her head, her champion poker face firmly in place. The drive progressed in silence.

  * * * *

  “And without further delay, I give you the woman of the hour.” The speaker clapped as she stepped away from the podium. Having never been to a retirement luncheon before, I’d entered the posh hotel conference room clueless, but education was quick to slap me upside the head. We sat at a table near the dais, front and center with a clear view of the women on the stage. The gathering wasn’t a ladies who do lunch affair, it was a feminist rally, each speaker driving home the point that a woman could and should do anything.

  Except pee standing up. I thought to myself, but having no cronies with me, I contained my snark and tried to look engrossed in what the speaker said. The guest of honor was probably in her late sixties with diamond ice chips for eyes, and had an impressive resume. A self-made millionaire, who’d gone to college on a full academic scholarship—one of the first females to do so—and she’d amassed several rallies for equal rights during her tenure. In her spare moments, she’d studied political science and had been of critical importance to the Massachusetts state government. Unfortunately, all of her time moving in political circles had rubbed off and she pontificated for what seemed like hours. While I admired her accomplishments, I wished I could admire them from a greater distance.

  Surreptitiously, I glanced at Laura, who’d introduced me as “my daughter-inlaw who runs her own business,” to everyone we’d hobnobbed with. If anyone asked for further details, which few of them did, Laura made some vague reply and changed the subject. Her gaze was locked on the woman at the podium, and I puzzled over her. Obviously, Laura wanted to hide my cleaning lady status. She’d never approved of my desire to be home for the boys, but despite the progressive message of the afternoon, I knew most of the women in this room hired people just like me to take care of the nitty-gritty, be it answering phones, doing the laundry or scrubbing their porcelain thrones. So why had she forced me to come to this event? It didn’t make sense, but I planned on hashing it out with her on the ride home.

  The speaker took a breath and my cell phone went off. Laura glared at me as I’m Too Sexy resounded in the lull.

  “’Scuse me,” I smiled at the speaker and scooted for the exited. The phony expression fell away as soon as I was in the clear and I flipped the phone open. “Great timing Neil,” I said, letting the sarcasm drip.

  “Did I pull you away from something riveting?” I could hear the smile in his voice and my heart stuttered.

  “How’s your day going?” I asked, hoping he’d reveal what had gone on after he left.

  “A cesspool of stupidity, and that’s being kind. Sweet Jesus, I sound like my mother.” Mock horror drifted through the phone.

  I laughed, since I’d thought the same thing. “You still want to meet up for dinner tonight?”

  “It’ll have to be late, if that’s okay. We have union engineers coming in and they have very specific hours, which we non-union plebes need to work around.”

  “How late is late?” I asked as my eyelids slid down. So damn tired.

  “I was thinking eight. You decide where you wanna go?”

  “How about that pub we went to after we moved here, you know with Sylvie and—” I swallowed, attempting not to choke on the memory.

  If Neil picked up on my mood, he didn’t say anything. “Okay, I’ll meet you there at eight. Oh, I meant to ask, any word on Candie Valentino?”

  “Detective Capri won’t return my calls and I’d rather be filleted than traipse into the Hudson police station without a reason. Besides, it’s not like I’m in the inner circle when it comes to the Valentinos. No matter how worried I am about Candie, it really isn’t any of my business.” Wow, I almost believed the words I’d spoken.

  Neil didn’t call me on my fib. “I gotta go now, Uncle Scrooge. I’ll see ya at eight.”

  I closed the phone and opened my eyes. A woman was staring at me from the alcove by the restrooms. I wondered if I’d been talking loudly, having never quite mastered a proper indoor voice. Dressed in a form-fitting pinstriped business suit, I guessed she was another escapee from the luncheon; she appeared to belong with the women who move mountains society but we hadn’t been introduced. Her ash blonde hair was coiled in an intricate rope at the nape of her neck and she appeared to have the grace to manage heels and ice at the same time. I smiled at her, but she continued to stare.

  I checked the time on my cell phone and wondered if I should wait out here.

  “Excuse me?” The business blonde approached me. This close, I could smell Shalimar perfume and a tinge of worried sweat. “Did you say something about Candie Valentino?”

  “Do you know her?” I asked. Yup, definitely needed to work on my volume control.

  “I’m Amelia Kettering. Candie was my roommate in college, but I haven’t seen her in years.” Amelia spoke with the same subtle drawl as Candie so I could believe they were both from Texas.

  “Maggie Phillips,” I extended a hand which Amelia shook firmly. “I was Mrs. Valentino’s cleaning service,” I answered, unsure of whether I’d be asked back and if I’d go after a kidnapping.

  “Wait, Candie’s living here?” her brown eyes seemed a little too big for her sockets.

  I nodded. “They moved to Hudson a few months ago.” I remembered how alone Candie seemed, flitting about the big house, always glad to see me. After witnessing the interaction with Markus, I ga
thered she was starved for company. Here she had a friend less than an hour away. “She never called you?”

  Amelia shook her head, every hair lacquered severely in place. “No, I had no idea. I haven’t seen her since before her she was married.” A far off look stole over her features.

  I wanted to know why Amelia hadn’t been invited to the wedding, but didn’t want to appear rude. “Were the two of you close?”

  “Very, until she met Markus anyway.” Bitterness tinged her words. “She didn’t have time for anyone but him, he saw to that.” Amelia shook her head. “How is she?”

  The doors to the conference room opened and a herd of women appeared, stampeding for the restrooms. I glanced at Amelia, wondering what protocol dictated in this situation. Should I tell her Candie was missing, presumed kidnapped? If Amelia was anything like me, she might shriek or pass out.

  “Um, maybe you want to call Markus.” I suggested, but Amelia shook her head.

  “He made it plain that I was to have no contact with either of them; he didn’t want word of our relationship to get out.”

  Laura pushed her way through the crowd, searching for me, a black scowl firmly in place. I estimated about seven seconds until she bore down on us. “Relationship?” I prodded.

  Amelia met my gaze. “Candie and I were lovers.”

  * * *

  Chapter Twelve

  “So Ms…Sampson, is it?” Alan Garner, department head of staffing and personnel for Safari Power Solutions, looked up from the clipboard he held between us like a protective shield. His baby-fine blond hair was neatly combed back against his skull and his slight frame trembled. He reached for a set of horn-rimmed glasses on his tiny desk. “Tell me why I should hire you.”

  I smiled, doing my best to radiate confidence. “Well, I’m prompt, thorough and discreet and my team is handpicked and totally flexible.” My peripheral vision zoomed in on Richard Head as he squirmed in his seat. Leo’s love interest was dressed in a crisp black shirt and tan trousers with a perfect crease on each pant leg. A bit much for a cleaning interview, but at least he didn’t look like a slob.