The Misadventures of the Laundry Hag - #1 Skeletons in the Closet Page 17

  “I’m checking into Carmichael’s relationship with the lawyer. It seems unlikely, but I’m desperate enough to follow any lead. You know, I really don’t need this. I volunteered for this case, for God’s sake. I must have been off my medication.”

  I offered a half-hearted smile at his grim humor, but it felt like my face cracked. “Did you talk to Len Greer?”

  “I’m on my way over there right now. Where are you going tonight?”

  I gave him the street address for the Morgan’s house. “I’ll have my cell on, but if you could, please wait to call me until after nine, or I’m going to have to sell a kidney to pay the bill this month.”

  Patterson chuckled but then cut off with a particularly foul curse. “There’s quite a bit of activity here.”

  “What kind of activity?” I was busy locating my sneakers and heard Coop honking from my van.

  “Two fire trucks and an ambulance, plus several locals.” I heard a car door slam and Patterson call out to someone: “What’s going on here?”

  For once, I had excellent cell reception so I could follow the conversation. “Got a 911 call about twenty minutes ago. Someone spotted smoke coming from a room in the back.”

  “Was anyone hurt?” Patterson asked.

  I held my breath.

  “One fatality. Guy named Greer, died of smoke inhalation,” was the reply.

  * * * *

  “Hey, Coop, could you go get the Comet out of the van for me, please?” I called from my contortionist’s position on the bathroom floor.

  It was well after eight o’clock, and Coop and I had been working on the Morgan’s house for over five hours. Unlike our earlier jobs, we were responsible for the entire house—twelve rooms in all—and the Morgan’s were putting the house up for sale the next day. It wasn’t the largest house I’d worked on, but the five-year-old boy and German Shepherd had added to the cleaning challenge. “Get the Mr. Clean sponges too and see if you can get the crayon marks off of the dining room wall.”

  “I’ll tell you something right now, Missy. You can’t trust a bald man with an earring to know a thing about getting rid of dirt, no matter what his name is. Now, if you’re searching for buried treasure, he’s your man.”

  “Maybe if you scrub hard enough you’ll find an X marking the spot.”

  Coop chuckled and headed out to the White Cloud of Death, which I was seriously considering renaming. I was still in shock after hearing about yet another casualty. Unlike the earlier two victims, there was no proof of foul play. Neil had called the hospital and discovered a lifetime of heavy drinking and stupidity was to blame for the private investigator’s demise. Apparently, Greer had been attempting to build a fire in his office fireplace but didn’t open the flue. He’d been drinking, and it was assumed he’d passed out, totally unaware that the room filled with smoke. Yet I couldn’t help but wonder if his time had come sooner due to his association with the Kline’s.

  Finishing the bathtub would require the bleach scrub I’d sent Coop for, so I decided to scrutinize the house. I was impressed with our handiwork. Between the polished interior and the removal of clutter, I was optimistic that the Morgan’s would get their asking price.

  “Coop?” I called. “I really need that Comet! Coop!”

  I headed downstairs, more than ready to finish this job and go home. I’d arranged for the meeting with Josh’s teacher the next afternoon, and we had one more job before that. I was afraid I was burning the candle at both ends, but the next client was a long-time business associate of Mr. Kline’s and an avid gun collector to boot, so I was hoping to discover something.

  “Coop, damn it, let’s finish this job and get out of here.” My patience had worn out, and I wasn’t about to let the old man drag his feet because he didn’t want to get home. At this point, I would’ve let him sleep in bed between me and Neil if it meant a full eight hours rest.

  I crossed to the front door where I’d shucked my mules off. Coop’s loafers were nowhere in sight, so I deduced he must still be outside. I slid my feet into the shoes and flung open the front door. Dark and cold outside, a typical autumn evening in New England.

  “I swear to God, Coop, if I catch you flirting with some old battle-ax I’ll—”

  The threat caught in my esophagus as I spied a pair of tweed trousers sticking out of the end of my van at an odd angle.

  “Coop!” I screamed and ran for the van. “Coop, my God! Somebody help!”

  I reached the van just as the next door neighbor turned on a porch light.

  “What’s going on out here?” a middle-aged woman with her hair in pink curlers called out.

  “Call 911!” I shrieked and leaned over his inert form to check for a pulse.

  Nothing.

  “Hurry,” I tossed hysterically over my shoulder, fighting tears and immobilizing panic.

  Turning my back on the neighbor, I searched for blood but couldn’t find a wound. With a great deal of struggle, I flipped him over onto his back.

  “Oh, Coop.” I held his head in my lap like Neil had done for me that morning. “I’m sorry; this is my fault. I’m so sorry.”

  I chanted the mantra over and over while the first sirens pierced the night, while the paramedics shoved me out of the way, and I still didn’t stop even after the ambulance disappeared around a bend in the road, carrying Coop’s body to the morgue.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The rain pounded down on my bare head while the chilly air seeped through my clothes and flesh, all the way to the bone. I sat on the curb, long after the taillights of the ambulance had vanished in the night. I couldn’t feel anything. A few snowflakes mingled with the rain, and my ragged exhales puffed in the air. Rationally, I knew I should climb into the van, crank up the heater, and go home to my family, but terror kept me in place.

  Coop was dead.

  And I was to blame.

  The paramedic with the kind face had told me it had been a heart attack. He said Coop was gone before he’d finished falling and most likely he didn’t feel a thing. He’d placed a hand on my shoulder, but I was too far gone for comfort.

  A car pulled up to the curb behind my van. The lyrics to Queen’s Another One Bites the Dust blared, and I laughed out loud. A sickeningly appropriate song for the horror of my life.

  The engine stopped, and the lyrics faded into the night. Boots appeared in my field of vision, paint-spattered work boots.

  “It was a choice between that and Skynyrd’s That Smell,” Marty informed me.

  “You’re such an ass.”

  “I made you laugh, though. I figured you needed one. Coop would have wanted you to laugh.”

  My throat seized up at the mention of his name. I didn’t want to talk about Coop. “Where’s Neil?”

  “He’s at home with the boys. He doesn’t know yet; none of them do.”

  “So how did you find out?”

  Marty jerked his thumb toward the house next door. The lady with the pink curlers peered through her shutters at us. “She called Mrs. Morgan, who called the house, and I happened to answer. I told Neil I had a date so I could keep his opinion of me at rock bottom where it belongs.”

  “Thanks, Sprout, you’re a good guy.”

  “Hey, even the lowlife brother has to come through once in a while. Besides, I spilled the last beer on the white couch so I owe both you and Neil.”

  Marty ushered me to his car, and I stared blindly out the window while the windshield wipers squeaked rhythmically as they fought the downpour. Marty inserted the key and cranked the heat. The interior of his car smelled like sour armpits and mildewed socks. He retrieved my jacket and cleaning supplies from the house and locked up the van.

  “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to drive that van again,” I told him as he backed away from the vehicle in question.

  “Neil will be happy to hear that.”

  I rested my head against the seat. “You could have told him, you know. He wouldn’t freak out. Neil can handle any
crisis.”

  “Just because he can doesn’t mean he always has to. I left him in the dark; he’s having fun with the boys while I transport the pieces back to him. Then he can take over, put Humpty Dumpty back together again with all his blazing SEAL glory.”

  Marty couldn’t have chosen a better allegory; I did feel like I’d survived a great fall. “All the King’s Horses and all the King’s Men….”

  “Weren’t Navy SEALs. Nursery rhymes aside, I’ve seen you two in action, there isn’t anything you can’t overcome.”

  As my throated clogged with emotion for the second time in twenty minutes, I’d definitely said enough. I listened to the rain pound the roof of the Chevy and watched the streetlights pass as we drove down Manning Street on our way to Blossom.

  We pulled up in front of the house, and I stared in dismay at the front window. “We haven’t put the Christmas tree up yet. We always put the tree up the day after Thanksgiving!”

  “So, you put the tree up late, big deal.” Marty rolled his eyes and shut off the car. He didn’t get it. It was a big deal. Neil and I always put the tree up the day after Thanksgiving. Even that year when the oven caught fire while it was self-cleaning and we had to evacuate for a few hours while the smoke cleared out, even that year, we set the tree up. It was a tradition, one I carried on whether Neil was home or not, because tradition is important to a family. The boys needed to know that no matter where we lived or what was going on, some things never changed.

  But I hadn’t put the tree up. I’d neglected the tradition and let my family down.

  Just like I’d let Coop down.

  “Oh shit!” Marty jumped from the car as I erupted into a bawling meltdown, complete with fist banging on the dashboard. I screamed and sobbed while my hair flew everywhere as I bucked the car like a lunatic, too distraught to stop.

  My voice grew hoarse by the time Neil came out into the rain and extracted me from the car. Marty watched with a mixture of concern and wariness in his eyes, and I turned my head into Neil’s soggy sweatshirt, too ashamed of myself to face my baby brother.

  Neil carried me into the bedroom and stripped me to my skin then tucked me into bed. He didn’t say a word, just hugged me to him, sharing his body heat and silently dispelling my grief. I sniffled a few times before I sank into a dreamless sleep.

  * * * *

  I found Marty and Neil having coffee in the kitchen the next morning. Rain slapped at the windows with an even greater intensity than it had the night before, and a somber and almost surreal feeling encapsulated the room.

  “How’d you sleep?” Marty’s voice cracked. He fidgeted with his coffee cup.

  I opened my mouth to say ‘like the dead’ but snapped it shut again. Bad puns had no place in my mind right now.

  “Marty and I have been talking.” Neil’s gaze pinned me with a deadly intensity, and I knew I was going to like this next part. “If you insist on cleaning, one of us will be with you until this killer is caught.”

  “And what about when I need to go to the store or the bank or take the boys to martial arts?”

  “Everywhere. I’ll quit my damn job if I have to, but I don’t want you alone.”

  I kept my voice level. “Don’t you think you’re overreacting? I mean, it’s not like there was another murder. Coop was an old man; maybe his time had come.”

  I stunned myself as the words left my mouth. They both knew I didn’t believe a word of that rubbish, and if anything, my behavior the night before showed I shattered under pressure.

  “You could be right; we could very well be overreacting. Yes, Coop probably died of a heart attack brought on by his age and high blood pressure and absolutely nothing else.” Neil glowered at me.

  I looked away, and he had conformation of my guilty feelings.

  “But even if his death was natural, which we don’t know for a fact, and even if the PI also died from something other than foul play, you can’t dispute the fact that four people you’ve had a connection with have died in the past two weeks. It may all be a big coincidence, but I’m not willing to risk your life on it,” Neil said.

  “And neither am I!” Marty piped up.

  I never thought I’d see the day when my brother and my husband ganged up against me.

  “So what’s it gonna be, Uncle Scrooge? Will you accept this, or do we have to hogtie you on top of your precious washing machine?” Neil’s gaze didn’t waver, and I’m sure he was prepared to see his threat through.

  As much as I appreciated their protectiveness, my self-respect demanded I hold a little ground. “Two concessions: when I go Christmas shopping, I’m going with Sylvia. The other is that one of you will be with the boys if I can’t be. Anytime they aren’t in school, they’re with one of the three of us. Do we have a deal?”

  Neil looked ready to negotiate some more, but Marty cut him off. “Sounds like a plan to me. Now when’s the next job?”

  I looked at the clock. “Fifteen minutes ago.”

  * * * *

  We took Marty’s car to the Finkelstein residence. Neil had retrieved the van earlier that morning, and my cleaning supplies now resided in the trunk. The center hall colonial-style house stood back from the road at the bulb of a cul-de-sac. We parked to the side of the garage, and I made for the back door with a load of rags and cleansers tucked into my coat pockets. I stared at the note taped to the back door and read it aloud.

  Marty came up behind me.

  Maggie, sorry I couldn’t wait for you, but I had a meeting. The key is under the mat, and the security code for the alarm is twenty-seven, fifteen.

  Diana Finkelstein.

  “I guess when you’re that high up on the food chain, you assume the burglars are all illiterate.” Marty retrieved the key and let us into the house. “So what’s the story? Do we search first or clean?” he asked.

  I punched the code into the beeping alarm. “Search first, while no one is here to question us. According to the maid at the job I had the other day, Mr. Finkelstein is an avid weapons collector. She even told me he once held a Civil War pistol to the gardener’s head when the man cut back his favorite azalea bush in the spring instead of waiting for autumn. But of course, that’s only a rumor.”

  “And you want to poke through this guy’s house? Jeeze Maggs, it’s no wonder you keep getting into trouble.” Marty set the supplies down on a mahogany hall table, which appeared to be a grown-up version of my dinner table.

  “Let’s make sure we aren’t caught. Bring a dust cloth with you in case someone comes home.” I picked up a roll of paper towels and some Windex and made my way down the hall. “You do the top two floors; I’ll look down here and in the basement.”

  “Do you think he has a wine cellar? Rich people always hide the best stuff in the wine cellar.”

  “If I find a wine cellar, I’ll be sure to save it for you.” Turning my back, I headed for the first door on the right and found a powder room. After quickly spritzing the mirror, I walked across the hall. After discovering a chintzy sitting room with a fabulous stone fireplace and a sewing nook that sported a collection of dust bunnies the size of my head, I located a den.

  For once, rumor had been correct. Mr. Finkelstein possessed an extensive gun collection. I gave myself a slap on the head for bringing Marty instead of Neil to this cleaning job. My husband would have known a great deal more about the variety of guns mounted on three out of four walls. Glass encased the collection, and though I couldn’t be sure, I thought the guns might be sorted according to era. Several rifles mounted around what looked to be a Tommy gun, as well as a variety of six-shooters that resembled props for a western film.

  Okay, Maggie, think. You have a viable suspect and your next move is to….

  “Call Detective Patterson,” I said. My phone made a bulge in my hip pocket, and wonder of wonders, was still fully charged.

  Patterson answered on the first ring, and I briefly summarized my discovery.

  “Do you have picture phone capab
ility?” he asked.

  “Who doesn’t?”

  “Please take a picture of all of the rifles and send them to me.” He hung up, and I did as he asked—didn’t even wince when I thought about what my cell phone bill would amount to this month. If I caught a killer and freed Mr. Kline, it’d be worth every dime of overtime charges.

  I’d finished Swiffering the hardwood floor in the sitting room when Patterson called me back.

  “I want you to leave the house now and go sit in your car. Wait for me; I’m en route now.”

  “You found something!” I couldn’t keep the excitement out of my voice. This could be over soon.

  “Just do as I say, Maggie. Get out of the house and sit in your car.”

  “Marty!” I shouted up the stairs. My brother wandered down with a turkey leg in his hand. “Come on.”

  I dragged him out to the car and filled him in on what I’d found.

  “So Patterson thinks this could be the guy?”

  “I don’t know. He said he had to call the Hudson precinct since Greg the Gym Rat died in their jurisdiction, but he’s on his way.”

  The words were barely out of my mouth when Patterson pulled up next to Marty’s Chevy.

  “Has anyone come home yet?”

  When I told him no, he informed me that I had to invite him into the house. “Otherwise, the Finkelstein’s lawyer will be able to throw out any case we make based on unlawful entry. Detective Capri is going through the process to get a warrant right now.”

  “Shouldn’t you wait?”

  “Yes, I probably should, but I want to see it with my own eyes.” The eyes in question were overly bright, and he practically danced in anticipation.

  “Marty, go home and pick up Neil. He’ll want to know what’s going on.”

  My brother burned rubber, probably to get away from the unusual feeling of being useful.