The Misadventures of the Laundry Hag - #2 Swept under the Rug Page 8

  I blinked. “Are you trying to foist the blame on her?” Unbelievable.

  Eric studied me a moment before he shook his head. “I see this isn’t getting me anywhere. I’ll leave you alone.” He walked off without a backwards glance.

  “Miserable piece of crap,” I muttered and headed for maternity wear, eager to claim Marty and go home. Wal-Mart was just not good for my mental health.

  * * * *

  “Mom, Grandma called. She said to remind you about lunch tomorrow.” Josh didn’t bother looking up from the computer screen as he relayed the information. I blinked, wondering what lunch he was referring to, before it struck me. “You mean the luncheon?” Dang, Laura’s invitation/order to appear at a society luncheon had completely slipped my mind. Maybe on purpose, but now I was stuck. Laura would chain me in the basement if I cancelled on her without twenty-four hours notice. Our HMO was more understanding.

  Flipping through my day planner, I noted my next cleaning job was the Valentino’s on Friday morning. No work excuse for me. Maybe Neil would have an idea how I could get out…. Well, maybe not. Neil and I had bigger issues than his mother commandeering me for a society event.

  Penny poked her head around the corner. “I hope you don’t mind, but I made a casserole for dinner, since y’all didn’t have plans.” Her tone belied that she didn’t give a flipping fig if I minded or not. Not that I blamed her, I’d been a bitch-on-wheels ever since she’d arrived. Granted the circumstances were less than ideal, but where was my innate Southern hospitality?

  “Sounds great, Penny. When’s your first doctor’s appointment?” Marty had indeed found a decent health plan, which would cover the majority of Penny’s medical bills. We’d set the plan into motion, but the policy had to be reviewed and approved by several faceless pencil-pushers before it went into effect. Of course, I was picking up the tab for it as his current employer, but it was a small price to pay for my niece or nephew’s well being.

  “Next Wednesday at 10 AM.” Penny responded as crisply as her honeyed accent would allow.

  No excuse there, either. Maybe Marty would run me over with his RV….

  “Oh and your friend from next door stopped by.” Penny tossed over her shoulder as she maneuvered her way to the kitchen. I followed, my eyebrows meeting at the bridge of my nose.

  “Sylvia stopped over? What did she say?”

  Penny shrugged and removed a Caffeine-Free Diet Coke that had somehow made its way into my refrigerator. Extracting a Caffeine-Full Non-Diet Coke, I stared at her, willing her to talk to me.

  “Yes. I don’t recall exactly what she said, other than asking you to come over when you had the chance.”

  Part of me wanted to leap for the door and find out what was up with my poor, unemployed and soon-to-be-divorced friend. But I shelved the urge, knowing I had something else to do first.

  “About before, Penny—”

  “Nothin’ doin’,” Penny turned and peeked into the oven checking on her casserole. “Do your boys like tuna? I made a tuna-noodle dish.”

  “They’ll eat anything.” I answered, and then tagged on, “Unless it’s Vegan fare.”

  Penny closed the oven door and scowled at me. “What about you?”

  Truthfully, I loathed fish in any form and the smell of baking tuna had my gag reflex acting up. I’d eat it though, along with a slice of humble pie.

  “I appreciate your cooking for us—you don’t need to put yourself out like this.”

  Penny didn’t say anything, just stared at the linoleum. “Not a problem. I like to cook, especially for people who like to eat.”

  Her statement explained a great deal about her relationship with Marty. The Sampson siblings loved to eat, our mother had been a blue-ribbon winner in any baking contest she’d ever entered. Food had equaled love through our formative years. “Have you ever worked in food service?” I asked her.

  “No,” Penny answered, and turned around so suddenly I knew she was lying.

  “Ok-ay,” I dragged the word out, grasping for something else to say to her. The situation was beyond uncomfortable and I wanted to kick my brother for tossing it in my lap. Stupid, selfish, thoughtless Marty and stupid, selfish, doormat, Maggie. The Sampson progeny had more than a love of food in common. “Well, I’m going over to Sylvia’s for a bit. Send one of the boys over if you need anything.”

  “Sure,” Penny answered and took a sip of her soda, still avoiding eye contact.

  After relaying my plans to Marty and the boys, I squished myself into the requisite winter gear, boots, coat, mittens and hat, for the thirty yard walk to Sylvia’s front door. I didn’t want to catch a chill in the sub-Arctic night.

  I pressed the doorbell and shivered while I waited. Crap, I should have called her first so she knew it was me and not that toad Eric. My cell phone was in my jacket pocket, but I’d have to remove at least one glove to dial. There was no way I could key in the right sequence on my puny keypad with thick wool mittens on my paws.

  Frustrated at my own lack of foresight I kicked the door and, to my surprise, it swung open. That is not good, I thought even as I called out for Sylvia. Though twilight had settled in the blue-black winter’s sky, Sylvia’s house was totally dark, no light visible from where I lurked.

  “Sylvie?” I called out again and heard a muffled sob from the direction of the master bedroom. Okay, that needed some attention. First, though, I made sure the door was shut and locked before following the sound. Good God, the house felt like a frigging meat locker. I shuddered at the thought and did my best to ignore the herd of butterflies-on-crack bouncing around in my stomach.

  Taking a moment to allow my eyes to adjust, I scanned the living room and office. T.V, DVR, computer and Sylvie’s laptop were all accounted for, so I gleaned she hadn’t been burgled. My electricity was on and thrumming, so it wasn’t a power outage. I tried a light switch, to see if the darkness was voluntary. Still no light.

  The pitiful sound repeated and I made my way toward the bedroom. For a moment, my imagination took hold. What if there was an intruder, one more interested in Sylvia than her electronics? Shit, what if he had her at gunpoint? Should I call the police?

  Before I’d made a decision, Sylvia started to laugh and I exhaled in relief. True, her giggles had a slightly hysterical note to them, but at least she wasn’t gagged and tied to her bed.

  “Sylvia?” Peeking around her open door, I blinked at the sight. There was some light in Sylvia’s house after all, candlelight. Rows of candles, divided into groups of three, were tiered by size until they looked like flaming bleachers on her dresser. The room was a mess, clothes, books, CDs and DVDs tossed about haphazardly and left wherever they’d fallen. Sylvia sat crossed-legged on the floor in the middle of the heap, a big bottle of Absolute Vodka cradled between her folded legs. Her left hand was wrapped around what looked like a cluster of twigs.

  “Um, Sylvie,” I knocked softly on the door, hoping I wouldn’t startle her. Her hair was unkempt and in the flickering candlelight, I thought she might be wearing flannel pajamas. When she looked up, the wild emotion on her face almost made me take a step back. Happiness, confusion, fear, relief, it was all there, in the span of one heartbeat.

  “Maggie!” She smiled, and raised the bottle to her lips in a half-assed toast to my presence. “You got a light?”

  I glanced at the burning tapers. “No, I don’t.”

  “Damn. I really need a light.” Her deliberate tone and enunciation pointed at heavy intoxication.

  I kicked a pile of stuff off to one side and sat down next to her. “Why’s it so cold and dark in here?”

  She giggled and took another slug from her bottle. “I got fired.”

  Unsure of whether I should bring up my meeting with Eric, I said nothing, just nodded.

  “My husband was cheating on me at our mutual place of employment and I get fired. Where’s the frigging cosmic balance in that?” Sylvia snarled and sloshed the liquid around in her bottle in time
to her wild gesticulations.

  “Um…, there isn’t any?” I guessed. I’d never seen her drink as much as a sip of champagne, her body being a temple and all. Now, drunk off her ass and disheveled, she reminded me of, well, me.

  She pointed at me and laughed. “You called it, Maggie. Mag-gie, hag-gie, the Laundry Hag.” More giggling.

  “What’s with the sticks?” I gestured at her handful and she blinked as though she’d forgotten what she held.

  “It’s sage, not sticks. I planned on smudging the house, particularly the bedroom.”

  “What’s smudging?” Where did she come across all this stuff?

  “Spiritual house cleansing,” She answered. “To exorcise Eric from the room and purify the house.”

  “Sylvia, why is the power turned off?” I took the bottle from her so she couldn’t hide behind it. She’d only been fired a few days ago, so I was pretty sure she wasn’t destitute. Yet.

  “No one paid the bill. I thought Eric paid it, like he always does. And I guess he was gone before I saw it with my own eyes.” The eyes in question filled with tears. “It wasn’t the first time.”

  I sat up straighter. “What do you mean?”

  “Once a cheater, always a cheater,” Sylvia’s voice sing-songed as she waggled her finger at me. “They’re all alike, Maggie. Every Y-chromosome carrier, deep down at a molecular level. Doesn’t matter what you do for ‘em, how much you give, they still have that roving eye.”

  I swallowed. “I don’t believe that, Sylvie.”

  Sylvia snatched her bottle back. “Some things are true no matter what you believe.”

  * * *

  Chapter Nine

  “Why is Sylvia sleeping on our air mattress?” I jumped at Neil’s question, bashing my funny bone on the open medicine cabinet as I spun around. The running water in the bathtub had masked the sound of his approach.

  “Lord, you scared ten years off my life.” I caught my breath; I studied my husband, wondering where he’d been this morning. He didn’t appear any different than he had last night, other than the fatigue lines around his deep-set green eyes. Arms folded across his chest, he stared me down and I turned to shut off the water in the tub.

  “How was your day?” I asked, glancing at him out of the corner of my eye.

  “Shitty. We had more problems than the engineers anticipated and I have to be back in at six tomorrow. Now, I’m tired and I want nothing more than six hours of uninterrupted sleep, but it seems that your girlfriend is camped out on the living room floor.”

  Passed out was more like it. I swallowed at the news he was going to disappear again and knowing he wasn’t going to be at work, that he’d just lied to my face, got my back up.

  “It’s only for one night. Eric didn’t pay the bills on time and Sylvia’s without power and heat until she can settle her accounts during business hours tomorrow. I’ll get her straightened out first thing.”

  “And where did you plan on us sleeping tonight?”

  “Marty’s camper,” I hefted my chin defiantly. “I already hooked up the portable space heater so if you wanna go crash, be my guest.”

  Neil stared at me for a beat. “Are you telling me that I can’t sleep in my own house?”

  “For one damn night, Neil, suck it up.”

  He crowded me against the bathroom sink, a dangerous light in his eyes. “Suck it up?” He repeated, leaning in so I was trapped between his body and the counter.

  “You were a SEAL, for the love of grief. Aren’t you accustomed to roughing it?” For a second, I thought he was going to lose it and shout the house down, waking its various occupants. Then, something shifted; he cocked his head to the side and studied me.

  “Maggie, what’s going on? Did something happen?” Concern was written clearly across his features and threaded through his deep voice. Oh, God, I was going to cave. This was not the time. I needed him furious, ready to tear my head off because he had to sleep in the world’s crappiest RV, not compassionate. I had no defense against Neil’s sympathy and how wrong would it be to melt into his arms for the night?

  Very wrong, at least until I knew what was going on with him. Neil had never lied to me before, at least not to my knowledge, and Dr. Bob’s well metaphor, along with Sylvia’s conviction that men were designed to stray, had taken root. My rational mind went over the facts, time and again, but the truth wouldn’t be denied. Neil had lied to me and I’d caught him. Even if he wasn’t cheating, he’d still betrayed my trust.

  “Yes and no. I don’t want to get into it now, all right?” I ducked his arm and leaned over the tub, checking the water temperature. Tired and heartsick, part of me cried out to grab hold of my husband and sob until these horrible feelings went away. The reprieve would come at a price though, which I’d pay come the morning when Neil disappeared again. And I wasn’t willing to barter my self-respect for the illusion of comfort.

  Ask him, my mother’s voice echoed in my head, but I pushed her advice away. There was no guarantee he wouldn’t lie to me again. Some things needed to be witnessed firsthand.

  “Penny cooked again. I saved you some casserole. It’s in the fridge; just nuke it for two minutes.” I could feel his gaze on my back and turned to face him. “Give me a few minutes, please. Between Penny and Josh, the bathroom has been like Grand Central all day.”

  Neil opened his mouth to say something, but then though better of it. “I’ll leave you alone.” The door shut with a final sounding click.

  I stared at the bath, lacking the energy to shed my clothes and slither into the water until I was immersed in bubbles. Like a soak in the tub would make everything all right? No matter how long I stalled, I still had to get out eventually and join Neil in the camper. He’d poke and prod until I told him everything. Dr. Bob and his stupid highways of communication could kiss my butt.

  “Maggie,” Neil tapped on the door and I closed my eyes.

  “What is it?”

  “Phone for you.”

  Huh, that was odd. It was after ten and almost everyone I knew was under our roof. “Who is it?”

  “Detective Capri.” There was a pause, and then Neil opened the bathroom door. He looked pointedly at the undisturbed bathwater, but refused to comment. “She wants to know when you last spoke with Mrs. Valentino.”

  I held out my hand for the phone. “What’s going on, Detective? Capri’s clipped Bostonian accent came over the line. “When was your last contact with Candie Valentino?” I stared at Neil who leaned against the sink, shamelessly eavesdropping. “Yesterday, after the to-do with the dead bird. Why?” Capri ignored the question. “You didn’t speak with her over the phone, maybe try to convince her to talk to me, or leave her husband?” I scowled at my cordless. “No, I told you. I’ve been busy today. Has something happened to Candie?” Capri exhaled a sound like a gale force wind over the phone line. “I don’t know for sure. Her husband thinks she’s been abducted.” “Like by aliens?” I scoffed at the notion. “No, as in kidnapped.” The detective corrected me. “Kidnapped?” I squeaked and over by the mirror, Neil’s posture went on full alert. “There was a note, another cut and paste deal, like you stumbled across. Standard kidnapper fare, I’m afraid. “Oh, God.” I’d been right, I’d been right all along and now I was going to be sick. Then something occurred to me. “Wait, why are you telling me all this?”

  Capri cleared her throat. “Valentino called the FBI. Kidnapping is their territory. This is over my head now, but I want you to be careful and to warn you that you’re going to be called on for questioning.”

  “When?” My knuckles were white I gripped the cordless phone. I stared at Neil and he stared back, panic flowing on an open current between us.

  The doorbell rang.

  “Now,” Capri said and disconnected.

  * * * *

  The two federal special agents who had come to interview me were ushered into the kitchen. Neil had answered the door while I put on a pot of coffee. Introductions were made and th
en I shut the door to the living room, where Sylvia’s soft snores remained undisturbed. I puttered around, refilling the sugar bowl and setting out steaming mugs, which neither Special Agent Salazar nor Special Agent Feist touched. I downed my first cup and waited.

  “Have a seat, Mrs. Phillips.” Salazar indicated my ugly barstool with a motion of his dark skinned hand. I refilled my mug and sat. Neil stood behind me, his hands on my shoulders in an obvious show of support.

  The questions began and I answered as best I could. Yes, I knew Candie Valentino, no, not well. My cleaning services had been referred to her by a mutual acquaintance. No, I didn’t know Markus Valentino well; I’d only met him for the first time the day before.

  “So, why then did Mrs. Valentino phone you when she received the package?” Feist asked. His tone implied I was hiding some sort of deep connection with the Valentino’s.

  “At first, she thought I might have sent it, since part of my logo was on the box?” I didn’t mean for the words to come out like a question, but I couldn’t help it.

  Neil squeezed my shoulder. “I ordered all of Maggie’s business paraphernalia from an online company. The logo was a freebie distributed for general use by the same site.

  Salazar flipped open a small leather-bound notebook. “The name of the site?”

  Neil rattled it off.

  “What’s the name of your business, Mrs. Phillips?” Feist pinned me down with his neon blue stare. If these two were doing a good cop/ bad cop routine, I couldn’t pick out which was which.

  “The Laundry Hag Cleaning Services.”

  “Laundry Hag?” Salazar asked.

  I shrugged. “It’s hard to forget.”

  “Indeed,” Feist said. The two exchanged an unreadable look. Jeeze.

  “Why did you go to the Valentino residence yesterday?” Feist asked.

  “Candie sounded so upset, I urged her to call the police about the dead bird, but I figured she wasn’t thinking straight. I wanted to make sure she was okay.”

  “Why didn’t you call the police, Mrs. Phillips?”