Bun in the Oven: The Misadventures of the Laundry Hag, #6

by Jennifer L. Hart

  I could do that, I realized, just leave Sylvia here to do whatever the hell it was she was so determined to do. She’d said she hadn’t wanted to drag me into anything. Maybe I should just pretend that I hadn’t found her lurking in our bedroom.

  “Uncle Scrooge? You okay?”

  But that was a maneuver for a wiser woman, one who knew how to mind her own beeswax. For whatever reason, Sylvia didn’t want my husband to know she was here. The thought flitted through my mind that maybe I should just tell him the truth. After all there was a halfway decent chance that Sylvia had arranged for her own husband to die. But then I thought of Astrid asleep in her carrier. And I knew my husband, he wouldn’t care what Sylvia had to say, he’d be on the phone with Capri in under a minute, doing his level best to protect me and Baby X, regardless of the cost. If I wanted answers, I needed to ditch Neil.

  “I wet my pants.” It was the first excuse that came to mind, and possibly, the dumbest in the history of the world.

  “Did your water break?” Neil’s gaze traveled down my body.

  “No, no, I’m sure it’s just pee. Too much pressure on the old bladder, you know how it is. I have to change, that’s why I’m in here.” My words were coming out in a rapid fire babble of humiliation. “You should go without me.”

  “Maggie,” Neil sounded aggrieved.

  “Please? I want to shower and you know it takes me forever now. The game will be half over by the time we get there. Besides, my back is throbbing at the thought of parking it on those bleacher seats for the next two hours. Just go. Kenny needs his uniform and we already have the oranges.” I placed the still folded uniform in his arms.

  Neil scrutinized my face. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Fine, just embarrassed and exhausted.” I pasted on a sheepish smile and prayed he’d fall for it.

  “If you’re sure that’s what you want.” Neil looked skeptical but he took a step to the door.

  “I’ll call you if I need anything. You’re only seven and a half minutes away.” I said the last bit for Sylvia’s benefit, in case she was planning anything underhanded. “And Atlas is here to look out for me.”

  Neil turned his back but not before I caught the eye roll. I made a show of following him down the hall to the bathroom door, going inside and turning on the water for the shower. I waited until the count of thirty, shut the water back off and tiptoed down the hall. The house was quiet, no sound of an idling car. I peeked through the sheers just in time to see the mini’s taillights rounding the bend.

  “Thanks.” Sylvia said from right behind me.

  I jumped, having not even heard her approach. “Don’t thank me yet. Where’s Astrid?”

  “I left her in your room.” Sylvia put her hand to her midsection, a look of pain contorting her features.

  Though I kept trying to muster my inner hardass, she looked downright pathetic. “Are you all right? Here, sit down.”

  I helped her over to the couch and remained standing while she eased down.

  “Thanks. Everything’s still sort of off.”

  I didn’t want to hear about her postpartum symptoms, not when we had so much other ground to cover. “Now, are you going to tell me why you’ve gone to ground with a newborn in tow?”

  “I didn’t have a choice.” Sylvia took one of her deep, cleansing breaths and then met my gaze head on. “I didn’t kill Eric.”

  I thought about her word choice for a minute and then asked, “Do you know who did?” Translation—did you hire someone else to kill him?

  “No. But whoever it is, they’re after me now.”

  My blood flash froze at her words. “How do you know?”

  She took another long pull of oxygen and then withdrew her cell phone from her inner sweatshirt pocket. She tapped the screen a few times and then swiveled it to face me.

  I took the thing and stared down at the text message, reading aloud. “You have what I want.” The call was from an unknown name and number. “This is pretty vague, Sylvie. Are you sure this is connected to Eric?”

  She nodded. “He was getting the same messages. I told you he left his phone at the hospital the night Astrid was born?”

  When I nodded she continued, “Well, it wasn’t by accident. I lifted it from him when he wasn’t paying attention. He had the exact same message.”

  “Why would you take his phone?” But I knew, it had been Eric.

  She confirmed my suspicion when she glanced away. “I thought he was cheating again.”

  The old adage, once a cheater always a cheater sounded in my head, but thankfully, didn’t pass my lips. The last thing Sylvia needed right now was a heaping of I told you so. “So it was the same message, unknown name and number?”

  When she nodded I asked, “And what is it that this person wants?”

  She bit her lip, gaze hitting the floor.

  “Money?”

  She shook her head.

  “Sex? Drugs?”

  “No.”

  “Is it bigger than a breadbox? Animal? Mineral? Vegetable? Come on, Sylvie. Give me something to work with.”

  “I think it might be pictures.”

  “Pictures?” I blinked. “What sort of pictures?”

  She shook her head. “I’m not sure. I saw them once in a manila envelope in the garage. Large pictures, like eight by tens. Something you’d get from a P.I.”

  “What was in them? People doinking or something? Maybe it was just amateur porn.”

  She shook her head. “I didn’t look at them. At that point, I didn’t want to know if he was screwing around again. But then there was also the money. He had stacks of it Maggie, a whole duffel bag full of cash.”

  Large hardcopy photos plus a heap of money not secured in a bank but bills on hand added up to one thing in my head. “You think he was blackmailing someone?”

  “Either that or he was being blackmailed. But we had next to nothing, other than the house. He could have taken out a home equity line of credit but I can’t think that there would be any secret he’d pay to keep hidden. Eric has his flaws, but he isn’t that kind of man.” She swallowed and then corrected herself. “Wasn’t that kind of man.”

  No matter what he’d done, Sylvia had loved his cheating, blackmailing carcass. Some people just don’t know how good they have it. “So is that why you sent Marty next door, to find the photos and the cash?”

  She frowned. “Marty? I haven’t spoken to him in weeks.”

  Mental forehead slap. “Did he leave some stuff at your house?”

  She nodded. “A stuffed animal. I offered to send it to him but he said he’d just grab it the next time he was in town.”

  “Stuffed animal?” I asked, surprised he would bother. “One of Mae’s?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think so it seemed older. Well loved.”

  My heart skipped a beat. “Was it an elephant? Gray with pink ears.”

  “You know it?”

  My throat had gone dry. “Yeah. I gave it to him. After the fire.” After our parents had died and we’d lost all of our worldly possessions as well as the rest of our family. I’d spotted it in the hospital gift shop. It was a cheap thing, something you give to kids who had their tonsils removed. Marty had been much too big for stuffed animals, fifteen and outgrowing his pajama bottoms at lightning speed. We had so much to do, so many things to figure out, like where we were going to live and how we could stay together but the urge had seized me to get it for him. Elephants were supposed to be good luck, something we were in desperate need of and against my better judgment, I’d gone along with the impulse.

  And my brother had kept it. I’d been sure he’d gotten rid of the elephant long ago. I hadn’t seen it in years. Cripes, I’d forgotten all about it. But he’d kept it and it had been important enough to him that he would make a special trip to Hudson to retrieve it.

  “I feel sick.” The words popped out before the sensation truly registered.

  Sylvia was on her feet. “
What do you need? Water? A bucket?”

  “Both,” I said though what I needed was to go back twelve hours and not serve my brother up as a suspect to the police on a silver platter. A faint moan slipped out. Oh cripes, Marty. I’m so sorry.

  “Maggie? Is it the baby?” Sylvia had crouched down. And was inspecting me, her big blue eyes rounded in panic. “I can call Neil.”

  It was my turn to suck in air like the stuff was going out of style. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Repeat. And one more time for good measure. When I was sure I wasn’t going to pass out or vomit, I opened my eyes. “I’m okay. I just...need a minute.”

  Sylvia stood up. “I’ll go check on Astrid. She’ll be waking up soon to eat.”

  I watched her walk down the hall, a new mother and widow. A woman on the run from an unknown evil.

  Wrapping my arms protectively around my midsection I wondered what we were going to do.

  “NEIL WOULD SAY WE SHOULD call Capri.” I told Sylvia who was nursing Astrid on my bed. “Call her, tell her about the money and the photos, the text messages. Tell her you’re scared. Let her put you and Astrid in protective custody.”

  Sylvia shook her head. “What if she can’t keep me safe? Worse, what if she still thinks I had something to do with Eric’s death? She’ll take Astrid away and there won’t be anyone to protect her. Would you take that chance with your boys or your new little one?”

  Though I hated to admit it, she had a point. No, I wouldn’t merrily hand myself over to the police as a murder suspect, blindly trusting that they would figure everything out and keep my children safe when I couldn’t. I’d seen too much. While the majority of cops were good guys, they had to operate within a very flawed, overly bureaucratic system. And more than that, they were human beings who made mistakes, just like the rest of us.

  “But what’s the alternative?” I asked. “The cops have been through the house, probably have your passport and that duffel bag of cash. Maybe the photos, too.”

  “We won’t know, unless we look.” Sylvia said.

  I stared at her for a minute. “Unless I look, you mean.”

  “I can go, but I need to wait until full dark.”

  “Wouldn’t want one of your neighbors phoning in an intruder.” Like I’d done to Marty. “Neil and the boys will be back before full dark. I don’t want to risk involving them. No, I’ll go, I can always blame it on pregnancy brain, like oh, oops I forgot it was a crime scene.”

  “Capri will buy that?” Sylvia eyed me, her expression skeptical.

  “No, but she won’t want to throw the book at an expectant mother, either. But Sylvia, you need to promise me that if there’s nothing in there to help us, you’ll at least contact a lawyer. I can call my mother-in-law if you don’t have one. She won’t let you rot away in jail. And Neil and I will look out for Astrid until you get it all sorted out.”

  Sylvia’s eyes filled. “You’d do that?”

  “Of course.” I would have reached for her hand but she was still nursing the baby and it felt a little too intrusive. “Okay, where do I look for these things of Eric’s?”

  “One of three places. The wall safe in the spare room. I’ll write down the combination. Or there’s Eric’s desk, he kept a spare key on his car key ring. And then there’s the toolbox in the garage.”

  I swayed on my chair. “The garage.”

  Her nod was grim. “He didn’t think I knew about that one. It’s where he hid the burner phones he used to text whomever he was currently screwing.” Her eyes filled with tears.

  To hell with the awkwardness, I reached for her hand. “It’ll be okay, Sylvie.”

  She squeezed back. “I just can’t believe this is my life.”

  “I so know that feeling. Nobody ever says, Hey when I grow up I want to be a pain in the ass murder investigator with no real authority and a nose for trouble and a knack for pissing off the po po’s. And yet here I am.”

  That got me a watery smile. “Thanks, Maggie.”

  I checked the time on the clock. “We have about an hour until Neil and the boys come home. I have my cell. Text me if anyone seems to notice what’s doing and call me if the cops show up. I’m going in through the back.”

  I gave Atlas a pat and told him to look after Sylvia and Astrid while I was gone. He whined, not liking to be left behind when I was going out into the backyard but he sat. Anyone who didn’t know him personally as a giant goofus would be afraid of his large visage and deep bark. Sylvia and Astrid were as safe as I could make them.

  I crossed through the yard quickly and unlatched the gate that separated our yard from Sylvia’s. I could see old Mr. Johnson on the other side of her cleaning his charcoal grill. He waved at me and my heart sped up.

  Act casual, dumbass. I told myself.

  “Have you seen a soccer ball around?” I asked him. “Kenny’s missing one. I was wondering if it came over the fence.”

  “Haven’t seen it. I’ll bring it over if it turns up.” Mr. Johnson’s full attention remained on the old crud he was scrubbing from the grill grate.

  “Thanks,” I called and proceeded to poke around in the hedges for the fictional missing ball.

  After a few minutes more of grumbling, Mr. Johnson went inside. Snagging the chance, I made a beeline for Sylvia’s porch door, inserted my neighbor key and let myself in.

  The house was cool and dark. It had that musty, shut in sort of scent that comes with not having any windows open or any people occupying the space for several days. Also the compost bin under the sink reeked to high heaven, but there was nothing I could do about that now. I headed to the spare room first and checked the safe, using the combination Sylvia had provided.

  The door clicked open and I found a few jewelry boxes, some papers including the deed to the house, the Lexus’s pink slip and a few hundred dollars cash. No obscure pictures that could be used to blackmail someone.

  The desk was my next stop. The key was in the dish by the front door along with Eric’s car keys. I shivered as I touched them, aware that his hand had most likely been the last to hold them. The desk was in Eric and Sylvia’s front room, along one wall. I went straight to the locked drawer, sliding the key in and yanking it open.

  There were several hanging file folders inside. I flipped through them, looking for anything that didn’t belong. Warranties, owner manuals, porn. The dirty mags gave me pause, but only because I assumed most guys got their spank material online these days. Actual magazines seemed so retro. The girl on the cover had the quintessential nice rack and vapid expression. Her poor mother. I checked the date in the top corner. November 1986. Cripes, she was probably a grandmother by now.

  Morbid curiosity satisfied, I kept digging, found a large manila envelope and whispered, “Eureka.”

  It had been taped over the silver tab thingy so it wasn’t easily opened. I worked the tape with my fingernail for a minute before losing patience and ripping the other end, sliding the envelope’s innards across the clean surface of the desk.

  My cell phone buzzed, a text from Sylvia’s burner phone. All clear. Find anything?!!?

  I typed back, Just your marriage license and your and Eric’s birth certificates. Safe + desk = bupkis.

  Try Toolbox. Though she didn’t send any emojis, I could feel her excitement almost as much as my own dread.

  I really didn’t want to go back into that damned garage.

  After straightening the desk and replacing the keys in the dish, I made my way to the garage door. My stomach was tied in knots and my hand shook as I reached for the knob.

  A thought occurred, floated into my cerebral cortex from the chicken shit part of my subconscious. I didn’t have to go into the garage and look in the toolbox. I could just hang here for a minute, then sneak back out and tell Sylvia that I hadn’t found Eric’s stash of money or the supposed blackmail photos. She would be upset of course, but then we’d call Laura who would find Sylvia a stellar defense attorney.

  And how sad
was it that calling my mother-in-law was the better of two evils?

  I turned to go, then threw a glance back over my shoulder. No, I had to check. It would only take a minute and then we would know for sure. If I didn’t look and Sylvia went to jail, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.

  I took a deep breath then decided to give myself a little pep talk. “Okay Maggie, no sweat. The freezer is probably gone, taken for evidence. Nothing scary about that garage. You go in, you find the tool box, lift the lid and then skedaddle. Easy as pie.”

  Unless you made your own pie crust which was not easy in the slightest. Any moron could roll out a refrigerated pie crust, but it took a deft pastry hand to make that perfectly flakey crust to fill with fruit or pudding.... and I was stalling again. As well as craving dessert in the worst way. So much for the pep talk.

  The garage was a few degrees warmer than the house but twice as dark. With no outside windows to let in the early evening light, there was only a small line beneath the close retractable door. Two switches were on the wall. Normally, I’d hit them both, uncaring if I flipped on the outside lights while I did whatever it was I had to do in the garage. But now, seeing those lights come on would be a clear signal that the house, which was still taped off by the police, had a visitor.

  After a moment’s thought, I flicked the switch nearest me. When nothing happened, I flipped it back into the off position, praying no one from across the street had been looking out their window. I hit the other switch and the overhead light came on, nearly blinding me after the darkness. I blinked and my gaze landed immediately on the toolbox, on the shelving unit catty corner to where the freezer had stood.

  Ignoring the obvious rectangle that was darker than the rest of the concrete floor, I went to the toolbox, lifting it with both hands from the shelf. The thing was heavier than it looked and my back ached as I set it on the floor. Crouching down, I undid the latches and prepared myself for the worst, that being nothing of value. So I had to blink a few times as I took in the manila envelope and stacks of cash as well as a prepaid cell phone that sat where a screwdriver, drill and hammer ought to be.