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

by Jennifer L. Hart

  “Okay, well, I’m thirty-two and I just started up my own business last year—”

  Dr. Bob shook his head and sighed. “You’re going to be a challenge, aren’t you?”

  “I’m not trying to be difficult. It’s just that after Neil and the boys and my cleaning business, there isn’t much time for anything else.”

  “So you blame Neil and his children for your lack of identity.” He nodded his head and scribbled something on a yellow legal pad.

  “I didn’t say that!”

  He squinted at me out of one eye and wrote something else, probably having to do with my volatile temper. I took a deep breath and retrenched. “How about you tell me about yourself, Dr. Bob?”

  Leaning back in his chair, Dr. Bob cocked his head to the side. “I’ve been a marriage counselor for fifteen years—”

  “Ah ha!” I interrupted. “You can’t do it, either.”

  He blinked owlishly. “Do what?”

  “Introduce yourself without leaning on your job.”

  His lips compressed into a thin line of disapproval. “Mrs. Phillips, it’s my job to help you. Nothing else about me is relevant to our time here.”

  Damn. I had to concede the point. “Okay, well where were we?”

  “How’s your sex life?”

  My accent might label me a genteel southern woman by birth, but I’d been a Navy wife for several years. Our lives were surrounded by raunchy men who oftentimes forgot I was in the room. Or got drunk and didn’t care. If he was attempting to unnerve me, he needed to try harder than that. “Just ducky, how about you?”

  He blew out a sigh. “I know your husband is concerned about your relationship, Mrs. Phillips. If you aren’t going to take these sessions seriously, we’re all wasting our time.”

  Double hit for the good doctor. Preying on my guilt over Neil’s concerns and throwing the w word into the ring. I was way out of my comfort zone.

  “Sorry,” I apologized. “I’ll shelve the pithy retorts.”

  He bared his teeth in what might have been a smile and wrote something down on his notepad.

  My cell phone rang and I sagged in relief. Bless the kind soul who thought to call me at this particular moment.

  Dr. Bob gave me his evil eye. I dug in my bag for my cell. Positive I would eventually receive a lecture on distractions and time wasting, I turn forty-five degrees in the chair for pseudo privacy.

  “Laundry Hag cleaning services, Maggie speaking,” My cell phone caught all of my business calls since Kenny hadn’t quite figured out how to take a proper message on the land line.

  “Maggie, this is Candie Valentino,”

  Ah the former Ms. Texas. I really liked her, as opposed to some of the other socialites that I took on as clients. Candie always greeted me by name when I cleaned their vast estate. “What can I help you with, Mrs. Valentino?”

  There was a slight pause. “Um, Maggie, did you send something here?”

  “Something?” My eyebrows met above my nose. “No, why do you ask?”

  “We received a package and it came in a box with your logo on it?” Her voice went up at the end, phrasing a fact like a question.

  I frowned. My logo was a freebie Neil had found online and I’d ordered a few shirts, hats, and a bunch of business cards for promotional purposes. The site had offered boxes, but I saw no need for them. “Does the box say Laundry Hag on it anywhere?”

  “No, it’s just the picture on the side. It’s like one of those bakery boxes, you know?”

  Something prickled the hair along the back of my neck. “Candie, what came in the box?”

  “A dead bird.”

  “Gross!” I said before I thought better of it. Dr. Bob stared at me quizzically, but I ignored his protest and I rose from the armchair. “Did you report it?”

  “To who?” Candie asked as I opened the door to the waiting area. Neil took one look at my face and was up out of his chair.

  “The police, the CDC. It might be infected with avian bird flu.”

  “Oh, God! I didn’t even think of that.” Candie’s tone was laced with panic.

  “What’s going on?” Neil asked.

  I covered the speaker with my palm. “We have to go to the Valentino house. I’ll explain on the way.”

  Dr. Bob sputtered from the doorway, “But your session—”

  Neil turned back to deal with the doctor and I focused on my phone. “Candie, you need to report this. Call the Hudson police department and ask to speak with Detective Capri. I’ll be there as soon as I can and whatever you do, don’t touch that box!”

  Candie didn’t respond, but the sound of violent retching was answer enough.

  * * *

  Chapter Four

  We parked in front of the Valentinos’ house. The brick and stone behemoth, flanked by leafless deciduous trees, sat at the end of a private drive. While the house was gated, the gate stood open, probably in expectation of the police. Lights blazed from every window and reflected off the brilliant snow and the sight took my breath for a minute. The mansion did have a Currier and Ives look to it, even the snow seemed whiter than in my middle-class neighborhood.

  “Tell me again why we’re here.” Neil scowled at me and shifted in the driver’s seat, bashing his knee into the gearshift. Whoever had designed the Mini Cooper didn’t have six foot, two inch retired Navy SEALs in mind.

  “Mrs. Valentino called me, thinking I had something to do with the dead bird. My logo was on the delivery box. Therefore, I have a vested interest in getting to the bottom of this.”

  He winced, rubbing his abused knee. “Only in your mind, Uncle Scrooge. Do they know you intercepted that fax the other day?”

  I rolled my eyes. “What do I look like, a complete doofus? I made a copy of the fax before I beat feet outta there. The original I left precisely where I found it.”

  “I still say you’re sticking your nose into somebody’s kinky sex life,” He grinned and met my gaze. “That’s always entertaining, at least.”

  I thought of Sylvia’s stricken face. “Not so much from my angle. Besides, you ever heard of anyone with a dead foul fetish?”

  “No, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. I’m a sheltered sort, you know.”

  I snorted and unbuckled my seatbelt. “Yeah, Neil the Pure with his snow white sensibilities. How about the thing you did to me last week in the shower? What bedtime story featured that particular move?”

  “My favorite.” He glanced around. “You sure she called the police?” I’m not seeing any lights yet and we’ve been sitting here for five minutes on top of the twenty minute drive.”

  “I told her to call, but she was a little busy doing the Technicolor yawn and then my phone went dead. And you left yours at Dr. Boob’s. I mean Bob’s.”

  He opened his door. “Might as well knock and see what’s up.”

  The wind hit me soon as I straightened from the car, whipping my hair into my face. Neil grasped my gloved hand and pulled me to the relative shelter of the porch. He rang the doorbell and we waited.

  “Maybe she took the package directly to the police station. Or animal control.” Neil guessed.

  I opened my mouth to respond, but a black Jaguar slid to an abrupt stop in front of the house and Mr. Valentino emerged. He sprinted up the porch steps and brushed by us without a word, inserting his key in the door. It swung open and he didn’t bother to shut it so Neil tugged me inside.

  “Candace?” Mr. V called out as he stomped through the foyer. “I can’t show up whenever you’re in the mood to….”

  Neil cleared his throat and gave me a knowing smirk. Valentino spun on his heel and scowled at us, his gaze focused on my husband. “Who the hell are you?”

  Neil dropped my hand and extended his own. “ Neil Phillips, sir. Your wife called mine.”

  “Phillips, Phillips,” Mr. V pursed his lips. “Why does that name sound familiar?”

  “Your wife hired me to clean twice a week. I’m Maggie Phillips
from the Laundry Hag cleaning service.” I informed him. Though I’d been on the job for almost a month, this was the first time I’d seen Valentino up close. Jet black hair cut fashionably short and GQ worthy stubble only emphasized his high cheekbones and pale complexion. His eyes, almost a neon shade of blue, stole attention from his extra large nose, an almost beaklike appendage which announced his Greek heritage. He appeared the perfect masculine foil for Candie’s petite blonde beauty, but some instinct told me theirs wasn’t a love match.

  “Well, get to it then,” Markus Valentino dismissed me with a wave of his hand and continued his hunt for his wife.

  Before I could get my back up, Neil called to his retreating form. “We’re here about the bird.”

  Valentino stopped in mid-stride, like his feet had been super-glued in place. It was almost comical, like a Wile E. Coyote signature move before he fell off a cliff.

  “What bird?” Mr. V’s tone held suspicion. When he turned back around to face us, I noted a brief flicker in his eyes. Fear perhaps?

  “Oh, Markus!” Candie rushed down the stairs and flung herself at her husband. Beneath her tan, she was sickly pale and trembling. “It’s awful, just plain terrible.”

  “What is?” Valentino held her an arm’s length away. “I get this message from Sierra that you need me here, but no explanation. What is going on?”

  Candie looked as if he had slapped her. With visible effort she pulled back and composed herself. “It’s in the kitchen.” Without another word she led the way, Valentino hot on her heels.

  “What a tool,” Neil murmured almost inaudibly. I heard him, though, and grinned. He’d read my mind.

  We followed the footsteps into the kitchen. A large white box, like a bakery container, sat open on the granite island. Candie had been right, it was the little caricature from my business logo, the sprightly little woman with a pink kerchief wrapped around her head and matching vacuum. Candie stood in the corner next to the gourmet refrigerator, arms wrapped around her upper body. Valentino loomed over the box then pulled away in disgust, yanking a handkerchief to his face. I shuffled past Neil and stood on my tip toes to get a better look. The carcass did resemble a large bird, one that had been barbecued. The stench invaded my nostrils and I stepped back.

  “If I had to guess, I’d say it was some sort of hawk, maybe a falcon,” Neil moved closer, seemingly oblivious of the putrid smell. “Did you phone the police?”

  “What for? It’s obviously a prank.” Valentino scoffed, the tone losing some impact delivered as it was through the hanky.

  “If it’s a prank, I’m missing the punch line. Dead foul in a bakery box, how is that funny?” Neil asked, his tone mild. “Looks more like a message to me.”

  “Who the hell are you?” Valentino seethed.

  “A concerned husband. Whoever sent this didn’t do it by certified mail. The smell alone ensures that. And the box has my wife’s logo on it, which means the perp wants to shift attention to her.

  “Why wouldn’t he go all the way though?” I asked “If he ripped off my caricature, he could have put my business name on there too, made the connection even more obvious.”

  “Who gives a shit?” Valentino thundered, closing the lid with his hanky-free hand. “It’s some freak playing a game. Not worth all this fuss and bother.”

  Out of the three of us, Markus Valentino was the only one who appeared remotely riled. The stress brought out his Texas accent and a vein bulged in his forehead. Neil stood like the calm eye in the center of a shit storm and both Candie and I were green around the gills.

  “I recommend you report this to the police. Mrs. Valentino has our number and we’ll be happy to answer any questions.” Neil inclined his head toward Candie and then led me to the front door by my arm.

  “We can’t leave—” I protested and he propelled my forward.

  “There’s nothing else we can do.” Neil replied. “We can’t force him to call the cops and your connection is shaky at best.”

  “Why do you think my logo was on the box but not my name?” I repeated my earlier question. Neil didn’t answer until we were both secure in the car and heading towards the main road.

  “Someone is messing with Valentino. Did you see him freeze when we mentioned the bird? I think whoever sent that box has been watching them and snagged your logo to cast suspicion on you. Maybe they didn’t want it to be obvious that it was you, or maybe the site that I ordered your stuff from has copy write protection for its consumer’s company names. I’ll look into that when we get home.”

  I wanted to ask why me, but didn’t bother. It sounded too whiney and Neil had put up with enough from me today. “Do you think Valentino knows who is behind this?” I asked instead.

  Neil cut his gaze to me briefly. “I’d bet my left nut on it.”

  * * * *

  “Why is there a camper in front of our house?” Neil squinted at said vehicle through the grimy windshield of my Mini.

  “I have no idea. Maybe one of the neighbors is having company from out of town?” I suggested. Neil parked behind the vehicle which blocked most of our driveway.

  “Maggie, this is Massachusetts. People go south during the winter, since you’d have to be a kook to visit in February.”

  He had a point. I sure as hell wouldn’t load up a gas-guzzling RV and hit the road for Hudson to play chicken with a Nor’easter during the winter.

  Neil exited the car and I stepped into a giant pile of slush, soaking my left foot as the muck spilled over the top of my ankle high boot. The gray sky held the threat of more snow, with heavily pregnant clouds looking ready to pop.

  “I’m going to ask around and see who this thing belongs to and request the owner move it so we can park in our driveway.” Neil was already heading across the street.

  I squished my way to the front porch and then let out a groan. I realized Neil had my key ring. Crap, now what? I couldn’t call Neil since my cell was dead and I really didn’t want to wait for frostbite to set in. The thermometer was reading in the single digits. I dug in my black shoulder bag, hoping to unearth a spare when my front door swung open.

  “Marty!” I squealed and threw my arms around my brother’s neck. I hadn’t heard from him since before the holidays and I’d lost quite a bit of sleep worrying about him. I should have known better. Marty, like an oil slick, always managed to ooze his way to the surface.

  “What’s up, Laundry Hag?” My younger brother returned my hug with interest.

  “Same old, same old. How about you?” I shucked my parka and leaned against the door, forcing my numb fingers to unlace the saturated boot.

  “Well, a lot actually,” Marty grinned and chucked his thumb toward the camper. “Did you check out my new wheels?”

  The boot resisted and I used my other foot to toe it off with a slurping sound. “You’re kidding, right? Sprout, are you out of your mind?”

  Marty immediately went on the defensive. “It was a sound investment. I bought it off this guy who’d inherited it last summer. Got it for a sweet deal, Maggs, and I needed the room.”

  “For your collection of skin flicks and beer caps?” I asked, feeling my blood pressure heading for a new high. Damn, Neil was going to be pissed about the camper. And about Marty’s return. My brother had a nasty habit of popping up at the worst of times, mooching his little heart out, reeking general havoc in my house and leaving at the height of the chaos. Neil put up with him for the same reason I dealt with his mother, because we loved each other and therefore had no other option.

  Marty got large, filling up the doorway to my living room with his imposing girth. “Get off your high-horse. You don’t know the first thing about my situation.”

  “Of course I don’t. You don’t freaking talk to me! The only time you show up on my doorstep is when you’re in over your head and you need me to fix something!” Exasperated, I skidded on the wet parquet floor and headed for the bathroom. A hot shower was in order if I was in for Neil vs. Marty,
the cage match.

  “Maggie, wait!” Marty shouted but I held up a hand, not wanting to deal at the moment. I turned the door knob and pushed open the bathroom door.

  A woman was seated in my bathtub, neck deep in bubbles. Her eyes were closed and she had ear buds in, so she didn’t turn at my startled cry. Peony pink toes tapped on the faucet of the garden tub in time to the music.

  I stared for a minute, wondering if my mind had snapped like a dry twig. Who was she and why was she in my tub and, by the scent of things, helping herself to my lilac bubble bath? Marty pounded on the door and I reached behind my back for the handle. Whoever she was, she deserved privacy and I turned the knob when she rose from the bubbles and all of my thoughts derailed.

  “Hey there,” Uncaring of her nudity and my open-mouthed gape, she stepped from the tub and reached for a towel, which refused to meet ends over her hugely pregnant belly. “You must be Maggie.” Her voice held the thick syrup of the South.

  Water cascaded down her figure from her wet hair, and she plucked a second towel from the rack to swath her head in, turban-style.

  “Yeah, I’m Maggie. I’ll, uh, wait out there.” Offering a wan smile I slipped out into the hall where my brother stood. Marty wouldn’t meet my eyes. So I got in his face.

  “Care to explain?” I huffed, mortified and out of patience. Neil was gonna shit monkeys.

  “This isn’t how I planned this, you know,” Marty’s tone was belligerent, but laced with guilt. “Penny was tired after the drive and I tried to call your cell, but it kept going to voicemail. So I figured she could clean up while we waited.”

  My temper was at the boiling point and I dragged Marty down the hall to my bedroom so Penny wouldn’t hear me erupt. I needn’t have worried, the drone of the hairdryer filtered into the room.

  “She’s pregnant, Marty! At least five months along! Correct me if I’m wrong but five months ago, you were still living with Dee in the Bronx!”

  “I know that!” Marty huffed and ran a hand thru his hair.

  “Were you cheating on Dee? Is that why you two broke up?” Dee was a zoologist at the Bronx Zoo, and she had been great for Marty. At least until wanderlust had taken hold of him yet again.