Before I knew anyone had approached, I was yanked back and tossed to the ground. I heard a rip and realized my derrière had given Neil’s pants what-for. I knew there was a reason why my mother insisted to always put on clean underwear before leaving the house. All of my delicates had been line-drying in the laundry room when I left.
Wonderful, exactly what this night needed. My bare ass, exposed to the arresting officers.
* * * *
The police dragged all three of us down to the local precinct: me, Annie Oakley, and the Gym Rat. I stood silently in the holding cell waiting for my turn to tell the story. Gym Rat and his mother made up the difference in the noise level by bitching about the unfairness of their treatment.
“I didn’t do nothin’ wrong! Those girls was skulking like thieves in the night. I was the one who was the victim here! I demand a phone call!” Annie’s bathrobe was now caked in what I hoped was mud, and she had leaves in her hair.
“Stuff it, Ma! Who you gonna call?” Gym Rat had fared a little better; hero that he was, he’d acquiesced to the police demands immediately. His jeans were dirty, and his flannel shirt had been ripped, but he hadn’t been tossed on the ground like a beached whale. He seemed less than thrilled with the situation and kept shooting me dark looks through the bars.
I was the worst of the bunch. I lost Josh’s jacket in the fray, and Neil’s pants were beyond repair. One of my boots had come off at some point during the scuffle and it hadn’t made it into the squad car. My ski hat had gone the way of the dodo leaving telltale hat hair behind. I’d pulled as many leaves and pine needles as possible from my hair without a mirror. The left side of my face felt tender where it had been planted into the ground, but at least my lip had finally stopped bleeding. No matter how bad I looked, I felt ten times worse, especially because the whole ordeal was my fault.
A woman in a police uniform poked her head around the corner. “Settle down back there, all of you! You’re being held for disturbing the peace, so I’d suggest you keep your mouths shut!”
Annie gave the bars a very indignant shake. “I know my rights!”
“Maggie?”
I looked up. Neil and a short, balding man strode toward my cell. Neil had his poker face on. The stiffness in his posture and his stare flashed a warning. “I came as soon as I heard. This is Mr. Grayson. His brother works with me at Intel and he offered to be your legal representation. We’re going to get you out of here.”
“Who—” I cut myself off as Neil shook his head.
“We’ll talk about it later.”
I nodded and looked to Mr. Grayson. He gave me a small smile and patted my hand through the bars. “I have a call into the judge and I’m trying to find out exactly what you’ve been charged with.”
“She was trespassing and disturbing the peace!” Annie Oakley shouted at him, her face squished into the bars.
Mr. Grayson did a double take at her before looking back to me. “We’ll get this resolved as quickly as possible.”
Neil, whose gaze never left me, quirked the corner of his mouth. “Are you wearing my pants?”
I nodded again and dropped my gaze to the cracked concrete floor.
“I can’t wait to relive this over Thanksgiving dinner.” Neil’s tone sounded dry.
I gave him a weak smile, and they were gone.
“Just what the hell were you doing at our house anyway?”
It took me a moment to realize that Greg was addressing me.
“You know, if you wanted me, it would have been a hell of a lot easier if you told me so instead of stalking me!”
This guy was way too full of himself. I really wanted to give him a serious reality check, to inform him that I was investigating him and that I knew he’d been shagging Mrs. Kline, but the words stuck in my throat.
“You’re absolutely right,” I said instead.
“You missed your chance, hot stuff. Now I know what a psycho you really are.” He snorted and moved to the back of his cell.
Thank God for small favors.
* * * *
It took Neil and Mr. Grayson until daybreak to secure my release from the holding tank. Annie Oakley had wanted to press trespassing charges, but Mr. Grayson had been very persuasive and informed her it would be better for all involved, and we were all released with a warning.
“So, do you want to tell me about it now?” Neil had stayed quiet for most of the drive, and I could practically hear him grinding his teeth.
“Well….”
“Jesus H. Christ, Maggie, what the hell were you thinking? It’s a damn good thing Sylvia bee-lined for our house. I woke up, and you weren’t there. I was about to call hospitals!”
I swallowed around the huge lump of guilt in my throat. I knew exactly how he felt, because it wasn’t so long ago that I’d spent the sleepless nights worrying about Neil’s well-being. Those three a.m. thoughts of is he warm enough; did he get enough to eat; oh, God, please don’t let anyone be shooting at him; don’t let him be hurt or killed, and a plethora of other morbid musings could give one an ulcer.
I couldn’t speak; it took all of my effort not to cry because I wouldn’t wish that kind of anxiety on my worst enemy, let alone the man I loved more than my own stupid life.
“I was so scared, Maggie,” Neil said, and I was surprised to find a sheen of tears in his eyes as well. His anger had burned out, replaced by a mixture of concern and relief. “It was so unlike you, taking off without leaving a note, and in the middle of the night. Then Sylvia shows up, ranting about some old lady with a gun, and I lost it! And with all of the crazy shit going on lately…I don’t know, I guess my imagination went wild.”
I knew how much it cost him to say all this, since Neil has been trained to never show weakness or fear under duress. I lost the battle, and the tears streamed down my grimy face. Neil stopped for a red light and turned to look at me.
And burst out laughing.
“You really are a sight, you know that? I feel like I’m driving little orphan Annie.”
“Just be glad it isn’t Annie Oakley,” I muttered.
“What?”
“It’s a long story.”
Neil took the next left and pulled into the parking lot of the local Methodist Church. He turned off the engine before giving me his undivided attention.
“We’ve got nothing but time, so let’s hear it.”
Here’s the thing about being married to a SEAL. I imagine it’s like being married to Superman. There are no illusions; you know for a fact that he’s smarter than you, tougher than you, and he is always favored to win any battle of wills. I guess some women might be intimidated by this scenario. Not me. I know that I don’t have to hit every curve ball life throws my way because I’ve got Superman on standby. Sharing my woes was easier than I’d imagined, and I outlined all of the major events of the past twenty-four hours.
“So that about sums it up,” I said with a weak smile.
Neil looked at me without blinking for a moment, then closed his eyes and rested his head against the back of his seat.
“What do you think? Should I—”
“Hush. I’m thinking.”
As Neil ruminated, I listened to the traffic pick up, and a few cars turned into the church parking lot.
Neil started the car when he realized that a few of the church patrons stared at us. Or more aptly, stared at me.
“I want you out of it, Maggie. You’re a civilian, an untrained civilian. Tonight was a perfect example of why you need to let the police handle this.”
“But—”
“No. Goddamn. Buts!” Each word fired at me like a bullet. “There’s a killer on the loose, do you understand that? Someone who has committed murder and you’re treating this like a game!”
I didn’t want to fight with him, so I ground my teeth in silence. We arrived home without further comment. I took note of Sylvia’s truck parked at the curb between our houses and wondered if she’d called Eric to tell him what ha
d transpired. I stooped to retrieve the rolled up newspaper on the front porch and groaned as cold air hit my stiff and exposed backside.
Neil passed me and stalked into the living room. “Hey, Ethel, I sprung Lucy, and she’s got some ‘splainin’ to do. You’re off rug rat duty.”
Sylvia sat up and rubbed her eyes. “What’s going on?” she asked in the mystified voice of the not quite awake.
“Neil, call Eric and let him know where she is.”
Sylvia turned her glazed expression towards the sound of my voice. “Oh, God, Maggie!” It was eerie watching her mull through the morning haze, trying to pinpoint exactly what had happened before she’d passed out. “Are you all right?”
I opened my mouth, but Neil answered for me. “She’s fine, Sylvia.” His tone implied a no thanks to you.
I darted him a scathing glance which rolled off his Teflon-like exterior in a nanosecond. He crossed his arms over his chest and managed to gaze down his nose at both of us at the same time. Neil was in no mood to be trifled with.
Sylvia gave me a quick hug and beat a hasty retreat. I opened my mouth ready for a full scale verbal offensive, but he held a hand up.
“Save it, Uncle Scrooge. I’m not happy with either of you and I’m really pissed off that she left you there while some madwoman was discharging a firearm.”
“Neil, this isn’t the armed forces. I don’t expect my friends to take a bullet for me.”
“She left you behind!”
“I told her to go!”
Neil opened his mouth, thought for a second, and closed it. He rubbed his face. “No more now, Uncle Scrooge. Let’s see if we can catch some sleep before the boys get up.
“You go, I want to shower first.”
His lips twitched, and I saw a flicker of heat in his eyes, a disparity to his frozen posture. “That’s a prime idea. Need some help scrubbing those hard to reach places?”
“I’m good.” It was a flat out lie, but I was too drained to say anything else.
I trundled into the bathroom and admired my self-restraint when I didn’t scream at my ghoulish reflection. A night in the slammer really didn’t do much for a girl’s complexion.
One of the great benefits of having a pre-Reaganomics era house is the awesome water pressure. I love having the water pound my back like a meat mallet until I’m thoroughly tenderized. I stripped while the water warmed up, wishing I had some Brillo pads to scour the grime from my body.
I washed my hair with the fruity shampoo, thinking dandruff was the least of my worries. Neil pulled the curtain back. He’d piled his clothes up on the floor next to mine and had a sheepish look in his eyes.
“I need you,” he said.
It was exactly what I wanted to hear.
I reached out and pulled him into the shower with me. We didn’t even notice when the hot water ran out.
* * * *
I was back in Mr. Kline’s office. My clothes had been removed. I was strapped down, spread eagled on a cold metal table. Mr. Kline and Greg the Gym Rat were off to my left, and Mr. Kline held a metal ladle over a steaming brazier filled with a bubbling dark liquid. I thought I must be hallucinating, because I could clearly smell the odor of smoldering chocolate.
“Do you know what this is, dear Maggie?” Mr. Kline lovingly eyed the ladle as he dipped it into the brazier. He didn’t wait for me to reply but attached a perforated sieve type top onto the scepter. “It’s called a lead sprinkler. With a mere flick of my wrist I can coat you with its contents. Of course, this isn’t molten metal, I thought of something truly ingenious for you. Sugar, milk, cocoa butter, lactose, milk fat, vanilla, and emulsifiers. Or in layman’s terms, Death by Chocolate.”
My mouth was parched, but I managed to croak, “Why?”
“Because you’re in the way,” Greg said. I watched in horror as he dipped a wooden spoon into the liquid and then brought it to his mouth. “Tasty. Just like you’re going to be.”
Greg smacked his lips and gave me a heated once over as Doug Kline approached the table.
“Please…,” I begged as Douglass Kline thrust the scepter at me. I rolled to avoid the spray of blistering chocolate and….
Landed on my bedroom floor with a thunk.
I shook my head in a futile attempt to clear the fog and ran my hands along my naked torso to check for scald marks. Neil was still dead to the world, and I swept a look over the familiar surroundings, hopeful it had all been a dream. One look in the mirror and I knew it wasn’t. Swathing myself in a fleece bathrobe helped alleviate the worst of my chills.
I stumbled toward the kitchen, hoping I’d feel a little more human after my daily caffeine fix. Kenny and Josh each occupied a barstool, chowing down on Captain Crunch. I squashed a wave of guilt at not being up in time to prepare the standard Sunday fare.
“Jeeze, Mom, who worked you over?” Josh inquired as I lost count of how many scoops I’d put in the coffee filter.
“The police and a sixty-year-old vigilante,” I said without thought. It took a few seconds for their shocked looks to register, and I winced. When was I going to learn to keep my mouth shut until after I had coffee?
The doorbell chimed. I groaned and hoped Sylvia wasn’t on the outside, tapping her foot and plotting our next antic. Sometime during my listless morning I’d come to the conclusion that Neil was right, I had to keep my nose out of the whole scenario.
But it wasn’t Sylvia.
Chapter Seven
“Good morning, Mrs. Phillips.” Detective Bradley Patterson offered a warm smile. His respectable suit was considerately less rumpled than it had been at the precinct. He looked as if he’d come from church.
I, on the other hand, sported the look favored by beggars everywhere. The sandman must have whacked me with his carry-on, because the more I scrubbed at my eyes, the grainer they felt. My wet hair had dried while I napped, and I’d suffered a severe case of bed-head. My caffeine deprived mind attempted to establish some sort of greeting, but all that came across was a wordless grunt.
The good detective simply smiled and asked if he could come in. I allowed it and gestured towards the kitchen because that was where the coffee was located.
Kenny had disappeared, but Josh played the role of man of the house by scowling over his cereal at Patterson with the consternation that only an eleven-year-old can pull off. “Is this the creep who roughed you up?”
“If it was, don’t you think I’d be pounding him into the ground right about now?” Neil emerged from the bedroom wearing some unbuttoned jeans and a scowl. “I’m still waiting for an introduction though, friend.”
I was too busy making love to my drug of choice, so Detective Patterson stretched out his hand. The introductions commenced while I inhaled the fortifying scent of my kitchen. Everyone has his or her calm and tranquil place, somewhere that empowers said person and gives a sense of harmony and confidence. My place has always been my kitchen, no matter which house we currently dwelled in. Closing my eyes and taking a deep breath allowed me to center myself and draw strength for the conversation to come. This was the closest thing I had to what Sylvia called inner peace.
“Ma’am, are you all right?”
I opened one eye on Patterson, who frowned at me with puckered eyebrows.
“She’s fine,” Neil interjected as he pulled on a shirt. “It’s her thing—she’s sniffing the kitchen.”
Detective Patterson looked even more confused. He wrinkled his nose and took a few quick breaths. “It smells okay to me, but it might be your fridge. You could try a box of baking soda.”
Neil chuckled, and I nodded at Patterson’s obliging face. “I’ll do that. Now how can I assist you, Detective?”
He assumed a much more formal pose, arms clasped behind him and shoulders squared, and I wondered idly if he’d been in the military. I looked over to Neil, who sent me a barely perceptible single nod, and had my answer.
“I owe you an apology, Mrs. Phillips. My behavior was totally out of line th
e other day, and I wanted to assure you—”
I held up a hand to stop him and glanced over at the two eager faces that were ready to bear witness at a moment’s notice. I really didn’t want them to know I’d been involved in a murder case, first with the alibi thing and then my antics with Sylvia and Annie Oakley. My mind turned at a slow, short-school-bus-type-special pace, but it was quick enough to recognize I didn’t want them to hear everything the detective was about to say.
“Neil, maybe you ought to—”
“Boys, grab your jackets. We’re heading down to the park.”
Patterson shot him a grateful smile, and while Neil herded the protesting adolescents out the door, I poured the detective a cup of coffee.
“Thank you, ma’am. You have a very nice family there, and I really didn’t want to ruin what’s left of everyone’s weekend with more unpleasantness.” Although he didn’t say it outright, I was pretty certain by his tone that he knew what I’d been up to the night before. I watched him take a sip of his coffee and smiled at the look of surprise on his face.
“Good stuff, huh?”
“Excellent, ma’am. Smells just like the 7-11 in here.”
“Well there’s a compliment.” I let the sarcasm drip from my voice, but he either didn’t notice or decided to let it go.
“As I was saying, Mrs. Phillips, I’m very sorry about our conversation the other day. You see, this case makes no sense at all, and frankly, I’m stymied at every turn.”
I blinked at him, and he gave me a knowing smirk. “What, you think that a black man don’t know a word like stymied?”
“No, actually, I was surprised that a man who would complement a housewife by comparing her kitchen to a 7-11 would know a word like stymied.”
Bradley Patterson was the one to blink this time and then burst into laughter. “No offense intended, ma’am.”
“Here either, Detective. I know the Southern accent tends to fool people at times, but I’d like to think we could get beyond the stereotypes here and be candid.”
The Misadventures of the Laundry Hag - #1 Skeletons in the Closet Page 8
