Steamed (A Maid in LA Mystery)

by Holly Jacobs

  I was right, her house wasn’t just neat as a pin, it was obvious that she cleaned it thoroughly on a regular basis. I felt bad for her, so I threw in a few extra services like cleaning the windows of her small bungalow.

  I hate cleaning windows.

  When I’d finished, I asked, “Could I make something? Tea? A sandwich?”

  “You don’t have to—”

  “I’m a mom. This is what I do,” I joked, hoping she’d relax and let me do something for her. I didn’t have to really talk to her to know that she wasn’t the one who’d killed Mr. Banning. She loved him. She was going to marry him—at least she thought they were going to marry. Whether or not they were didn’t matter. Whether he was the slime-ball I’d thought he was, or he was becoming a better man because of Cassandra didn’t matter. She was in pain. She was broken up because of his death.

  And suddenly I didn’t see Mr. Banning as a dead client, or a blackmailer, or a louse of a father, or a cheating husband.

  I saw him through Cassandra’s eyes, and he was someone who had been loved.

  I guess that was enough of an epitaph for anyone.

  “Please, let me do something.” I wanted to do something to soothe her.

  She shot me a week smile. “You just cleaned my house.”

  “Something more than that,” I insisted.

  “A cup of tea would be nice.”

  I went to her kitchen and made myself at home, making us both a cup. “I know it’s cheeky, but even though we don’t know each other, I think you could use someone to talk to. Tell me about the man you love.”

  “Loved,” she said sadly. “He’s gone and…” She hiccupped and took a sip of her tea. “Steve wasn’t a saint. Don’t think I don’t know that about him. He was imperfect. He’d made some horrible decisions in the past and done things that hurt other people. But I loved him. And he loved me.”

  “Knowing he wasn’t perfect and loving him despite it, or because of it, well, that says something. What did Steve…was it?” She nodded and sniffled. “What did Steve do?”

  “He was a writer. He won a Mortie, you know.”

  I did know, but I didn’t want her to know I knew. “He must have been good.”

  “He was. He’d had a bit of a rough patch. He’d been looking for some inspiration. He’d found it at a local bar. He wrote this marvelous script. Hanky Panky. He said it was Cheers meets Arsenic and Old Lace.”

  “It sounds wonderful,” I said.

  “It was. He was convinced someone would snap it up, and then he’d have a second Mortie.”

  “I’m sure he would have.”

  She took a small sip of her tea. Her eyes got all glassy and she murmured, “I loved watching him work through his process. He’d leave every day and head to this bar, he said it was his muse. Most women wouldn’t like that, but he didn’t drink anything stronger than coffee. He’d take his gaudy laptop and sit at a booth and write all day. He tipped well, so no one at the bar minded. He said the bartender was his inspiration for the main character.” She took another sip and her eyes were shining with unshed tears. “I guess the guy’s a real piece of work. He hits on every woman who walks in the dive and doesn’t score with any of them.”

  She cried again. “Like I said, Steve wasn’t perfect. He was talented as all get out, and he was perfect for me. He told me his two other marriages were just warm up for me. That was enough.”

  “That was all the perfect he needed,” I assured her.

  “I saw him the night he died. We’d had a few friends over, and after they left I washed the dishes.” She smiled, despite her tears, and I knew exactly who the underwear belonged to.

  Cassandra hadn’t killed him in a fit of jealousy. She’d left her underwear at the house of the man she loved.

  I looked at this woman who was mourning Mr. Banning’s death.

  I wanted to find out who murdered him for my own sake and for Tiny’s. And suddenly, I wanted to find out who murdered Mr. Banning for Cassandra, too.

  Steve Banning wasn’t perfect. But he was perfect for Cassandra Yu.

  That was a better legacy than any Mortie.

  I headed home—another person crossed off my murder list.

  I was getting good at eliminating suspects, but nearly as good at figuring out who did it.

  I pulled in my driveway.

  Another car came right in behind me, blocking me in.

  “Hello, Detective. It’s so nice to see you. Can I help you with something?”

  “You can. You can help me by staying away from my investigation. I keep asking you to. You’re not obliging.” He stepped right up to me. “What were you doing at Cassandra Yu’s house?”

  Seriously, tomorrow I was checking my car for some kind of tracking device. The man had an uncanny ability to find out where I’d been.

  “Wow, that wasn’t a very nice greeting.” I stepped around him and headed onto the porch and put my key in the lock. “Try something like, Why Quincy, don’t you look ravishing today in your black slacks and white blouse. I think modern maid outfits are quite as sexy as the old-fashioned French maid ones.”

  He glared, so I added an “Oo la la,” for good measure, then I walked into the house and for a moment thought about closing the door on Cal. It would make him nuts, which would be very satisfying. But probably not wise.

  There was a saying about don’t poke the bear.

  A vein throbbed in his forehead in such a way that I didn’t think annoying him any more than he already was would be wise.

  “Come in if you like.”

  “You cleaned?” he asked from the doorway, as if nervous about stepping over the threshold.

  “A bit. I’ve been too busy to do a proper job of it, but I’ll get to it.” After I find out who killed Mr. Banning.

  He took the step and entered my house. “So, what were you doing at Cassandra Yu’s?” he asked as he looked around.

  “Would you believe she won a free cleaning, too?” I tried, then headed into the living room, trusting he’d follow.

  He did. “No.”

  “Well, you’d be wrong. She did win a free spruce-up service from Mac’Cleaner’s. It’s a great promotion for drumming up new business.”

  “And can you tell me how her name got in the drawing for this marvelous prize?” He took a seat on the couch, not waiting for me to invite him to do so. That was sort of rude.

  I gave him my best mom glare and then answered as primly as I possibly could, “I couldn’t say.”

  I remained standing.

  He must have figured out I wasn’t going to sit down because he stood back up and asked in a low, dangerous sounding voice, “Can you tell me how many entries you had in this amazing promotional drawing of yours?”

  “I’m sure I couldn’t.” I couldn’t mainly because telling him only one would annoy him. That vein was bulging and pulsing so fiercely I was afraid the man was going to have a heart attack.

  “I know CPR,” I said out loud.

  “Okay, why does that have anything to do with anything?” The vein stopped throbbing and he went back to looking at me like I was nuts.

  That was better than looking at me like he was considering arresting me for obstruction.

  “I love the word apoplexy. It’s sort of nondescript. A stroke. A heart attack. Something that makes you pass out. Well, you look apoplectic. I told you I knew CPR in an effort to be nice and assure you that if you go down, I’ll do my best to revive you.” He looked somewhere between apoplectic and annoyed. “Can I get you something to drink?” I threw in for good measure.

  “You can get me some answers.” Slowly, as if speaking to a not very bright child, he said, “What. Were. You. Doing. At. Cassandra. Yu’s. House?”

  “Cleaning. It. I’m. A. Maid. A. Good. One.” I answered using the same cadence that he’d used.

  His face flushed. The vein pulsed.

  I flexed my wrists, warming them up for my upcoming test of CPR.

  He took
a step toward me.

  Maybe he wanted me to catch him.

  He took another step.

  I braced myself.

  He reached out for me, probably to lean on me as he collapsed in his apoplectic fit.

  I reached out to catch him.

  Rather than fall on me, he pulled me into his arms and kissed me.

  On. The. Lips.

  I leaned into him and wrapped my arms around him. I was ready to whisper oh-yes, when he whispered, “You’re driving me nuts.”

  Now, it might have been a long time since I stood in the middle of my living room kissing a man, but I knew that there were much better endearments he could have whispered. My first impulse was to kick him in the shins, but since I preach nonviolence to the boys whose first impulse seems to be pummeling each other on a regular basis, I didn’t.

  It was a near thing.

  Instead, I unwrapped my arms, and pushed against his…rock hard chest.

  It was like pushing against a brick wall, if the brick wall in question was all warm and solid and made your knees go a bit mushy.

  “What was that for?” he asked.

  “Figure it out.”

  Just then my doorbell rang. I was thankful for the distraction. Because if Cal had figured out a better endearment, there was every reason to think I’d have disregarded the fact he was investigating me for murder and taken him up to my room—which unlike the boys’ rooms was clean—and say oh-yes, then have my way with him.

  The doorbell was like a mini glass of water in the face. It reminded me that I definitely should not take Cal up to my room.

  I opened the door and found my mother.

  She wasn’t just a mini glass of cold water.

  She was a tsunami.

  Chapter Eight

  “Mother,” I managed to spit out. “What are you doing here?”

  She breezed into my house and kissed my cheek as if her dropping in unannounced was an every day occurrence.

  It wasn’t.

  “I came to see you, of course. Your father will be along in a moment. He’s parking the car, since the other spot in the drive is taken.” She looked at me and I knew she was asking who had the audacity to park in the spot she wanted.

  Before I could say anything, Cal came into the foyer and said, “Ma’am, Detective Caleb Parker.”

  “Doctor Judith Quincy Mac.” My mother offered her hand in a regal-queen-offering-a-hand-to-a-peasant sort of way. “And you know our Quincy how?”

  I waited for him to tell my mother that he’d met me at a crime scene. That he was investigating me as a murder suspect. That he was here to threaten and arrest me for obstruction of justice.

  He didn’t tell my mother any of that. He said, “We’re seeing each other.”

  I choked.

  He laughed. “Quincy’s still getting used to the idea. We’d just shared our first kiss when the doorbell rang.”

  Choking. Trying to catch my breath. I couldn’t manage it. There was no air left in the room as my mother and Cal stared at each other. I clawed at my throat, but I still couldn’t breathe.

  “Quincy,” my mother said sharply, scolding me with just my name.

  I couldn’t decide if she was scolding me for being crass about my death throes, or if she was scolding me because Cal said we were kissing.

  Either way, her tone snapped me out of my oxygen-less state. I drew a deep breath and informed her, “I am not seeing him in any way other than my eyes register his presence. We are not dating, and that kiss he referred to wasn’t a kiss at all. He was apoplectic. I was trying to catch him and help him to the floor in order to perform CPR. I thought I’d finally be able to use the training you forced on me.”

  My mother shook her head and her perfectly coiffed grey-streaked hair didn’t move an inch. “Quincy, you are no longer a teenager who has to hide her dalliances from her parents. You’re a grown woman, and you have needs. I understand that. I’m just happy you’re satisfying them with a respectable man. Law enforcement is a noble career.”

  “Hear that, Quincy?” Cal asked with an annoyingly huge smile. “I’m noble.”

  “You’re a pain in my as—”

  “Quincy, there is no need for vulgar language, young lady.”

  My mother had scolded me, called me vulgar and talked about my needs and satisfying them all within minutes of coming into the house.

  We hadn’t moved beyond the foyer.

  Here’s the thing. I’m thirty-eight. I’m a business owner. I’m the single mother of three teenaged boys. I am a confident, capable woman.

  And minutes after my mother walks into a house, I revert to an unsure, teenaged basket case.

  There was a light rap on the door and my father walked in. “Quincy, light of my life.”

  I ran over and hugged my dad. He whispered in my ear, “How are you, sunshine?”

  “Good, Dad. Very good.”

  He nodded as he released me. Then he spotted Cal. “And this is?”

  “Dad, this is Detective Caleb Parker. Cal, this is my father, Dr. Martin Mac.” And before Cal could say anything outrageous, I added, “Cal and I aren’t dating, and we weren’t kissing. He’s been filling Mother’s head with lies. I think you should have a look at him. He was apoplectic. I thought he was going to pass out so I was trying to give him CPR when his heart or brain or whatever exploded. His lips just fell on mine as he fell.”

  I had officially used the word apoplectic more than any regency novel ever had, but that last sentence was beyond redundant. I knew it. And I could see that my mother had realized it, too. I waited for her to point it out.

  She ignored the redundancy and instead said, “Quincy, apoplectic is not a medical condition.”

  “I am not a medical practitioner, so I can use whatever term I want.” Truth is, I loved the word. I’m not sure what book I read it in when I was just a kid, but it stuck. I didn’t get a chance to use it often, so when I could trot it out I did.

  My mother hated the word as much as I loved it.

  That about summed up my relationship with my mother. Polar opposites.

  “Sir, we are dating,” Cal said all properly and coppishly respectful. “We’ve been out to dinner. That’s a date, if ever I heard of one. And now, I’ve met her parents. Our relationship is moving fast.” He shot them a charming smile.

  I gave in to my baser instincts. I kicked him. I told myself the boys weren’t here, so they’d never know. Parents should be allowed to have some secrets from their kids.

  “Quincy,” my mother reprimanded.

  Cal grinned. “Since you both are visiting would you consider letting me take you all to dinner tonight? My friend has a restaurant with some of the best food in the world.” Before I could protest he added, “I could call him and ask him to make us my favorite. Gnocchi and cheese. It’s like macaroni and cheese, only better. I’m pretty sure there’s at least ten thousand calories in it. It practically melts in your mouth.”

  I wanted to be strong and say no. I was working at dissolving my baby pooch by sucking it in whenever I remembered and calling it an ab workout. A ten thousand calorie meal wouldn’t help with that. Plus, I didn’t want Cal and my parents sitting together for a dinner.

  But goodness help me, I did want some of Big G’s gnocchi and cheese.

  I was saved from admitting that I could be bought for gnocchi by my mother saying, “We’d be delighted, Caleb.”

  “Cal, ma’am.”

  “Then I’m Judith, Cal.”

  He chatted for a few minutes with my parents and then promised to come pick us up at six as he left.

  “What a nice man,” my mother said.

  My father nodded.

  I glared. “He is not nice.”

  “Then why are you seeing him?” she asked.

  “I’m not.” I was going to tell them about Mr. Banning, so I thought fast and said, “We did go out, but I’m just not into him as anything more than a friend.”

  There that sou
nded nice, generous even.

  “I don’t think he sees you as a friend at all,” my father said, laughing.

  No, he saw me as a suspect. As someone who was obstructing his investigation.

  And apparently, he saw me as a dinner date.

  Knowing I wasn’t going to get anywhere discussing Cal with my parents, I changed the subject. “So what brings you both to town?”

  And before they answered, I had my next two questions formulated. How long are you staying, and where are you staying.

  “Don’t worry,” my mother said. “We’re not staying here. Your father’s got a conference at The Shelby and we’ve got a suite.”

  “I wish you would have let me know you were coming. I’d have taken some time off.”

  My mother laughed. “No you wouldn’t have. You’d have found some excuse not to see us. Over the years, we’ve learned surprising you is our best bet.”

  “Mother, I love you both—”

  “Oh, sweetie, we know you do. You just don’t always enjoy spending time with us. But we’re family, so that means you have to.” She smiled and then added, “And I should let you know that your brothers and sisters-in-law are attending the same conference. We’re all getting together tomorrow night to see your father get his award.”

  Awards made me think of Mr. Banning and his blood stained Mortie.

  My mother gave me her resolute look. I knew I was not only going to dinner tonight with my parents and Cal, I was going to an award banquet tomorrow night.

  And somewhere in the midst of all that, I still had to find out, who killed Mr. Banning.

  A few hours later, Big G hurried to the door as we arrived. “Cal, Quincy and Mr. and Mrs. Mac. Welcome to my restaurant. I have a table all set up for you.”

  He sat us in a quiet corner. “And I hope you don’t think I’m overstepping, but I decanted the wine for you.”

  My father tasted the wine with practiced ease and proclaimed it delicious. “We’re thinking about heading to Napa after the conference. Judith and I make regular trips to the wineries near our house.”

  “Where do you live?” Big G asked.

  “Erie, Pennsylvania, right on the lake,” my father informed him with pride. My father loved my hometown and it showed in his voice.