The Misadventures of the Laundry Hag: All Washed Up: (Book 3 in the Misadventures of the Laundry Hag series) (14 page)

****

 The location I had in mind was the stone bench where I’d spoken to Marty the day before. I definitely got a cell signal there and it was there I’d first felt the ghostly chill. We had to wait until after the construction crew left for the day to attempt communing with the other side. There was way too much hammering, sawing and talking to hear any voices that might try to make it through the static.

Plus, we’d probably look like idiots.

 Since our truck and most of Neil’s tools had been trashed in the accident, he too found himself with time on his hands. Leo had left us his car and ridden back to the estate with Sylvia. We’d stopped by the Sheriff’s office but Sam was out, so we drove down to a public beach by the river. Though it was still too cold for swimming, footprints in the sand indicated we weren’t the first people to spend some time there. We sat and basked in the quiet sunshine.

 “This is a nice town.” Neil pulled me close to him.

 “It’s ridiculously disturbed,” I murmured. “We fit right in.”

 He laughed and rested his chin on top of my head. “Are you really all right?”

 I considered the question from all angles. “I’m better,” I said at length.

 “Why do you think that is?”

 His tone was mild but my eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Hey there buck-o, if you’re waiting for me to say you were right, you can lump it.”

“I wouldn’t dare take credit. This isn’t at all what I had in mind, anyway.”

I turned to look up at him. “It isn’t?”

“Hell, no. Look at the two of us. We look like we’ve been tag teaming Mike Tyson.”

“Dirty,” I said.

He snickered but kept going. “No, I’m genuinely curious because you seem better, more relaxed. I think if the whole getaway had worked out the way I’d originally intended that wouldn’t be the case. You’re not turning into an adrenaline junkie on me, are you?”

“Nope, you still hold that title.” I mulled it over. “I’m good at it, the sleuthing. Finding loose threads and seeing the pattern when they all tie in together. And I can help fix them, make the picture right again.”

He absorbed my words, his gaze fixed out on the water. “Have you considered getting a criminal justice degree so you could do it professionally?”

I snorted. “No. I’m too old, too fat and too flighty.”

“You’re none of those things.”

I poked him in the ribs. “You’re supposed to be one hundred percent honest, remember?”

 He snagged my hand and held my gaze. “I am. You’re one of the most tenacious people I’ve ever known.”

“Tenacious,” I repeated. “That’s just another word for stubborn.”

 He ignored me. “And I’m not talking about the Police Academy, but how about getting your PI license?”

I sniffed indignantly. “PIs photograph cheating spouses and have suspicious stains on their shirts.”

He laughed. “You have a very interesting world view, you know that?”

 “Maybe,” I said. “Neil, it isn’t your job to find me one, okay? I’ll figure it out eventually. Just be patient with me.”

 He looked down at our entwined hands. “I’m used to solving problems.”

 “And am I a problem?” I said it without rancor but held my breath the second the question popped out.

 “You’re my solution,” he said and then he kissed me.

 Things were just getting interesting when a squeal of breaks indicated another arrival to the beach. We broke apart and looked toward the parking lot to see the sheriff climbing from his vehicle.

 “I heard the two of you were looking for me.”

 I rose and dusted off the seat of my jeans while Neil held out his hand. The two men shook. “Sheriff. We had something happen last night.”

 Both of Sam’s eyebrows rose. “After the accident?”

 Neil nodded and then explained about the boom box.

 Sam took off his hat and muttered something incomprehensible in rapid-fire Spanish. Switching back to English he said, “There’s not much I can do now, other than have patrols drive past your property for a few nights, see if we can catch someone in the act. Even if it is a prank, there’s still the matter of breaking and entering and destruction of private property. If anything else happens contact me immediately.” He took a business card from his shirt pocket and handed it over.

 “Sheriff.” I reached for his arm when he turned back toward his vehicle. With all the excitement, high-octane emotion, and orgasmic pie, I’d forgotten to ask Alex. “Do you know anything about Aileene Grant’s death?”

 “Who?”

 “Aileene Grant, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Grant. They work for the Greys.”

 Sam shook his head. “Sorry, never heard of her.”

 “Do me a favor and ask Alex to call me when she gets a chance. I meant to ask her about it earlier.

 Sam smiled. “Will do. You two stay safe.”

 I sighed as we watched him walk away. “Why do people keep saying that to me?”

 “It’s a mystery.” Neil draped an arm over my shoulder.

 Leo had given us a shopping list for the local hardware store. While Neil browsed the assortment of screws, nuts and whatnot, I introduced myself to Granny Johansson. The Johanssons owned the place and she oversaw its operation from the wooden rocker out front to make sure her “no-good son-in-law knew a pipe wrench from his pecker.” Her words, not mine

 After a few moments chatting, I casually brought the Grant name into the conversation.

“Oh, that’s who you remind me of.” Granny Johansson leaned back in her rocker and assessed me with a shrewd eye. “Are you related to them then?”

“I’m not sure.” It wasn’t a lie. I knew little enough about my ancestry that it was entirely possible, however unlikely, that I was related to the Grants. Deciding to play the part of interested relation, I probed for information. “How long have they been here?”

Detective Capri had once told me it was important to start out an interrogation by asking a few questions she already had the answers to, for two reasons. 1.) To gauge the suspect’s physiological tells, and 2.) To determine whether or not he would lie to you right off the bat. Not that I planned on interrogating Granny Johansson, but the technique fit the situation.

“Since the sixties. They originally bought and remodeled the lock house, you know.”

I blinked, surprised. “That’s the first I’ve heard of it. When did they sell it to the Greys?” And why? Somehow I doubted their relocation was because of the avocado bathroom fixtures

“Let’s see.” My companion’s gaze went unfocused and she stared past me the way someone does when trundling through the archives of memory. It must have worked because a moment later the rocking stopped and she smiled up at me. “Well, I remember. It was the fall of 1991.”

That meant they’d lived on the property for almost three decades. “Isn’t it odd they didn’t say anything to me about having owned the place when we stopped by to visit them?”

Granny Johansson’s face fell. “Not at all, dear heart. It was right before their daughter was murdered.”

Chapter Fourteen

“Murder? Here?” Leo practically capered in front of the stove when I told him the news of a three decades old homicide.

We were holed up in the kitchen, which was the last untouched holdout in the total facelift to the property. The rest of the place was chaos. Half finished, mangled chaos. The workmen had left for the day and both Neil and Sylvia were catnapping in preparation for the upcoming séance.

“An
unsolved
murder.” I took a sip from the water bottle I’d snagged from the fridge. “Tell me that doesn’t sound like the kind of thing that would lead to a ghost.”

Leo twirled the spatula and then attacked the onions and garlic in the frying pan with relish. “Oh, those poor people.”

“You sound really broken up about it.” My tone was dry.

He waved a dismissive hand at me and then added breaded slices of eggplant to the sizzling mixture. “You know what I mean. Make yourself useful and grate some fresh parmesan for me.”

“I’m supposed to be on vacation,” I groused. “You can’t have it both ways, you know. Besides, I’m injured.” I held up my stitched mitt.

He winced. “Sorry, I forgot.”

I rose and retrieved the grater and the block of hard cheese. “It’s okay, I have another hand. What are you making, anyway?”

“Eggplant parmesan.”

“Sylvia won’t eat it,” I warned as I fumbled with the cheese wrapper.

Leo took the block from me, sliced the plastic end with a paring knife, then handed me the naked cheese. “She doesn’t eat anything cooked. Berries, nuts, organic produce and all of it raw, no dairy, no complex carbs other than beans. There are only so many things you can do with a bean, my girl.” He wore a pained expression. For a gourmet like Leo, Sylvia’s vegan lifestyle was sacrilegious.

“We should all eat like that, naturally. It’s very healthy.” Grating the cheese was a challenge, but I managed to brace the grater between my knees and use my good hand to rub over the serrated portion. More cheese wound up in my lap than in the dish, but I’d proven my point.

Though I wasn’t sure I had one beyond refusing to let the cheese win. What had Neil called me? Tenacious. The thought made me smile

“Blasphemy.” Leo whisked the cheese away and did his magic. “And who do you think you’re fooling? You wouldn’t last a week.”

“I would if I looked like Sylvia at the end of it.”

Leo eyed me critically as he flipped the eggplant. “Honey, it would take more than a few fruits and nuts to pull that off.”

“Well I guess I’m nuts, since you’re already the fruit.” I threw a dishrag at him.

“Low blow, laundry hag.” He snapped the dishtowel at me. “Although I can’t fault your observation skills on either count.”

“Speaking of which, what do you think the chances are that the murdered Aileene Grant is the ghost that’s been following me around, trying to get my attention?”

“Considering you also look like her daughter? Pretty damn good. That’s not the question though.”

 “It’s not?” I said at the same time a sleepy-eyed Neil asked, “What question?”

 He sat down in the chair next to mine and picked something out of my hair, something that turned out to be a stray piece of cheese. One eyebrow went up in inquiry.

“Parmesan cheese. Leo made me help.”

He nodded and popped the cheese into his mouth. I cringed.

 Leo rolled his eyes. “You two are like primates, you know? Social grooming and eating the little bitty bugs and whatnot.”

Neil shrugged. “Everyone has to have a hobby. What were you two talking about?”

“Leo was just telling me that the ghost’s identity isn’t as important as finding out who killed her.” I looked to my friend. “At least I think that’s what he was driving at.”

“Nope.” Leo wore a small smile as he added fresh herbs to his red sauce. “The most important question is, what does the ghost want with you?”

“You don’t think that’s the same thing?” Neil got up and went to inspect the contents of the fridge.

 I worried another hangnail. “It could be, but Leo’s right. This is, by its very definition, a cold case. If the police haven’t found the killer by now, what are the chances that I could twenty two years later?”

“That
we
could.” Neil popped open a soda and saluted me with it. “Remember our deal?”

“Of course. I’m injured, not senile.”

“You did take a blow to the head earlier,” Leo pointed out.

I glared at him. “Hush you, or I’ll call my mother-in-law and tell her what changes you made to the master suit,
against
her specific instructions.”

“Everyone wants his and her sinks.”

“Not at the price of a linen closet. Where are the towels going to go?”

“On the heated towel racks, of course.” He looked at me as though I really had gone nuts.

Maybe so. “Most people have more than two towels, Leo. And what about sheets, huh? Did you think about the sheets in your power trippy home design scheme?”

“Guys,” Neil said. “Let’s try to stay focused here, okay?”

His interruption gave me the time needed to withdraw enough to see the scene from his perspective. Leo stood with his hands fisted on his narrow hips and glared at me. I’d unconsciously mirrored the pose. Too little sleep, too many nasty surprises made for a crabby laundry hag. “Okay. I’m sorry for being a lunatic, Leo.”

His posture relaxed too. “I’m sorry too. I’ve been…tense.” He turned back to his eggplant.

“Come on, Uncle Scrooge. You need to rest.” Neil drained his soda can and wrapped an arm around my shoulder. He led me down the hall and back into the bedroom. The construction crew had been busy. The damaged wall was gone, replaced by freshly spackled sheetrock. Our bed was still out on the deck though, for which I was grateful.

 “I don’t want to sleep,” I whined like a recalcitrant toddler. Sheesh, that was attractive. I cleared my throat and retrenched. “If I go to sleep now only to wake up in an hour for this ghost hunt, I won’t be able to sleep tonight.”

 “Good,” Neil said. And he kissed me.

 The cool night air made me shiver and instinctively I moved closer to his heat. He was hungry for me, almost as hungry as I was for him, and it didn’t take either of us long to shed our inhibitions and our clothes and get down to business.

 “So that’s rest?” I panted, an untold amount of time later.

 “Not from where I was standing.” Neil drew me closer into his side and tugged the sleeping bag up over us. The stars were just starting to come out and some yahoo hollered from the other side of the river.

 “I missed this.” The words eased from me, ready to greet the open air and impart all. “Missed you.”

 “Could have fooled me.” His tone was light, casual, but I sensed the fathomless well of hurt there. I’d been pushing him away for weeks and even a confident superhero sort like Neil had to feel the sting of constant rejection.

 “I wanted to Neil…I just couldn’t.” As clarifications went, it was incredibly half-assed.

 “That’s incredibly half-assed,” Neil said. “If you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine.”

I didn’t, but he deserved an explanation. How could I explain something I didn’t fully understand myself? The moon filtered through the trees but there was enough light to see shapes. I held up a hand, the one with the stitches. “What do you see when you look at this?”

“Your hands?” He sounded dubious, like he expected a trap.

“Remember, you promised to be honest.”

He laced his fingers carefully through mine and then brought both hands down to his mouth to press his warm, soft lips to my knuckles. “Do you really want to know?”

Crap, I didn’t like the sound of that. But really, what could he say that I hadn’t already thought myself a hundred times? “Yes.”

“I see my failure.”

“What?” The word came out as a hoarse croak.

He swallowed hard, but didn’t turn away. “You just take it all on, whatever life throws your way. I guess I started to think of you as indestructible.”

I would have snorted if I hadn’t been stunned into petrifaction.

“You’ve always adapted, just put your head down and charged through whatever obstacle was in your path. Not because it was your job, or because someone ordered you to do it, but because you believed it was the right thing to do. And you have to understand, that after the things I’ve seen, it comforted me to know you were so capable, so on top of it all. I never thought anything could touch you.

“A few loose cannons running around a small town don’t seem like much of a threat compared to Al Qaeda. After all, there were police and FBI and all sorts of official people on the case. To me, the stuff going on at home was just…not as big. And you never asked me to help you, and I thought, okay, she knows what she’s doing, I should stand aside and let her do her thing. I’m trained to deal with killers and I did
nothing
. I left it up to other people, to you. And then you got hurt. Twice, in a matter of months, and now you’re scarred for life.”

Air moved in and out of my lungs, but everything else remained frozen.

“I was so damn scared, Maggie.” A single tear glistened in the moonlight, the overflow of emotion too much for his big body to contain for another second. He shook from head to toe, his hands clenched into tight balls. “What the hell was the point of it all, everything I trained for, everything I’ve been through, if I can’t protect my own wife?”

My mouth had gone dry. I licked my lips but didn’t know what to say. My inner critic didn’t have that problem.
Selfish, stupid Maggie, so busy having your own freaking breakdown that you didn’t even notice what was going on with your man.

“I’m sorry,” I said, because I was sorry for so many things. Some were my fault, others weren’t, but that didn’t stop me from regretting the toll it’d taken on both of us.

He rubbed a hand over his face. “So am I.”

Touching him was easy now, easier than finding the right words. I laid my head on his chest and listened to the reassuring beat of his heart.

He lay stiff for a moment, but then relaxed into me with that melting sensation that comes from being completely at ease with another person. We’d fought hard to find that peace with each other, too hard to let it go without an equally vicious struggle.

Earlier, I’d been both surprised and irritated that Neil wanted me to pursue law enforcement. The suggestion had seemed to come out of left field. But knowing what I did now, it hadn’t been a random idea on his part. He wanted me trained, prepared to take down the bad guys if I was going to continue to tussle with them.

“It’s too much for either of us alone,” I murmured. “But that’s why we have each other, to lean on, right?”

He smoothed my hair back from my face and sighed. “Right you are, Uncle Scrooge.”

Another long stretch of silence.

“I can’t believe you thought I was indestructible,” I said. “I’m a neurotic mess.”

He kissed the top of my head. “In case you haven’t noticed, so am I.”