The Misadventures of the Laundry Hag (11 page)

“So, why then did Mrs. Valentino phone you when she received the package?” Feist asked. His tone implied I was hiding some sort of deep connection with the Valentino’s.

“At first, she thought I might have sent it, since part of my logo was on the box?” I didn’t mean for the words to come out like a question, but I couldn’t help it.

Neil squeezed my shoulder. “I ordered all of Maggie’s business paraphernalia from an online company. The logo was a freebie distributed for general use by the same site.

Salazar flipped open a small leather-bound notebook. “The name of the site?”

Neil rattled it off.

“What’s the name of your business, Mrs. Phillips?” Feist pinned me down with his neon blue stare. If these two were doing a good cop/ bad cop routine, I couldn’t pick out which was which.

“The Laundry Hag Cleaning Services.”

“Laundry Hag?” Salazar asked.

I shrugged. “It’s hard to forget.”

“Indeed,” Feist said. The two exchanged an unreadable look. Jeeze.

“Why did you go to the Valentino residence yesterday?” Feist asked.

“Candie sounded so upset, I urged her to call the police about the dead bird, but I figured she wasn’t thinking straight. I wanted to make sure she was okay.”

“Why didn’t you call the police, Mrs. Phillips?”

“My cell phone was out of juice and Neil had left his at Dr. Bob’s office.”

“Dr. Bob?” Salazar cocked his head to the side, studying me like an ameba under a microscope.

“Our marriage counselor,” Neil supplied. Again with the silent communication. I wanted to elbow Neil in the gut. Did the entire world need to know we were in therapy?

“So that’s why I didn’t call Detective Capri.” I finished lamely.

“What happened when you arrived at the Valentino residence?”

I retold the story, as much as I could recall anyhow. Neil kept quiet, probably so we didn’t look like a couple of stooges working from a well rehearsed routine, like our inquisitors.

“Detective Capri mentioned you have an ongoing relationship with the Hudson police force.”

Succinctly as possible, I told them about the C.I position and the events which had led up to it.

“So you took the note from the Valentinos’ home without their knowledge.” Salazar crossed his arms over his chest and waited for conformation.

“No,” I respond, but didn’t elaborate.

“No?” Feist didn’t move, but something in his demeanor changed.

Neil poked me in the middle of my back, where the special agents couldn’t see. I sighed. “I made a photocopy to bring to Detective Capri.

“Are you aware, Mrs. Phillips, that Mr. Valentino had no knowledge of the first note?”

“I have no idea how he could have missed it. I left it on the tray of his fax machine.” Unless Valentino had hidden it, like he’d attempted to hide the dead bird from the police. Why he’d lie about the note, after calling in the FBI, I couldn’t begin to guess.

“Tell us about your whereabouts this morning, Mrs. Phillips.”

His words didn’t inform as to whether I was a suspect or not, so I ran through my schedule and I realized it didn’t matter. Because of my busy life, I had an alibi for almost the entire day.

Neil sucked in an audible breath when he discovered I had been back to Dr. Bob’s, but didn’t comment. The two special agents nodded as I gave them names and contact numbers for all of the people I’d spoken with. Part of me hoped they would run down Neil’s day, too, because even if my law-abiding husband fibbed to me, he’d play straight with the feds.

“So you didn’t drive past the Valentino estate at any point today?” Special Agent Salazar had finished note-taking and looked at me. From his slightly melodic accent and dark features, I guessed he had some Arabic blood. He certainly didn’t glow in the dark like I did during a New England winter.

“No, they’re kind of out of the way. The closest I came was driving past the turnoff on my way to Wal-Mart. I wasn’t due to clean their house until Friday morning.” Neil’s grip on my shoulders tightened to near pain and I winced. “I was probably going to cancel anyhow.”

“Why?” Special Agent Feist inquired.

I thought the answer was obvious, I wanted nothing to do with whatever oddness was happening with the Valentinos, but the men waited for a reply. “I’m looking into expanding my business, taking on more work.

Salazar snorted. “In this economy? Good luck.”

A perverse part of me was delighted to have gotten a human reaction from the stalwart FBI official. The larger part asked, “Any more questions, Special Agents?”

“I think we’re done for now.” Salazar flipped his notebook closed. “We’ll be in touch.”

“Please let me know when you find her.” Too concerned with the prospect that I was “a person of interest,” my brain hadn’t registered the nightmare Candie was enduring.

Feist turned and looked at me. “We’ll be in touch.” He parroted. Neil followed them to the door.

“Shit,” I muttered. “Shit, shit, SHIT!” God, the phoenix wacko had taken Candie. Or maybe not. She might have been traumatized by the fricasseed falcon and taken off on her own. Except, according to Capri, there had been another note left with ransom instructions. Thank the Lord I’d made a copy for Capri. For some reason, Valentino hadn’t bothered to divulge that detail to the feds.

Neil returned and leaned on the counter so his face was a few inches from mine. “You went back to Dr. Bob’s.” He pointed out.

“So did you.” I retorted. Neil blinked and I hid a smile, having taken him off guard.

“Just to get my phone.” His eye contact was direct.

“I could have retrieved it for you.” I said.

“Yeah, and I would have asked you to, except you didn’t tell me you were going back there today.” He pointed out.

What was it about some men that they could spin anything to make a woman doubt her own thoughts? In one statement, he revealed that he had no reason to hide his cell phone from me and made me feel guilty about withholding the Dr. Bob visit. Damn his reasonable hide!

“So, I went back to Dr. Bob’s today.” I told him.

The corner of Neil’s mouth hiked up and laugh lines crinkled around his eyes. “Really? I had no idea.”

“I kind of hate him a little bit.” I divulged.

“He seems like an okay guy to me.” Neil extracted his now cold tuna casserole from the microwave and scraped the plate. “This stuff reeked
before
it sat for forty minutes. I’m not hungry anymore.”

“So, wanna tell me about your day?”
Please, please, please, tell me all about your day,
I silently begged.

Neil rinsed the plate and set it in the dishwasher. “Right now, I just want to go to bed. Even if it is in a camper.”

“Sorry,” It wasn’t hard to sound sincere, since I was sorry, for a multitude of reasons. Glancing at the clock, I realized it was practically Thursday. “Oh, no Leo,” I groaned

“Is he sleeping over, too?” Neil didn’t sound like he was joking.

“No, I promised him I’d look for more work, so I could hire his friend.”

“You have to stop taking in strays, Uncle Scrooge. I understand you want to save the world, but this is ridiculous.”

“I told you I’d send Marty away if you wanted—“

“I don’t want you to send him away.” I looked at Neil and he shrugged. “He’s your brother and Penny’s his, well, I don’t know what, but sort of family I suppose.” Neil took a breath and shook his head. “But this thing with Sylvia and Eric, Candie Valentino and now Leo’s friend…?”

“Richard.” I supplied.

“You don’t have to be so involved with every person you meet. I mean, I love that you are, you have a generous heart, but really Maggie, you’re….”

“What?” Dear God, was Dr. Bob right? Was I spreading myself too thin and neglecting Neil and the boys? “What do you want me to do?”

He rubbed his face with one hand, his stubble rasping against his palm. “Hell if I know. It might be nice to go a few days without a visit from the law though.”

Chapter Ten

True to his word, Neil was up before dawn. Despite my exhaustion, I had a lousy night’s sleep, partly due to the lumpy mattress in Marty’s built-in double bed. The space heater had kept the inside of the camper warm and while the small space had a worn quality to it, I was surprised by how tidy everything seemed. Towels were neatly folded in the cabinet by the bathroom; dishes were clean and stacked in a wire holder next to the mini fridge. The indoor/outdoor carpet still held tracks from a carpet sweeper. Either Marty had turned over a new leaf, or Penny was a pretty decent housekeeper.

Neil conked his head on the small doorway leading from the bedroom to the living/dining area. “Christ,” he muttered, stuffing his arms into his jacket. I could see the appeal of these things, in spite of the numerous pitfalls. Looking decidedly rugged with a day’s worth of stubble and severe bed head, I imagined touring the continental US with him, waking early to see the sunrise and then hitting the open road. I sat up, still fully clothed.

“Morning,” I greeted him. He grunted and sat down on the loveseat to lace his boots so all I could see were his denim-clad caves. I guess he hadn’t slept well either.

“Sorry, I didn’t want to wake you.”

In theory, I could have gone back to sleep, but what was the point? After flicking off the space heater, I pulled on my own coat. “Not a problem. I think I’ll go jogging after I take the kids to school.”

Neil nodded absently. “”How are they planning to keep a baby in here?”

I shrugged. “From what I can tell, Penny, like my brother, doesn’t think very far in advance.”

“When’s our next meeting with Dr. Bob?” He asked and my esophagus tightened. I’d need to tell him about the ‘homework’ soon. Lord, help me.

“Next week,” I answered.

“Just let me know when, so I can be sure to have the time set aside.”

Deciding a little deep sea fishing expedition was in order, I cleared my throat. “Wow, I’m surprised you’re picking up all this overtime. Someone I spoke to recently mentioned that Intel’s cut way back on overtime.”

I watched him closely for any reaction, a stiffening of the shoulders or a wary glance, but came up empty when he turned to the door. “I’m somewhat essential to a project the higher-ups are attempting to crank out post haste. I guess I’m exempt from the rules for the time being.”

I hurried out into the pre-dawn gloom and skidded on the frozen bottom step. Neil steadied me and gripped my arm, so another spaz-attack wouldn’t see me on my butt. I blew a lock of hair out of my eyes and dove back in. “So, you’re doing the same job as always?”

“What I do isn’t exactly like the daily grind, Uncle Scrooge. Sort of like, yesterday you were cleaning houses and today you’re…?”

“Running the kids to school, Sylvia to her utility companies and then picking up your mother for a luncheon.”

“Good one,” Neil shook his head and clomped up the stairs. I scurried in his wake, since his large form broke the wind a bit.

“I’m serious. Someone in her circle is retiring and she wants me to pick her up for a luncheon.” I lowered my voice entering our slumbering house. With no lights on, no smell of coffee, no running feet or cussing mouths, it didn’t feel like home.

Neil shut and bolted the door behind us. “And you’re going?” His tone was thick with disbelief.

“She sprung it on me and we’ve been a little harried….” My explanation rebounded off of Neil’s back. He strode toward the bathroom. I could follow him, but I was in desperate need of a caffeine fix. Plus, what was I supposed to say; his mother strong-armed me into attending and I’d been so worried my marriage was falling apart that I’d waited too long to decline?

I made a super high-octane pot of coffee and listened as the shower started.
Go on chicken, he wanted you in there yesterday.
That wasn’t my mother’s voice. I should listen anyway, since my imagination was spiraling out of control. Neil had a plausible explanation for his absences; Dr. Bob had been his suggestion, he didn’t mind the thought of me checking his phone for odd numbers—

“Odd numbers,” I murmured aloud. Neil’s keys, wallet and cell phone sat waiting patiently in the dish on the entry table, next to my purse. Extracting my phone first, I keyed in latest entries. And yup, I was right, the number I’d found at Sloan’s house was still saved in the memory bank. On impulse I hit send, assuming no one would pick up before the plumber’s butt crack of dawn, but I might glean a little something from voicemail.

“You have reached Dr. Robert Ludlum, marriage facilitator—” I squeaked and hung up the phone. I knew that number looked familiar, but I hadn’t envisioned Dr. Bob’s involvement.

To be sure, I picked up Neil’s phone and scrolled through the contact list. Sure enough, Dr. Bob was catalogued and the number matched the one I’d liberated from Sloan.

It seemed odd to me that Sloan had scribbled Dr. Bob’s number on an envelope next to the phone in the house he moved into
after
his divorce. A marriage facilitator—I struggled to wrap my head around that word choice—I’d expect Dr. Bob might have been called in before the lawyers. Sloan’s current address in heartbreak city didn’t bode well for my own marriage.