The Misadventures of the Laundry Hag (13 page)

I blinked repeatedly and Laura frowned at me. “What are you wearing? And why do you look like you’re about to cry?”

“Go easy on her boss lady. Our Laundry Hag looks like she was ridden hard and put away wet.”

Laura’s nostrils flared and I swore I saw smoke. “Oh honestly, Leopold! Could you be any more vulgar?”

“It’d take some doing.” Leo murmured and tossed me a wink before exiting the room. My smile was wan as I faced my doom.

“You look lovely, Laura, and I’m fine really, just my allergies acting up.” I didn’t let her comment about my wardrobe bother me—it wasn’t even a blip on the radar at the moment.

Laura shot me stink-eye for a moment then presented her back and called out. “Leopold, we’re leaving now. If anyone from the office telephones, forward the call to my mobile phone.”

“Will do, Mrs. P,” Leo hollered from the kitchen. “You took a full day off?” I marveled as Laura slid her arms into her wool coat. She shooed me outside and shut the door. “And why shouldn’t I? There is more to life than work, dear.”

Missing a step, I caught myself on the iron hand rail and glanced around, nervously watched the sky for the four horsemen of the apocalypse. Good thing I wasn’t in heels, I might have broken my neck.

Laura frowned at my display and then shook her head. “Really Margaret, you need to pay attention.”

Nodding, I remoted my Mini open and bit my tongue. This was shaping up to be a long afternoon.

Laura gave me directions with the efficiency of a drill sergeant and soon we were idling in Boston lunchtime traffic. I wracked my brain for some benign topic, but Laura had her own agenda.

“Neil mentioned that the two of you were in therapy.”

I gagged on my own saliva. “Well…um…that is—” Former SEAL or not, I was going to beat him to a quivering pulp. “Really dear, you don’t have to be so ashamed. Many a strong marriage has required an intervention at some point.” “My marriage doesn’t need an intervention—” I protested but Laura wasn’t finished.

“After all, men and women think differently, experience the world differently, so it’s perfectly acceptable to call in a trained professional for interpretation. I hope you checked out the woman’s credentials though. Lots of these so called “therapists” are nothing but hacks who’ve invested fifty dollars to print up an online degree. A classical education is best.”

“He’s a PH.D and Neil did the research, so—”

“Really Maggie, you rely on my son too much. While Neil is perfectly capable, you should take some pride and accomplish things for yourself. Set a positive example for Kenny and Josh; teach them to value strong, smart women so they will….”

Laura droned on and on and
on
, while I concentrated on the ancient rusted-out Volvo in front of us. The damn thing was practically held together by bumper stickers, both political and irreverent. My favorite was
fat people are harder to kidnap
. I laughed out loud, and started to cry, imagining poor Candie Valentino. Was she all right? I sobbed as my brain presented all sorts of grotesque possibilities.

“For heaven’s sakes, what’s the matter with you today? One might think you were—” Laura snapped her teeth together with an audible click.

I sniffled and reached for the pack of tissues in my cup holder. “What were you about to say?”

Laura shook her head, her champion poker face firmly in place. The drive progressed in silence.

* * * *

“And without further delay, I give you the woman of the hour.” The speaker clapped as she stepped away from the podium. Having never been to a retirement luncheon before, I’d entered the posh hotel conference room clueless, but education was quick to slap me upside the head. We sat at a table near the dais, front and center with a clear view of the women on the stage. The gathering wasn’t a ladies who do lunch affair, it was a feminist rally, each speaker driving home the point that a woman could and should do anything.

Except pee standing up.
I thought to myself, but having no cronies with me, I contained my snark and tried to look engrossed in what the speaker said. The guest of honor was probably in her late sixties with diamond ice chips for eyes, and had an impressive resume. A self-made millionaire, who’d gone to college on a full academic scholarship—one of the first females to do so—and she’d amassed several rallies for equal rights during her tenure. In her spare moments, she’d studied political science and had been of critical importance to the Massachusetts state government. Unfortunately, all of her time moving in political circles had rubbed off and she pontificated for what seemed like hours. While I admired her accomplishments, I wished I could admire them from a greater distance.

Surreptitiously, I glanced at Laura, who’d introduced me as “my daughter-inlaw who runs her own business,” to everyone we’d hobnobbed with. If anyone asked for further details, which few of them did, Laura made some vague reply and changed the subject. Her gaze was locked on the woman at the podium, and I puzzled over her. Obviously, Laura wanted to hide my cleaning lady status. She’d never approved of my desire to be home for the boys, but despite the progressive message of the afternoon, I knew most of the women in this room hired people just like me to take care of the nitty-gritty, be it answering phones, doing the laundry or scrubbing their porcelain thrones. So why had she forced me to come to this event? It didn’t make sense, but I planned on hashing it out with her on the ride home.

The speaker took a breath and my cell phone went off. Laura glared at me as
I’m Too Sexy
resounded in the lull.

“’Scuse me,” I smiled at the speaker and scooted for the exited. The phony expression fell away as soon as I was in the clear and I flipped the phone open. “Great timing Neil,” I said, letting the sarcasm drip.

“Did I pull you away from something riveting?” I could hear the smile in his voice and my heart stuttered.

“How’s your day going?” I asked, hoping he’d reveal what had gone on after he left.

“A cesspool of stupidity, and that’s being kind. Sweet Jesus, I sound like my mother.” Mock horror drifted through the phone.

I laughed, since I’d thought the same thing. “You still want to meet up for dinner tonight?”

“It’ll have to be late, if that’s okay. We have union engineers coming in and they have very specific hours, which we non-union plebes need to work around.”

“How late is late?” I asked as my eyelids slid down. So damn tired.

“I was thinking eight. You decide where you wanna go?”

“How about that pub we went to after we moved here, you know with Sylvie and—” I swallowed, attempting not to choke on the memory.

If Neil picked up on my mood, he didn’t say anything. “Okay, I’ll meet you there at eight. Oh, I meant to ask, any word on Candie Valentino?”

“Detective Capri won’t return my calls and I’d rather be filleted than traipse into the Hudson police station without a reason. Besides, it’s not like I’m in the inner circle when it comes to the Valentinos. No matter how worried I am about Candie, it really isn’t any of my business.” Wow, I almost believed the words I’d spoken.

Neil didn’t call me on my fib. “I gotta go now, Uncle Scrooge. I’ll see ya at eight.”

I closed the phone and opened my eyes. A woman was staring at me from the alcove by the restrooms. I wondered if I’d been talking loudly, having never quite mastered a proper indoor voice. Dressed in a form-fitting pinstriped business suit, I guessed she was another escapee from the luncheon; she appeared to belong with the
women who move mountains
society but we hadn’t been introduced. Her ash blonde hair was coiled in an intricate rope at the nape of her neck and she appeared to have the grace to manage heels and ice at the same time. I smiled at her, but she continued to stare.

I checked the time on my cell phone and wondered if I should wait out here.

“Excuse me?” The business blonde approached me. This close, I could smell Shalimar perfume and a tinge of worried sweat. “Did you say something about Candie Valentino?”

“Do you know her?” I asked. Yup, definitely needed to work on my volume control.

“I’m Amelia Kettering. Candie was my roommate in college, but I haven’t seen her in years.” Amelia spoke with the same subtle drawl as Candie so I could believe they were both from Texas.

“Maggie Phillips,” I extended a hand which Amelia shook firmly. “I was Mrs. Valentino’s cleaning service,” I answered, unsure of whether I’d be asked back and if I’d go after a kidnapping.

“Wait, Candie’s living
here
?” her brown eyes seemed a little too big for her sockets.

I nodded. “They moved to Hudson a few months ago.” I remembered how alone Candie seemed, flitting about the big house, always glad to see me. After witnessing the interaction with Markus, I gathered she was starved for company. Here she had a friend less than an hour away. “She never called you?”

Amelia shook her head, every hair lacquered severely in place. “No, I had no idea. I haven’t seen her since before her she was married.” A far off look stole over her features.

I wanted to know why Amelia hadn’t been invited to the wedding, but didn’t want to appear rude. “Were the two of you close?”

“Very, until she met Markus anyway.” Bitterness tinged her words. “She didn’t have time for anyone but him, he saw to that.” Amelia shook her head. “How is she?”

The doors to the conference room opened and a herd of women appeared, stampeding for the restrooms. I glanced at Amelia, wondering what protocol dictated in this situation. Should I tell her Candie was missing, presumed kidnapped? If Amelia was anything like me, she might shriek or pass out.

“Um, maybe you want to call Markus.” I suggested, but Amelia shook her head.

“He made it plain that I was to have no contact with either of them; he didn’t want word of our relationship to get out.”

Laura pushed her way through the crowd, searching for me, a black scowl firmly in place. I estimated about seven seconds until she bore down on us. “Relationship?” I prodded.

Amelia met my gaze. “Candie and I were lovers.”

Chapter Twelve

“So Ms…Sampson, is it?” Alan Garner, department head of staffing and personnel for Safari Power Solutions, looked up from the clipboard he held between us like a protective shield. His baby-fine blond hair was neatly combed back against his skull and his slight frame trembled. He reached for a set of horn-rimmed glasses on his tiny desk. “Tell me why I should hire you.”

I smiled, doing my best to radiate confidence. “Well, I’m prompt, thorough and discreet and my team is handpicked and totally flexible.” My peripheral vision zoomed in on Richard Head as he squirmed in his seat. Leo’s love interest was dressed in a crisp black shirt and tan trousers with a perfect crease on each pant leg. A bit much for a cleaning interview, but at least he didn’t look like a slob.

“My rates are reasonable and I pride myself on a job well done.” I continued, wondering why I was here. Job interviews were not my forte, and groveling to clean a bunch of corporate bathroom stalls seemed utterly pathetic. And what exactly had I been thinking when I’d used my maiden name? Sampsons’ Cleaning Services sounded decent, even if it was no Laundry Hag, and with Marty on board, it was even accurate. Possibly, I was afraid that Lucas Sloan—who still hadn’t paid me—might be somehow involved in the hiring process. Or maybe I was hiding from Markus Valentino, CEO of this and several other companies because Laundry Hag would ring a bell with him. And no other business that I’d contacted was interested in hiring an unknown service. Promising Leo I’d find work for Richard was only part of it though, because I needed the extra income to foot the insurance plan Marty and I had settled on. Oh what a tangled web we weave.

Garner smiled at me, a polite expression with no teeth bared. “Do you know what it is we do here?”

“Something to do with batteries,” I shrugged, as if it didn’t matter to me. And it shouldn’t, because Laura had pointed out on the return trip from the luncheon, I was hardly more than the hired help. Unfortunately, I was too interested in what kind of operation Valentino ran, because I had no other way to investigate him.

Yeah, that’s right. I wanted dirt on Markus Valentino, anything that might point to Candie’s whereabouts. He’d hidden the first note about the phoenix from the FBI, I was sure of it. And after meeting Amelia, I‘d settled on an image of Valentino as a school yard bully who wanted whatever someone else had.

I needed proof to bring to Capri and the FBI. And to find evidence, I needed access to one of Valentino’s offices, preferably after hours when he would be elsewhere.

Richard cut his gaze to me. No doubt, he thought I was a moron, and I promised myself I’d rectify the situation as soon as possible, for Leo’s sake.

Garner stared at me for a moment, probably wondering if I was as vapid as I seemed, but then he couldn’t see my sensible shoes. I stayed silent, letting the chips fall where fate willed them. He fidgeted with his pocket protector and removed a pen to write something on his clipboard.

“Do you have any references?”

I dug through my tote, pulling out a sheet of paper with my phony references. Sylvia, Leo, and Detective Capri were all listed along with contact info. Garner’s hand shook. He reached for the paper and I wondered if he might be ill. His skin was the color of wet concrete and the trembling was pronounced. Parkinson’s maybe.