Skeletons in the Closet (18 page)

“I know my timing stinks, but I think we could benefit from some counseling.”

“Counseling?” He’d have to forgive me for sounding like a nitwit, but I
did
have a concussion.

“Yeah, I mean, we’ve been fighting so much lately, and you said some stuff the other day—”

“Neil, it was Thanksgiving. No one means what they say on Thanksgiving.” My voice shook, which startled me almost as much as what my gorgeous husband, who I loved more than anything on the planet, was suggesting. We weren’t
that
couple.

Were we?

He must have picked up on the fear in my eyes. “No, Maggie, it isn’t like that. I think we need to get some stuff off of our chests so we can have a stronger relationship.”

I knew those words, and they were not Neil originals. “Did Sylvia suggest this?”

Neil blew air between his teeth. “It’s still a good idea, don’t you think?”

My laughter turned into a moan as my skull throbbed. I wouldn’t have been surprised if it had split apart like an over ripe melon. “Can we talk about this later?”

“As you wish, Uncle Scrooge.”

* * * *

   Marty arrived home after I’d finished taking a Neil-assisted shower and donned my muumuu.

“Hey Maggs, you up to a little company?” My brother helped me to the sofa, which was still short a slipcover.

“Not really, Ma—” But my objection was cut off when a pale-faced woman with dishwater blond hair and keen brown eyes entered behind him.

Neil’s patience snapped. “Damn it, Marty, your sister is hurt. This is not a good time to introduce her to one of your tarts!”

“Neil!” I interjected, but my usually laid-back husband was on a roll.

“Can you possibly be more of an immature asshole, Marty? All you ever think about is yourself! How could you leave her there alone? I thought for once you would step up and help instead of hinder, but then you ditch your sister at the first opportunity. That was bad enough, but you parading in here with your latest conquest in tow, after all of the shit you’ve pulled, that’s the last fucking straw!”

“Neil!” I shouted loud enough to make my own ears ring.

My brother’s face was impassive, not a flicker of emotion available. I blinked, and Marty was in motion, striding down the hall to Kenny and Josh’s room where he slammed the door so hard our double paned aluminum windows rattled.

“What Maggie?” Neil’s red face focused on me.

“I’d like you to meet Josh’s teacher, Mrs. Martin.”

I watched the rage leave my husband’s stance as an “oh shit” look of understanding appeared in his green eyes. The school teacher’s typically pasty face mottled red, and her small white hands clenched tightly. Marty stomped down the hall, towing his oversized green duffle bag. He stopped long enough to kiss me on the cheek, drop a one-armed hug and a vague promise to call soon. I wanted to hold him to me forever, but he pulled away, and with a final glare at Neil, he left.

We listened to the Chevy engine sputter to life and peel out of our development. The clock ticked on, and I still couldn’t think of anything to say.

Neil finally broke the silence. “He drank the last beer.”

* * * *

“So you see, Mrs. Martin, Hemingway was a sadistic alcoholic, and the use of his work as gospel, especially for students who are unable to comprehend the more abstract concepts in his writing, will only sour a young child to the great works of literature which are available.”

I worried my lower lip as Mrs. Martin considered my speech. I thought the sadistic alcoholic part might be over the top, but since my husband had called the woman a tart to her face, I figured slighting Hemingway wasn’t quite so bad. Besides, I had a concussion and I’d run the emotional gamut in the past twenty-four hours. I deserved a little slack.

Mrs. Martin slapped her hands on her thighs. “While I don’t agree with your assessment of Hemingway, I can see how strongly you feel about this, Mrs. Phillips. Tell Joshua that he may select another book tomorrow and as long as he has the report in by Friday morning, I’ll record the higher grade.”

“Thank you very much for your time, Ms. Martin, and once again, I’m so sorry that you were dragged into our family drama.” I cringed at a sense of
déjà vu
. I remembered similar words written to me by Alessandra Kline. The woman may have been the next thing to impossible to work for, but I’d like to believe her heart had been in the right place.

“I’ll let you rest now,” Ms. Martin said and retrieved her purse. Then, under her breath, but loud enough for me to hear, “You’ll need all of your strength to deal with that man.”

She left, and I called out to tell ‘that man’ it was now safe to show his face.

“Did you call for the pizza? I’m half-starved.”

 Surprise flickered across Neil’s face. “What, no lecture?”

“No lecture. I know you were upset and I think the fifteen apologies you threw at Ms. Martin were plenty.”

“What about Marty?”

“Marty will be back. He doesn’t have enough pride to be seriously wounded, so he’ll vent for a bit, come back when he’s broke, and everything will return to normal.”

“You seem remarkably calm,” Neil observed.

“A brush with a psychopath and a blow to the head will do that for a girl.”

Neil leaned down to give me a kiss. The doorbell rang. “I don’t want to answer that.” He glared at the door.

“Do it, but don’t let whoever it is in.”

Neil unlocked the deadbolt and blocked the entry to the house. I heard him conversing with a female voice. I was dismayed when he came back followed by Detective Capri.

“I promise to make this quick, Mrs. Phillips, but I wanted to let you know your brother was correct. Mr. Finkelstein had installed a digital video system after firing ‘that crummy security specialist’. Your whole encounter was caught on film.”

I was groggy and more than ready for all the loose ends to be taken care of. “That’s nice.”

“We’ll still need you to come down to the station, but not until you’re feeling up to it. There’s something else I want to discuss with you as well.”

I quirked an eyebrow at her distorted image. This interview couldn’t be over fast enough to satisfy the pounding in my skull.

Capri cleared her throat before continuing. “There’s a seldom discussed yet vitally important role in most urban police departments, known as Confidential Informants, or CI. A CI remains anonymous, his or her name will never show up on documentation and will be recognized only by the detective he or she reports to. It’s imperative for a detective to have cultivated sources.”

I grasped the importance of information in police work, but the term cultivated sources was new to me. My confusion must have been written across my face because Capri decided to elaborate.

“A cultivated source is different from a regular source, such as an eye witness, victim, or suspect. A cultivated source has access to the criminal world and makes the best informant. The term usually applies to someone like a limo driver, prostitute, or perhaps a cleaning lady; someone who does business around the unlawful element, with no emotional investment.”

“Why are you telling me all this?” I had a sneaking suspicion, but I inquired anyway.

“Well, Hudson itself has a small police force, but we sometimes assist the Boston P.D., when, let’s say, a suspect lives in our area.”

She looked directly into my eyes, or at least I think she did. “You see, I’m working on this embezzlement case, and the suspect’s wife is looking for a cleaning service—”

I groaned and put a pillow over my head.

“I think she needs to rest now, Detective.” Neil’s voice was dismissive.

“I’ll speak with you soon. Have a good night, Mrs. Phillips.”

I said goodnight, but knew it wasn’t goodbye.

Want more Maggie and Neil? Join them in the zany mystery series
The Misadventures of the Laundry Hag

The Misadventures of the Laundry Hag: Skeletons in the Closet

Narrated by Suzanne Cerreta

Now available on Audiobook

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Now available on Amazon.

Book 2: The Misadventures of the Laundry Hag: Swept Under the Rug

Crime and grime are everywhere, at least in Maggie Phillips’ opinion. Deep in the throes of a New England winter, Maggie’s still adjusting to her new role as confidential informant for the Hudson Police Department. When a suspicious fax is sent to one of her new clients, Maggie is sure she’s unearthed a conspiracy. With no crime to investigate, however, the Hudson P.D. can do nothing—that is until a wealthy trophy wife disappears and the FBI is called in to the hunt.

On the home front, her twelve-year-old son is growing up way too fast, while her brother is back with a few surprises destined to wreak havoc on the household. To frost the whole crappy cake, her best friend’s marriage is falling apart, which leaves Maggie worrying over her own. All of the family drama is put into perspective, however, when Maggie is arrested for kidnapping and blackmail.

Between economic woes and a now tarnished reputation, Maggie is in way over her head. Yet out of the ashes of frustration and failure, something great might emerge. If she survives the birthing process that is….
"Maggie and crew are so easy to relate to that you get caught up in the story and it’s over all too soon."

~Manic Readers
"Ms. Hart wrote with so much passion and developed the story in a fashion that draws you in and keeps you engrossed until the last word in the book."

~Mary Gramlich The Reading Reviewer

Now available on Audiobook narrated by Suzanne Cerreta

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Amazon

iTunes

New!

Book 3:
The Misadventures of the Laundry Hag: All Washed Up

Maggie Phillips is fine—just ask her. So what if two psychos tried to do her in and her business is all but dead, she never wanted to be the laundry hag to begin with, so why should she mourn her tattered reputation? With spring comes a fresh start, garage sale season and the birth of her brother’s first child. Life goes on even if cleaning has lost its luster and the sight of her scarred hands brings back horrific memories.

Help is on the way, whether she wants it or not. When Maggie’s mother-in-law asks her to assist with renovations to their project house in upstate New York, she smells a rat. Matters become murkier when Laura casually tells the former laundry hag to “see to that pesky ghost,” like the phantom is ring around the bathtub. But both Neil and Sylvia are eager to undertake the zany task and really, what else does she have to do?

How about solve a two decade old murder, find a few long lost relatives, fix her mental hang-ups and reconnect with the husband she’s pushed away. And if she has any time to spare, maybe she can even survive a pissed-off apparition and keep it from finishing the job the last two killers started Third time’s the charm…right?

Now available on Audiobook Narrated by Suzanne Cerreta

Audible

Amazon

iTunes