Skeletons in the Closet (15 page)

“I guess a trip to the gym is in order?”

“You guessed right.”

* * * *

After we saw the boys onto the school bus, Neil and I left Marty sleeping at the house and drove to the garage to pick up my van. The repair costs equaled the amount I’d made with my cleaning income so far, and Neil groused that he hated to see me driving the death trap. I asked him to please rephrase that sentiment before pulling out of the parking lot.

The gym parking lot was crowded since people worked overtime to remove pie and stuffing from their waistlines. Sylvia’s car sat at the back of the lot, and I parked next to it. Neil pulled in a few spaces down.

Neil caught up with me and asked, “Do you know what her schedule is like for the day?”

“No, but I don’t have to meet Coop until three, so we can work around it. You’re going to be nice to her, right?”

“I’m always nice. And in case I haven’t mentioned it, I really hate this plan of yours.”

“Only about fifty times on the ride back from the penitentiary.”

“Thelma and Louise ride again.” Neil shook his head.

“You know as well as I do that men respond better to beautiful women’s inquires. Sylvia is perfect for this. Besides, she may say no, and then we’ll have to go to plan B.”

“That’s me and my intimidating brute force, right?”

I nodded, and we entered the gym. Once again, my being vertically challenged was annoying, since I couldn’t spot anyone’s face through the crush of bodies at the Mecca of healthy living. “Do you see her anywhere?”

“Yeah. She’s in with the receptionist. Let’s talk to her there.”

As it turned out, Sylvia didn’t have a class until eleven and was more than willing to help.

“I owe you, Maggie. I should never have left you that night.”

I shot Neil a look before he could agree and compound her guilt. “I wanted you to go, Sylvia. And you did the right thing. Now, no more about that. Do you have a change of clothes? Something sexy maybe?”

“You happen to be in luck. Eric and I have a cocktail party to attend tonight, and I brought my outfit with me.”

Luck was all right, I thought, while Neil and I waited in the parking lot for Sylvia to change. I was definitely ready for some good luck to traipse across my path. Sylvia emerged from the side of the building in a black trench coat and headed towards our car. Her hair and makeup might be enough. We decided to travel together, even though Neil would stay in the car. At least I hoped he would. I really didn’t want to implement plan B.

I coached Sylvia along the way and brought her up to date on as many necessary facts as I could remember.

“My God! And I thought I had a rough week. Eric’s dad broke his hip the day before Thanksgiving, and we ended up having dinner at like 11:30 at night.”

“We’re here, ladies.” Neil parked across the street from a run-down brick house. “I’m going to drop the two of you here. Maggie, keep your cell phone on. If I don’t hear from you in ten minutes, I’m coming in.”

I gave him a quick kiss and followed Sylvia across the street.

“Are you sure we’re at the right place?” she asked me out of the corner of her mouth.

The building looked ready for a wrecking ball, with a crumbling brick façade and cracked windows. Graffiti decorated the steps and concrete foundation, a splash of life on a decaying backdrop. It seemed a bit lopsided, and I cocked my head like a dog as I took it in. I guess the PI business wasn’t exactly thriving. I knocked on the red front door that someone had made a half-assed attempt to repaint.

“Positive,” I hissed back. “Douglass Kline gave me the address, and I double-checked it in the book.”

Footsteps sounded, and I stepped back, falling into the role of Sylvia’s maid, like we’d rehearsed.

“Yeah?” The door opened to reveal a bulgy-eyed man in a rumpled brown suit, the top of his head pink and shiny except for the frizzy black hair around his enormous ears. I had about two inches on him, which left him eye to chest level with Sylvia, a fact that he didn’t seem too upset about.

“I’m looking for Len Greer,” Sylvia crooned as if oblivious to his ogling.

“That’s me. What can I do for you, doll-face?”

Oh no, he didn’t just call her that. Especially since he had yet to look at her face. The Frank Sinatra wannabe was descended from an entirely different rat pack.

“I need your help,” Sylvia said, adding an extra breathy intonation to her voice.

Greer finally tore his gaze from her breasts. “Why don’t you come on in, little lady?” He waddled in reverse, and Sylvia glided past him. I followed and ran smack into the door he’d shut in my face.

“Oh, uh, sorry, I didn’t see you there.” His apology would have seemed sincere if he’d actually looked at me instead of Sylvia, who’d taken off her coat to reveal an extremely short black dress.

I gave him a wan smile that hid my clenched teeth. He didn’t notice. My plan was working better than I’d dared to hope.

Greer shuffled down the dreary hall and ushered us into an equally dismal office. The wood paneling looked ancient and actually pulled away from the wall to reveal the sheetrock beneath in some spots. The fireplace wasn’t lit, and the room was cold. Since I wasn’t the eye candy, I kept my jacket on and waited for Sylvia to lure him in even further.

Sylvia took a seat across from Greer’s particle board desk. “Mr. Greer, I got your name from a mutual friend—”

“Who?” Len demanded. Cagey little bugger, suspicious from the word go.

Sylvia smiled a little vacantly. “Douglass Kline. You see, he was very happy with your work, and since I need extreme discretion….”

As Sylvia rambled on about her fictitious cheating husband and the need for concrete proof in order to ensure a favorable divorce settlement, I watched the smarmy little troll. He alternated his attention between Sylvia’s face and her legs, which she crossed and uncrossed in a semaphore-like pattern.

He hadn’t blinked when she’d mentioned Kline’s name, so it was possible he was unaware of Gym Rat’s demise. Either that or he didn’t care.

“Doug was so grateful to you, for all that you found out for him. He told me all about it.” Sylvia quirked her lips enticingly, and Greer started to sweat.

He cleared his throat and reached to loosen a nonexistent tie. “Well, the Kline case has brought me a great deal of publicity,” the little toad bragged.

I knew my guess had been correct—he was the media leak.

“Such a horrible tragedy. Other than that one indiscretion, the Kline’s had such a loving marriage,” said Sylvia.

Greer snorted. “Are you sure we’re talking about the same people? Doug’s touched in the head, and Alessandra would screw any man with a pulse.”

Sylvia’s hand fluttered to her mouth. “You don’t say!”

He stood and retrieved a file from a metal cabinet. “Lookie here. This affair she had going on with that Miller guy, it was only two weeks old when Kline hired me. Before that, she’d been banging his friend Jason Macgregor.”

It was a very good thing that Len Greer had forgotten about me because my mouth hit the floor. No. Fricking. Way.

“Of course, I never told old Douggie about that. He’s delusional, you know. He thinks his wife was some sort of angel incarnate, instead of your typical rich bitch with an itch. By the time I was put on the case, Macgregor had moved onto greener pastures and is now happily shacked up with Francesca Carmichael.”

And the hits just kept on coming.

“Do you always backtrack your client’s affairs?” Sylvia asked.

“Well, that was a special case because of the murder and all. I did an extensive background check on her, traced her indiscretions all the way back to her college days, when she’d been seriously involved with another Ivy League student. They were going to marry, but he was poor, and she passed the sucker over for Doug. Her sister picked up the slack then too.”

Sylvia sat wide-eyed, and I knew her well enough to get that her shock wasn’t all an act. “Who do you think killed her?”

“Well, don’t quote me on this, but my money’s on Francesca. I mean, a beautiful girl like that always picking up her sister’s leftovers? There’s definitely something strange there. Of course, Macgregor might be bitter too.”

Sylvia managed to keep it together long enough to ask Len Greer about his rates and tell him she’d be in touch. We scurried like mice out to the waiting vehicle, and I yanked out my cell phone with barely a thought to the massive coverage charges I was going to have to pay this month.

“Yes, Detective Patterson, please. This is Maggie Phillips. Let him know I found out a few things about the Kline case.”

S
ince I’d ferreted out a bit of useful information, I was on top of the world. I didn’t want to think that I’d so misjudged Francesca; she’d seemed like such a compassionate and genuinely likeable person, while her sister had suffered from an acute case of bipolar disorder. But it was always the unassuming and likeable people with skeletons in their closets. As Sylvia’s husband Eric said, “No one suspects the butterfly.”

I had yet to hear back from Detective Patterson, although I’d left a detailed message on his cell phone. Detective Capri called, wanting to go over my statement. While telling her all that I knew for the umpteenth time was less excruciating over the phone, I did mention my discovery as briefly as possible. I was annoyed to hear that it wasn’t relevant to her case.

“But you and Detective Patterson are working together, right? One case ties into the other, so—”

“If you don’t mind, Mrs. Phillips, you give me the unedited facts, and I’ll decide what is pertinent to the case, since I’m the one with the badge.”

Of all the uptight, conceited….

My mental rant stopped when the call waiting beeped, and I thanked the Almighty for his intervention.

“I have to go, Detective. I’ll talk to you later.” I clicked over before Capri could protest.

“Hey there, Missy!” Coop’s tell-tale wheeze sailed down the line, and I groaned.

From the frying pan into the freaking fire.

“I hope you aren’t calling to cancel on me, Coop.” My eye twitched from thinking about doing the evening’s cleaning job on my own. We had an entire house to scrub and polish, and while there wouldn’t be any investigating going down tonight, there was plenty of work.

“No, it’s just that my deadbeat son-in-law wrecked my car. Fell asleep last night driving home from the bar and drove his stupid self into a tree.”

“Oh my goodness, is he all right?”

Coop actually chuckled. “Yes, siree. That good for nothin’ young man has a head as hard as a petrified dog turd. About as smart too. He’ll be fine, but my car’s being repaired.”

“So you need a ride,” I deduced. I was getting good at this detective work.

“Why don’t you pick me up now, and we can eat first.”

Being jealous of a cantankerous old man was not my finest moment, but dear God, I wished I had his metabolism.

“You have any of the soup left?” Coop asked.

“Let me check.” I put the phone on mute. “Neil! Do me a favor and pick up my cleaning partner. If I spend any more time with him I’ll lose my last shred of patience.”

“Why don’t you fire him?” Marty asked from his perch on the white couch. It was barely noon, and my brother was drinking a beer.

“Because he wants a job everyone else seems to feel is beneath them. And because he actually works.”

Neil pulled his jacket on. “I’ll have to take the van, since you’re blocking me in.”

I gave my husband a kiss and un-muted the phone. “Coop? Neil’s on his way to pick you up.”

“What about the soup?”

“The soup will be ready when you get here.”

Coop grunted, and I took that as a goodbye.

* * * *

Marty had pulled out the boys’ PlayStation and was busy with
Oddworld, Abe’s Odyssey,
by the time Neil and Coop came home. Neil gave me a look to let me know Coop had been himself for the entire ride, and I promised myself that I’d treat him to chocolate macadamia nut cookies over the weekend. He deserved each platinum-coated nut for putting up
with
the nuts.

“So here’s what I think,” Coop said as we sat down at the table with our soup and unsalted crackers. “That young feller was blackmailin’ Mrs. K, and she wouldn’t pay up. So he killed her.”

Spoon frozen in midair, I darted a look at Neil. “You told Coop about the murder?”

Neil raised his hands and shook his head.

“No, I did when he called this morning.” Marty didn’t stop eating as he relayed the information.

I should have known. I’d get him later for this, but right now I had a geriatric fish to fry. “Are you sure you want to keep the job?” I didn’t know what answer to hope for.

“Sure I’m sure. In fact, this makes everything much better. You had this shifty look about you, Missy, and I was just sticking around to make sure you didn’t get light-fingered on a job. This explains the sneakiness in you.”

Marty snorted, and Neil grinned. I dropped my head into my hands and moaned. If Coop was on to me, then how was I supposed to fool a murderer?

The phone pealed, and I jumped to answer it. Since I hadn’t made the crackers, I couldn’t eat them and I was getting sick of turkey soup.

“Hello?”

“Maggie? This is Francesca Carmichael.”

Oh, holy heaven and hell. I had a potential murderess on the phone and I had no idea what to say to her.

“Hello,” was my lame reply.

“I just had a call from Doug’s lawyer and I heard you’d gone to visit him. Did he say anything to you?”

Crap. “How
is
Jason, by the way?” When in doubt, stall until brain churns out something slick.

“Mr. Macgregor is fine, but I was asking about Doug.” Francesca seemed irritated, and I couldn’t blame her. She wanted answers, and I needed backup. Stretching the phone cord as far as it could go, I waved my arms frantically at the men sitting in my dining room. They were talking college basketball, and I might as well have been a gnat on the wall.

“Have you seen him lately?” I was striving for casual, but the quaver in my voice ruined the effect.

“Doug?” she asked, and it was obvious that I’d confused her as well as myself.

“No, Jason. I heard the two of you are involved.”
No! Stupid, don’t tell her that!
The words were already out though, and I was without the means to call them back.

I could almost hear Francesca bristle over the phone. “Who told you that?”

Ummmm. “Can you hold on a moment, please?” My hands shook as I reached for the mute button.

“Guys! I have Francesca Carmichael on the phone. What do I say?”

A massive scraping of chairs sounded, and Neil reached my side first, followed by Marty and Coop. “Tell her you can’t talk right now, that she needs to discuss the case with the lawyer and the police.”

“But she’s involved with the lawyer, at least according to Len Greer and his smarmy investigation, and as soon as I get in touch with Patterson, she’ll be a suspect in the death of her sister!” I was freaking out; I couldn’t help it.

“Tell her we’re gonna nail her pampered behind to the wall!”

“Coop! That’s not going to help. And what if she’s innocent? What if Macgregor was behind the entire thing? Should I tell her she needs to hire a different lawyer?” I still held out hope for Frannie’s innocence.

“Maybe Patterson is on the way to pick her up right now. Get off the phone, Maggie!” Marty’s eye held a crazed look.

“Okay.” I held the receiver to my ear, ready to un-mute…and heard the dial tone. “Oh no.”

“What?” Neil sounded like he was choking on something.

“Oh
shit
!”

“
What
?” the three men roared in unison

I looked at them dumbly and gestured to the phone.

“Spit it out, Missy!”

“I never muted the phone.” I looked at my guys without actually seeing them. “She heard everything we said.”

* * * *

“Are you sure she heard everything?” Patterson had finally called about two hours after I’d made my colossal mistake and he wasn’t too happy that I’d spilled a tankard full of vital information to one of his suspects.

“It’s possible she hung up before we started talking about the case.” But it was unlikely.

“Christ. You really know how to stick your foot in it, don’t you?”

“Hey, this is new territory for me, Mr. Big Shot Detective. I don’t usually spend my free time flushing out killers!!” Anger replaced the horror at my foolish actions, and now I wanted the cops to do their jobs so I could get back to my peaceful life.

“I’m checking into Carmichael’s relationship with the lawyer. It seems unlikely, but I’m desperate enough to follow any lead. You know, I really don’t need this. I volunteered for this case, for God’s sake. I must have been off my medication.”

I offered a half-hearted smile at his grim humor, but it felt like my face cracked. “Did you talk to Len Greer?”

“I’m on my way over there right now. Where are you going tonight?”

I gave him the street address for the Morgan’s house. “I’ll have my cell on, but if you could, please wait to call me until after nine, or I’m going to have to sell a kidney to pay the bill this month.”

Patterson chuckled but then cut off with a particularly foul curse. “There’s quite a bit of activity here.”

“What kind of activity?” I was busy locating my sneakers and heard Coop honking from my van.

“Two fire trucks and an ambulance, plus several locals.” I heard a car door slam and Patterson call out to someone: “What’s going on here?”

For once, I had excellent cell reception so I could follow the conversation. “Got a 911 call about twenty minutes ago. Someone spotted smoke coming from a room in the back.”

“Was anyone hurt?” Patterson asked.

I held my breath.

“One fatality. Guy named Greer, died of smoke inhalation,” was the reply.

* * * *

“Hey, Coop, could you go get the Comet out of the van for me, please?” I called from my contortionist’s position on the bathroom floor.

It was well after eight o’clock, and Coop and I had been working on the Morgan’s house for over five hours. Unlike our earlier jobs, we were responsible for the entire house—twelve rooms in all—and the Morgan’s were putting the house up for sale the next day. It wasn’t the largest house I’d worked on, but the five-year-old boy and German Shepherd had added to the cleaning challenge. “Get the Mr. Clean sponges too and see if you can get the crayon marks off of the dining room wall.”

“I’ll tell you something right now, Missy. You can’t trust a bald man with an earring to know a thing about getting rid of dirt, no matter what his name is. Now, if you’re searching for buried treasure, he’s your man.”

“Maybe if you scrub hard enough you’ll find an X marking the spot.”

Coop chuckled and headed out to the White Cloud of Death, which I was seriously considering renaming. I was still in shock after hearing about yet another casualty. Unlike the earlier two victims, there was no proof of foul play. Neil had called the hospital and discovered a lifetime of heavy drinking and stupidity was to blame for the private investigator’s demise. Apparently, Greer had been attempting to build a fire in his office fireplace but didn’t open the flue. He’d been drinking, and it was assumed he’d passed out, totally unaware that the room filled with smoke. Yet I couldn’t help but wonder if his time had come sooner due to his association with the Kline’s.

Finishing the bathtub would require the bleach scrub I’d sent Coop for, so I decided to scrutinize the house. I was impressed with our handiwork. Between the polished interior and the removal of clutter, I was optimistic that the Morgan’s would get their asking price.

“Coop?” I called. “I really need that Comet! Coop!”

I headed downstairs, more than ready to finish this job and go home. I’d arranged for the meeting with Josh’s teacher the next afternoon, and we had one more job before that. I was afraid I was burning the candle at both ends, but the next client was a long-time business associate of Mr. Kline’s and an avid gun collector to boot, so I was hoping to discover something.

“Coop, damn it, let’s finish this job and get out of here.” My patience had worn out, and I wasn’t about to let the old man drag his feet because he didn’t want to get home. At this point, I would’ve let him sleep in bed between me and Neil if it meant a full eight hours rest.