The Misadventures of the Laundry Hag by Jennifer L. Hart Page B

force wind over the phone line. “I don’t know for sure. Her husband thinks she’s been abducted.” “Like by aliens?” I scoffed at the notion. “No, as in kidnapped.” The detective corrected me. “Kidnapped?” I squeaked and over by the mirror, Neil’s posture went on full alert. “There was a note, another cut and paste deal, like you stumbled across. Standard kidnapper fare, I’m afraid. “Oh, God.” I’d been right, I’d been right all along and now I was going to be sick. Then something occurred to me. “Wait, why are you telling me all this?”
    Capri cleared her throat. “Valentino called the FBI. Kidnapping is their territory. This is over my head now, but I want you to be careful and to warn you that you’re going to be called on for questioning.”
    “When?” My knuckles were white I gripped the cordless phone. I stared at Neil and he stared back, panic flowing on an open current between us.
    The doorbell rang.
    “Now,” Capri said and disconnected.
    * * * *
    The two federal special agents who had come to interview me were ushered into the kitchen. Neil had answered the door while I put on a pot of coffee. Introductions were made and then I shut the door to the living room, where Sylvia’s soft snores remained undisturbed. I puttered around, refilling the sugar bowl and setting out steaming mugs, which neither Special Agent Salazar nor Special Agent Feist touched. I downed my first cup and waited.
    “Have a seat, Mrs. Phillips.” Salazar indicated my ugly barstool with a motion of his dark skinned hand. I refilled my mug and sat. Neil stood behind me, his hands on my shoulders in an obvious show of support.
    The questions began and I answered as best I could. Yes, I knew Candie Valentino, no, not well. My cleaning services had been referred to her by a mutual acquaintance. No, I didn’t know Markus Valentino well; I’d only met him for the first time the day before.
    “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