Read The Misadventures of the Laundry Hag 00 - Swept Under the Rug for Free Online Page B
Authors: Jennifer L. Hart
entertaining, at least.”
I thought of Sylvia’s stricken face. “Not so much from my angle. Besides, you ever heard of anyone with a dead foul fetish?”
“No, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. I’m a sheltered sort, you know.”
I snorted and unbuckled my seatbelt. “Yeah, Neil the Pure with his lily-white sensibilities. How about the thing you did to me last week in the shower? What bedtime story featured that particular move?”
“My favorite.” He glanced around. “You sure she called the police?” I’m not seeing any lights yet and we’ve been sitting here for five minutes on top of the twenty minute drive.”
“I told her to call, but she was a little busy doing the Technicolor yawn and then my phone went dead. And you left yours at Dr. Boob’s. I mean Bob’s.”
He opened his door. “Might as well knock and see what’s up.”
The air hit me as soon as I straightened from the car, whipping my hair into my face. Neil grasped my gloved hand and pulled me to the relative shelter of the porch. He rang the doorbell and we waited.
“Maybe she took the package directly to the police station. Or animal control.” Neil guessed.
I opened my mouth to respond, but a black Jaguar slid to an abrupt stop in front of the house and Mr.Valentino emerged. He sprinted up the porch steps and brushed by us without a word, inserting his key in the door. It swung open and he didn’t bother to shut it so Neil tugged me inside.
“Candace?” Mr. V called out stomping through the foyer. “I can’t just show up whenever you’re in the mood to….”
Neil cleared his throat and gave me a knowing smirk. Valentino spun on his heel and scowled at us, his gaze focused on my husband. “Who the hell are you?”
Neil dropped my hand and extended his own. Neil Phillips, sir. Your wife called mine.”
“Phillips, Phillips,” Mr. V pursed his lips. “Why does that name sound familiar?”
“Your wife hired me to clean twice a week. I’m Maggie Phillips from the Laundry Hag cleaning services.” I informed him. Though I’d been on the job for almost a month, this was the first time I’d seen Valentino up close. Jet black hair cut fashionably short and GQ worthy stubble only emphasized his high cheekbones and pale complexion. His eyes, almost a neon shade of blue, stole attention from his extra-large nose, an almost beaklike appendage which announced his Greek heritage. He appeared the perfect masculine foil for Candie’s petite blonde beauty, but some instinct told me theirs wasn’t a love match.
“Well, get to it then,” Markus Valentino dismissed me with a wave of his hand and continued his hunt for his wife.
Before I could get my back up, Neil called to his retreating form. “We’re here about the bird.”
Valentino stopped in mid-stride, like his feet had been super-glued in place. It was almost comical, like a Wile E. Coyote signature move before he fell off a cliff.
“What bird?” Mr. V’s tone held suspicion, and as he turned back around to face us, I noted a brief flicker in his eyes. Fear perhaps?
“Oh, Markus!” Candie rushed down the stairs and flung herself at her husband. Beneath her tan, she was sickly pale and trembling. “It’s awful, just plain terrible.
“What is?” Valentino held her an arm’s length away. “I get this message from Sierra that you need me here, but no explanation. Just what is going on?”
Candie looked as if he had slapped her. With visible effort she pulled back and composed herself. “It’s in the kitchen.” Without another word she led the way, Valentino hot on her heels.
“What a tool,” Neil murmured almost inaudibly. I heard him though and grinned. He’d read my mind.
We followed the footsteps into the kitchen. A large white box, like a bakery container sat open on the granite island. Candie had been right, it was the little caricature from my business logo, the sprightly little woman with a pink kerchief wrapped around her head
I thought of Sylvia’s stricken face. “Not so much from my angle. Besides, you ever heard of anyone with a dead foul fetish?”
“No, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. I’m a sheltered sort, you know.”
I snorted and unbuckled my seatbelt. “Yeah, Neil the Pure with his lily-white sensibilities. How about the thing you did to me last week in the shower? What bedtime story featured that particular move?”
“My favorite.” He glanced around. “You sure she called the police?” I’m not seeing any lights yet and we’ve been sitting here for five minutes on top of the twenty minute drive.”
“I told her to call, but she was a little busy doing the Technicolor yawn and then my phone went dead. And you left yours at Dr. Boob’s. I mean Bob’s.”
He opened his door. “Might as well knock and see what’s up.”
The air hit me as soon as I straightened from the car, whipping my hair into my face. Neil grasped my gloved hand and pulled me to the relative shelter of the porch. He rang the doorbell and we waited.
“Maybe she took the package directly to the police station. Or animal control.” Neil guessed.
I opened my mouth to respond, but a black Jaguar slid to an abrupt stop in front of the house and Mr.Valentino emerged. He sprinted up the porch steps and brushed by us without a word, inserting his key in the door. It swung open and he didn’t bother to shut it so Neil tugged me inside.
“Candace?” Mr. V called out stomping through the foyer. “I can’t just show up whenever you’re in the mood to….”
Neil cleared his throat and gave me a knowing smirk. Valentino spun on his heel and scowled at us, his gaze focused on my husband. “Who the hell are you?”
Neil dropped my hand and extended his own. Neil Phillips, sir. Your wife called mine.”
“Phillips, Phillips,” Mr. V pursed his lips. “Why does that name sound familiar?”
“Your wife hired me to clean twice a week. I’m Maggie Phillips from the Laundry Hag cleaning services.” I informed him. Though I’d been on the job for almost a month, this was the first time I’d seen Valentino up close. Jet black hair cut fashionably short and GQ worthy stubble only emphasized his high cheekbones and pale complexion. His eyes, almost a neon shade of blue, stole attention from his extra-large nose, an almost beaklike appendage which announced his Greek heritage. He appeared the perfect masculine foil for Candie’s petite blonde beauty, but some instinct told me theirs wasn’t a love match.
“Well, get to it then,” Markus Valentino dismissed me with a wave of his hand and continued his hunt for his wife.
Before I could get my back up, Neil called to his retreating form. “We’re here about the bird.”
Valentino stopped in mid-stride, like his feet had been super-glued in place. It was almost comical, like a Wile E. Coyote signature move before he fell off a cliff.
“What bird?” Mr. V’s tone held suspicion, and as he turned back around to face us, I noted a brief flicker in his eyes. Fear perhaps?
“Oh, Markus!” Candie rushed down the stairs and flung herself at her husband. Beneath her tan, she was sickly pale and trembling. “It’s awful, just plain terrible.
“What is?” Valentino held her an arm’s length away. “I get this message from Sierra that you need me here, but no explanation. Just what is going on?”
Candie looked as if he had slapped her. With visible effort she pulled back and composed herself. “It’s in the kitchen.” Without another word she led the way, Valentino hot on her heels.
“What a tool,” Neil murmured almost inaudibly. I heard him though and grinned. He’d read my mind.
We followed the footsteps into the kitchen. A large white box, like a bakery container sat open on the granite island. Candie had been right, it was the little caricature from my business logo, the sprightly little woman with a pink kerchief wrapped around her head