The Misadventures of the Laundry Hag 00 - Skeletons in the Closet

, which would remain attached to our clothing and would have to be intentionally removed.
    Be polite. It was my mother’s voice, which I heard in my head whenever I had a stroke of conscience. Mr. Kline may be a strange little man, but he was still a human being who was being cuckolded by his wife. He deserved at least a modicum of respect, especially from the hired help.
    “How are you, Mr. Kline?” I pasted what I hoped was a warm smile on my face.
    “Fine, my dear. And how are those little ruffians of yours?”
    My smile grew brittle. I guess he assumed ruffian was an affectionate term, but in my mind it was a very small step above hoodlum.
    “The boys are very well, thank you.” I looked around pointedly, but he ignored my hint.
    “I’m afraid Alessandra has gone out for the day. She was meeting her sister in town for a girl’s day. She asked me to tell you that you had done an adequate job yesterday and she hopes you’re available next Wednesday.”
    I gave a noncommittal shrug, mostly due to the fact that I had my own house to prepare for Thanksgiving and one demanding and cantankerous woman was all I could handle in a week.
    “Your phone is up in my office,” Mr. Kline informed me. I fought the urge to cringe. Not the office . Anywhere but the office .
    I reluctantly followed Mr. Kline upstairs and into the room which had been the setting in a few nightmares in the last week. I’d like to say it was less disturbing in the daylight but I’d be lying.
    Mr. Kline went straight to his desk and opened a drawer. He removed, not my phone, but a device that consisted of a belt-like circle of metal and dipped down to an oval shape equipped with teeth. I blinked several times.
    Mr. Kline’s gaze had glued to me, and I knew he was waiting for a reaction.
    “Is that some kind of dog collar and groomer combination?”
    He laughed, and I stepped closer, hoping I could seize my phone and run hell bent for home.
    “I’m afraid not. This is a chastity belt.”
    Oh, dear sweet Lord in Heaven.
    Mr. Kline held it out to me. I didn’t take it. Looking was quite enough for me.
    “It is said that the first chastity belt was constructed by Hephaestus, the Greek god of fire. In Homer’s Odyssey, Hephaestus forged a chastity belt for his wife, Aphrodite, when he caught her flagrante delicto with Ares, the God of war. This is why the chastity belt is also known as the girdle of Venus. Quite clever of him, actually.”
    I had totally given up on masking my fear. My palms sweated, and I wiped them on my jeans, hoping that Mr. Kline wasn’t implying what I thought he was. It was one thing to lie safe and sound in my bed and discuss the Kline’s marital difficulties with Neil, but talking one on one with Douglass Kline had me shaking in my hiking boots.
    Mr. Kline continued his monologue, oblivious to my discomfort. “There are many legends surrounding the chastity belt, probably the most popular being from the medieval period where it is fabled that a knight would fasten the belt to his wife before leaving for the crusades. Can you imagine if he died during battle and she was left wearing this for the rest of her days?” He chuckled sadistically.
    “Mr. Kline, I really need to be going,” I segued, but Doug would have none of it.
    “It is all a misnomer, since the chastity belt was only intended to be worn for short periods of time, usually to prevent rape when a woman was in a less than ideal situation.” He sighed and with a last wistful look returned the horrible thing to the drawer.
    “The road to perdition is paved with good intentions, Maggie. You would do well to remember that.”
    Gone was the frantic little maniac, and as Mr. Kline retrieved my phone from the drawer, I felt a tug of sympathy. I may be dense at times, but it was very clear to me that Doug Kline knew of his wife’s infidelity and was wounded by it. I had a hard time imagining him with a ‘Twinkie’, as Neil had suggested. For whatever reason, this weirdo had taken a liking to me, and he seemed so sad and lonely that I couldn’t turn my back and walk away.
    “You know, Mr. Kline, er, Doug, you’re a very, um, attractive man.”
    What are you doing! my mother’s voice shrieked at me as I took the phone from him.
    Quiet, Self! I’m trying to make him feel better. I rested a hand on his shoulder, intending to do some more of my good-pal-bucking-up routine, but I noticed his self-pitying expression had turned to one of