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

again.
    “So why were you there on Friday afternoon, at the time of the murder?”
    I explained about my cell phone, finding Mrs. Kline with her lover, and Mr. Kline’s phone call.
    “So he asked you to come by at two? Didn’t you find that a little odd?”
    I shifted in the suddenly uncomfortable chair. “Not really, I know he’s a busy man and he wanted to make sure he was home when I came by.”
    Detective Patterson eyed me for a minute and asked, “Did he pay you?”
    “No, I had arranged to collect my money from Mrs. Kline. She’d already sent me a check for my expenses beforehand.” Something in his tone registered in my brain. “Wait, what did you mean by pay me?”
    “May I be candid?” When I didn’t respond, he continued, “Mr. Kline is a very wealthy man, and in my experience, wealth and privilege can buy many things. Loyalty being one of them.”
    I tamped down my anger. “He didn’t buy me off to provide him with an alibi, if that’s what you’re saying.”
    “Are you sexually involved with him?”
    I laughed. I couldn’t help it. It was obvious this detective held everyone’s motivations suspect, but the idea that I would betray Neil for creepy Mr. Kline….
    I pulled my wallet out of my purse and flipped to a picture of Neil and the boys that I’d taken on the beach right before we moved. “Do you see this man? That’s my husband. He’s my best friend and my hero too. Now, I understand you’re just trying to do your job, but I take serious umbrage to your implications.”
    The detective looked at the picture for a minute before focusing on me. The gleam of suspicion in his eyes hadn’t diminished. “What’s your impression of Douglass Kline?”
    “He creeps me out, but I feel sorry for him.”
    “Sorry enough to cover for him?”
    “Now wait a damn minute! I’m here to help you with this investigation. I wish I’d never met the Kline’s because ever since that stupid soirée, my life has spiraled out of control. I didn’t want to clean their damn house, but my friends talked me into it. I really didn’t want to see Greg the Gym Rat sticking it to bitchy Mrs. Kline, but it happened, and I can’t erase it now. I feel sorry for Mr. Kline because no one deserves to have someone they love betray him like that. I was with him on Friday afternoon; I went to pick up my cell phone, and we talked. The end. Now, I don’t want to be involved in this craziness, but I am. I want to assist the investigation, but I can’t help you if you don’t put a little faith in what I’m telling you!”
    At some point during my tirade, I’d risen from the chair and balled my hands at my sides. Detective Patterson made a steeple out of his sausage sized fingers and stared at me, wearing an expression I couldn’t begin to read. The man had one hell of a poker face.
    “Well, I believe that’s enough for now. Thank you for coming here today, Ms. Phillips….”
    “It’s MRS. Phillips,” I emphasized.
    “Sorry. Mrs. Phillips. I’ll be in touch.”
    “Skippy,” I said. I stashed my wallet and flounced out of the office. I was the focus of several stares as I headed back to the parking lot and I supposed I’d forgotten to use my indoor voice. I really didn’t care.
    Unless you’ve been in a situation where someone is determined to prove that you’re a liar, you’ll have a hard time understanding how I felt. I had entered the precinct with the idea that I was going to meet one of the good guys. I hold a tremendous amount of respect for anyone who fights for the side of law and order. The fact that he seemed to want to pin some kind of disreputable tag on me really fried my bacon.
    I called Neil from the parking lot and left a message on his voicemail, detailing my rage and complete disillusionment with the justice system in this country. I always figure ‘go big or stay home’.
    I picked up the boys with a murmured thanks to Sylvia and a promise to call her later with details. We motored home, where I sent them out in the backyard and scrubbed the floors with a vengeance. Grime and dust became the focus of my frustration, and as I worked Q-tips between the keys of the computer, the rage abated a smidgen.
    Empathy is my strong suit. I tend to put myself in someone else’s shoes and tread that mile. Detective Patterson was probably stymied by the case and reluctant to let go of the only viable murder suspect. By providing Mr. Kline an alibi, I’d punched a major hole in Bradley