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

life to live; I’ve got all my love to give. I’ll survive. I will survive.”
    You and me, Gloria.

    * * * *
    Greg the Gym Rat lived in a neighborhood that had at one time been middle class but had fallen on hard times. A season’s worth of leaves littered most of the lawns, and the houses had a battered look to them, as if the natural course of erosion was too much to keep up with. This wasn’t hillbilly country, not this close to Boston where the housing prices rivaled Westchester County, but it seemed as if the populace had a hard time keeping up with economic demands. A family starting out or one living off social security didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell.
    The address Sylvia had pilfered stood three houses from the end of the wooded cul-de-sac. We cruised by at stalking speed, slow enough to count four windows on the first floor and five on the second. Lights shone in what we guessed was the kitchen and one upstairs room.
    Sylvia banged a U-turn at the end of the street, and we passed by again. The house to the right had a porch light on, and the one to the left was completely dark.
    “What’s the plan?” I asked.
    “Hey, this is your show; I’m only the getaway driver.”
    I was about to remind her that this whole escapade was her idea, when a car backed out of the driveway directly across from Gym Rat’s.
    “We need to find a place to hide the truck,” I said. “Try parking a few streets over and we’ll cut through the backyards.”
    Sylvia did as directed, and we hoofed it toward our destination. The back of the house lay in darkness, and I was thankful when no security light flipped on. We attempted to peer into the windows, but the lack of light was an obstacle for us too.
    “I wish we had some night vision goggles,” Sylvia said.
    I gave myself a mental slap on the forehead. Neil had some, tucked away in one of the boxes which held any number of necessary SEAL gear. Of course, even if I had them, I had no idea how to use them.
    “Let’s go around to where the light was on in the downstairs,” Sylvia suggested.
    I heard the smile in her voice. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
    “You bet.” Before I could say anything else, Sylvia crept around the front porch and out of my line of sight.
    I sighed and followed her.
    We were right; the light was coming from a kitchen window. The room looked homey.
    Green-and-white-checked curtains hung at the window, and a rooster toaster cozy hid the appliance beneath. It didn’t strike me as something the gym rat would pick out. I saw him as more of a naked lady on the mud flap kind of guy.
    “Are you sure you have the right address?” I asked.
    “2346 Union Ave.” Sylvia looked up at the cast iron numbers nailed to the porch beam. “Yup, this is the place.”
    I looked in the window again. The floor was neatly swept, and a bowl of fresh fruit sat on the counter. A “Bless This Mess” crocheted sign hung on the wall above the small wooden table. Nary a pizza box or beer bottle in sight.
    I had a really bad feeling about this. Greg the Gym Rat was either a compulsive neat freak or he didn’t live alone.
    “Did you see his vehicle?” Sylvia asked.
    “I have no idea what he drives.”
    “Me neither.”
    “A 1985 Pontiac, in metallic blue,” a third voice answered us.
    I spun around slowly, sure my heart was about to give out. A woman in her early sixties held a shotgun on the two of us. Her silver hair hung loose around her shoulders, and a Terry cloth bathrobe draped her slim form. She held that gun like she meant business.
    “You two are about as sneaky as an elephant at a tea party,” she informed us. “Don’t try anything funny now. I’ve called the police, and they’ll be here soon to haul your miserable carcasses off to jail.”
    I swallowed hard. I could think of a billion better ways to spend Saturday night and I glanced over at Sylvia, wondering why I’d let her talk me into this. Of course, I had gotten myself involved in the first place; Sylvia acted as the devil sitting on my shoulder.
    Devil or not, I didn’t want to see Sylvia incarcerated because her business would suffer. I was also aware of how important reputation was in Massachusetts. Mine was beyond repair, but I wasn’t about to drag her down with me.
    “Ma?” a male voice queried into the night.
    The screen door banged open, and Annie Oakley turned towards the gym rat. I did the most ludicrous thing I could think of. Made a grab for the