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

slain last Friday. When asked if her brother-in-law and murder suspect, Douglass Kline, would be in attendance, the widow Carmichael rushed to his defense.
    ‘Mr. Kline is a wonderful person who loved my sister unconditionally and I would be honored to count him among my guests.’
    “This year’s guest list includes two current politicians as well as some aspiring….”
    I switched the radio off. Well, that answered my question about Frannie’s marital status. My hands were shriveled, and I reeked of bleach and sweat. All I wanted to do was get home and take a long soak in the tub. There were too many nuances to this case, and I was in no condition to ruminate.
    Neil and Jack greeted us in the driveway, and after seeing my ‘helper’ off, I stumbled into the bathroom. Neil followed me and watched with mild interest as I ran scalding hot water on top of the lilac bath crystals.
    “How’d it go?”
    I grunted and began to strip. A button from my shirt tangled in my hair, and I yelped in pain. Why is it when you’re tired, even the slightest discomfort is excruciating?
    “Easy there, Tiger,” Neil soothed as he worked my hair free from the shirt. He helped me out of the rest of my clothes and into the tub before I could damage myself further.
    “Are you going to be all right?” Neil’s gaze flickered with concern.
    “No more pregnant teenagers. I did twice as much work as if I’d been alone, trying to keep her out of trouble. And she talks too much.”
    “Must get it from her mother. Jack Hammer is a good guy to have at your back, but I doubt if he said half a dozen words while he was here. That’s including hello and goodbye.”
    “I don’t think I’m cut out for this,” I confessed as I rested my head against the back of the tub.
    “Don’t think about it anymore tonight,” Neil advised and handed me a towel. “There’ll be plenty of time in the morning.”
    I snorted. “There’ll be no time in the morning. Or until well after I have this Thanksgiving dinner over with.”
    “Well, all the cleaning is done, so what else is there?”
    “The dinner , Neil.” Honestly, he could be thick at times. “I haven’t bought anything, and with your mother’s menu….”
    “Ssshhh, no more tonight, Uncle Scrooge. We’ll tackle tomorrow, tomorrow.”
    I dragged an oversized T-shirt over my head and flopped on the bed seconds before oblivion claimed me.

Chapter Nine
    S omeone shone a light in my eyes. I groaned and rolled away, but the light followed me. I put my hands over my face and peeked through my fingers, guessing I had out slept the boys and they were out to get me. What I saw confused then horrified me.
    Sunlight.
    The sun glared at me through my west-facing windows, and I could almost hear the voice of Apollo in my head. If you’re gonna be lazy enough to sleep the day away, don’t blame me when you’re too stupid to shut your blinds.
    “ Neil !” How could he have let this happen? He knew how important today was for Thanksgiving preparations! He’d probably thought he was doing me a kindness, letting me sleep off my fatigue. Neil doesn’t buy my ‘I’ll rest when I’m dead’ speech.
    I was too afraid to glance at the clock so I flew to the closet and yanked on the first pair of clean jeans I found. I pulled on one of Neil’s T-shirts, figuring if I ruined it in my frantic haste he’d brought it on himself. I scrunched my hair into a messy pony tail while dashing to the kitchen, but tripped on a wrinkle in the carpet and ended up spread eagled on the floor.
    Damn it all to the black depths of Hades! I’d never been able to master two things at once.
    I pushed myself up from the carpet and continued my mad dash for the kitchen. There was a note on the counter from Marty, informing me he’d taken the boys to the park and that my mother-in-law had called. I faced the inventible and looked at the clock on the microwave. 3:46 p.m., the day before Thanksgiving, and I still hadn’t done my shopping.
    No time to lose. I grabbed my purse and my keys, jotted a quick note on the back of Marty’s, and was out the door. A brisk wind slapped me in the face and tossed my unruly hair in my eyes, but I didn’t slow. I climbed behind the wheel of the White Cloud of Death and shoved the key into the ignition. I turned and waited for the engine to catch.
    Nothing.
    Okay, Self, don’t panic. I turned it again, and still nothing. A third try came up nada. No revving of an ancient engine