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

to take breath, and Butch interjected, as she had done every time I reached this point in the tale.
    “Approximately how long were you in the store?”
    “Somewhere between half an hour and forty-five minutes. It would have been less, but I picked the wrong line, and checkout took a while.”
    “When did you discover someone had taken the wheelbarrow?”
    “After I checked out.” I fought a losing battle with my temper, and the pointless string of redundant questions only fueled the fire. “If you’re Hudson’s finest, I’d say we’re all up shit creek.”
    Butch ignored my insult. “What did you do when you discovered the wheelbarrow had been taken?”
    “I called my house, and my brother came to pick me up.”
    “So why didn’t you have him give you a ride in the first place?”
    I really didn’t like the smug look on her face.
    “Because he wasn’t home when I needed to go!” The stress of the past few weeks was wearing me down and having Butch imply that I was either shady or stupid annoyed the crap out of me, so I stood up. “In case you’ve missed it, Detective, I’m trying to help you out here. I can leave anytime I want, but I feel it’s my job as a good citizen to do what I can, so either ask me something new or get out of my way.”
    “You were the ghost writer on that book, How to Win Friends and Influence People, weren’t you?”
    I guess I had to hand in my title of Master of Observation, since I’d missed the hulking presence of Detective Bradley Patterson in the doorway. That Detective Butch was just as startled was only slightly mollifying.
    “Detective Capri, can I speak with you for a moment? We’ll be right back, Mrs. Phillips.” Patterson was dressed casually in a knitted sweater that should have looked ridiculous on his bulky frame but was strangely fitting. He had this, so what if it’s ugly, my mother made it, air about him. Butch sent me a withering glance and departed behind Patterson.
    I sat back down and laid my head on my folded arms. Anger had kept me conscious to this point, but I was so tired my ears rang. I wanted to find Neil and go home; anything else was too much effort.
    The door squeaked, and I looked up. Bradley Patterson had returned with a fresh cup of coffee.
    “The way I see it, you have a knack for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Did you know him well?”
    I shook my head before holding the Styrofoam cup to my lips. Greg the Gym Rat was dead, shot once execution style in the forehead and tossed into my wheelbarrow five miles from the supermarket where I’d last seen it. “I barely knew him at all. I’d only seen him in person three times. He wasn’t up for any humanitarian awards, but he was all right.”
    “Maggie, we’ve found Mr. Kline.”
    I gripped the coffee cup in both hands to keep them from shaking. “And…?”
    “He was pulled over for speeding along I84, heading southwest into Connecticut. He claimed to be at a campground for the last three days, but there was no one to provide an alibi for him.”
    I locked stares with the detective, and the unspoken words hovered between us. This time.
    “He had motive and opportunity, so he’s being held without bail, charged with murder in the first degree.”
    I nodded glumly. “What about me. Am I being charged with something?”
    Patterson studied my face for a minute before answering. “No. Detective Capri was reluctant to let you leave, and I have no authority here. Hudson is her jurisdiction, but I convinced her that our murder cases are linked. Unfortunately, you’re also connected, so before I let you leave, is there anything you want to tell me?”
    “Mr. Kline’s lawyer called me last night and asked if I could go check on him since he wasn’t answering his phone.”
    Patterson swore, and I flinched. “Did you?”
    I shook my head. “Neil went. He said the place was all shut up and dark.”
    “What time was this?”
    “A little after ten.”
    Patterson stood up, so I followed suit. “I don’t know why you’re connected to all this, Mrs. Phillips. On the surface, it seems like coincidence, but my gut is telling me there’s something else at work here. Do you know of anyone who holds a grudge against you or your family?”
    “Well, the woman at the end of the cul-de-sac was less than thrilled when I talked her down to twenty-two cents per paperback at her yard sale a few months back.” I’d been aiming for levity, but the words fell flat.
    He offered