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

stillness of the morning, and Macgregor stowed his papers, brushed himself off, and headed our way.
    “Sorry about that. I’ve been a little distracted lately.” He extended his hand towards Neil.
    A burly man emerged from the building and aimed a keyless entry remote at the shrieking car.
    “Let’s head inside. Mrs. Phillips, you may want to leave your purse in the car.”
    I nodded in understanding. No need to have some random security guard rifling through my wallet and coupon book for hidden weapons.
    The inside of the penitentiary seemed colder than the outside. Gunmetal gray paint covered cinderblock walls. The small lobby area boasted a set of metal detectors blocking the guard station. Several heavy-duty doors closed the room off from the rest of the building. Other than the security guard next to the metal detectors and a husky woman behind the desk, the room was empty.
    “Good morning!” Macgregor issued a warm greeting to the man by the metal detectors and handed over his briefcase. The man nodded to him, and Macgregor stepped through the uprights. The guard nodded to Neil and used a wand over Jason’s briefcase before he flipped the lid up and scanned its contents. Neil went through next without a hitch, and the guard waved me through. I, of course, made it beep.
    “Please remove all jewelry and walk back through.” The guard with the thick Brooklyn accent extended a small plastic bin. I struggled to take my wedding ring off, but I doubted that was what made the thing beep, since Neil wore his. I had no other jewelry, and my watch was a ten dollar K-Mart timepiece, but I took it off too.
    Beep Beep Beep . The metal detector shrilled again as I crossed its threshold. Guard No Neck beckoned me to come forward and he wanded me. “Are you wearing an under-wire bra by any chance?”
    My bra size measures at 40 C, so I always wear an under-wire bra. “Yes.”
    “You’ll need to take it off.”
    I stared at him for a moment, trying to decide if he was serious. When his taciturn expression didn’t change, I peeked around for a restroom. Naturally, it was at the far end of the reception area, where only the under-wireless could venture.
    Heaving a big sigh, I reached under my shirt and unfastened the front clasp, then slid it down my arms and handed it to him.
    “Wow that was hot!” The owner of the Chevy had reappeared in time to witness the floor show.
    “Nice color too, I never see purple undearwears anymore,” Brooklyn said as he wanded my lingerie.
    I marched through the metal detectors, snatched my bra back, and shoved it in my pocket.
    I joined a smirking Neil and Macgregor at the guard station.
    “They’re getting him ready for visitors now, and when he’s brought to the room, someone will show us in,” Jason said.
    “You always add your own spice to life, don’t you, Uncle Scrooge?”
    Before I could retort, the door to our left opened and another security guard waved us in.
    The meeting room stood at the end of a long corridor. The guard peered through a small square window then gestured us inside. Lit by repugnant florescent track illumination, Mr. Kline’s face looked sallow, and he appeared much older than the last time I’d seen him. Deep purple bruises smudged like a child’s finger painting around his sad eyes. I stared at him for a moment while he shook hands with his attorney, thinking that two people had been murdered since I’d seen him last. Was his deterioration based on grief for the death of his wife and the stress of a murder charge, or something more?
    “Douglass, how are you holding up?” Jason Macgregor’s voice sounded phony in my ears, and I looked at him sharply. His expression of concern felt a little too practiced, and although I couldn’t put my finger on it, he was somehow different than the buffoon in the parking lot.
    What if that was an act too? Maybe this guy is a sociopath, sliding into a fresh role for each new audience.
    I glanced over to Neil to see if maybe he’d observed the difference too, but he seemed unmindful of anything odd. I chalked the thought up to too much pie for breakfast and my imagination running amok yet again.
    “Well, I can complain, Jason, but I won’t. I see you’ve brought me visitors.” Mr. Kline faced me, and I knew I’d been right to come. This man made my skin crawl, but for some reason, he talked to me.
    “Maggie, my dear. As always, a pleasure to see you, albeit I wish it was under different