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

circumstances.”
    “Mr. Kline, I was very sorry to hear about your wife.”
    “It was…shocking. Alessandra had a larger-than-life manner about her, and I’m still coming to terms with her loss.” His gaze focused inwards, searching for some puzzle piece in the dark corners of his brain. I reached over to pat his hand, then thought better of the act, remembering the last time I’d attempted to comfort him.
    “Do you think I could speak with him in private for a moment?” I asked Jason. Neil stood up straighter and eyed me but I directed my gaze at the attorney.
    Jason studied my face for a long breath, nodded his head, and retrieved his briefcase. “We’ll be right outside the door. Doug, I’ll be back to you in a few.”
    Neil stared me down and he too he left the room without a word.
    “Mr. Kline—”
    “Doug, please. I hope we’re still friends, even after all of this.”
    I hesitated—unwilling to coldly inform him that we never were friends—before sidestepping the same way I do when Kenny and Josh ask me to take them to play laser tag every Saturday.
    “Doug, between you and me, I’m investigating for the police, hoping that my job as a cleaning lady will help them find out who is behind all this. Is there something that you know about your wife, like people who might’ve wished her harm, anything at all you could tell me? Did her habits change; were there new people in her life? Maybe there’s something, which at the time seemed unimportant, but you recalled later?” I was proud of my professional sounding delivery, honed by watching countless episodes of Law and Order .
    He sat in silence for a moment and then shook his head. “No one wished my wife ill, not even me when I found out about her affair. I loved her too much, and we had a good life together, even if our marriage bed was cold. It was my doing and I couldn’t fault her.”
    I almost asked about that one but stifled my curiosity, since that wouldn’t have anything to do with the case. “So she looked elsewhere for…um…comfort in that area?”
    Doug nodded. “I hated the thought of her with another man, but I knew she needed something I could no longer give her. So I hired a private investigator to follow her and find out who he was. Not that I would do anything to him, but I wanted to make sure the man was treating her properly.”
    I flinched at those words. It was probably the PI who had leaked the affair to the media in the first place. “Would you mind if I contact your investigator? If he followed your wife, he may have additional information about who she was meeting on a regular basis.”
    “His name is Len Greer, and his office is off of Main Street in Worcester. He’s in the Yellow Pages if you want to call him.”
    I had no intention of calling him, but I was going to see him and hopefully get a little more insight into the Kline’s marriage.
    “I have to go, Mr. Kline. Hopefully we’ll figure something out.”
    It may have been my imagination, but Doug Kline looked extremely skeptical as I turned and knocked on the door. I couldn’t blame him. If I had been in his shoes, I would have wanted a real champion, not the Laundry Hag, but I guess he had to take what he could get.

    * * * *
    Neil dropped me off at home on his way to work. Marty and the boys were still asleep, so I made another pot of coffee. While I waited for the coffee to perk, I thought about the inconsistencies I’d witnessed from Jason Macgregor. He’d seemed completely competent the first time I’d seen him and over the phone, but today he vacillated between a Jim Carey skit and almost soap opera type of intensity. Was he simply a wacky person, or was he actually performing some kind of role?
    I poured the fresh coffee and took a fortifying sip. The phone shrilled. The portable was nowhere to be found, so I made a mad dash for the wall unit.
    “Hello?”
    “Hello?” The querying voice of my early morning caller belonged to an elderly man. A confused elderly man from the sound of his bewilderment.
    “Hello?” I queried again.
    “Are you the lady who advertised for cleaning help wanted in today’s paper?”
    “Yes, I’m Maggie Phillips and I run a cleaning service called—”
    “What’s the pay like for this job?” The caller had changed from befuddled to belligerent. Maybe it wasn’t Jason Macgregor, maybe my perception was off.
    “Do you know someone who would be interested in the job?” I asked.
    “That depends on