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

newborn under a blanket. I had so many things to do, but I couldn’t muster enough energy to get up.
    Fear. I’d felt a few tendrils of it before, but that man I met yesterday made me want to sink to the ground and curl into a fetal position. There was a big difference between knowing a killer was wandering the streets and actually bumping into one. Neil was right, no matter how brave I pretended to be, I was an amateur in a situation where a professional was needed.
    I huddled deeper in the blankets and listened to the birds twitter, figuring this wasn’t such a bad existence. The remote was an arm’s length away, and maybe I’d splurge and get a satellite dish. I could spend days watching the cooking channel, learning about the plethora of uses for parsley.
    “You awake, Uncle Scrooge?” Neil’s disembodied voice called into the room.
    I didn’t answer. I felt more than heard him enter the room, and I closed my eyes and focused on calming my ragged breaths. I was a coward, pure and simple.
    “Quit playing possum.”
    I opened my eyes. Neil sat only a few inches away.
    “How’d you know?
    “I’m a SEAL.”
    Sometimes I get really sick of that answer.
    “I’m gonna smell the freaking roses, okay?” I sat up so I gained the height advantage.
    “Okay, that sounds like a plan. Where are you going to find roses in November in Massachusetts?”
    “I haven’t gotten that far,” I admitted. Maybe there were some conservatories in Boston I could drive to. Thinking about it made me tired, and I fell back down onto my white cocoon.
    “Talk to me, Maggie.” Neil slid his leg beneath my head and stroked my hair.
    “Do you remember when we went to the Kline’s house? There was a man on the porch, about fifty, 5’6”, balding up top?”
    “Kevin Bartley.” Neil and his photographic memory to the rescue.
    “Do you know anything else about him?”
    “He lives off of High Street with his mother. He’s had a series of business failures, first as a half-owner of an online bookstore, then as a wedding photographer, a restaurant owner, and more recently, a dog groomer. He has big dreams but little knowledge, and right now he’s working at Wal-Mart. No romantic associations to speak of, at least not in the past five years. He got arrested a while back for assaulting the UPS woman, but no charges were brought up. He claimed the lady deliberately damaged his package.” He chuckled at the double entendre.
    I turned my head to look up at Neil. “How did you know all that?”
    Neil shrugged. “I’ve been researching all of the people we met at the party. I figured it was a place to start.”
    “Do you think Bartley could be the killer?”
    “No. He’s a bully, not a psychopath. From what I’ve found out, he’s an angry little man, disappointed with his lot in life, and he vents his spleen at those he views as more successful than himself.”
    “And you don’t think that anger might cause him to do something rash?”
    Neil shook his head again. “Why do you ask?”
    I told him about my encounter with Bartley and the fear I’d experienced.
    “Christ, I wish you’d told me about this yesterday. You need to speak up when you’re so upset.”
    “You were having a good time with the boys, and you all deserve that after the last few weeks.”
    “I still don’t want you to suffer in silence. You have to talk to me, Maggie.”
    “So do you still think Bartley is incapable of murder?”
    “Yes, but don’t let that stop you from mentioning his name to Patterson. He has resources I don’t, and if the guy scared you, he deserves someone else putting the fear of the Almighty in him too.” Neil sighed and stroked my hair again. “What’s on the agenda for the day?”
    “I have one more job this afternoon at the Morgan’s. And I want to implement my plan with the PI.” As always, being with Neil helped calm me and put everything in perspective.
    “I guess a trip to the gym is in order?”
    “You guessed right.”

    * * * *
    After we saw the boys onto the school bus, Neil and I left Marty sleeping at the house and drove to the garage to pick up my van. The repair costs equaled the amount I’d made with my cleaning income so far, and Neil groused that he hated to see me driving the death trap. I asked him to please rephrase that sentiment before pulling out of the parking lot.
    The gym parking lot was crowded since people worked overtime to remove pie and stuffing from their waistlines. Sylvia’s