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

blame her. She wanted answers, and I needed backup. Stretching the phone cord as far as it could go, I waved my arms frantically at the men sitting in my dining room. They were talking college basketball, and I might as well have been a gnat on the wall.
    “Have you seen him lately?” I was striving for casual, but the quaver in my voice ruined the effect.
    “Doug?” she asked, and it was obvious that I’d confused her as well as myself.
    “No, Jason. I heard the two of you are involved.” No! Stupid, don’t tell her that! The words were already out though, and I was without the means to call them back.
    I could almost hear Francesca bristle over the phone. “Who told you that?”
    Ummmm. “Can you hold on a moment, please?” My hands shook as I reached for the mute button.
    “Guys! I have Francesca Carmichael on the phone. What do I say?”
    A massive scraping of chairs sounded, and Neil reached my side first, followed by Marty and Coop. “Tell her you can’t talk right now, that she needs to discuss the case with the lawyer and the police.”
    “But she’s involved with the lawyer, at least according to Len Greer and his smarmy investigation, and as soon as I get in touch with Patterson, she’ll be a suspect in the death of her sister!” I was freaking out; I couldn’t help it.
    “Tell her we’re gonna nail her pampered behind to the wall!”
    “Coop! That’s not going to help. And what if she’s innocent? What if Macgregor was behind the entire thing? Should I tell her she needs to hire a different lawyer?” I still held out hope for Frannie’s innocence.
    “Maybe Patterson is on the way to pick her up right now. Get off the phone, Maggie!” Marty’s eye held a crazed look.
    “Okay.” I held the receiver to my ear, ready to un-mute…and heard the dial tone. “Oh no.”
    “What?” Neil sounded like he was choking on something.
    “Oh shit !”
    “ What ?” the three men roared in unison
    I looked at them dumbly and gestured to the phone.
    “Spit it out, Missy!”
    “I never muted the phone.” I looked at my guys without actually seeing them. “She heard everything we said.”

    * * * *
    “Are you sure she heard everything?” Patterson had finally called about two hours after I’d made my colossal mistake and he wasn’t too happy that I’d spilled a tankard full of vital information to one of his suspects.
    “It’s possible she hung up before we started talking about the case.” But it was unlikely.
    “Christ. You really know how to stick your foot in it, don’t you?”
    “Hey, this is new territory for me, Mr. Big Shot Detective. I don’t usually spend my free time flushing out killers!!” Anger replaced the horror at my foolish actions, and now I wanted the cops to do their jobs so I could get back to my peaceful life.
    “I’m checking into Carmichael’s relationship with the lawyer. It seems unlikely, but I’m desperate enough to follow any lead. You know, I really don’t need this. I volunteered for this case, for God’s sake. I must have been off my medication.”
    I offered a half-hearted smile at his grim humor, but it felt like my face cracked. “Did you talk to Len Greer?”
    “I’m on my way over there right now. Where are you going tonight?”
    I gave him the street address for the Morgan’s house. “I’ll have my cell on, but if you could, please wait to call me until after nine, or I’m going to have to sell a kidney to pay the bill this month.”
    Patterson chuckled but then cut off with a particularly foul curse. “There’s quite a bit of activity here.”
    “What kind of activity?” I was busy locating my sneakers and heard Coop honking from my van.
    “Two fire trucks and an ambulance, plus several locals.” I heard a car door slam and Patterson call out to someone: “What’s going on here?”
    For once, I had excellent cell reception so I could follow the conversation. “Got a 911 call about twenty minutes ago. Someone spotted smoke coming from a room in the back.”
    “Was anyone hurt?” Patterson asked.
    I held my breath.
    “One fatality. Guy named Greer, died of smoke inhalation,” was the reply.

    * * * *
    “Hey, Coop, could you go get the Comet out of the van for me, please?” I called from my contortionist’s position on the bathroom floor.
    It was well after eight o’clock, and Coop and I had been working on the Morgan’s house for over five hours. Unlike our earlier jobs, we were responsible for the entire