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

house—twelve rooms in all—and the Morgan’s were putting the house up for sale the next day. It wasn’t the largest house I’d worked on, but the five-year-old boy and German Shepherd had added to the cleaning challenge. “Get the Mr. Clean sponges too and see if you can get the crayon marks off of the dining room wall.”
    “I’ll tell you something right now, Missy. You can’t trust a bald man with an earring to know a thing about getting rid of dirt, no matter what his name is. Now, if you’re searching for buried treasure, he’s your man.”
    “Maybe if you scrub hard enough you’ll find an X marking the spot.”
    Coop chuckled and headed out to the White Cloud of Death, which I was seriously considering renaming. I was still in shock after hearing about yet another casualty. Unlike the earlier two victims, there was no proof of foul play. Neil had called the hospital and discovered a lifetime of heavy drinking and stupidity was to blame for the private investigator’s demise. Apparently, Greer had been attempting to build a fire in his office fireplace but didn’t open the flue. He’d been drinking, and it was assumed he’d passed out, totally unaware that the room filled with smoke. Yet I couldn’t help but wonder if his time had come sooner due to his association with the Kline’s.
    Finishing the bathtub would require the bleach scrub I’d sent Coop for, so I decided to scrutinize the house. I was impressed with our handiwork. Between the polished interior and the removal of clutter, I was optimistic that the Morgan’s would get their asking price.
    “Coop?” I called. “I really need that Comet! Coop!”
    I headed downstairs, more than ready to finish this job and go home. I’d arranged for the meeting with Josh’s teacher the next afternoon, and we had one more job before that. I was afraid I was burning the candle at both ends, but the next client was a long-time business associate of Mr. Kline’s and an avid gun collector to boot, so I was hoping to discover something.
    “Coop, damn it, let’s finish this job and get out of here.” My patience had worn out, and I wasn’t about to let the old man drag his feet because he didn’t want to get home. At this point, I would’ve let him sleep in bed between me and Neil if it meant a full eight hours rest.
    I crossed to the front door where I’d shucked my mules off. Coop’s loafers were nowhere in sight, so I deduced he must still be outside. I slid my feet into the shoes and flung open the front door. Dark and cold outside, a typical autumn evening in New England.
    “I swear to God, Coop, if I catch you flirting with some old battle-ax I’ll—”
    The threat caught in my esophagus as I spied a pair of tweed trousers sticking out of the end of my van at an odd angle.
    “Coop!” I screamed and ran for the van. “Coop, my God! Somebody help!”
    I reached the van just as the next door neighbor turned on a porch light.
    “What’s going on out here?” a middle-aged woman with her hair in pink curlers called out.
    “Call 911!” I shrieked and leaned over his inert form to check for a pulse.
    Nothing.
    “Hurry,” I tossed hysterically over my shoulder, fighting tears and immobilizing panic.
    Turning my back on the neighbor, I searched for blood but couldn’t find a wound. With a great deal of struggle, I flipped him over onto his back.
    “Oh, Coop.” I held his head in my lap like Neil had done for me that morning. “I’m sorry; this is my fault. I’m so sorry.”
    I chanted the mantra over and over while the first sirens pierced the night, while the paramedics shoved me out of the way, and I still didn’t stop even after the ambulance disappeared around a bend in the road, carrying Coop’s body to the morgue.

Chapter Fifteen
    T he rain pounded down on my bare head while the chilly air seeped through my clothes and flesh, all the way to the bone. I sat on the curb, long after the taillights of the ambulance had vanished in the night. I couldn’t feel anything. A few snowflakes mingled with the rain, and my ragged exhales puffed in the air. Rationally, I knew I should climb into the van, crank up the heater, and go home to my family, but terror kept me in place.
    Coop was dead.
    And I was to blame.
    The paramedic with the kind face had told me it had been a heart attack. He said Coop was gone before he’d finished falling and most likely he didn’t feel a thing. He’d placed a hand on my shoulder, but I was