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

image. This interview couldn’t be over fast enough to satisfy the pounding in my skull.
    Capri cleared her throat before continuing. “There’s a seldom discussed yet vitally important role in most urban police departments, known as Confidential Informants, or CI. A CI remains anonymous, his or her name will never show up on documentation and will be recognized only by the detective he or she reports to. It’s imperative for a detective to have cultivated sources.”
    I grasped the importance of information in police work, but the term cultivated sources was new to me. My confusion must have been written across my face because Capri decided to elaborate.
    “A cultivated source is different from a regular source, such as an eye witness, victim, or suspect. A cultivated source has access to the criminal world and makes the best informant. The term usually applies to someone like a limo driver, prostitute, or perhaps a cleaning lady; someone who does business around the unlawful element, with no emotional investment.”
    “Why are you telling me all this?” I had a sneaking suspicion, but I inquired anyway.
    “Well, Hudson itself has a small police force, but we sometimes assist the Boston P.D., when, let’s say, a suspect lives in our area.”
    She looked directly into my eyes, or at least I think she did. “You see, I’m working on this embezzlement case, and the suspect’s wife is looking for a cleaning service—”
    I groaned and put a pillow over my head.
    “I think she needs to rest now, Detective.” Neil’s voice was dismissive.
    “I’ll speak with you soon. Have a good night, Mrs. Phillips.”
    I said goodnight, but knew it wasn’t goodbye.

Keep reading for a taste of
    The Misadventures of the Laundry Hag:
    Book Two Swept Under the Rug

Prologue

    “ I need to speak with Detective Capri, ASAP!” No doubt I looked like a lunatic rushing in off the streets, my hair a wind-blown rat’s nest and reeking of Murphy’s oil soap. Somewhere in my mad dash from the Valentino estate to my Mini Cooper, I’d lost my ponytail holder and trashed the knee on my favorite pair of cleaning jeans. No matter though, I still clutched the evidence to my chest, gripping the photocopied paper with all my adrenalin charged strength.
    The blond mountain of a uniformed officer behind the battered check-in desk didn’t quite roll his eyes, but I could tell he’d stifled the impulse. “She’s in a meeting Ms. Phillips—”
    “Mrs. Phillips.” I corrected out of habit. God alone knew why the officers at the Hudson Police Department couldn’t seem to get it through their heads that I was married. Probably because no man in his right mind would lay claim to the over-zealous Laundry Hag.
    Too bad for Neil, he’d been stuck with me long before I’d become the bane of Hudson’s finest.
    “Mrs. Phillips,” The burley blond guy tried to stare me down, but I wasn’t about to back off. I had two pre-teens at home and if this stegosaurus descendent wanted a battle of wills, I’d kick his Big & Tall butt.
    “Look, Bub. I’m working with Detective Capri and she needs this information, stat!” Cripes, I needed to lay off the primetime medical dramas.
    He rose to his full height, practically brushing the hanging lamp behind the desk. Thunderclouds gathered along his eyebrows and I wondered whether the ‘Bub’ or the ‘stat’ torqued him up.
    “It’s all right, Stan. I’m here.” Detective Capri hustled down the corridor from the bowels of the precinct. Either she had stellar timing or someone had tipped her off that her favorite visitor was making another scene. Capri dressed like a man, walked like a man and from what little I’d seen of her in action, she fought like a man. I had no idea what her first name was, but I called her Butch since no man could be more so.
    Capri wore pantsuits a la the Hillary for Prez collection; always with the juxtaposition military issue combat boots. Today’s suit came in a navy blue with a crisp white button-up and her only accessory was a scowl. “If you’ll follow me, ma’am.” She didn’t make it a question, just whirled on her size nine shit-kicker and trundled off.
    I cast a smug glance to the blond menace before scurrying after her. Capri led me to her office, a small cubbyhole littered with polyurethane coffee cups and reams of random papers in varying colors. My inner neat freak itched to tidy the stacks and dispose of the garbage, but from previous