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

another hour of pain-stakingly picking through her shoebox full of receipts and arguing over writing off her weekly massage— “but I need it, Daisy,”—and homeopathic candles—“for ambiance, of course,”—I could have used a tankard of wine myself. Unfortunately it was ten forty three in the morning and I had a new client due in at eleven, so I settled for a fresh cup of coffee.
    “How’s Rowena doing? Did she churn out the Great American novel yet?” Chloe, the other CPA and the co-owner of our small business asked. Chloe had been my college roommate’s girlfriend’s roommate at Duke. After a semester the girls had broken up but Chloe and I remained close and post-graduation we had worked in the same office. Last year, she’d come to me with a business proposal, starting up our own accounting firm. I’d hesitated at first, after all I was an accountant— caution was ingrained in my psyche— but my college loans had been paid off and I lived with my aunt. Catwoman insisted I needed to be bold and the opportunity had been too good to pass up. We rented a store front in my hometown of Harrisburg, North Carolina and recruited my mother to do what she did best, spread the word. Yes, three out of five new businesses go tits up after the first two years but we were off to a solid start here in our second tax season. And of course, there was my secret after hours career. The accountant was happy and Catwoman purred with satisfaction.
    “If she did, she hasn’t sold it yet, though I learned a lot about dolphin mating practices.”
    Chloe grinned and shook out her long auburn mane before donning her cashmere scarf. “Well, I’m off to lunch. Been up since three and I’m starving.”
    “Should I ask why you were up at three?”
    Chloe made a face, which didn’t detract from her Marilyn Monroe pouty look. “Buster got into the trash last night and decided to hock it all up at oh dark hundred. You want me to get you anything?”
    “Maybe never again.” Eeep, that would teach me to inquire. Chloe and her husband Rich had the most badly behaved dog on the face of the planet. He chased cars, treed cats, lifted his leg in their walk-in closet and ruined all of Chloe’s silk blouses. He shredded newspapers, toilet paper, photo albums and shoes with equal fervor yet they continued to coddle the sixty pound German Shepard/Collie mix as though he was a big hairy baby.
    Dog people, go figure.
    Denise, our receptionist, strolled in an hour and forty nine minutes late. She ignored us both and headed for her computer station where she would proceed to play Farmville and Bejeweled on Facebook. One would think that if a woman was going to spend all day screwing around online when she was supposed to be working, she would be smart enough not to send her employer requests for pretend tractors. I’d begged Chloe to fire her, but Denise was her sister-in-law and certain family dues had to be paid. Denise’s teased blonde hair took up twice the amount of space as the rest of her as she settled behind the computer screen. Where Chloe was classy and well educated, Denise was trashy and a beauty school dropout, earning her the nickname Frenchy.
    “Buzz me when my eleven o’clock appointment comes in.” I told her now.
    “Sure thing Miz. Ellis.” Denise gave me a fake smile and I knew I’d have to keep an eye out for the newcomer myself.
    A quick pit stop in the bathroom to take care of the essentials. Staring into the crooked mirror, I evaluated my physical appearance. I was no Chloe, but neither was I Denise. All in all the assessment was positive, a little pale because I didn’t get outside much in the daytime, but with my long dark brown hair it was a look that worked. Besides, the sun tended to burn me or set loose the plague of freckles that dotted the bridge of my nose. I’d never be a stunner, but that was okay because I was Catwoman.

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    Stellar Timing

    A Medieval Times Space Opera

    By Jennifer L. Hart

The coast of South Carolina, Earth, 2059

    T-minus five minutes and counting till coffee touchdown . Noelle McIntyre sighed as she finished filling the recycled filter with coffee grounds, stuck the basket in her machine and flicked the light on. She yawned and ran a hand through her rat’s nest hairstyle. Showering was definitely on today’s agenda—she’d scare her clients away before they had a chance to look through her