The Misadventures of the Laundry Hag 00 - Swept Under the Rug

to face us, I noted a brief flicker in his eyes. Fear perhaps?
    “Oh, Markus!” Candie rushed down the stairs and flung herself at her husband. Beneath her tan, she was sickly pale and trembling. “It’s awful, just plain terrible.
    “What is?” Valentino held her an arm’s length away. “I get this message from Sierra that you need me here, but no explanation. Just what is going on?”
    Candie looked as if he had slapped her. With visible effort she pulled back and composed herself. “It’s in the kitchen.” Without another word she led the way, Valentino hot on her heels.
    “What a tool,” Neil murmured almost inaudibly. I heard him though and grinned. He’d read my mind.
    We followed the footsteps into the kitchen. A large white box, like a bakery container sat open on the granite island. Candie had been right, it was the little caricature from my business logo, the sprightly little woman with a pink kerchief wrapped around her head and matching vacuum. Candie stood in the corner next to the gourmet refrigerator, arms wrapped around her upper body. Valentino loomed over the box then pulled away in disgust, yanking a handkerchief to his face. I shuffled past Neil and stood on my tip toes to get a better look. The carcass did resemble a large bird, one that had been barbecued. The stench invaded my nostrils and I stepped back.
    “If I had to guess, I’d say it was some sort of hawk, maybe a falcon,” Neil moved closer, seemingly oblivious of the putrid smell. “Did you phone the police?”
    “What for? It’s obviously a prank.” Valentino scoffed, the tone losing some impact delivered as it was through the hanky.
    “If it’s a prank, I’m missing the punch line. Dead foul in a bakery box, how is that funny?” Neil asked his tone mild. “Looks more like a message to me.”
    “Just who the hell are you?” Valentino seethed.
    “A concerned husband. Whoever sent this didn’t do it by certified mail. The smell alone insures that. And the box has my wife’s logo on it, which means the perp wants to shift attention to her.
    “Why wouldn’t he go all the way though?” I asked “If he ripped off my caricature, he could have put my business name on there too, made the connection even more obvious.”
    “Who gives a shit?” Valentino thundered, closing the lid with his hanky-free hand. “It’s just some freak playing a game. Not worth all this fuss and bother.”
    Out of the three of us, Markus Valentino was the only one who appeared remotely riled. The stress brought out his Texas accent and a vein bulged in his forehead. Neil stood like the calm eye in the center of a shit storm and both Candie and I were green around the gills.
    “I recommend you report this to the police. Mrs. Valentino has our number and we’ll be happy to answer any questions they might have.” Neil inclined his head toward Candie and then led me to the front door by my arm.
    “We can’t just leave—” I protested as he propelled my forward.
    “There’s nothing else we can do.” Neil replied. “We can’t force him to call the cops and your connection is shaky at best.”
    “Why do you think my logo was on the box but not my name?” I repeated my earlier question. Neil didn’t answer until we were both secure in the car and heading towards the main road.
    “Someone is messing with Valentino. Did you see him freeze when we mentioned the bird? I think whoever sent that box has been watching them and snagged your logo to cast suspicion on you. Maybe they didn’t want it to be obvious that it was you, or maybe the site that I ordered your stuff from has copyright protection for its consumer’s company names. I’ll look into that when we get home.”
    I wanted to ask why me, but didn’t bother as it sounded too whiney and Neil had put up with enough from me today. “Do you think Valentino knows who is behind this?” I asked instead.
    Neil cut his gaze to me briefly. “I’d bet my left nut on it.”

    ****

    “Why is there a camper in front of our house?” Neil squinted at said vehicle through the grimy windshield of my Mini.
    “I have no idea. Maybe one of the neighbors is having company from out of town?” I suggested as Neil parked behind the vehicle which blocked most of our driveway.
    “Maggie, this is Massachusetts. People go south during the winter, since you’d have to be a kook to visit in February.”
    He had a point. I sure as hell wouldn’t load up a gas-guzzling RV and hit the