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

just snagged my entire name instead of just the logo? Could it just be a weird coincidence?
    I surfed to Google and typed in Phoenix, bird just to see what would surface. First was the Wikipedia page, which I ignored, ‘cause any Joe Schmoe could add stuff on there. The next was a link about the mythology around the Phoenix, which symbolized immortality, resurrection and life after death. Fascinated, I began to read.

    * * * *
    “Maggs, I think it’s clean enough.” Marty gestured at the innocent stainless steel sink I’d scrubbed with a vengeance. My new client, Lucas Sloan, was nowhere to be found, but his brother had let us in to “do our thing.” The old ranch home, a similar layout to my own abode, was in desperate need of some TLC. Other than a massive T.V and beat-up recliner, the place held only cardboard boxes. And about two years’ worth of grime.
    “I’m doing shiny sink, 101.” I answered my brother as I scoured the last of the Comet from the basin. “I’ve already bleached it to remove set-in stains and all that’s left is to Windex it to a shine. This should be done every six months.”
    Mary leaned against the counter. “Fascinating, truly. “ I caught his eye roll in my peripheral vision.
    “Did you finish vacuuming?” I asked, while I spritzed the basin.
    “Yup and I even used the attachments for the corners and whatnot.”
    “How about the master bedroom?” I wiped down the swan neck faucet.
    “Done, as much as I could. Looks like the guy’s living out of a suitcase. There weren’t any hangers in the closet or pharmaceuticals in the medicine cabinet.”
    Being a snoop, I’d already noted the lack of medicine. “It’s a rental. Ben, the guy who let us in, says that Sloan is in a custody battle and he wants the place spic-n-span before the court sends someone out here to evaluate.”
    “Poor bastard,” Marty shook his head. “Bad enough his marriage broke up but now he’s gotta live under a microscope just to spend time with his kids. How come the wife always gets custody?”
    Ignoring Marty’s stall tactics, I pointed at the Swiffer duster. “See if you can reach that light fixture in the foyer. Oh and the ceiling fan in the den.” Lucas Sloan’s personal life was none of our business, and while that usually didn’t stop me from sticking my nose in, I just didn’t have the fortitude at the moment.
    Leo had once charged me with having a “bad case of the shoulds.” As in, one should organize a library by author and by genre and Kenny, you should have thought of that before we left the house. He claimed it was part of my control-freak personality and asked how I benefited from knowing how something should be done. I’d taken his musings as a rhetorical question.
    Marty grumbled and skulked out of the kitchen. I studied the sink, confident that my labor had helped. While the 1970’s era kitchen didn’t exactly sparkle, it did appear tidy and nothing pointed to a salmonella outbreak. My work was done.
    Lugging my Rubbermaid bin of cleaning supplies towards the door, I noticed an envelope stuffed under the phone base. The logo on the upper left hang corner caught my gaze. Safari Power Solutions with the slogan, Go on Safari while we do the work . I was pretty sure it was a subsidiary company owned by one Markus Valentino. Neil had also dropped the name a few times in reference to some project or other at his job.
    Peeking around the corner to note Marty’s whereabouts, I set my bin down and picked up the envelope. It was open and empty, but a phone number had been scribbled on the back. For no apparent reason, I keyed the number into my cell phone but before I could hit send, the front door opened.
    “You all done in here?” Ben Sloan called out, not coming all the way into the house. From his vantage point, he could only see the hallway leading the bedrooms and the living room. Luck on my side, I slid the envelope back under the phone and hefted my bin.
    “Just about,” I smiled and he grunted in response. If this euphoric personality was a family trait, I could understand why Sloan’s marriage had tanked. “We still have to pack up our supplies. Here’s one of my cards, could you give it to your brother for me?”
    Ben nodded and pocketed my card. I called to Marty and humped my load of cleaning paraphernalia to the Mini Cooper.
    Hot on my heels, Marty dumped the duster and Vacuum unceremoniously into the back, making the car dip and bounce. What had I