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

were ushered into the kitchen. Neil had answered the door while I put on a pot of coffee. Introductions were made and then I shut the door to the living room, where Sylvia’s soft snores remained undisturbed. I puttered around, refilling the sugar bowl and setting out steaming mugs, which neither Special Agent Salazar nor Special Agent Feist touched. I downed my first cup and waited.
    “Have a seat Mrs. Phillips.” Special Agent Salazar indicated my ugly barstool with a motion of his dark skinned hand. I refilled my mug and sat. Neil stood behind me, his hands on my shoulders, in an obvious show of support.
    The questions began and I answered as best I could. Yes, I knew Candie Valentino, no not well. My cleaning services had been referred to her by a mutual acquaintance. No, I didn’t know Markus Valentino well; I’d only met him for the first time the day before.
    “So, why then did Mrs. Valentino phone you when she received the package?” Special Agent Feist asked. His tone implied I was hiding some sort of deep connection with the Valentino’s.
    “At first, she thought I might have sent it, since part of my logo was on the box?” I didn’t mean for the words to come out like a question, but I couldn’t help it.
    Neil squeezed my shoulder. “I ordered all of Maggie’s business paraphernalia from an online company. The logo was a freebie distributed for general use by the same site.
    Special Agent Salazar flipped open a small leather-bound notebook. “The name of the site?”
    Neil rattled it off.
    “What’s the name of your business, Mrs. Phillips?” Special Agent Feist pinned me down with his neon blue stare. If these two were doing a good cop/ bad cop routine, I couldn’t pick out which was which.
    “The Laundry Hag Cleaning Services.”
    “Laundry hag?” Salazar asked.
    I shrugged. “It’s hard to forget.”
    “Indeed,” Special Agent Feist said. The two exchanged an unreadable look. Jeeze.
    “Why did you go to the Valentino residence yesterday?” Special Agent Feist asked.
    “Candie sounded so upset, I urged her to call the police about the dead bird, but I figured she wasn’t thinking straight. I wanted to make sure she was okay.”
    “Why didn’t you call the police, Mrs. Phillips?”
    “My cell phone was out of juice and Neil left his at Dr. Bob’s office.”
    “Dr. Bob?” Special Agent Salazar cocked his head to the side, studying me like an ameba under a microscope.
    “Our marriage counselor,” Neil supplied. Again with the silent communication. I wanted to elbow Neil in the gut. Did the entire world need to know we were in therapy?
    “So that’s why I didn’t call Detective Capri.” I finished lamely.
    “What happened when you arrived at the Valentino residence?”
    I retold the story, as much as I could recall anyhow. Neil kept quiet, probably so we didn’t look like a couple of stooges working from a well-rehearsed routine, like our inquisitors.
    “Detective Capri mentioned you have an ongoing relationship with the Hudson police force.”
    As succinctly as possible, I told them about the C.I position and the events which had led up to it.
    “So you took the note from the Valentinos’ home without their knowledge.” Special Agent Salazar crossed his arms over his chest and waited for conformation.
    “No,” I respond, but didn’t elaborate.
    “No?” Special Agent Feist didn’t move, but something in his demeanor changed.
    Neil poked me in the middle of my back, where they couldn’t see. I sighed. “I made a photocopy to bring to Detective Capri.
    “Are you aware, Mrs. Phillips, that Mr. Valentino had no knowledge of the first note?”
    “I have no idea how he could have missed it. I left it on the tray of his fax machine.” Unless Valentino had hidden it, like he’d attempted to hide the dead bird from the police. Why he’d lie about the note, after calling in the FBI, I couldn’t begin to guess.
    “Tell us about your whereabouts this morning, Mrs. Phillips.”
    His words didn’t inform as to whether I was a suspect or not, but as I ran through my schedule, I realized it didn’t matter. Because of my busy life, I had an alibi for almost the entire day.
    Neil sucked in an audible breath when he discovered I had been back to Dr. Bob’s, but didn’t comment. The two special agents nodded as I gave them names and contact numbers for all of the people I’d spoken with. Part of me hoped they would run down Neil’s day too, because even if my