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

same Special Agent Feist, if someone you were romantically involved with turned out to be a stalker and/or corporate spy.”
    “How would you characterize Mr. Rothschild’s reaction to his find?”
    I scowled at Salazar. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
    “Was he angry?”
    The tingle started along the back of my neck. “More devastated than anything. Leo doesn’t open his heart very often; he’s been burned before.”
    They exchanged glances and the tingling increased.
    “Where were you between nine and eleven PM yesterday, Mrs. Phillips.”
    “Here. Why?”
    “Is there anyone who can substantiate your whereabouts?”
    “Neil, Penny, the kids, my next door neighbor, Sylvia Wright. Why do you need to know?”
    “We’re the ones asking the questions.” Feist snapped.
    I pushed past him, reaching for the phone. “I’m calling my lawyer. I don’t know what the two of you are up to, but I’m sick of feeling like there’s a giant target on my back.”
    Another silent communication passed between them. Did the FBI train them in mental telepathy? Salazar nodded once and Feist grunted, “Richard Head’s body was discovered in an alley several blocks from his home. Medical examiner estimated the time of death between 9:30 and 10:30 PM.”
    “Shit,” I dropped my weight onto a reluctant barstool. It groaned in protest. “I’m guessing it wasn’t an accident?”
    “That’s classified.” Salazar said in a mild tone. “We’ve been in this business for a long time, Mrs. Phillips. It’s never a coincidence that the same person’s name resurfaces time and again through the investigation. You are tied to every single person involved in some way or another. If you were us, what would you think?”
    I didn’t answer. “Contact your council, we’ll be in touch.” Feist nodded once and led the way out. I sat, staring into space. They were absolutely right about my name cropping up, but the reason for it was obvious, if only to me. I was being set up.
    Why? And by who? Coffee forgotten, I paced the length of the kitchen. Who would have anything to gain by framing me?
    Well, Richard Head’s killer, obviously. Followed closely by Candie’s kidnapper and whoever had torched the Valentino estate. It might be all one person. The thought sent a shiver down my spine.
    The phone rang. “Hey,” Neil said. “You all right?”
    “Not so much” I whispered. “Someone’s setting me up.”
    The line was quiet for a second. “Get changed into some sweats. I’ll be home in a few.”
    “Are you sure you won’t get into trouble, taking time off?”
    “Don’t worry about it. Go get ready.”

Twenty

    “ T his is stupid,” I huffed as Neil lapped me again on the high school track. We’d been at it for twenty minutes and I’d completed three laps to Neil’s eight. He pinched my behind on every pass, unimpeded by the thick sweats covering my lower half. Miracle of miracles, it wasn’t snowing on us and the temperature resided somewhere in the mid-forties.
    Neil pivoted to face me, continuing to jog backwards, the showoff. “Aren’t you having fun, Uncle Scrooge?”
    “You’re giving me an inferiority complex.” I grumbled, picking up my pace.
    “It’s not a competition, Maggie.”
    I shot him a dirty look and stumbled over nothing for my efforts. Neil’s laughter faded as he turned forward and sped away.
    I smiled to myself, glad my husband was having fun, even if I was the butt of the joke. Out of the multitude of worries I dwelt on, Neil’s happiness was high on the list. Ever since he’d left his SEAL team, I fretted about my own hum-drum existence boring him to death. While raising two boys kept me busy, it wasn’t as if I was saving the world, fighting terrorists or rescuing hostages. Cleaning and daydreaming didn’t get the old adrenaline pumping the way Neil preferred it.
    We’d settled into a routine soon after moving to Hudson, albeit a somewhat strange one. But between canceling the gym membership and my utter failure as a small business owner, I’d destroyed the little stability we’d built and were now forced into starting all over again.
    Neil would adapt; Navy SEAL’s are trained to acclimate in any situation. But there’s a big difference between surviving and truly enjoying life.
    Candie Valentino, from what little I’d seen of her, had been surviving. Markus, I wasn’t so sure about. Although the man wore a slick veneer of confidence, my radar hummed that it was a