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

two-in-one machines anymore.”
    I nodded; encouraged because she hadn’t brushed my find aside. “No one else was in that wing of the house and the machine made a weird ring-buzz noise combo before the paper came out. What do you think it means?”
    “Honestly? It’s probably a prop in some role-playing sex game. The fax had to come from someone privy to the fax number, hence someone who is acquainted with Mister or Mrs. Valentino. The Phoenix may very well be a pet name for Valentino’s Johnson.”
    Shit on a stick. “Yeah, that’s what Neil thought, too.” Oops. Did I say the words aloud?
    “Maggie,” Capri growled and I winced. Oh Magoo, you’ve done it again! The detective only called me Maggie when she was preparing a lecture. Silence hung in the air and just like the pause between an infant’s cries, the longer the breath, the louder the complaint.
    “You are supposed to be one of my confidential informants. Do you need me to define ‘confidential’ to you again?”
    Unthinkingly, I squirmed in my seat. “I just thought—”
    “No, you didn’t think. Your husband does not need to be brought into the loop, especially since he has no connection with the law. Isn’t it bad enough everyone at the station has a pretty clear idea of why you show up here thrice weekly? Most C.I’s bring in bogus tips to collect a fee. But you’re not after the money; you’re looking to bring down the bad guys. Problem is; that’s my job. Here’s how the position works. You bring me a tip, I investigate the tip. The more information you give me, the more time I invest in following up on your leads. So far, we’ve got diddly-squat. Take a stab at how many man-hours I’ve put into following up on your tips?”
    I threw my shoulders back, straightening my spine. “Hey, I’m new to this cloak and dagger scene and can I help it if I don’t know what I’m looking for?”
    “Trust your instincts.” Her matter-of-fact statement stabbed me in the gut, but I hid my reaction quickly. No need to flaunt my vulnerability to Capri, since I wasn’t sure I could trust her yet.
    Since the last detective I’d put my faith in had tried to shoot me, I was a smidge gun shy.
    “Go home, Mrs. Phillips and don’t contact me again until you have information on an actual crime.”
    I’d been dismissed. Again. Battling my temper, I stuck my nose in the air and sashayed out of Capri’s office, feigning confidence I didn’t feel. I’m a big believer in the fake it ‘til you make it school of thought. Unfortunately, I bumped into the water cooler, and sent the ten-gallon jug crashing to the floor where it glugged its contents onto the linoleum.
    Let me tell you, it’s hard to maintain a dignified air when you constantly need to seek out a mop in order to clean up after yourself and everyone around you. At least I enjoy my work.

One
    “ M aggie, I think it’s clean enough.” Sylvia stood with her hands on her hips, a scowl marring her classic features. In that pose, wearing a purple leotard and turquoise tights, she could have petitioned for membership to the Justice League . Work-out Woman, battling the bulge one frumpy housewife at a time.
    “You’re supposed to be toning with the abdominal machine, not rubbing it down for the night.”
    “Can I help it if it’s dusty?” I swiped at the pulley system with my paper towel, obviously the first to do so in quite a while. “You want me to be comfortable doing the reps, then let me get to know the machine first.”
    Sylvia snorted. “This isn’t a date, even though there will be a bit of skin-to-vinyl contact.”
    “Exactly! And how many other patrons have indulged in the same? Hairy, sweaty pimply-assed patrons.” I squinted at the crunch machine. “You’re the whore of the fitness world.”
    Sylvia let out a bark of laughter. “You’re terrible; stalling because you don’t want to do the exercises.”
    Well, give the woman a cigar! I wondered what tipped her off, my sloth-like movements or whining like a seven-year-old girl in Toys-R-Us’s Barbie section. Usually, my bevy of complaints was enough to convince Sylvia to hang at the juice bar and gab, but for some unknown reason, she’d decided to stick to her guns.
    “I can’t believe you bring your own bottle of cleanser. The gym provides plenty of anti-fungal, anti-bacterial spray solutions for people to use.”
    I snorted and scrubbed the levers under the seat. “Yeah, I’ve been watching and I have