Read Online The Misadventures of the Laundry Hag 00 - Skeletons in the Closet by Jennifer L. Hart - Free Book Online
Authors: Jennifer L. Hart
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My palms sweated, and I wiped them on my jeans, hoping that Mr. Kline wasn’t implying what I thought he was. It was one thing to lie safe and sound in my bed and discuss the Kline’s marital difficulties with Neil, but talking one on one with Douglass Kline had me shaking in my hiking boots.
Mr. Kline continued his monologue, oblivious to my discomfort. “There are many legends surrounding the chastity belt, probably the most popular being from the medieval period where it is fabled that a knight would fasten the belt to his wife before leaving for the crusades. Can you imagine if he died during battle and she was left wearing this for the rest of her days?” He chuckled sadistically.
“Mr. Kline, I really need to be going,” I segued, but Doug would have none of it.
“It is all a misnomer, since the chastity belt was only intended to be worn for short periods of time, usually to prevent rape when a woman was in a less than ideal situation.” He sighed and with a last wistful look returned the horrible thing to the drawer.
“The road to perdition is paved with good intentions, Maggie. You would do well to remember that.”
Gone was the frantic little maniac, and as Mr. Kline retrieved my phone from the drawer, I felt a tug of sympathy. I may be dense at times, but it was very clear to me that Doug Kline knew of his wife’s infidelity and was wounded by it. I had a hard time imagining him with a ‘Twinkie’, as Neil had suggested. For whatever reason, this weirdo had taken a liking to me, and he seemed so sad and lonely that I couldn’t turn my back and walk away.
“You know, Mr. Kline, er, Doug, you’re a very, um, attractive man.”
What are you doing! my mother’s voice shrieked at me as I took the phone from him.
Quiet, Self! I’m trying to make him feel better. I rested a hand on his shoulder, intending to do some more of my good-pal-bucking-up routine, but I noticed his self-pitying expression had turned to one of bemusement.
Oh shit, both my mother’s voice and my own inner monologue chorused. I had totally given him the wrong impression, pulling off a Don’t stand so close to me. I snatched my hand back and picked up on the not so subtle throat clearing coming from the doorway.
The portly woman in the doorway was in her late sixties, and she didn’t bother to hide her distaste. It took me a minute to place her as the Kline’s cook.
Maggie, Maggie, Maggie. You’ve really stepped in it this time….
I did my best crustacean scuttle all the way home.
* * * *
I called a few of Marty’s friends, trying to track him down, but came up with squat. My brother had done his David Copperfield escape-from-the-jaws-of-commitment-and-then-disappeared-into-the-night routine. Kenny and Josh stepped off the bus, and I had a list of chores for each of them which I needed done over the weekend. Both boys are more computer savvy than I ever hope to be, and I’d assigned them to research the men who my mother-in-law had invited to Thanksgiving dinner.
Neil had called her and attempted to change the venue to an upscale restaurant, but he reported it had been like trying to dislodge a giant sequoia with a plastic sand shovel. So I was stuck. Nothing new there.
I’d finished my shopping list based on my mother-in-law’s menu when Neil arrived home. I dreaded telling him about my encounter with Mr. Kline, because no matter how I phrased it in my head, it sounded awful. There was no simple way to explain what had happened.
“What’s up, sweets?” Neil gave me a peck on the cheek and stuck his head in the refrigerator. I wrung my hands and debated what to tell him.
“I hit on Mr. Kline,” I blurted out.
Neil emerged with a bowl of antipasto salad and a huge grin. “Do tell.”
“Well, I uh, went to get my phone, ya know?” I looked up at him hopefully. He nodded, and I scoured my mind looking for the right words. “So, I was there, and he had my phone in his office, and there was this
Mr. Kline continued his monologue, oblivious to my discomfort. “There are many legends surrounding the chastity belt, probably the most popular being from the medieval period where it is fabled that a knight would fasten the belt to his wife before leaving for the crusades. Can you imagine if he died during battle and she was left wearing this for the rest of her days?” He chuckled sadistically.
“Mr. Kline, I really need to be going,” I segued, but Doug would have none of it.
“It is all a misnomer, since the chastity belt was only intended to be worn for short periods of time, usually to prevent rape when a woman was in a less than ideal situation.” He sighed and with a last wistful look returned the horrible thing to the drawer.
“The road to perdition is paved with good intentions, Maggie. You would do well to remember that.”
Gone was the frantic little maniac, and as Mr. Kline retrieved my phone from the drawer, I felt a tug of sympathy. I may be dense at times, but it was very clear to me that Doug Kline knew of his wife’s infidelity and was wounded by it. I had a hard time imagining him with a ‘Twinkie’, as Neil had suggested. For whatever reason, this weirdo had taken a liking to me, and he seemed so sad and lonely that I couldn’t turn my back and walk away.
“You know, Mr. Kline, er, Doug, you’re a very, um, attractive man.”
What are you doing! my mother’s voice shrieked at me as I took the phone from him.
Quiet, Self! I’m trying to make him feel better. I rested a hand on his shoulder, intending to do some more of my good-pal-bucking-up routine, but I noticed his self-pitying expression had turned to one of bemusement.
Oh shit, both my mother’s voice and my own inner monologue chorused. I had totally given him the wrong impression, pulling off a Don’t stand so close to me. I snatched my hand back and picked up on the not so subtle throat clearing coming from the doorway.
The portly woman in the doorway was in her late sixties, and she didn’t bother to hide her distaste. It took me a minute to place her as the Kline’s cook.
Maggie, Maggie, Maggie. You’ve really stepped in it this time….
I did my best crustacean scuttle all the way home.
* * * *
I called a few of Marty’s friends, trying to track him down, but came up with squat. My brother had done his David Copperfield escape-from-the-jaws-of-commitment-and-then-disappeared-into-the-night routine. Kenny and Josh stepped off the bus, and I had a list of chores for each of them which I needed done over the weekend. Both boys are more computer savvy than I ever hope to be, and I’d assigned them to research the men who my mother-in-law had invited to Thanksgiving dinner.
Neil had called her and attempted to change the venue to an upscale restaurant, but he reported it had been like trying to dislodge a giant sequoia with a plastic sand shovel. So I was stuck. Nothing new there.
I’d finished my shopping list based on my mother-in-law’s menu when Neil arrived home. I dreaded telling him about my encounter with Mr. Kline, because no matter how I phrased it in my head, it sounded awful. There was no simple way to explain what had happened.
“What’s up, sweets?” Neil gave me a peck on the cheek and stuck his head in the refrigerator. I wrung my hands and debated what to tell him.
“I hit on Mr. Kline,” I blurted out.
Neil emerged with a bowl of antipasto salad and a huge grin. “Do tell.”
“Well, I uh, went to get my phone, ya know?” I looked up at him hopefully. He nodded, and I scoured my mind looking for the right words. “So, I was there, and he had my phone in his office, and there was this
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