Steamed (A Maid in LA Mystery) by Holly Jacobs Read Free Book Online Page A

one.  When you become a mom, you must start carrying a giant purse in order to haul all the things you, your kids, their friends, their friends’ parent, the football team or a random teacher might need.
      Number two.  Because you carry so much just-in-case paraphernalia, you will never be able to find anything you might want.
      As I searched for my keys, I found a small packet of tissues.  Feminine hygiene products.  A pack of gum.  Two packs of mints.  An extra pair of nylons, though I rarely, if ever, wore them.  A bottle of nail polish. 
      I also found bandages.  Disinfectant.  And what looked to be an old cleat.  I wasn’t sure what sport.  That’s another thing they don’t tell you…different sports require different cleats.  Who knew?
      “Darn,” I swore and kept digging.  I know, it wasn’t much of a curse word, but I had teenage boys and tried to lead by example, so swearing for me entailed words like darn, rats and when I really wanted to go for broke, boogers . 
      A third universal truth occurred to me—car keys sink.
      Aha.  I snagged them and wondered how a key ring could be so heavy.  How many of the keys did I actually need?
      I managed to drag the board inside and was about to shut the door and get going on solving Mr. Banning’s murder when someone said, “Quincy.”
      I might have only just met Detective Cal Parker, but I knew his voice.  My stomach clenched, not so much in worry that he was here to arrest me, but in a state of panic over the thought he’d found the pictures of Tiny.
      “May I come in?” he asked.
      Now, despite my best intentions, I’d been so preoccupied with the murder, that I still hadn’t cleaned a thing.  Solving a murder took precedence over cleaning, in my book.
      “No.”
      “What is going on in there?”  He peered around me, as if he’d be able to see for himself. 
      I pulled the door shut behind me.  “Maybe an orgy?”
      Now, I’d recently admitted to myself that it had been far too long since I’d had sex at all.  The idea of an orgy was absolutely ludicrous.  It was meant to make him laugh. 
      He didn’t.
      Note to self: quipping with cops might not be a good activity.
      “Just stand here on my doorstep and ask me what you want to ask.  And really, Detective, you could call and see if your visit is convenient.”
      “I just wanted to check on you.  I was worried.”
      My eyes narrowed.  “I suspect that you weren’t worried so much about my well-being as you were worried that your prime witness or suspect—you take your pick—had left town.”
      “Never mind.  This was a mistake.”
      “Probably,” I assured him.  Then I thought WWBLJD—What would Brenda Leigh Johnson Do?  Yes, she always knew just what to do on The Closer .  I decided I was going to hunt down my murderer in much the same way that particular TV cop would.  After all, she was a strong woman.  She was polite—a subject that I frequently harped on to my boys.  And her fictional police department had been set here in LA.
      The Closer was forever sweet-talking her FBI husband into sharing information.
      I didn’t have an FBI husband, but I had a cop at my doorstep.
      Yeah, I liked The Closer and hated when it went off the air.  But there’s a spin-off.  And I liked Major Crimes , too.  There was another strong female detective.
      Beggars could not be choosers.  I looked at my potential source of information and said, “To be honest, I forgot to eat today.  What if I took you out for a quick breakfast?  On me, this time.” 
      I wondered if I could write the breakfast off as a business expense.  It seemed to me that keeping the two owners of Mac’Cleaners out of jail was good for business and thus, any costs associated with that endeavor should be counted as a business expense.  The IRS might disagree, and annoying them scared me more than annoying Cal so I probably wouldn’t risk