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

had it, but I wasn’t going to mention it to him.  I try not to label my kids.
      “You can tell Mr. Nosey-Rosy that I was at a posh party last night, and I might have a date tonight.”  Now, date was a rather broad term for my plans to grill Cal about his investigation, but it wasn’t an out-and-out lie.
      “Really?”  He sounded shocked.  As if the thought of my dating had never really occurred to him. 
      “Yes, a date.  With a man and everything,” I threw in for good measure.
      That made him laugh. 
      “Go have fun with your dad and Peri.”
      “Miles will call tomorrow,” he said.  The boys did that a lot.  Split up the days they called.  Oh, sometimes they’d all say hi, but generally one son per day talked to me. 
      “Tell him not to call too early.”
      “Yeah, you’ve got a date.  A hot date.  You might even be out past nine,” Eli said.  I could hear the laughter in his voice.
      I headed into the office. 
      The cheery sign greeted me as I walked to the front door.  Mac’Cleaners.  We had a MacLean tartan ribbon woven around the letters.  Yes, my family’s original surname was MacLean but when my great-grandfather moved to the United States they lost the ‘Lean’ part and became Mac. That was fair because from all reports, Donald MacLean was not a lean man.  His first name was from his mother’s side of the family, the McDonalds.  When he moved here, he became Don Mac.  Short and to the point, I guess.
      People in my family tended to give one child in each generation the benefit of both family names.  My mom was Judith Quincy.  Hence, my name, Quincy Mac.
      I’d complain about my name but really it could be worse.  Much worse. My parents decided to honor Dad’s Scottish heritage when they named my brothers.  Gilliean Mull Mac and Malise Duart Mac.  The original Gilliean founded the clan and Malise was his son.  And the MacLean family home is Castle Duart on the island of Mull.  Gilliean goes by Gil Mac.  But poor Malise it was either Mal Mac (awful) or Duart Mac (still not good).  He goes by Duart Mac because it was the lesser of two evils.  We all call him Art. 
      Well, unless I’m mad at him, then he’s Mal Mac. 
      He hates that.
      Really, of the three of us, I got the best of it.  Quincy Mac.  And using a variation of my historic last name for the business just made sense.  All the cute, play-on-words cleaning names were taken and this one played right into our profession.
      I’m not sure why thoughts of the company’s name and my own family names were on my mind today.  Never mind, I did know.  Because it was easier to think about my family’s weird names than worrying about murder investigations. 
      I opened the door and went in.
      The light was on in Tiny’s office, aka wedding central.  For the first time ever, I didn’t want to go in and face her.  But I wasn’t a coward, so I went in. 
      While all the wedding paraphernalia still was the focal point of her decorating scheme, there was no wedding-mania in her expression.  No, there was just an exhausted looking woman sitting at her desk.
      “Tiny?”
      She looked up.
      Tiny had been my best friend since Jerry dumped me and I moved into an apartment next to hers.  She helped with the boys.  She got me a job at the cleaning service she worked for.  She held my hand through the divorce.  I’d like to think I’d given her the same kind of support, but truth be told, there was no way I’d ever be able to pay her back for all her kindnesses. 
      Keeping her off Cal’s suspect list would be a start though.
      “Hey.  How are you holding up?” she asked.
      That was Tiny in a nutshell.  She looked like crap, but she was worried about me.
      “I’m fine.  I know this isn’t a good time but I’m going to be out of the office a bit more than usual for a few days.”
      “Is it about the murder?”
      I didn’t want to answer and