The Fidelity Files (Jennifer Hunter #1)(101)

"Marta, you scared me," I said, catching my breath and bending down to pick up the cell phone. When I checked the screen the number had been erased.

"So sorry, Miss Hunter. I come while you sleep. I start the laundry."

"Very good," I said, picking up the business card again and preparing to punch in the numbers for the second time.

"Problem is," Marta continued, "you no have more laundry detergent."

"Don't I?" I asked curiously, placing the cell phone and the business card on my dresser and walking toward the doorway. "I thought I just picked up some at the supermarket last week."

Marta followed me down the hallway into the laundry room, where I discovered that she was right. The room was completely devoid of any fabric-cleaning substances. "Well, that's weird," I said, studying the room. "I guess I just thought about buying it but never actually did it. I'm sorry, I've had a lot on my mind lately."

Marta nodded understandingly. "So you go buy some now?"

I looked down at my pajamas. I really didn't want to leave the house just yet. In a few hours I would have to get dressed to meet John down at the docks for Daniel Miller's take-two assignment. "Nah," I said, waving my hand in the air. "I'll just pick some up on my way home today."

Marta shrugged. "Okay. I do the laundry next week when I come back."

I followed her gaze until I came face-to-face with the pile of dirty clothes on the floor. I squinted at it, just barely able to make out the shirt I had worn on the day I went to Raymond Jacobs's office. When he propositioned me for sex. And below that, I could see the outfit I had worn to Sarah Miller's house, when she handed me a wad of cash and told me to test her husband for the second time. And at the very top of the pile was the shirt I had picked out for Eric's assignment last night... the one that I never went through with.

If I stared at the pile long enough, I could almost "see" the bad vibes and creepy germs pouring off the clothes, onto my laundry room linoleum floor, and crawling toward the doorway where I stood.

I backed up slightly.

"Next week?" I asked, slightly tense.

"Yes," she replied. "I come back on Tuesday."

As stupid as it sounded, part of my ability to reset and start fresh every morning was because of laundry. Well, actually, because of Marta's expert laundering skills. It was like she had a special touch, a special decontamination superpower of her own that allowed me to wear an item of clothing to dinner with my friends even though it had been removed by a cheating husband only days before. Marta got rid of all the dirt and grime I picked up during the course of the day. She cleansed my life of all things relating to betrayal and other negative forces.

I had come to depend on that decontamination as a means of survival.

And the thought of that laundry piling up and sitting there for another three days made me not want to sleep in my own bed at night.

"No, no," I responded quickly. "I'll go to the store right now and get some."

Marta simply flashed a satisfied smile and went into the kitchen to start doing dishes.

I pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a long-sleeve T-shirt and ran out to my car. In addition to laundry detergent, I picked up some breakfast and coffee at the Coral Tree Café. After that I stopped at the bank to deposit what was left of the cash that Sarah Miller had given me. I had decided to deposit the sum in unequal installments over the past five days to avoid any unwanted attention or questioning from the bank. And finally I dropped in at the Apple store to buy a new charger for my iPod.

By the time I got back to the house, it was time to start getting ready for today's assignment. I hadn't completely forgotten about my almost phone call to Jamie to cancel our date. I had just chosen to overlook it.

Besides, I had things to do. Laundry detergent needed purchasing, iPods needed charging, and ridiculously large amounts of cash lying around needed depositing. And after that I had to go to work. John would be meeting me at the docks in less than an hour. I certainly wasn't about to change around my whole schedule just for a guy.



WHEN I reached our previously agreed-upon meeting point at the marina, I found John pacing anxiously in front of a large yacht, dressed in white pants and a white collared shirt, with a blue handkerchief tied meticulously around his neck. He tilted his head back to salvage the last drop from his Coffee Bean paper cup.

"What are you wearing?" I asked, trying to stifle a laugh as I approached and stared incredulously at his outfit.

John looked down at his clothes and carefully pressed his finger against a piece of red lint on his pants, and then flicked it into the warm sea air. "Hello! It's sailor chic," he informed me condescendingly, as if he were trying to explain a Renoir painting to a culture-deprived teenage girl.

I smiled. "Ah..."

"So what's the plan? Where is he? What should I do?" he asked anxiously.

I looked around the dock and tried to match up the photo of Daniel Miller's sailboat that his wife had given me with the real thing. It was going to be difficult, since they all kind of looked alike. I now wished that she had given me some type of parking space number. Is that even what they call them? Parking spaces? Designated boating spots? Docking zones? What the hell did I know about being down at the "dock of the bay" except for that one song about wasting time there. Although Ashlyn was supposed to be quite the dock rat, according to her last meeting with Daniel Miller.