Crime Writer Margot Kinberg

I know things. Most people don’t pay much attention to me, but I notice everything. I notice who lets their bratty kids run around and bother other people. I notice who picks which washers and dryers, too. I always think that’s weird; there are two sizes of washers and two sizes of dryers here. That’s it. It doesn’t matter which large or small washer you pick, right? And I can always tell when people come here for the first time. They have no idea how to get the cards you use to operate the washers and dryers. Then when they do figure it all out, it takes them forever to move their laundry along. They look around, too, watching what other people do. The regulars are glued to their phones or reading or something.

About six months ago, a woman came in with two bags of laundry. She definitely acted like a newbie. She fumbled with the card machine, had trouble getting her washer started, the whole thing. I went over to ask if I could help, and she told me no thanks. She wouldn’t look me in the eye, though. It was as if she was scared of something. It was none of my business, so I let it go and got back to work. You have to be everywhere at once around here and I didn’t have time to waste.

A week or so later that same woman was back. She had an easier time this time, but she still jumped like a rabbit when I walked by. She kept looking around her, too. I walked up to her again. ‘You OK? Got everything you need?’
‘Oh – yeah, I do. Thanks.’ She looked away immediately.
‘Look, if someone’s bothering you…’
‘No honest. I’m fine. Just got a lot going on, you know.’ She gave me what I think was supposed to be a half-smile.
‘I hear that. Well, let me know if you need anything.’
‘Yeah, I will.’

That was the end of the conversation, but I couldn’t help noticing her a little more. I didn’t know her name, but in my head, I called her Sandra, mostly because her hair was sandy brown. She always picked the washer and dryer that were as far away from everyone else as possible, and she didn’t really talk to anyone. I’ve seen customers like that before, so I didn’t think all that much about it.

Then about a week ago, Sandra came in like she usually did with two bags of laundry. She loaded her usual washers, dumping the cloth laundry bags in with the clothes. After she got her loads started, she asked me for the key to the restroom. While she was gone, I took a quick glance at the machines she was using. That would figure! I held my temper in as best I could until she got back. She took one look at my face and said, ‘Is something wrong?’
I pointed to a clearly lettered sign on the wall. ‘You’re not allowed to dye your clothes here!’ Then I gestured towards the machines. ‘You’re using some kind of red dye or something, and it could mess everything up!’
‘No, I’m not,’ she insisted. ‘I was doing some painting the other day and I spilled some. It got in my laundry, that’s all. I’m sorry, but I don’t think it’s going to ruin your machines.’ I took a deep breath and then I warned her, ‘I’m going to check those when you’re done with them.’ She nodded and I stalked away, shaking my head. Why do people insist on doing what they’re not supposed to do and then lying about it. Really? Paint? How stupid did she think I am?

About a half hour later, she took her clothes out of the washers and piled everything into one of the bigger dryers. You’d better believe I went over there just as soon as she was done and opened the washer doors. Both machines were clean, so at least it wasn’t dye. Then I noticed a red-brown smear on the lip of the washer door. I glanced over at the woman. She gave me a funny look but kept putting clothes in the dryer. I looked back at the spot. Then I got a cleaning cloth and wiped it up. I put the cloth into the pocket of my smock and went back to doing my job.

Some kid spat gum on the floor, someone else jammed up the card reader on one of the washing machines, and two people needed to buy some laundry soap, so I was busy for the next little while. By the time things settled down, Sandra had piled up her laundry and was heading for the door. Just out of curiosity, I checked the dryer she’d been using. Like I said, I notice things, and I remembered which dryer it was. It was clean, so there was that.

I glanced at my phone to check the time. My shift was finally over, thank God. It’s hard to be on your feet all day. After I signed out, I headed towards the door, pulling off my smock as I went. Just then, the door opened, and two police officers came in. Right behind them was Sandra, or whatever her name was. She gestured towards me, and the two cops headed my way.

I swallowed hard. ‘Can I help you?’
‘Ma’am, we need to ask you to step outside, please.’
‘What? Why?’
‘We’ve received information that you may have been involved in a crime.’
‘What? No!’ Then I remembered the cleaning cloth in my smock. And the stuff Sandra had called paint. ‘It wasn’t – I didn’t –’
The other cop spoke. ‘We need you to come with us, please. And we’ll take that smock.’
‘But I didn’t –’ A group of people gathered, staring at me as the cops walked me out the door. I swear I saw Sandra smirking as we left.