Never Buried: A Leigh Koslow Mystery (12 page)

The article was accompanied by a grainy picture of Anita and Norman standing behind a cake, presumably on their wedding day. She looked young and happy, a tiny thing with dark hair and eyes. Norman's light eyes betrayed little emotion, his lips twisted into a distinctly unnatural smile. Leigh disliked him immediately, though more because of Mrs. Rhodis' accusations than the picture. Anyone could take a bad picture. She ought to know.

She flipped the microfilm ahead a few days, but the story had been poorly followed. A blurb the next day stated that Robert was still missing; no charges had been filed. One letter to the editor presumed that a freaked-out Robert had murdered both his parents, and that the younger generation's lax standards of discipline were to blame. Another speculated that the incident was merely an accident followed by the suicide of a distraught spouse, and that the public should let the sons grieve in peace. Leigh scanned meticulously through two weeks' worth of news sections, but found no more. The
Press
had carried a similar story on the afternoon of the thirteenth, with several short follow-up articles, but Leigh learned nothing new. Apparently, no charges were ever filed.

She grabbed the reels with the relevant articles and paid to have them copied. Perhaps Cara’s instincts were worth something. Mrs. Rhodis might be an eccentric, but nothing was wrong with her memory.

***

Cara's front door was blocked by a large package wrapped in brown paper, and Leigh approached it carefully. She didn't consider herself paranoid—but in light of the last two days, caution seemed prudent. Cara's name and address were clearly visible on top of the box, along with a smattering of bizarre symbols and elaborate stamps. On closer inspection Leigh realized—with relief—that the symbols were Japanese characters. A present from Gil.

So why hadn't Cara answered the door? She wasn’t still asleep, was she? Leigh picked up the package, which felt like it housed lead shot, and balanced it on a hip. She opened the door with her key and walked in. Yep. Cara was up. A look at the security box in the foyer told her the system was off, and the buzz of a power tool echoing down the stairs explained the unanswered doorbell.

Aunt Lydie, of course
.

She followed the sound to one of the spare bedrooms on the second floor, where Cara stood peering up into a closet. Inside it was the lower half of Lydie Dublin, standing on a stepladder.

Leigh put the package down with a thump. "Should I ask what's going on here?" she yelled from the doorway.

"Leigh!" Cara called enthusiastically. "Did you find out anything?"

"Plenty. But what are you two doing?"

The buzzing noise stopped, and her cousin's answer was interrupted by a voice from above. "There's nothing here, honey!"

Cara swung round to look back in the closet. "Are you sure?" she said, disappointed. "There must something!"

"Sorry, dear." Lydie answered, stepping down. "It's like I suspected. That section only bulges out to cover the vent pipes from the downstairs bathroom. There's nothing up there that shouldn't be."

Cara pouted. Lydie laid down the jigsaw and a flashlight and dusted her hands on her smock. She was the image of Leigh's own mother, but with certain significant differences. Her eyes sparkled more than scorned, and her naturally gray hair was—today—cherry red. "Leigh honey, nice to see you! Your mother and I are so glad you're staying over."

"I'm glad, too," Leigh answered. Lydie probably was glad her daughter had company. Frances, on the other hand, was probably just relieved someone would be around to call paramedics if Leigh electrocuted herself with a microwave.

"Mom's been checking out some dead spaces I've found," Cara explained. "No luck so far, but there are plenty of other places we can check."

Lydie looked at her watch. "I'm afraid that's all for today, honey. I've got a class this afternoon, you know."

Cara smiled. "Yes, I know." Ever since Mason Dublin's untimely departure—with another woman—Lydie had worked two and sometimes three jobs at a time to support herself and to pay her daughter's way through school. Now Cara was returning the favor.

Lydie packed up her tools and left them in a corner of the bedroom. "I'll come back tomorrow morning if you want." She gave her daughter a hug. "Are you sure you'll be all right? You know you can always come sleep at the house."

"I'll be fine, Mom. You know how I feel about staying here."

Lydie's mouth twitched, but she smiled and nodded. "I'll let myself out. You take care of yourselves, you hear?"

As soon as her mother had gone, Cara climbed up onto the antique four poster bed and stretched out on her side. "Are you OK?" Leigh asked.

"As long as I relax, I'm great," Cara answered. "Don't keep me in suspense. What did you find out?"

"Well, nothing you didn't already believe," Leigh answered, sitting on the edge of the bed. She handed Cara the copies. "The newspaper accounts from 1949 matched Mrs. Rhodis' story pretty well."

"Of course they did," Cara said smugly. She took the copies and read them quickly. "Not much follow-up, I guess." She put the papers down and looked at Leigh wistfully. "You know I always thought you should write for a newspaper."

Leigh rolled her eyes. "Don’t start with me."

"But you know how well you can write that sort of thing!" Cara insisted.

Leigh shook her head. She liked writing stories, fact or fiction, but the reporter’s life was not for her. Crazy hours, incessant phone calls, writing obituaries to pay your dues. She preferred a nice, nine-to-five job where all she had to do was make boring products send chills down customer’s spines. It occurred to her that she still hadn’t told Cara about the lay off, but she was in no mood to get into that now. Instead, she diverted her cousin's attention to the box in the hall. "You got a package from Gil."

Cara's eyes lit up like candles and she sprung to the floor with a bounce. "It's here already?!" She gave the parcel a cursory exam, then went to fetch a pair of scissors while Leigh pushed the load down the hall and into the baby's room.

The nursery, which had been evolving into perfection since two hours after Cara saw the plus sign, had little room for a baby. The walls were charming—a bright bluish-lavender tint, with white wainscoting framing a beautifully painted border of a teddy bear picnic. Unfortunately, the walls were barely visible behind the sea of toy shelves and bookcases that covered the snow white carpet. Enough playthings for an army of babies were stashed in every crevice, as were a random assortment of high-tech parental toys like a motorized cradle and complete two-way infant intercom with video. The changing table, Leigh noticed with a sigh, was stashed tidily in the back of the closet.

The toys were an eclectic bunch, reflective of Gil's itinerary. A Black Forest cuckoo clock held a prominent position over the crib, while remote shelves housed Beefeater dolls and a Peggy Nisbet rendition of Princess Diana. Nearest the front were the Japanese offerings, including a miniature army of samurais, temple windchimes, and an ornate infant kimono that probably cost as much as Leigh brought home in a month. She shook her head and rolled her eyes. So the guy was handsome, rich, a good husband,
and
nutso about his progeny. He still had no sense of humor.

Cara flew into the room, scissors in hand, and knelt down to cut away the package tape. "I didn't expect it until next week!" she squealed. "I can't wait to tell him it's here." She worked her way through the layers of packaging until a rectangular piece of yellow wood emerged. After setting the shiny, lacquered board on its detachable feet, she began to pull out polished white and black stones from a pair of dark lacquered holders. She placed the stones in a geometric design that pleased her, then sat back and cooed in delight. "Oh! Isn't it beautiful?"

Leigh watched skeptically. "It's lovely. What the hell is it?"

Cara laughed. "It's a 'Go' board. Very traditional. Not really for an infant, of course, but Japanese children play simple games with them when they're quite young. It goes beautifully with the house, don't you think?"

The harmony of oriental craftsmanship and Victorian excess was not apparent to Leigh, but she nodded. Cara was the artist, after all.

"I don't know where I'll put it," the expectant mother mused. "This room is already full, and it will be so hard to check the closets as it is."

"Check the closets?"

"Of course. Every inch of this house has to be searched. Whatever Paul Fischer left behind, I suspect he hid it well."

Leigh's brow wrinkled. "I know Mrs. Rhodis’s story checks out about the deaths, but the bit about Paul Fischer hiding clues in the house is a bit melodramatic, don’t you think? Who could possibly care, after all this time? I still think the only thing at stake here is money."

Cara sighed. "You would."

"I do. Say Paul Fischer stockpiled a bundle. Maybe somebody ripped off his will to see if they were mentioned, and to destroy it if they weren't. Maybe they only stood to inherit if he died intestate."

Cara shook her head. "But no one did inherit. No heirs were located, remember?"

"So maybe they wanted to keep someone else from getting it. Or maybe we're not talking legal channels. Maybe Paul had something else of value that he wanted to pass on under the table."

"Now who's talking about gold doubloons?" Cara smirked.

Leigh's eyes narrowed. "It always comes down to money. Paul Fischer had something of monetary value, and someone else wants it. For some reason, you and I being in this house is an obstacle to that."

Cara's face lit up. "I wonder," she began, "if we're talking about something small—small enough to carry around."

"Why would that matter?"

"The body! Maybe they stole the body because they were hoping he had hid something on his person!"

Leigh scoffed. "A microchip in his dental work? Please!"

"No, no." Cara defended. "Our villain could have been looking for a particular ring or watch, and, when they couldn't find it in the house, figured he might have been buried with it!"

Leigh laughed. “Okay, so he pries up the coffin lid looking for a ring. It isn’t there, so he takes the whole body. Perhaps for a cavity search? Now there's a lovely thought! I can see it now—the boring old recluse swallows a bag of diamonds on his death bed, desperate to keep them from falling into the wrong hands..."

Cara sighed and began struggling to her feet. "I don't hear you coming up with a better explanation."

Leigh gave her cousin a hand. "Give me time. Money is at the bottom of this, one way or the other." Thinking about money and power and the people who crave them, she had a sudden flash of inspiration. She snapped her fingers and smiled. "And you know who's going to help me? The Allegheny County Register of Wills!"

"Excuse me?"

"Warren Harmon, remember? College buddy of mine and Maura’s. I helped him get elected. I have no idea what he actually does, but the title sounds relevant. Speaking of Warren, what's for dinner? Do you want me to order something?"

Cara shook her head. "Mom brought over a Mexican casserole. She said it would be ready at 5:30."

Leigh smacked her lips. God bless Aunt Lydie.

***

Warren J. Harmon III’s knock sounded on Cara's front door at precisely 7:00 PM. Leigh checked her watch. If it hadn't said 7:00, she would have reset it. She opened the door to one the few men she could count on to come over on a Friday night with two hours' notice.

"Leigh Koslow, Creative Genius!" he caught her in a swift embrace. "It's been ages. So glad you called. Take-out cappuccino was exactly what I needed tonight. How have you been?"

She took the paper bag out of his hand and replaced it with a ten dollar bill. "It's been a hell of a week, actually."