Never Con a Corgi (19 page)

"Somebody dropped this kitty off at the shelter," Allison explained, stroking a scrawny, half-grown gray and white cat that looked like it had crawled out of a trash can. "Aunt Cara took me by there so I could check on the sick kittens, and Angie didn't know what to do. He had a fishhook caught in his paw."

Allison extended one of the cat's front legs to show the grossly swollen digits. "He had it in there a while already," she explained. "But grandpa got it out and gave him some antibiotics. We think he'll be okay."

"You can take him downstairs to Jared, now," Randall instructed, turning from the table to wash his hands. "He'll fix up a cage and keep an eye on him for the next day or two."

Allison smiled broadly. "That's good. All the kitties love Jared." She scooped up the injured cat like a pro, walked past her mother, and headed for the stairs.

Randall dried his hands on a paper towel, crumpled it, and threw it away. "Did you see your mother?" he asked.

"She just left," Leigh answered. "It turns out Chewie was in dire need of a spa treatment."

Randall's lips bent into a subtle, lopsided grin. "I see. Thanks, honey."

"No problem."

He crossed his arms and leaned back against the countertop. "So," he said evenly. "How's everything?"

Leigh cracked a grin. When Frances heard that her daughter had discovered another body, she had immediately driven to Leigh's house to confirm her alibi and assess her need for legal representation. Randall's reaction, two days later, was to ask how everything was.

"Things are fine, Dad," she answered gratefully. "At least they're fine with me."

Randall nodded knowingly. "Cara was here earlier. She looked a little rough."

"I know," Leigh said with a sigh, dropping onto a stool. "I can't say I'd be any calmer if this were happening to Warren. It doesn't look good for Gil, Dad. The woman who's trying to frame him is obviously nutso. And we've had zero luck shoring up his alibi."

"How is the Pack handling it?" he asked.

Leigh looked after her daughter thoughtfully. "Mathias and Lenna seem pretty oblivious. Cara and Gil didn't tell them much, so they don't know their father is a suspect. They know their mother is upset, obviously, but I don't think they've put two and two together yet. Neither has Ethan. But as for Allison... Well, it's hard to know what that girl is thinking."

Or what she's overheard.

Randall's brow furrowed. "I'd say she's thinking a good deal more than most people expect," he suggested. "Don't underestimate her, Leigh. That child has a mind like a steel trap."

Leigh's eyebrows rose. "Had she said anything to you? I mean, about the murder?"

Randall shook his head. "She doesn't talk; you know that. She just asks questions."

"Like what?"

"Like whether or not a woman can be a serial killer."

Leigh swallowed hard. "Why on earth would she ask that?"

Randall shrugged. "She also wanted to know if it was possible to order a bulletproof vest online."

Leigh had no time to respond. Allison skipped up the basement stairs and joined them with a smile. "He took to Jared right away," she announced. "I'm sure the shelter can find a home for him once he's healed; he's such a cutie. Do I have to go now, Mom? Aunt Cara said she'd pick me up a half hour from now."

"Then I'll text your Aunt Cara and spare her the trip," Leigh answered. "You can come home with me."

Allison frowned, but didn't argue.

Leigh thanked her father for treating yet another shelter freebie, grabbed a tube of hairball preventative for Mao Tse, tore her daughter away from a litter of lab puppies due for their first shots, and climbed with her daughter into the van.

Female serial killers?

"Allison," Leigh began, as she pulled the van away from the curb and out onto the aging brick street. "You're not worried about... about that man being found in the woods, are you?"

Leigh stole a quick glance in the rearview mirror. Allison was gazing straight ahead, her face a mask of contemplation.

"Was Brandon Lyle a bad man, Mom?" she asked quietly.

Leigh tensed. She should have waited until Warren came home for this. "Nobody is all bad or all good, Allison," she answered. "But Mr. Lyle did have enemies. Most likely he was killed over money. In any event, it has nothing to do with us. We're all perfectly safe."

Allison paused in thought a moment. "Then why do you keep telling us to stay out of the woods?"

Good question.
Leigh ground her teeth. "Well, because sometimes... not often, but sometimes... a criminal will return to the scene of a crime. It's only a very small chance, but until the police have arrested him, it's safer to stay away."

"Why do you say it's a him?"

Leigh resisted the urge to keep looking in the rearview. Not only was traffic terrible, but the Avalon pedestrians were out in force today. Why exactly had she started this conversation?

"I suppose it's possible it could be a woman," she confessed. "I really wish you wouldn't think about it so much, Allison."

"Why not?" The small voice piped up. "It's interesting."

Saints preserve us.

"Hey!" Allison squeaked suddenly, bending down out of Leigh's view. "What's this?"

Leigh checked quickly for vulnerable walkers, bikers, and dogs, then threw a glance over her shoulder to see what Allison was reaching for. "Oh, no!" she groaned, turning back around again. "How did
that
get in here?"

"What is it?" Allison asked again.

"It's some old rawhide thing that Chewie picked up at your Aunt Bess's," Leigh said with disgust. She thought the dog had dropped the treat long before his hosing off, but evidently he had found it again and slipped it into the van when she wasn't looking. Come to think of it, she
had
opened the side door a good while before she and Bess were finished talking.

Allison pulled the filthy thing into her lap. "It doesn't look like a rawhide to me," she said studiously.

"Just put it down, please," Leigh ordered. "God only knows where it's been. Or what dog's mouth it's been in. Please, Allison. Just leave it alone. When we get home, you can toss it in the trash. We don't want Chewie finding it again."

The girl sighed. But, holding the dirty bone carefully with her fingertips, she bent out of view to place it back down on the floor.

They rode along in silence for a few minutes.

"Mom?" Allison asked.

Leigh braced herself.

"You and Dad never said exactly
where
you found the body."

Leigh gulped. "No. No, we didn't."

"Why not?"

Leigh decided to attempt the truth. "Because we didn't want you to dwell on it. We want you to continue to enjoy playing in the woods."

"But you won't let us play in the woods."

"Not now, maybe. But later."

"We could play in part of the woods now, if you told us what part to avoid."

Damned lawyerball genes.
"You should avoid it all. The shelter land, your Aunt Bess's yard, and the land behind the church."

"What about Mr. Clem's?"

"You're never allowed to play at Mr. Clem's!" Leigh reminded sharply.

"Oh, I know," Allison said matter of factly. "I was just seeing if you'd rule it out."

Leigh grit her teeth again. "Allison, please. I don't want you kids dwelling on this. It has nothing to do with you, and there's nothing for you to be afraid of. All right?"

Allison didn't answer for a moment. "I'm not afraid, Mom," she said finally, her tone serious. "But if it worries you, I'll quit talking about it."

Leigh opened her mouth to respond, but shut it again. There really was no help for it.

The girl was a Morton woman.

Chapter 19

"Well, Lord love a duck. He's been Francified!" Bess exclaimed.

Leigh ceased petting her aunt's Pekingese mix and looked up. Her mother and Aunt Lydie had at last arrived at the park, an unprecedented ten minutes late. Frances was still fussing with something in the car, but Lydie was walking toward them with Chewie on a lead.

"Oh, no," Leigh breathed.

The corgi was unrecognizable. The mud, burrs, and feathers were gone. So was every drop of natural oil his coat had ever possessed. The dog was so squeaky clean that his thick brindle fur stood fluffed up all over like he'd just put his paw in a light socket, and Frances had completed the transformation by sticking an oversized blue bow on the top of his head. The poor dog was half Beauty's Beast in the ballroom, half golden hamster.

"Oh my," Cara said with a chuckle.

The dog bounded up to Leigh looking thoroughly pleased with himself.

"Haven't passed a mirror lately, have you, boy?" Leigh greeted, glad that her mother's efforts had produced at least one positive result. Cara hadn't laughed in days.

"Frances is coming," Lydie said apologetically, handing over Chewie's lead and redistributing the photos and notebooks. "We got a little tied up collecting our newest conversation starter."

The other women cast a glance at the car, but they could see nothing, since Frances was on the other side of it.

Bess sighed heavily. "What sort of beast did she bring tonight? If this one's bigger than a bread box, Chester's going to need a valium."

Lydie merely smiled. "You'll see. Cara, why don't you and I start out? We don't want to waste any more time. Bess, you can go our way. Leigh, you go the opposite direction—I believe your mother wants to stay near the parking lot tonight."

The women agreed, and the others headed off along the lake trail while Leigh walked toward her mother. When she got around the back of the car, she stopped cold.

Her mother didn't have a dog. Frances was strapping a tow-headed infant into a stroller.

"Mom," Leigh began incredulously. "You
borrowed
a baby?"

Frances's lips pursed. She finished her fastening and straightened. "It's called
sitting
, dear. This is little Maddie Rogalla from down the street. Her mother needed a break, poor thing. Don't you remember what it was like to have little ones and need some time to yourself?"

Leigh considered. Actually, she did not. Her memories from the time between the twins' birth and their first day of preschool comprised a single amorphous blur of sippy cups, dirty diapers, purple dinosaurs, and the wallpaper in her pediatrician's office. Anything else that might have happened during those years had been deleted in real-time, courtesy of sleep deprivation.

"As I hope you recall," Frances continued, "Gil is certain now that when he was walking around the lake he passed a young blond woman pushing two babies in a stroller. That's who we're looking for."

"I remember," Leigh assured.

"It was a double stroller, side-by-side, just like the one you and Warren used to have. He said that's why it drew his attention. The babies were twins also, but both were girls."

Leigh was surprised, for a moment, that Gil would remember what her stroller had looked like. But she supposed she shouldn't be. Both Warren and Gil had been excellent hands-on fathers. The two had probably taken the Pack on many turns around this very lake while she and Cara lay unconscious on their respective couches.

"Now then," Frances ordered. "I'll take the parking lot area, so Maddie and I can stay near the changing facilities. You go the opposite way as the others."

"Will do," Leigh agreed.

The baby gurgled with glee and stretched out a hand toward the corgi. Chewie stuck his nose in her lap and sniffed at her diaper. Leigh winced and pulled the dog away, grateful, as she often was around strangers, that he wasn't any taller.

Pedestrian traffic was heavier this evening, as the weather was clear and less humid than it had been before the rain. Leigh spoke with every dog walker or baby-pusher she saw, but couldn't reach all of the many walkers. Few were certain they had been at the lake three days ago, and none remembered having seen Gil. As the minutes dragged on, her anxiety level rose. None of the Morton women had wanted to voice what they were sure Cara already knew: if the ballistics report proved that the gun found in Gil's bag was the murder weapon, he would almost certainly be arrested.

They had to find a witness to his alibi. They just
had
to.

From the small parking area to her left, Leigh heard a familiar voice laugh out loud. "Chewie! What in hell happened to you?"

Leigh whirled to see her policewoman friend leaning casually against the hood of her dilapidated Ford. "My mother had a little excess nervous energy," Leigh explained, walking closer. "Chewie here took one for the team."

Maura chuckled and scratched the dog's ears. "You're a brave, brave soul, my man."

Chewie licked his lips and sat down on her foot.

Maura was quiet for a moment, and Leigh's anxiety level rose another notch. The detective hadn't intercepted her out here for nothing. Either Maura had information, or she wanted it. And she had made an effort to catch Leigh without the kids around.

"Did something happen, Maura?" Leigh asked.

The policewoman fidgeted. Then she let out a sigh. "I can't tell you anything Peterson wouldn't tell you, Koslow," she explained. "You know that. But there is something I think all of you should know. Whatever else Diana Saxton may be guilty of, her alibi for Lyle's murder is rock solid."

Leigh's brow furrowed. Heat rose in her cheeks. "But she planted the gun! Who else could have? And why would she do that if she wasn't guilty herself?"

"An excellent question," Maura agreed. "Did Gil ever confide his... er...
problems
with Diana Saxton to anyone else before he fired her? Besides Cara, I mean? Did he talk to you about it?"

Leigh shook her head. "Cara didn't even talk to me about it. Gil told her not to. But Warren knew. Gil told him."

Maura's face brightened. "Did he? Excellent. I'll make sure Peterson has a chat with the Future Prez."

Leigh's head was buzzing with thoughts, none of them comfortable. She cast a glance down the trail, determined not to miss any likely witnesses, but the traffic had thinned. "Surely you can prove that Diana is doing a frame job! Wouldn't the security cameras at the gym have caught her going in and out?"