Never Con a Corgi (24 page)

What else had Gil said? Fiftyish? Expensive taste in wardrobe? Leigh continued staring.

The man was wearing jeans and a black and gold Steelers' jersey. He stepped inside after the woman and closed the door.

Stop being ridiculous!
Leigh chastised herself. Steelers' jerseys didn't exactly come cheap, but "sophisticated" was pushing it. She was an idiot, and she had to pull herself together.

Whether Courtney's mobster had anything to do with Brandon's murder or not, neither had any connection with Allison's "project"—and that was her number one concern. She turned once more towards her car and began walking rapidly. This time, she did not look back.

***

Diana Saxton walked into the posh reception room in which she had practically lived for half a year. Little had changed since then, except for the charming throw pillows she had suggested purchasing for the loveseat and armchair. They had been removed and replaced with nothing.

Sanctimonious ass
.

"Can I help you?" The sharp eyes of the slight, well-dressed man behind the reception desk widened slightly as he looked at her, but his composure didn't otherwise alter. Diana watched with amusement as his hand moved subtly into position under the lip of the desk near the phone. One button alerted Gil to take a look at the reception-room monitor mounted on his bookcase. The other rang straight to security.

"The one on the left, I think," Diana said with a smile. "The one on the right would be overkill. After all, it's not like I'm armed. See?" She put her hands in the shallow pockets of her linen suit coat and lifted it, revealing a sleeveless silk tank and no bra.

The man's gaze remained utterly impassive.

Clearly, he was gay.

"What is it you want, Ms. Saxton?" he said flatly.

"I want to see Mr. March, of course," she replied airily. "And if I'm—"

The interior door swung open. The mogul himself stood before her.

"Not mistaken," she finished smugly, "he should be joining us any second now."

"Shall I complete the procedure, Mr. March?" Diana's replacement asked briskly. He was standing now, but keeping one hand on the magic button all the while.

"You can call security if you want," she said lightly. "But then you won't find out why I came here. And you should be curious, given how foolish it was for me to do so."

Gil's cold green eyes smoldered like dry ice. "Nothing you do could ever surprise me, Diana," he said acidly.

They stared at each other for a long moment. Then Gil turned to his new assistant. "Call security on the phone," he ordered. "Tell them to send someone up. But let's not have her thrown out just yet. We might get lucky. She might say something incriminating first."

He swung his office door open wide and gestured Diana inside with mock gallantry. She entered and moved toward his giant mahogany desk. He followed her in, but left the door propped open.

"You have three minutes," he snapped. "What do you want?"

Diana surveyed his perfectly proportioned body and chiseled male bone structure with an uncomfortable mix of lust and loathing. How could anything so beautiful be so... useless?

Well, perhaps not
utterly
useless. Not if she played her cards right.

"All I want," Diana began, keeping her tone even, "is what I was entitled to at the time you unjustly fired me."

Gil's ears emitted steam. Or at least, they would if they could.

"We both know why you were fired," he said coldly. "And I don't owe you a damn thing."

"I beg to differ," Diana replied. "I was fired because I refused to commit adultery with you, which by any legal definition is sexual harassment. I didn't file suit at the time because I wanted to move on, and it so happened that I had already received a standing job offer."

Gil had turned purple again. She had seen him like that once before—when he came out of his hotel shower in a towel to find her lounging nude on his bed.

It was a moment she would never forget.

Never.

"But now," she continued, "I have unfortunately found myself unemployed again. And I would like a reference. Nothing more than I deserve, merely an honest appraisal of my
business
skills, which we both know were exemplary in every way. Is that so much to ask... under the circumstances?"

Her former employer seemed to have difficulty in speaking.

"You know the kind of situation I'm looking for," she continued, allowing herself the slightest of smiles. "I prefer an intimately small corporation, but a highly profitable one, one that stands poised to make full use of my... business acumen. One where the principals work closely together, such that a savvy administrative assistant such as myself would have full opportunity to gain the admiration and... gratitude of her employer. It's all about financial security, after all."

"Get out," Gil growled under his breath.

"I have two minutes left," she returned breezily. "And unfortunately it looks like I'll need them, as you seem disinclined to give me what I deserve."

"Doing that would put me in prison."

Diana caught herself in a snarl.
Stay cool. Make it clear, but inadmissible. Damned prig is probably recording every word.

She sighed. "I am trying to be reasonable with you, Gil. I certainly think I've been reasonable so far, in not hiring a lawyer and demanding damages. But to be honest, I've been afraid to. Ever since I got closer to Brandon and he told me some things about you. About your... time in Philadelphia."

Gil stiffened.

Paydirt!

"I didn't believe him at first," she pressed. "I didn't think you would ever have been capable of... of something like..." She let her voice trail off.

Gil's cold eyes bore into hers. "Go on," he ordered. "You didn't think I was capable of what?"

Diana's brow furrowed. This wasn't the reaction he was supposed to have. He was supposed to be turning purple again. Or at least a nice shade of puce. What the hell
had
he done in Philadelphia, anyway? Brandon had always insisted he could shake Gil down but good if it ever proved necessary. Leave it to Brandon to get himself whacked without imparting the crucial information. But she hadn't thought she would need it. The mere threat should be sufficient.

"You
know
what," she retorted confidently.

To her astonishment, Gil March burst out laughing. His assistant appeared immediately in the doorway, a uniformed security guard standing behind him.

"What's so funny?!" Diana demanded hotly.

"You don't have a clue what happened in Philadelphia!" Gil proclaimed. "Brandon didn't tell you jack about it. But you know what's really funny? Would you like to hear?
Brandon
didn't know jack about it! He and his buddies got messed up in something illegal, and it's all been so long ago now that the idiot
forgot
I was never a part of it! He didn't even bring it up until the night he died—and I would have set him straight right there and then if he hadn't chosen that moment to take a swing at me!"

Diana felt the blood draining slowly from her face. Gil could be lying. But she knew that he wasn't.
Damnation.
Why, oh why did Brandon Lyle have to be such a friggin' moron?

"Would you like me to escort her out of the building, Mr. March?" the security guard said loudly, stepping forward.

"That won't be necessary," Diana assured, calling on every ounce of her willpower to maintain her composure. "If Brandon misinformed me, then I'm sure I have nothing to fear from Mr. March." She sidled over to the security guard as if he had arrived for her personal protection. "But please do consider my request," she said formally. "All I ask for is a positive job reference. I am an excellent administrative assistant, and my work performance for you was flawless. I am willing to forgive the unfortunate manner in which my employment here was terminated, provided you will offer me the very minimal courtesy of assisting me, in an honest and unbiased manner, to find other suitable employment."

Nicely played.

Diana threw back her shoulders and smiled to herself. Every word she'd said could be played back in court—it wouldn't hurt her. But he had received her message, loud and clear.

Gil's hard eyes locked on hers. He must know she still had the upper hand. The blackmail threat had merely been the cherry on top. A public accusation of sexual harassment could ruin his reputation; if she wanted, she could do worse. Had she not already shown him just how dangerous she could be? The self-righteous bastard was putty in her hands.

"Diana," Gil responded, his deep voice steady.
"Go to hell."

Chapter 23

Leigh fought the nearly irresistible urge to reach over and grab her buzzing phone. Someone was texting her. But she was driving, it was illegal, and she was two minutes from her destination. When she reached the street by the clinic she pulled off in the first available space, threw the van in park, and practically dove for the device.

The text was from Maura. Her fingers trembled as she opened it. "Call me when you can," it said simply. There was also a voice mail message from her father. "Can you come by the clinic? Allison has something she needs to explain to you."

Leigh leapt out of the van and beat hasty steps to the clinic's basement door. When she passed Maura's beat-up car on the way, her anxiety reached new heights.
Why was Maura here? What the heck was going on?

She flew through the wash room and kennel room and headed for the stairs; but before she reached them, she heard voices coming from her father's "office." She walked into the back basement corner where his small metal desk sat perpetually buried in papers and where stacks of dog food bags served as furniture. No one in the room was sitting down. Randall, Maura, and Allison were all standing in a huddle at the desk, looking down at something.

"What's going on?!" Leigh demanded breathlessly.

For a moment, no one answered her. Only when she was certain her head would explode did Maura speak. "Nothing to panic about, Koslow," she said smoothly. "At least, I hope it's not. Come and take a look."

The detective stepped back, and Leigh moved forward. The object at which they all stared was a broken bone.

"I don't get it," she said blankly.

"It's the bone Chewie found, Mom," Allison said softly. "The one he left in the van."

Leigh's eyes widened. She leaned in for a closer look. To her eye, the object looked nothing like the gnarled, mud-covered mess she had seen Chewie dragging through the woods. That had looked like a half-chewed, long-forgotten, perfectly harmless hunk of factory-shaped rawhide. Then again, she had never looked at it closely.

When washed off, cleaned up and dried, there really was no doubt. She was looking at an actual bone. From the looks of it, the top half of a femur.

A disturbingly large femur.

"I know you told me to throw it away," Allison said sheepishly. "But I really didn't think it was a rawhide, and I wanted Grandpa to see it."

Leigh grit her teeth in frustration. "But why didn't you tell me?"

Allison cast a quick glance at Randall. "Because I didn't want you to get all upset," she explained. "I know how much it bothers you to think about... bodies and stuff. And I thought, if it was just a deer bone or something, well... you wouldn't have to hear about it."

Leigh's heart began a slippery descent to the pit of her stomach. She looked at her father.

He cleared his throat. "It's the top part of a femur," he said evenly. "I'm no forensic anthropologist; but to me, it looks pretty old. Brittle, with no trace of soft tissue left."

Leigh's heart sloshed on down to her toes. "Anthropologist?" she repeated weakly.

Randall nodded. "Like I said, I'm no expert. But that bone didn't come from a dog or a deer. The shape and angle of the head are wrong."

"That's what I thought," Allison added proudly. "I looked it up."

Leigh turned to her daughter, and a tiny ray of light brightened the otherwise macabre thoughts swimming in her head. So that's what the girl had been doing online!

"The hip joint is different in quadrupeds, even bears," Allison continued. "So I figured we'd better call Aunt Mo."

Leigh's stunned gaze moved toward her friend. The policewoman offered a slight, sympathetic smile. "Don't worry, Koslow," she said calmly. "I can't blame you for this one, since you weren't the one who found it. Technically, Chewie was."

Leigh swallowed. There was no use hoping she was hearing all this wrong. "You think it's..."

"Human remains," Maura finished for her. "More than likely. We'll let the lab tell us for sure. But as your dad says, it looks old. Are you aware of any family cemeteries out near your Aunt's house? We could be dealing with something as simple as a shallow grave resurfacing from erosion. It happens."

Leigh's breathing began to steady.
An old cemetery
. Of course. That would be where old bones came from, wouldn't it? Why had the mere mention of human remains made her mind jump immediately to murder?

She preferred not to answer that question.

"I don't know, but it's possible," she answered. "I can ask Aunt Bess."

"Do you remember exactly where Chewie found it?" Maura asked.

Leigh shook her head. "We'd been out at the pond, but I only noticed it when we got back closer to the house. He was off leash the whole time—he could have dragged it from anywhere."

"How long a time did he have to dig it up?" Maura asked.

Leigh considered. "Not very long. Maybe twenty minutes. But I saw him periodically without it. I don't think he could have dug very long in any one spot—more likely he just picked it up somewhere."

Maura's brow knitted thoughtfully. "Then it could have been dug up first by some other dog, some other place, and Chewie just stumbled across it."

Leigh nodded. "Sorry," she apologized. "I wish I'd paid more attention."

Maura clapped her friend on the back. It was not a full-strength Polanski backclap—the kind even Warren had to brace himself for. But it nevertheless pitched Leigh forward a good six inches. "Not your fault, Koslow," Maura proclaimed charitably. "You've had a lot on your mind this week, after all."