Never Tease a Siamese: A Leigh Koslow Mystery (10 page)

"Well," she said brightly, "It's nice that Mrs. Murchison was able to have such a fine son so late in life. I'm sure the inheritance will all work out, then." She rose. "Thank you for your help, Mrs. Linney. I suppose my father might be right, and the message on the rock was just a prank. Or at least it doesn’t sound like it has to do with the Murchisons." She motioned for the older woman to stay seated and walked past her toward the door.

"At any rate," she said en route, trying not to trip on the myriad waves in the worn carpet and wondering how the older woman could manage them, "at least Mrs. Murchison thought to provide you with a nice place to live some day." She meant only to provide some light chit-chat for her exit, but once the words were out of her mouth, she realized how asinine they were. Not only had she insulted the woman's house, but if the divers didn't find Ms. Lilah's body, a death certificate might not be issued for years. Years which Peggy Linney probably didn’t have.

Before Leigh could apologize, however, the older woman laughed. "Ms. Lilah's been after me to get out of this place for ever. She never did understand that I like it here. I got everything I need, and the kids and grandkids are right nearby. I wouldn't move into no swanky old folks home whether it was free or not, and she knew it."

Leigh removed her foot from her mouth, said a courteous goodbye, and shut the door behind her.

***

"So, do you think I'm just being paranoid," she asked, snatching the piece of pepperoni that was attempting to escape from her pizza on a mozzarella rope, "or could my dad be in any real danger?"

Detective Maura Polanski wrinkled her wide brow in concentration for a moment, shoveling several large mouthfuls of sausage and mushroom into her mouth at the same time. "Hard to say," she announced finally, leaning back with satisfaction.

The cheap folding chair groaned under the husky policewoman's two-hundred plus pounds, and Leigh wished she had bothered to unstack the real kitchen chairs from their heap in the dining room corner. But since she and Warren still hadn't had a real sit-down meal in the house, the demand had not been critical. "I suppose I should take Peggy Linney's and Nikki Loomis's word for it that the mystery heir is a hoax," she continued. "After all, they did know Lilah Murchison as well as anybody. But I have trouble accepting that the rock was just a coincidence."

Maura looked thoughtfully at her friend for another moment before answering. "Even if Mrs. Murchison did make up the other heir as a hoax, her son may not be sure of that. Maybe he even suspects someone in particular—someone at the clinic."

Leigh's eyes widened. She had been assuming that the message on the rock was meant for her father because he had the most obvious connection to Mrs. Murchison. But what about the other employees? There was Jared, of course, but several of the others were also locals; there could be any number of connections she didn't know about.

"If it is Dean behind the rock, I'll be relieved," she admitted. "I'm no psychologist, but he doesn't seem evil to me—just a little slimy. And far too dim not to get caught. But I still can't get around the fact that the rock was thrown before the will was read."

Maura shrugged as she poured a generous amount of cola out of a two-liter and into a plastic Pirates cup. "Money is power. And from everything I've ever heard about Lilah Murchison, she was the controlling type. She probably taunted him about the will on a regular basis. I'd be surprised if he had no clue. Real surprised."

The policewoman downed the cola, then sat forward again, her voice turning official. "Here's what we'll do, Koslow. I'll give Chief Schofield a ring and let him know that you suspect Dean Murchison of throwing the rock, and why. He'll take it from there. If Dean's planning any other intimidation tactics, they'll probably be able to trip him up."

Leigh nodded in thanks. The Avalon police force was Maura's alma mater, and if she trusted the current police chief, he had to be trustworthy. Maura, only daughter of the late, great Avalon icon Chief Edward Polanski, knew her stuff. If she hadn't, she never would have been promoted to the county’s General Investigations squad.

On the other hand, she thought uncharitably, what could Schofield really do? He could keep an eye on Dean Murchison, sure, but unraveling the complexities of an eccentric socialite's psyche required a more feminine touch. And she was already half-way there.

"Knock it off, Koslow."

"Excuse me?" Leigh looked up into her friend's scowling face, which given its hopelessly adorable cherry cheeks never seemed as imposing as the detective might like. "I didn't say anything."

"You didn't have to," Maura answered, still scowling. "I can see the wheels turning in that devious little head of yours all the way over here. Now drop it. You can't know that this Dean guy isn't dangerous, and the Avalon police force needs your help about as much as it needs tea and crumpets.
Got it
?"

The policewoman leaned forward threateningly, but her six-foot-two-inch frame and dagger-shooting eyes had little effect on the woman she had known since she was a teenager.

"Sure," Leigh replied agreeably.

Maura rose to her feet with a groan. "Like I believe you. Anyway, you're not my problem. When's the future President of the United States getting back, anyway? He'll be thrilled to hear all this."

"Not till tomorrow night," she answered glumly. They had coined the nicknames—Future President, WonderCop, and Creative Genius, back in their college days, when they had been the Three Musketeers. They still inhaled pizza together on a regular basis, though the presence of Maura's beau—a city homicide detective Leigh had good reason to resent—had complicated the tradition. It was nice to have a girl's night in for once. "And I'm afraid he's in for a bit of a shock, since I told him I'd be unpacking boxes all weekend."

Maura eyes scanned the bare kitchen counters and box-cluttered floor, then landed on the trash can that sat beside the sink. She raised an arm and lofted her greasy napkins cleanly into it. "I'll take that as my cue to leave," she said mildly, walking toward the door. "Tell Harmon I said to put your leash back on. By the way, next time Frank's buying."

At the mention of the man who had once invited her on an involuntary tour of the county jail, Leigh forced her lips into a smile. "Right," she offered as warmly as possible. "Can't wait."

***

Monday's eight hours in the office seemed to last seventeen, and by the time 5:00 PM rolled around, Leigh couldn't think up a single business tag line that didn't have the word "solutions" in it, and it was a cardinal rule that anyone at Hook, Inc. who resorted to the S word must both buy a week's supply of donuts and offer a public apology. Not yet ready to admit defeat, she closed the file and shut down her computer, resolving to be inspired tomorrow.

The rest of today, however, was devoted to closure on the Murchison fiasco. True to his word, her father had managed to spring Ricky Rhodis, and per her request the teen was waiting to see her at his grandmother's house.

She tooled up the Ohio River Boulevard from her office on the North Side and swung into the driveway of the lovingly dilapidated Rhodis home, one of the few private dwellings still remaining on the bluff side of the road. It had a beautiful view of the Ohio River, or at least it would have, if the Ohio River were beautiful. Unfortunately for the Rhodises, this particular stretch of the Ohio was dominated by the smokestacks of Neville Island, and it took a good deal of imagination to omit them from the vista.

Her foot had barely touched the first crumbling porch step when Adith popped out, all smiles. "Careful, honey!" she begged in a sing-song. "I don't know when Bud'll get around to fixing those danged steps. He's always saying 'in the spring, Adie,' but I ask you, isn't it spring right now? Well, isn't it? Come on inside, child."

Leigh, who knew better than to interrupt her hostess by answering rhetorical questions, entered the clean, but perpetually dank old house and paused to pet the obese apricot poodle gyrating at her feet.

"See there," Adith prattled on, "Pansy remembers you! I knew she would…"

Leigh's attention was quickly drawn to the familiar slip of a teen who sat before her in the living room, slouched on a flowery couch covered with ancient yellow plastic. "Hello again, Ricky," she offered.

He acknowledged her with a nod.

"Now, everybody have a seat," Adith ordered. "Bud went walking, but he'll be back."

Leigh had no sooner lowered herself into a plasticized armchair than Adith started in. "Now Ricky, honey, you go ahead. You tell Miss Koslow everything you told me. And don't leave nothing out, either."

The boy looked up at her miserably and sighed. "Okay, grandma. I told you I would." He then began muttering in a voice Leigh could barely understand. "Grandma told me about the will. About Dean and Rochelle not getting anything, and so I figured it didn't matter anymore."

Leigh's heart beat faster. So, he
was
working for the couple from hell. And he had been keeping his mouth shut in hopes of a higher payoff.

"Dean and me—well, we used to work together at the Ponderosa for a while. Dean didn't stay long. He was just broke for a while 'cause Rochelle got fired from the nail salon again. But he was a funny guy, and after he left, we kept up. Every once in a while he had money and then he'd hire me to deliver stuff an'at. Once he gave me fifty bucks just to pick up some stuff from his mom's house. He was always going off about what a witch she was, and how she had all this money, but wouldn't give him any of it."

He paused to take a breath, and Leigh took one too. It was hard work trying to understand the kid's mumbling Pittsburghese.

"Anyhow, last week he told me he had a real important job needed done. He said his mom was mad at him and was trying to kill his cat."

Leigh's eyebrows rose, and she eyed the teen skeptically.

"It was true!" he protested. "The cat was his like when he was a kid, you know, and she'd always hated it but wouldn't let him have it 'cause she hated Rochelle and 'cause Rochelle had dogs an'at. She was trying to poison it. But Dean knew that it was coming into the clinic, and so he figured out a way I could steal it out from there easier than from her house. I was just supposed to hide until everybody left, then put the cat in a box and run out with it." His eyes turned defensive. "I never did take anything from that place. Was just gonna take the cat, and it was Dean's."

"I see," Leigh said mildly, trying her best not to sound judgmental. The kid might not be brain-surgeon material, but he didn't seem to mean any harm. On the other hand, he wasn't telling her the whole truth either. "What about the bag of cat litter on the floor?" she asked casually. "I don't see why you should have to clean out the cage. Was that Dean's idea, too?"

He blinked at her uncomprehendingly. "Well, sure. He was going to take the cat to another clinic and get it checked out. You know—for poison. He told me to make sure I got all the poop too, 'cause it might need tested. They had to have proof of what the old lady was doing so they could press charges."

Leigh looked critically into Ricky's large brown eyes. Though spirited, they were remarkably ingenuous. He really believed what he was saying. "So why didn't you explain everything to the police when you got caught?" she asked sensibly, though she already knew the answer.

"He did it for me!" Adith broke in defensively. "Dean and Rochelle told him they were coming into major money real soon, and that he could have ten percent of it if he only kept his mouth shut, no matter what happened. He didn't really think he could be put away for stealing drugs he didn't steal, and he was willing to wait it out if it meant he'd have a fortune in the end. He was going to use part of the money to help Bud and me fix up this house." She sniffled ostentatiously. "Isn't that about the sweetest thing you ever heard?"

Leigh glanced back at Ricky, who looked thoroughly embarrassed but not at all guilty, and a wave of uneasiness swept over her. Any kid who believed an heir to millions would fork over ten percent to a gopher he found at the Ponderosa could never come up with a cover story as convincing as the poisoning yarn. No, that little gem must have come from Dean and Rochelle themselves, which meant somebody had a little more brainpower than she was comfortable thinking about. There was something else wrong with the picture that Ricky had painted too, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

She stood up. "Thanks for being so honest, Ricky," she said genuinely. "I'll explain things to my dad."

"He's going to apologize to Dr. Koslow in person, aren't you, hon?" Adith said firmly.

Ricky nodded stiffly, his face still down.

Mrs. Rhodis was right
, Leigh thought to herself,
he's not a bad kid
.

"Sorry to run," she said as she headed for the door. "But I need to get to the clinic ASAP."

Adith sprung up behind her, narrowly avoiding tripping over her own poodle. "Have you got any more ideas on that mystery baby?" she asked, eyes sparkling. "The girls and I are stumped. We just can't figure a time she could have hid a pregnancy. Not as thin as she was. Unless it was when she ran off with that first husband. She was a little chubbier back when she married him, but still, they weren't out of town for more than a few months before he was killed in that accident…"