Never Tease a Siamese: A Leigh Koslow Mystery (27 page)

Leigh’s stomach had already settled deep into her shoes.
Of course
. She had been so focused on finding a female heir, she had overlooked the obvious. It was Jared, not Nikki, who was the same age as Dean. It was Jared, not Nikki, who had inspired a job offer from Lilah. It was Jared, unlike Nikki, who was blond and blue-eyed, even though the hair he had been born with was black. And it was Jared who formed the link to the Koslow Animal Clinic.
He
was Lilah Murchison’s true heir—and it was this fact that someone wanted so desperately to conceal.

"If the baby was in real bad shape," Adith prattled grimly, running an orange light without blinking, "I bet she put it in an institution. Not everybody kept babies like that back then, you know."

Leigh was only half listening. Did Maura suspect Jared already? She might. Did Nikki know? She couldn’t. She was probably Jared’s legal guardian already, and if she had so much as an inkling she could and would have gone straight to the lawyer’s office to stake her brother’s claim—and no creepy little threats would have swayed her, either.

But if neither Nikki nor Jared knew, how did Ms. Lilah expect them to find out? And how were they to prove his identity as the will stipulated?

There was still a missing piece.

"Mrs. Rhodis?" Leigh asked tentatively. She was far too distracted now to pay much attention to the older woman’s driving, which, if the object that had just grazed the side-view mirror was indeed a mail box, was a good thing. "You knew Mary Polanski, didn’t you?"

"Of course!" Adith piped up quickly. "Sharpest woman alive. Pity about—well, you know."

"Yes," Leigh agreed. "What I want to ask you is, how well do you think she knew Lilah Murchison?"

Adith’s brow furrowed. "When?"

"In the late seventies, when the baby was born."

The older woman quickly shook her head.
"Oh, I’m sure Lilah wouldn’t have given a woman like Mary the time of day then. She was already a socialite.
La, ti, da!"
She made a loopy gesture with her left hand, which resulted in the car swerving wildly over the center line. Gesture over, she swung the car back—and overshot onto the curb.

Leigh took a deep breath. It was a good thing the clinic was only a few blocks away, or she would be forced to ask for a barf bag. "So, you don’t think Mary would know any of her secrets? I mean, about the baby? Could Lilah have called Mary and asked for her help in secretly getting it into an institution, or anything like that?"

"Lord, no!" Adith insisted. "Nobody would ever tell Mary anything that was even halfway shady—she was married to the chief of police, for heaven’s sake. And everyone knew she wouldn’t tell a lie. She’d be the
last
person Lilah would tell anything!"

"I see," Leigh answered, but she was lying herself. She didn’t see—not at all. How could Mary have known about the baby?

It was time for one more visit to Maplewood.

"That’s Warren’s car there," Leigh directed, pointing Adith towards the blue Beetle that was parked at the curb. The sedan missed clipping it by no more than ten inches.

"Are you sure there’s nothing else we can do to help?" the older woman asked as Leigh got out. "Should I talk to the detectives myself, you think?"

"I’ll tell Maura Polanski everything you told me as soon as I see her," Leigh promised, happy to have her feet back on the nice, safe cobblestones. "Thanks for the lift."

Adith was none too anxious to end their conversation, but Leigh was anxious enough for both of them. As soon as her ex-chauffeur was out of sight, she hoofed it down the street and into the clinic, making a beeline for the phone in the treatment room.

Unfortunately, Detective Polanski was unavailable. Leigh cursed under her breath, then left a rambling message on the detective’s voice mail. She confessed about the postcard and the oriental chest—though the latter, she still had plans for. If she knew her hardworking husband, the chest was probably still sitting on the front seat of her Cavalier in a particular downtown parking garage. And there it would stay until Warren knocked off for the day. Unless, of course, she got to it first.

Which she fully planned to do, just as soon as she had resolved the Mary issue. She would then have the rest of the afternoon to peruse the box at her leisure, and when Maura caught up with her that evening, she could happily turn it over—like the good little citizen she was.

She wanted to talk to Nancy again, but gave up after waiting five minutes for her to get off the phone with an obviously panicked bird owner. Whether Nikki or Jared was the real heir was immaterial to Nancy’s situation—she might very well still be the person for whom the threats were intended. Whoever wanted to keep Jared’s parentage a secret knew a lot, and it would be no stretch to assume they knew about Nancy’s past as well.

And if the person who was sending the threats was the same person who killed Mrs. Murchison, and possibly Peggy Linney…

She shook the thought from her head. Whether Nancy knew something or not, she had every reason to look over her shoulder.

And so do you
.

Leigh’s teeth clenched as she attempted to placate her little voice of reason. It was true that anyone who knew the identity of Mrs. Murchison’s real heir could be in danger, including her. But it was also true that once that secret got out, the threat to everyone would be over for good. And thanks to her, the police—as of ten minutes ago or whenever Maura picked up her voice mail—were already in the loop.

No one could possibly fault her for going on an innocent visit to a nursing home.

***

Mary Polanski was sitting this time, which was unusual. She was reposing calmly in an arm chair in the small lobby immediately outside her room, where another woman and a much older man sat ignoring a soap opera on a large-screen TV. She smiled as Leigh approached.

"Hello, Virginia," Mary said pleasantly.

"Hello, Mary," Leigh answered pleasantly back. She pulled up another arm chair and sat down. They ran through their usual topics of conversation; the chief, Maura, and a new favorite—the evils of war. Mary’s chatterbox was in fine form.

"I never liked Lilah Beemish," Leigh said finally, keeping her voice sympathetic. "It was so awful what she did to that baby."

Mary’s gray eyes turned intent, just as they had earlier that morning. "Yes," she said gravely. "It was."

Leigh took a deep breath and prayed that the direct approach was a good one. "Now tell me, how exactly was it that you came to know about it?"

For a long moment, Mary didn’t answer. Her eyes darted rapidly back and forth in their sockets, and Leigh had the helpless feeling that the older woman’s memories were playing before her like a movie on a screen—a screen no one else could see.

"What’s happening?" she breathed. "Where were you when you found out about the baby?"

"On the wall," Mary answered solemnly. "Sitting on the wall. You used to see lot of things from the wall."

Leigh was lost already. "What wall?"

"She didn’t want it; couldn’t deal with it.
Set it all up before—so neat and tidy. Would have just aborted it if she could. Instead she figured she’d get a little something for herself, too."

Mary was quiet for a moment again, and Leigh jumped in, afraid of losing the thread. "Did Lilah tell you this herself?"

The answer was a long time in coming as Mary’s eyes continued to flicker. "I heard her. I saw everything through the window. She had to tell me."

Leigh’s puzzlement increased. Mary Polanski, roaming around Ben Avon peeping in windows? It didn’t make any sense. She decided to backtrack. "She gave the baby away?"

"'Gave' isn’t the word I’d use," Mary said critically. "It was illegal what she did. Illegal and immoral."

Leigh’s eyes widened. "Illegal?"

"Cherry cola!" Mary spat out suddenly. "Walked right into Meister’s and got a soda pop. Like nothing had happened."

"I’ll take a soda pop!" the older man on the couch nearby said loudly. "That sounds good."

"I like a good pop, too," Mary answered, smiling.

Blast the pop!
Leigh thought irritably. It took so little to get Mary derailed.

"Edward is a Pepsi man," Mary continued lightly. "Most people can’t tell the difference, but he can. Never liked anything else. Though he does enjoy a Dr. Pepper now and then…"

Leigh cursed silently. She changed the subject back to babies, and then to Lilah, trying to steer Mary gently back on topic. But it was not to be. Mary's mind was on her husband, and everything not associated, she simply ignored.

After a while, Mary announced that she was tired and rose to walk toward her room. Leigh followed, eyeing the phone by her bedside. Did the residents get charged by the call? No matter. She could always reimburse Maura later. The detective would want to know what her mother had said as soon as possible. Hopefully, she might also understand it—because Leigh had no clue.

She called Maura’s number, and was again forced to leave a voicemail. Relaying every detail of Mary’s story would be important, because although the references to "the wall" and Meister’s meant nothing to Leigh, they very well might to a lifetime Avaloner like Maura. Leigh finished the call and said goodbye to Mary, who returned in kind. The older woman had not shown the least spark of interest as Leigh had repeated her story into the phone, which was distressing. How much of the time had Mary actually been talking about Lilah Murchison? Had her mind drifted somewhere else in the middle of the tale?

Leigh contemplated as she drove Warren’s Beetle back downtown. There was no  doubt in her mind that Jared was Lilah Murchison’s son. It explained perfectly the shallow socialite’s reluctance to acknowledge her child until after her death. But why had she never told Nikki? Was she afraid of being bilked out of her money early? Being prosecuted for an illegal adoption? Child abandonment? Mary had said that what she did was illegal. But there were always statutes of limitations…except, of course, for murder.

Leigh shuddered as she pulled into the parking garage, unable to shake off the creepy feeling that made her arm hairs stand on end. Lilah Murchison had been murdered, and her killer was still out there. Maybe Lilah had sent the threats to the clinic herself, and maybe she had been murdered by someone who had no connection at all to the whole mystery heir thing. But Leigh’s instincts told her that the clinic’s prankster and Lilah’s murderer were one in the same—even if a few things still didn’t add up.

She spotted the Cavalier and parked the Beetle a few lengths behind it in the through lane, hoping no attendants were attending at the moment. She moved quickly to switch the cars, then, after leaving Warren a suitably dutiful message about how she was helping the oriental chest along on its journey to the authorities, drove off in the Cavalier and headed for home.

It was the anonymity of the threats that still bothered her. Who exactly was the target? Nancy, because she might remember something from her childhood? Randall Koslow, because Mrs. Murchison might have confided something in him over the years? Nikki, because threatening her at her own workplace would draw too much suspicion to Jared? Or somebody else, with a link she hadn’t uncovered yet?

Perhaps the answer was all of the above. Perhaps the best way to threaten anyone who might know about Jared was to threaten anyone who had anything to do with him.

But to what end? How could the perpetrator have a prayer of inheriting Mrs. Murchison’s money through a scam, when anyone claiming to be the heir would immediately be a suspect for not only the threats, but also murder one?

By the time she pulled into the sanctuary of her own suburban garage, her jaws were sore from grinding. She still couldn’t answer any of those questions. But if she was lucky, the chest in the back seat just might.

Chapter 21

After an uncharacteristically paranoid check of doors, windows, and phone messages, Leigh pushed a few boxes to the side and settled down on the floor of the family room, a delighted Mao Tse purring loudly in her lap. Mao, who did not appreciate sharing her master with anything besides a can of tuna, and who had been doing her "I’m so neglected" sulk all week, was clearly counting the early return as a personal victory. The cat had sniffed the oriental chest in front of them perfunctorily, then ignored it. Why the mingled scents of two dozen Siamese did not interest her when she went nuts over Warren’s dirty socks was puzzling. But pondering the olfactory fetishes of a Persian was a task for another day.

Right now, Leigh was determined to have one more go at figuring out who could be behind the threats—and most probably Lilah Murchison’s murder, too. It was perfectly safe, she assured herself, to think about the matter in the privacy of her own home. Had someone warned her off snooping? They had. Had she done anything suspicious since then? She had not. One trip to the clinic, one to her husband’s parking garage, and one to an assisted living facility were all perfectly ordinary. Granted, she had made the trips in three separate cars, but that just made it all the less likely that anyone had tracked her movements in the first place.