Never Tease a Siamese: A Leigh Koslow Mystery (16 page)

"Mrs. Murchison says she wants me to work for her forever and ever, as long as I want, Leigh Koslow," Jared continued, his broom in constant motion. She had no doubt that what he said was true; it couldn’t be easy to find an honest, dependable person willing to work after hours cleaning out the litter pans of twenty-three cats—garage apartment or no.

"I’m glad Mrs. Murchison isn’t dead, Leigh Koslow."

Chapter 12

Leigh stopped in mid chew. She glanced quickly at Nancy, wondering if there was a news flash she had missed. Surely not—no one survives four days of floating
around Lake Michigan in April, do they? Nancy’s equally puzzled expression seemed to concur.

"What do you mean by that, Jared?" Nancy asked. "You know that your sister told you Mrs. Murchison was dead."

Jared continued sweeping, and did not look up. "Mrs. Murchison isn’t dead, Nancy Johnson."

Leigh and the business manager exchanged confused glances. Perhaps Jared was in denial, but if so, the reaction was delayed. Nancy scribbled quickly on a piece of paper, then showed it to Leigh with a shrug.
Memory problem? Nikki said he wasn’t that upset—he hardly ever saw L.M.

"Jared," Leigh asked slowly, "Nikki thinks Mrs. Murchison is dead. Why don’t you think she’s dead?"

Jared didn’t answer for so long that Leigh was almost ready to repeat herself, thinking he hadn’t heard her. But finally he turned and started sweeping the same section of floor for a second time. "Nikki said Mrs. Wiggs was dead, Leigh Koslow," he answered evenly. "Mrs. Wiggs came home. Mrs. Murchison must have came home, too. Mrs. Murchison never goes anywhere without Mrs. Wiggs. That’s what Nikki says, Leigh Koslow."

Both women sat stupidly for a moment, watching Jared sweep as if hypnotized. "That’s the oldest cat," Nancy said quietly to Leigh. "She was traveling with Mrs. Murchison when the plane crashed."

Leigh finished off the last bite of cheese cracker. This business of being constantly blindsided by new information was taxing, and if her mental faculties were going to be put through any more paces, she had to have some carbs.
So
,
she tried to think logically
.
Jared thought he had seen a particular cat, and that’s why he thought Mrs. Murchison was alive. No problem. Either that cat never went on the trip, or Jared had seen the wrong one.

"Jared," she began conversationally, "When did you see Mrs. Wiggs?"

His answer was downright chipper. "Last night, Leigh Koslow. Third floor litter pans, Leigh Koslow. Mrs. Wiggs sleeps on the windowsill, Leigh Koslow."

Leigh swallowed. It would be perfectly logical to assume that Jared had mistaken one cat for another. It would also be extremely unlikely. Because although there were whole categories of information that totally bypassed the young man’s comprehension, what he knew, he clung to. He fed off it. It was his whole world. If her father’s claims of Jared’s ability to remember client pets were even half true, Leigh had no doubt that he could recognize any of the twenty-three Murchison Siamese—probably with a blindfold on.

"Did Nikki see her, too?" she asked softly.

He shook his head. "Nikki goes out skating on Monday nights, Leigh Koslow. Every Monday night Nikki goes out skating."

Skating?
No time to ponder that. "Did you tell her this morning, then?"

"Tell her what, Leigh Koslow?"

"Did you tell Nikki that you saw Mrs. Wiggs?"

"Nikki isn’t here, Leigh Koslow."

She took a deep breath. Nancy caught her eye with a concerned look.

Leigh decided to try one more angle. She refused, in the absence of hard evidence, to let herself believe that Lilah Murchison had somehow cheated the grim reaper. With no death there would be no will to probate, no millions waiting to be fought over, and—ostensibly—no more threats to the clinic. It would be entirely too fortuitous.

She rose and followed Jared into the back storeroom. His head was still down as he conscientiously swept up piles of hair and scattered pieces of stale kibble. "Jared," she began anxiously, trying to keep her voice light, "Has Mrs. Wiggs been home all week?"

He shook his head firmly, making his blond curls gyrate. "Mrs. Murchison never goes anywhere without Mrs. Wiggs. Mrs. Murchison went out of town. Mrs. Wiggs went out of town. Mrs. Wiggs came back. Mrs. Murchison came back."

"Have you seen Mrs. Murchison?"

The curls shook again. "I don’t disturb Mrs. Murchison, Leigh Koslow."

Leigh felt Nancy’s presence behind her. "We’ll have to talk to Nikki," the other woman said quietly. "Jared," she asked, "Is Mrs. Wiggs still at home?"

"Mrs. Wiggs gone this morning, Nancy Johnson," he answered. "Mrs. Murchison gone this morning. I have to sweep."

And with that summary dismissal, he ambled off toward the bathroom.

***

"So what do you think, Dad?" Leigh asked, more than a little annoyed at their sudden audience. She had relayed Jared’s story while Randall was scanning a fecal slide at the microscope, and instantly Jeanine, Marcia, and Michelle had materialized in the vicinity.

"I think, he said finally, rolling back his stool and pitching the slide in the sink, "that I’m about to be late for an appointment." He rose, maneuvered through the throng of women, and made haste for the basement stairs.

"Do you think Mrs. Murchison’s been hiding out?" Marcia asked when Randall had gone, her eyes wide. "Because I can see her doing that. You know, just to see how everybody reacted."

"That’s sick," Jeanine the all-knowing offered.

"She is sick!" Marcia’s hip-twin, Michelle, chimed in. "Everyone knows that. I’ll bet she’s not dead after all. Nobody that evil ever dies."

"That’s ridiculous," Jeanine snapped. Her hand flew to her mouth. "Oh, my God! I bet
she’s
been the one threatening everybody."

The short silence that followed was ended by a chuckle from Nora, the only one of the staff who still seemed to find humor in the situation. "Yeah, I think she and Freddie Kruger are setting us up," she said lightly, dropping two capillary tubes into the centrifuge. "I wondered what the hell that chainsaw was doing in the autoclave."

"She’s kidding!" Jeanine yelled quickly, forestalling imminent screams from Marcia and Michelle. She then turned back on Nora with venom. "Will you be serious, please?"

"I’m the only one who is," Nora protested. "I heard what Leigh just said, but none of us had any reason to think Mrs. Murchison was alive until today. Why would she threaten us to keep quiet about something we didn’t even know yet?"

"She could have guessed we would find out!" Marcia squealed, "because of Jared!"

"Or
what if
," Michelle squealed, "Doctor Koslow has known all along? What if they were in this
together
?"

All heads turned toward the basement doorway, and the inevitable screams erupted.

"Stop it!" Leigh broke in this time, her hands over her ears. She’d been trying to sit back and studiously listen to her suspects babble, but enough was enough. "You’re being completely ridiculous. You’ve all worked with my dad for years. Does he seem like a criminal mastermind? Does he seem like the sort of person who would waste valuable clinic time helping some crackpot socialite torture her relatives for kicks? Does he?"

There was no answer.

"Of course not," she continued. "But he
is
the kind of person who would fire his employees for standing around screaming instead of taking care of the animals."

On that rather unkind note, she stomped off angrily to the basement herself, muttering uncharitable comments with every step. Her dad in cahoots with Lilah Murchison to fake her death.
Please
. The man couldn’t sit through a complete episode of
Quincy
.

"Dad?" she exclaimed, surprised to find his white lab coat replaced with a sport jacket. "Where are you going?"

"The attorney’s." His tone indicated clearly that he saw the errand as a drudgery. "I’ve got to get the details about Mrs. Murchison’s cats."

Her eyebrows arched. "I’m coming with you, then."

He threw her a tired look. "That’s hardly necessary. This meeting is only about the cats." He cleared his throat. "Frankly, I’m a little concerned about your level of involvement in all this. Vandalism and threats are police business." He paused ever so slightly. "Isn’t Warren home yet?"

Leigh couldn’t help but smile. He and her mother had both thought that marrying a man as responsible and mild-mannered as Warren would somehow magically convince her that cross-stitching and Tupperware parties were primo entertainment. They had been sorely disappointed. (Not that she had anything against Tupperware. Some of the best meals she had ever eaten had come in Tupperware. But she hadn’t
cooked
them.)

"He came home last night," she answered. "And I’m not just amusing  myself by asking all these questions. I’m looking out for the clinic and I’m looking out for you. Whether you like it or not, Lilah Murchison has dragged you into her affairs up to your eyeballs. And ignoring all the warning signs won’t make them go away." She grinned. "That’s a quote from you, by the way: Cancer Lecture #36."

Randall’s brow wrinkled. "I repeat: this is a police matter."

Her expression turned serious. "Dad, I happen to know a little about how the police work, okay? The Avalon PD are good people, but they’re plenty busy with actual crimes that have already been committed. They don’t have time to chase down leads on a bunch of strange things about Lilah Murchison’s will that don’t add up. As far as they’re concerned, that’s soap opera stuff.

"But I have this feeling—" she began tentatively, "that Peggy Linney didn’t die of natural causes. Don’t ask me for proof because there isn’t any. But if I’m right, it means that someone out there wants Mrs. Murchison’s money badly enough to kill for it."

She took a deep breath. She hadn’t told him half of what she had learned since waking up that morning, and it had been a very long day. She hadn’t told anybody everything—but she would tell Warren and Maura tonight. Among the three of them, she felt sure they could make sense of it. Particularly if they had just a few more pieces of the puzzle—several of which she felt sure she could wrangle out of Mrs. Murchison’s lawyer.

"I just need to go with you to see Sheridan," she pleaded. "I need to ask him a few things, and then I’m going to run it all by Maura. I believe there’s a real possibility that Lilah Murchison was
not
on that plane. And if she’s alive, it will nip all these threats right in the bud. Wouldn’t that be worth the effort?"
Randall threw her a long, hard look. When he spoke, his voice was sober. "Jared is certain he’s seen Mrs. Wiggs since the plane crash?"

She nodded.

"Jared knows those Siamese," he commented, almost too low to be heard. "Nikki Loomis said that a witness watched Mrs. Murchison get on that plane with a cat, but I suppose they could have gotten off at the last minute."

Leigh smiled broadly. "My thoughts exactly."

***

"Just let Sheridan do his spiel with me first," Randall had instructed. "Then you can pester the man."

Leigh had readily agreed, although now she was regretting her acquiescence. Not only was the list of specific instructions for the Murchison cats endless, but the chairs in the attorney’s stark office were distinctly uncomfortable. She supposed they were artistic, given their curving chrome side arms and solid black sling seats. But she had never been one to suffer for the sake of art, and her spine felt ready to snap.

The lawyer droned on and on, evidently believing that pronouncing words like "part" and "presume" with extra syllables would increase his billable hours. Leigh picked up bits and pieces of Mrs. Murchison’s instructions, such as the fact that some of the younger cats were to be offered for sale. But the majority appeared to be set for life in the otherwise lifeless Ben Avon mansion. She also picked up on the fact that Lilah seemed to have no qualms about saddling Randall with an unreasonable number of pesky duties—assuming that his "generous retainer" would make all well.

The woman was a real piece of work.

By the time Sheridan had finished his drawling explanation of her father’s obligations, Leigh had almost dozed off. It was the words "Is there anything else I can do for you," that roused her.

"As a matter of fact, yes," she answered, attempting to uncoil her damaged spine. She had planned the order of her questions from most to least pressing, certain that the by-the-book counselor would clam up on her eventually. "I suppose you’ve heard by now of Peggy Linney’s unfortunate passing?"

Sheridan nodded expressionlessly.

"I visited her the afternoon before she died," Leigh began. "She told me you had been there earlier."

"Oh?" Sheridan’s voice could not have sounded more disinterested as he restacked the huge sheaf of papers on his desk.