Never Tease a Siamese: A Leigh Koslow Mystery (18 page)

In the last hour, she had thought of little else besides Adith Rhodis’ theory. It made an awful lot of sense; even more knowing everything that Adith hadn’t. Peggy Linney could easily have held her granddaughter’s baby as an insurance policy for Lilah. If Lilah had a son, fine. If she didn’t, maybe Becky would. The odds were three-to-one in their favor. As for Peggy telling Becky that the adoptive mother had had a stillborn, that made sense too. The less the girl knew about who was adopting her baby and why, the less likely she would be to resurface as a blackmail risk later.

The twosome had covered their bases well. Becky’s family lived in Brentwood, on the other side of the burg. Lilah Murchison’s reputation, however lurid, would not have stretched so far. Even if Becky did learn, years later, that her grandmother’s employer had a son about the same age as her first-born would be, that knowledge alone would be unlikely to set off any alarm bells. Particularly since no one else had any reason to believe that Dean was adopted.

The only thing Leigh couldn’t imagine was what the two women had done with Lilah’s baby girl. Couldn’t they have kept both infants, and claimed they were twins? At the very least, she would think Lilah would want to know exactly where the baby was going, and would want to keep tabs on her. Maybe even keep her close? A girl just Dean’s age…

She scooted her chair back from the table abruptly. "Is Maura coming over tonight?" she asked eagerly.

Warren shook his head. "I called, but she’s on duty till 11:00."

Leigh gazed back at her tamale and thought hard. She needed info on local families, and she needed it now. Who else could she ask? Maura’s mother, the ultimate source on Avaloners, had been beyond answering questions for a while now. There was Adith…but any suspicions admitted to her would be broadcast across the North Boros by "the girls" in a matter of minutes, and this was a delicate matter. Her father knew people with pets, but the kind of information she needed, his brain simply didn’t store.

"Are you going to tell me what’s going on now," her husband asked pleasantly, digging into his tamales, "or I am going to go on a cooking strike?"

"You wouldn’t be so cruel," she returned absently. "I’ll explain everything in just—" A bald, jolly head popped suddenly into her mind. Its lips were moving.

Of course
. She got up and walked to the phone, pulling out the white pages. In seconds she had her man.

"Vestal? Hello, It’s Leigh Koslow. Sorry to call you at home, but—"

He responded as she had expected—as though it were a privilege to be bothered.

"I’m looking into some things for my father," she explained vaguely, knowing she could get away with it, "and I thought maybe you could help me figure something out."

"Delighted."

Leigh smiled. She just might have to purchase one of those prepaid burial plans. "You know Jared Loomis, who works at the clinic?"

"Fine boy."

"Yes, he is. I know that he has a sister and two brothers; it’s kind of a delicate question to ask the family, but—I was wondering if it was common knowledge whether any of those children were adopted."

An odd, snuffling sound piped through the phone wire. She would guess it was either a muffled snicker or a sob, and the latter seemed unlikely. Vestal reserved his voluminous tears for the funerals of clients who would appreciate it.

"I’m sorry," he said after a bit. "Didn’t mean to be disrespectful of Wanda—God rest her soul. She died in ’98. Cancer, I believe. But my, my, what a question. No, Miss Koslow, I sincerely doubt that Wanda Loomis would have ever adopted so much as a kitten. The woman was what they call perpetually pregnant. Six kids and more miscarriages than anyone could count."

"
Six
kids?"

"Oh, yes. The oldest two are long gone. The other boys, Bill and Red, are born troublemakers. Spend as much time in the county lockup as home. Then there’s Jared, whom you know, and the girl, Nikki. Now, she’s a bright one. Had to be tough, too, growing up in that mob."

Leigh could imagine. "Did they—all have the same father?"

The muffled sound came again. "Um, well…" Vestal began when he recovered, "I doubt that. Loomis is Wanda’s maiden name. She never married anybody."

"I see," Leigh responded. It wasn’t the information she was expecting, but she wasn’t finished yet. "One more question. Wanda Loomis—do you happen to know of any connection, however thin, between her and Lilah Murchison?"

"Oh, of course," he answered immediately, as if anyone with half a brain should know the same. "The Loomises and the Beemishes were thick as thieves once upon a time. I believe maybe Wanda’s mother and Lilah’s mother were cousins. But as I’m sure you know, the late high-and-mighty Ms. Murchison—God rest her soul—wouldn’t have a thing to do with the likes of Wanda. You can imagine we were all pretty surprised when Lilah took on Wanda’s daughter as staff. Not the charitable type, that woman. But it seems to have worked out."

Leigh thanked the funeral director profusely and hung up, smiling broadly. Warren leaned back in one of the real chairs he had dragged in from the living room. "You’ve got fifteen seconds to start talking," he informed her. "If not, the tamales go to Mao Tse."

"You wouldn’t dare." She sat down quickly and snatched up her fork. "I’m starving."

Chapter 14

"Do you think Nikki knows?" Warren asked, leaning close to the windshield of the blue Beetle. It was pouring buckets, and the trip from the North Hills down to Ben
Avon seemed to be taking an eternity.

"It seems like she would have to in order to claim the inheritance," Leigh reasoned. "Unless Lilah left her a sealed envelope or something. But my instincts say Nikki doesn’t have a clue. She just doesn’t act like she knows. She doesn’t even act likes she cares."

Warren queued the Beetle in a line of cars stuck at an unilluminated  stoplight. "But you think Dean knows."

"He must. I don’t know if Lilah told him or if he figured it out, but he must know. And I think he’s trying to threaten Nikki out of claiming the inheritance."

"Why through the clinic, though? Why not contact her directly?"

Leigh had been thinking about that. "Well, first of all, I don’t think Dean planned any of this. He’s more the waving-his-hands-around-screaming type." She was
not
going to think about the incident in the Chuckwagon again. She had mercifully left that part out of her explanation to Warren, for his own good. Not that he was the type to go punching anybody out—but woe unto Dean if he ever needed paperwork from the county.

"It’s his wife Rochelle that’s the schemer," she continued. "My guess is that they’re not sure if Nikki knows yet or not, and if not, they don’t want to tip her off prematurely. Or anybody else, for that matter. But they can preemptively threaten her—and by implication, Jared—through the clinic without anyone knowing their exact target."

Warren was quiet for a moment as he steered carefully through the intersection. The wind was blowing hard against the Beetle, and the lifeless stoplights swayed violently over their heads. "I wish we could get hold of Mo," he said finally. "Don’t you think you should at least tell someone at the Avalon PD?"

"I can, but they won’t care," Leigh insisted. "Dean Murchison is already suspect number one for the threats; but as Maura said, they can’t charge him because they don’t have any evidence. All I could provide at this point is more motive."

Warren did not appear appeased. "I’m just not sure confronting Nikki about this now is the way to go."

"If all goes well, I won’t have to," she responded brightly. "All I want to do now is tell her about Jared seeing Mrs. Wiggs. She should be able to tell if there are any other signs of Mrs. Murchison roaming around the place. And if there are, the whole inheritance thing is moot, and Rochelle’s reign of terror is over."

Warren threw her a skeptical look. "And then you’ll trot off merrily home and leave the whole mother-daughter reunion thing to follow its natural course with no interference."

"Of course," she agreed. Then she considered. "Well, probably."

A bolt of lightning split the sky, and she looked anxiously out the window. They had reached Ben Avon—finally. She directed Warren to the Murchison mansion, then around the side to the driveway. The zigzagging maze that passed for Lilah’s front walk might be fine in the daytime, but at night in the middle of a thunderstorm, she would take her chances on a more accessible route.

Warren pulled into the awkwardly angled drive, and they made their way slowly toward the garage. "I’m surprised she doesn’t have a gate," he commented.

"Physical barriers are a Sewickley Heights kind of thing," she said philosophically, referring to an even ritzier borough farther downstream. "People like Lilah prefer to keep out the riffraff with good, old-fashioned psychological intimidation. More sporting, you know."

He threw her a skeptical look, but said nothing. A second later, they lurched forward as he slammed on the brakes. "Who is that?" he exclaimed, looking at the bright-yellow hooded raincoat bobbing around a few yards in front of the fender. "It looks like a kid. They came out of nowhere."

Leigh rolled down her window, and the hood turned in her direction. "Nikki?" she called. "Is that you? It’s me, Leigh! Can we come in for a minute?"

The hood made its way around to the passenger side of the car, and Nikki Loomis’s wet face appeared. "Are you nuts?" She rolled her eyes. "Never mind. Yeah, whatever. Park in front of the garage and come to the porch." She uttered an expletive, pulled the yellow slicker tighter over her head, and marched off toward the house.

Refusing her husband’s offer of his umbrella, Leigh made the sprint from the garage to the back door in record time, but was still soaked. The glass-encased sunroom was nicely furnished, but since the carpeting was Aster-Turf, she didn’t feel too bad about dripping on it. "I know you weren’t expecting us, Nikki," she began breathlessly, "but I had to see you right away. There’s news about Mrs. Murchison. Have you talked to Jared today?"

Looking confused, Nikki shook her head slowly. "I teach aerobics at the Y on Tuesdays. Is Jared okay?"

"He’s fine," Leigh said quickly.

"He didn’t hear those rumors, did he?" she asked with alarm. "I got an earful of that at the Y already. Everybody thinks Lilah faked her own death now."

Leigh took a deep breath. News couldn’t travel that fast—even in the North Boros. Sure, the whole clinic staff had heard Jared’s story, and the communicative powers of Mrs. Rhodis and "the girls" should not be underestimated. But still. "Why do they think that?" she asked.

Nikki shrugged. "I guess just because her body wasn’t found. You know people. Everything’s a TV movie."

Warren walked in through the porch door, turned around to shake out his umbrella, then leaned it carefully against the door jamb. He was almost perfectly dry. "Nikki," Leigh began, "this is my husband, Warren—"

"Warren Harmon, County Council, District Two," he said in his best politician’s voice, extending a practiced hand. "Delighted to meet you. I’ve met your brother—wonderful guy. My father-in-law thinks the world of him."

"You mean Jared," Nikki said with a rare smile. "Thanks." She turned back to Leigh, and the smile disappeared. "Now, why are you here? And don’t ask to come in again. I’m still trying to fix all those pictures up on the third floor your old-lady friend rearranged."

Leigh cringed. "Sorry. But this is important. Jared thinks he saw Mrs. Wiggs last night."

A well-timed bolt of lightning accentuated the blanching of Nikki’s small face. "He what?" she croaked.

"He told me he saw Mrs. Wiggs last night. On the third floor, sleeping on the window seat. He was certain Mrs. Murchison was alive too, though he said he hadn’t seen her." She was going to ask Nikki how reliable she thought her brother’s observations were, but the look on the younger woman’s face made that clear.

"I’m always out Monday nights," Nikki answered numbly, turning toward the house with her key outstretched. "Ms. Lilah knows that." She inserted the key into the heavy back door, opened it, and began punching some buttons on a security panel around the corner. Rain was still beating heavily on the glass roof of the sun porch, and Leigh, following close behind, had to strain to understand Nikki’s mumbling.

"I’m always out on Tuesday afternoons, too. I teach at the Y and then I go out to eat with Leslie and them—I’m almost never back before seven…" She was staring at the security console, the puzzled look on her face deepening. "This isn’t right."

Warren followed the women into the house and closed the door behind them. The loud hammering of the rain ceased, leaving an eerie quiet.

"What isn’t right, Nikki?" Leigh asked softly.

The stillness was interrupted by a rumble of thunder. "It’s off," she said simply. "Somebody turned it off." She exhaled loudly, then slammed her back against the wall with a thump. "Damn her."

Warren suddenly turned his eyes toward the ceiling. "Wait. I heard something."

Leigh listened, and she heard it too. A low moaning, almost a sobbing. This time it didn’t sound like a Siamese. It sounded like a man.