Never Tease a Siamese: A Leigh Koslow Mystery (31 page)

His face shone with pride. "I was correct."

His gloating reverie suddenly ceased, and he turned to Leigh with a scowl. "Then there are
other
people. People who are so infernally stupid that no reasonable threats can even begin to penetrate their thick skulls." His beady eyes narrowed at her. "What are you getting out of this, anyway? You barely know these people!"

A variety of responses spun through Leigh’s mind, most having to do with justice and the triumph of good over evil, but she didn’t say any of them. They sounded too much like a
Superfriends
cartoon.

She tried another tack. "I’m no vigilante," she informed him defiantly. "Detective Maura Polanski is one of my best friends. I’ve been helping her. I’ve been updating her regularly, in fact.
Very regularly
."

Sheridan threw her another shrewd glance. "Nice try, Ms. Koslow, but I don’t believe you. I know your type. You want to be a hero. And heroes work solo."

"Not me," she said immediately. "Maura knows all about the chest, and the old wills. She knows everything I know. Nancy refused to talk to her—you’re right about that. But I told her myself."

Sheridan started looking more worried, and Leigh pressed on. She tried not to think about the fact that the small-boned, relatively harmless-looking man sitting next to her might very well have already been responsible for two murders. The upshot was, he was dangerous. And if he thought that getting rid of her would accomplish something, there wasn’t a doubt in her mind that he would go for it.

He breathed out angrily. "You’re lying. You’re lying to save your own skin. You confronted Miss Johnson as soon as you found the will, and then you rushed right out here to see me. I
had
no other appointment, by the way. I just wanted to get you someplace…private. Didn’t think of that, did you?"

Leigh fought hard to beat back the chill that was creeping viciously up her spine. She could
not
panic. Sheridan was not a big man; in height and weight, they were probably evenly matched. He hadn’t pulled a gun on her, or any other weapon, for that matter. He had the upper hand at this point only for two reasons. One: she was in his car in a deserted location in the middle of a downpour. Two: her foot was shackled.

She rallied her strength. This man might have killed twice, but with all due respect to the deceased, they had not been difficult targets. Peggy Linney was practically an invalid. Lilah Murchison might have looked fine, but she was terminally ill. Leigh Eleanor Koslow was neither of those things.

She stole a glance at the handcuff that bound her ankle, and swallowed. It didn’t look like the ones she had seen Maura carrying. It was almost…decorative. A vision of the leather whip that had been used to strangle Lilah popped unwillingly into her mind. There was a theme here, and if she was going to keep any pretense of a cool head, she had to pretend otherwise immediately.

Who was Sheridan really, and what were his motives? If she was going to battle him with her wits, she would have to know.

She cleared her throat and looked straight at him. "Maura and I," she began carefully, "knew all along that whoever was threatening Nancy had to have inside information. Who knew about the will before it was read? And how could they have known?"

Sheridan smiled broadly. "You obviously didn’t think of me, though, did you? People never think of the lawyer. We’re rather like invisible servants, skulking around the corner, pretending not to listen." He relaxed a little for a moment. "Of course I knew everything. Mrs. Murchison told me the whole story from the beginning. Why wouldn’t she? I was her attorney, for heaven’s sake. It was all completely confidential."

His grin was positively snide. "It was the perfect setup."

"You must have changed the name of the heir in the envelope, then," Leigh suggested, fishing. She realized now that somehow, some way, Sheridan’s motive in all this had to be collecting the money for himself. Her crazy "fake heir" theory had been right all along.

To her surprise, he chuckled. "My foolish Ms. Koslow," he said grimly. "You have no idea. I changed
everything
. Additions, deletions, rewordings—by the time Mrs. Murchison signed the final copy, she was too sick of the document to even look at it. She had no idea. She wanted to give Nancy the option of anonymity, yes, but the cloak-and-dagger stuff was all at my suggestion. The sealed envelope, the formal proof of identification—I convinced her to do all of that. For her own protection, of course."

Leigh felt a successive wave of urges to smack the arrogant look off the lawyer’s face, but she resisted them all. "I’m guessing then that Mrs. Murchison
did
leave Nancy a personal note, with instructions about how to claim the money, as well as proof of her identity. I’m guessing you never gave it to her."

"You would guess correctly." He seemed to be lost in thought for a moment, then he sat up straighter, his features grim. "And the strategy is still sound.
Provided
that no one ever discovers that Nancy Johnson is Mrs. Murchison’s biological child."

He looked at her with a coldness that chilled her limbs. "And with you gone, no one will. I will tell Miss Johnson a frightening story about how you left my office in a mad rush to see someone…yes, that will do. As long as she stays ignorant of the perpetrator, she’ll stay too afraid to come forward, as well. Your 'disappearance’ should rattle her nicely."

Leigh fought a rising panic again as Sheridan looked her over, clearly mulling his options. She could only guess what was going through his mind. How exactly could he kill her? Strangulation? A blow to the head? And how could he hide the body? If it was found, would there be anything to implicate him?

He turned the windshield wipers on high and peered out, first at the pavilion area, then at the Cavalier. He smiled.

In the driving rain, the young woman apparently lost control of her car…
Or, better yet:
A North Park pedestrian was killed earlier today when she was mysteriously run down from behind by her own vehicle...

No! She pushed the visions forcefully from her mind. No matter what he was thinking, she would
not
be easy either to kill or dispose of, and he was smart enough to know that. He would be in for one hell of a fight—with no guarantee of success. There had to be room for reason.

"Don’t be stupid. There’s no way you could ever get away with killing me," she said, mustering every ounce of fake self-assurance possible. "I’m not an old woman and I’m not frail, and my disappearance will raise more questions than you could ever imagine."

Sheridan avoided looking at her. She took this as a good sign. "Maura Polanski is probably at the vet clinic right now, interviewing Nancy," she continued. "She knows that I went to meet you. When I don’t show up… Well, have you ever heard the expression 'no brainer'?"

He clenched his fists on the steering wheel and swung his face back towards her angrily. "And what do you propose as my alternative? Am I supposed to believe that if I let you saunter off back to your car, you will not run back and tell the police that I have murdered two people and threatened two more? Not that I’m admitting that, mind you," he tagged on, his legal training resurfacing. "But what do I really have to lose here? What are three murder raps compared to two? I don’t believe you’ve told your detective friend everything you say you have. If I let you go, I lose for certain. If I kill you, I might still lose. But then again, I might not."

He glared at her malevolently. "It’s a
no brainer.
"

Leigh’s heart beat faster, and her mind raced furiously. He was right, of course. He had nothing to gain from letting her go, because she
would
turn around immediately and pin his scrawny butt to the wall. It was the right and only thing to do. But then, people like Sheridan didn’t understand the meaning of the word "right."

They couldn’t comprehend it.

A coy smile spread slowly over her own face. "All right, Sheridan. You win. The money would never have gone to Dean and my father anyway, would it? You would have gotten it first."

The lawyer’s eyebrows arched. He said nothing.

"Of course you would have. So the strategy changes."

Still, he said nothing.

"Oh, come off it, Sheridan," she derided. "You don’t really believe I’m some superhero wannabe. People like that don’t really exist."

His eyes widened with interest, and she surreptitiously took a deep breath, which she sorely needed to maintain her blasé tone. "There are people who uphold the law for a salary, like my friend Maura Polanski. But we both know that people like her never,
ever
get ahead."

She rapped her fingers on the Town Car’s armrest. "You’re right. I haven’t told the detective squat. It’s more the other way around. I’ve been using her to get my own information."

It was not in her best interest to look at the lawyer directly, but if her peripheral vision was accurate, he was eyeing her approvingly. "When I realized Nancy Johnson was the real heir, I was sure I could convince her to refuse the money outright. Then I wouldn’t have to wait five whole years for my dad to inherit."

The lawyer’s voice was quiet, but it held a trace of something like glee. "And I thought your father was sober fellow."

"He is," Leigh said quickly, careful not to sound
too
respectful. "But he’s lousy with money. That’s why he hired Nancy Johnson in the first place. I wouldn’t have had any trouble getting him to turn over control of the "feline charities" money to my waiting hands. And I don’t think I need to tell you—the felines wouldn’t be getting all of it."

She turned to see his face shining with amusement. "Bravo, Ms. Koslow," he offered genuinely. "I underestimated you. That simpering face of yours serves you well. Too bad you didn’t figure me into the equation earlier, eh?"

Once again, Leigh fought hard not to strike the man. "Oh, I’m not done yet," she returned coldly. "I’m going to make you an offer you can’t refuse. You don’t have to go down for my murder. You don’t have to go down for anyone’s murder. You can cash in on that inheritance as planned—with absolutely no interference from me. In fact, I can even lose that pesky little will I found. Just like that." She snapped her fingers.

His cold eyes scrutinized her—hard. "In exchange for what?" he asked, his voice low.

Leigh stared at him just as coldly. "I want half."

For a moment, she thought he might strike her. Then, the diabolical smile returned. "Thirty percent," he said dryly.

She shook her head. Hardball was hardball. If he suspected she was bluffing, she was done for. "
Half
."

Sheridan let out a long, groaning exhale. After a long moment, he answered. "Fine."

Leigh’s heart skipped a beat. Did he believe her? Was he serious? He appeared to be.

"But I’ll need some documentation," he insisted.

She looked at him quizzically. "Now, why would I agree to that?"

"Because if I go down, Ms. Koslow," he said menacingly, "I can assure you that you will go down right along with me. In fact, I will claim that you were involved all along. Conspiracy to commit murder sound good? Because that’s what you’ll be facing if you try to doublecross me." His eyes bore into hers. "I happen to be very good at forgery, Ms. Koslow. You have evidence of that. With your signature on a few blank documents, I can turn your life into a living hell. Do we understand each other?"

She looked back at him levelly, having no intention of signing anything. "Perfectly."

Sheridan stared at her for only a moment, then threw the Town Car into gear and pulled out.

"Hey!" Leigh protested. "My car!"

"Not yet," he snapped. "I want those papers signed tonight. I’ll bring you back out later."

"No way," she argued. "We’ll have to do it tomorrow. My husband and Maura Polanski are both expecting me home. It will look too suspicious."

His eyes narrowed. "Shall we talk about suspicious, Ms. Koslow? I think it’s a little
suspicious
that you happened to be the last one to see Peggy Linney alive. It’s a little suspicious that you were interested enough in your father’s finances to show up at both the will reading and his subsequent 'private’ meeting with me. It’s even more suspicious that, mere minutes after Lilah Murchison was brutally murdered, you and your husband just
happened
to appear at the mansion. You and your
politician
husband, who I might add has a reputation for generating money in rather novel ways."

Leigh's blood boiled. "My husband has nothing to do with this," she growled.

"Oh no?" Sheridan said innocently. "The police would probably agree with you on that. Eventually. But I suspect the media might find my side of the story a little more newsworthy. Particularly after I inform them of how the honorable Warren Harmon tried to bribe me for information as to the heir’s identity—"

"All right!" Leigh snapped, getting the lawyer’s point loud and clear. There was no way he would let her go willingly until he got more leverage. "I’ll sign any damn thing you want," she snarled. "Just hurry up—I want to get home."