Never Buried

by Edie Claire

  "And what do you think?" Leigh asked.

  "I'm not so sure. We know that someone wants you out of the house. Only a handful of people ever lived there, and almost all of them are dead. If Robert Fischer is alive, I'd say he's my prime suspect."

  Mary looked at Maura. "I bet Mr. Mellman wasn't too happy with that theory."

  Maura returned a sly smile. "You got that one right. He got pretty hot. You'd think Robbie was some sort of saint."

  "He was a sweet boy," Mary defended. "But time can change people. I wouldn't presume to predict his behavior now."

  Looking at Mary, Leigh wondered how much crime-solving had gone on at the Polanski dinner table as opposed to the station house. Maura had a heck of a gene pool going for her.

  Randall Koslow cleared his throat. "I'm sure the Avalon Police Department has the situation well under control. Shall we discuss something else for a while?"

  Mary shifted in her seat, suddenly looking uneasy. The only one at the table who appeared happy with the suggestion was Maura. "Sure, Doc," she said cheerfully. "How's the job search coming, Leigh?"

  Choking violently, Leigh tried in vain to keep bits of potato from sputtering through her lips. She wiped her mouth and reached for a glass of water, attempting to avoid Frances's gaze. She failed. The beady browns were staring right at her. "You did get laid off again, didn't you? I knew it! I told you the advertising business was too risky!" Frances turned scathing eyes on her husband. "You knew about this too, didn't you?"

  "Now, dear," Randall answered calmly. "Leigh's a grown woman. She doesn't have to tell us everything."

  "Of course you knew!" Frances continued, her hands wringing her napkin anxiously. "You would. All right. Let's think. There's my friend Doreen down at Mellon Bank, she might know of something—"

  "Mom," Leigh interrupted, eyes still watering. "I do not need your help finding a job. I’ll be fine. Can we talk about something else, please? We do have guests, you know."

  Rarely could Frances resist an appeal to her sense of propriety. She cleared her throat and wiped her mouth with her napkin. "I'm sorry. Would anyone like some more coffee?"

  "I want to go home."

  Mary had stood up at the table, her eyes anxious.

  Maura spoke gently, motioning for her mother to sit. "It's okay, Mom. We're having dinner at the Koslows. You haven't had your dessert yet."

  "Where's my coat?" Mary pushed back her chair and headed for the door that led to the bedroom.

  "I'm sorry, Mrs. Koslow," Maura said. "But I think we'd better be going."

  "Don't you dare apologize," Frances said smoothly. "We're just happy you could come at all. Shall I wrap up the leftover pot roast for you?"

  Maura nodded, her sad eyes glimmering a little. Within a few minutes, the Polanskis and the pot roast were gone.

  "Now," Frances began sternly. "I think it's time for a good, old-fashioned family conference."

  Chapter 14

  "I can't believe you didn't tell me you lost your job," Cara brooded as they returned to her front door two excruciating hours later. "You know I wouldn't have told your mom."

  "No," Leigh defended. "But you would have told your mom, and we both know those two can't keep secrets."

  Cara grumbled as she turned her key in the lock and walked into the foyer to deactivate the security system. Leigh followed, unable to keep her eyes from fixating on the floor at the bottom of the staircase. A body had once lain there. An accident—or murder?

  "Leigh?"

  The tone made her turn quickly.

  Cara's eyes were wide. "Look. The malfunction light is on."

  Leigh knew only the basics of how to turn the system off and on, but she was sure that the blinking red light was not anything she had seen before. "What does that mean?" she asked, feeling a need to whisper.

  Cara pushed a few buttons, and a message flashed on the display. Failure to Communicate.

  Within two seconds, both women were on the front porch. "I'll have Mrs. Rhodis call the police," Cara said, already walking.

  Leigh nodded, but her initial shock was quickly being replaced with anger. Someone had been in her space, screwing around with her stuff. Who? She wanted to know. "Cara!" she hissed, "Why don't you keep an eye on the front door from Mrs. Rhodis's, and I'll stand in the driveway where I can watch the back. In case someone comes out." Cara nodded without argument.

  Leigh walked back to the driveway, keeping her cousin in her line of sight. Cara didn't attempt the stairs, but called to Mrs. Rhodis from below the porch. When their neighbor appeared, Leigh moved farther down the driveway until she could see the back patio.

  Her heart was beating against her chest so hard she thought her sternum might crack, but she kept walking. Everything looked normal. Cara's Lumina, tucked carefully against the hedge by the house. Traffic noise from the boulevard, as always. Streetlights casting artificial shadows on the low shrubs that lined the drive. Nothing out of place, nothing to frighten. And yet, someone had been inside. They must have been. Where were they now?

  She walked in the open, giving a wide berth to anything with hiding-place potential. "Stay calm," she told herself out loud. "No one's going to jump you. They've probably already got what they wanted and left. And if they're still here, they'll just want to get out."

  "Leigh!" Cara was back out in the front yard. "Stay where I can see you!"

  Leigh held up her fingers in an "okay" sign. She could almost see the back door. When she did see it, her body stiffened. The door was wide open.

  She stood still. Someone had broken into the house, that much was for sure. That someone, in all likelihood, had left through the back door. Probably in a hurry.

  Leigh's calm logic lasted only a few seconds before the sight of the open door brought out a more primitive sentiment. Maternal instinct.

  "Mao Tse!" she cried, and started running, ignoring Cara's calls for her to stay put. She reached the open door and stepped into the kitchen. "Mao Tse? Are you here?" She flipped on the lights, and suddenly felt cold.

  The room really hadn't changed—much. The stepladder had been moved to the middle of the room. A yellow beach towel lay crumpled on the floor. None of the cabinets were open, no drawers overturned. But the feeling hung in the air like a disease. A feeling of violation.

  Cara stepped into the kitchen behind Leigh. "Come on out," she said sensibly. "The police will be here any second."

  Leigh walked into the breakfast nook. The finch cage wasn't on its hook. It was sitting on top of the table. Her eyes scanned its lonely perches. The birds were gone.

  A wave of nausea overtook her. Cara walked up softly and put a hand on her arm. "We have to wait for the police—please, Leigh. Come outside."

  Leigh shook her arm loose, panic rising. "Mao Tse," she whispered, moving into the family room.

  Cara followed closely on her heels. "Wait, Leigh! You can't go in alone. Stop!"

  But Leigh wasn't listening. She flipped on the lights, her eyes desperately searching the places she'd seen Mao Tse before—the armchair, on top of the stereo. Nothing.

  A siren sounded.

  Cara grabbed Leigh's arm with a vengeance, dragged her firmly backward through the breakfast nook, and deposited her in the kitchen by the back door. "Don't you take another step!" she hissed, then called out to the police.

  But Leigh's attention was now focused on the dining room, and when Cara released her to meet the officers, she began walking stiffly toward it, turning lights on as she went. Cara's good china and silverware were untouched. The parlor was spotless, except that the kitchen broom was lying in the floor. Had she left it there? Of course not. Had Cara?

  "Mao Tse!" She was afraid to raise her voice above a whisper, though she wasn't sure why. She tried to think. A stranger had walked into the house. What would Mao Tse have done? An idea raised a spark of hope. The cat would hide, of course. She fell to her hands and knees and started looking under the furniture. Nothing.

  "Ma’am!" an
unfamiliar voice, followed by an unfamiliar pair of feet, approached her from behind. "Ma’am? I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to step outside until we've had a look around."

  Leigh got off her knees and faced an attractive uniformed officer in his early forties. His badge said "Schofield." Had Maura ever mentioned a Schofield?

  "Ma’am, I insist. Right away."

  Leigh still could only whisper. "My cat..."

  Schofield took her arm. "You'll have to look for it later." His grasp was gentle, but firm. Before Leigh knew what was happening, he had deposited her on the front porch and gone back inside.

  Mao Tse. Leigh tried to push away the horrible thoughts swimming in her head. Mao Tse was fine. She was just hiding. No one wanted to hurt her. They wanted something else.

  A second officer, who had been talking to Cara, pushed past Leigh and into the house. Cara hurried up. "They’ve called Chief Mellman; he's on his way. Did you want to call Maura?"

  Leigh shook her head dumbly.

  "Mao Tse is just hiding somewhere. I'm sure of it," Cara soothed. "You know she wouldn't go near a stranger."

  Heavy footsteps and clanking keys announced the arrival of the Avalon police chief. Mellman looked odd in jeans—especially those topped off with an oversized Western belt buckle. But if the sweat on his forehead was any indication, he had jogged the three blocks from his house at a good clip. "Are you girls okay?" he said between breaths.

  "We're fine," Cara answered. "We just came home and found the security system down."

  "The back door was open," Leigh began, then stumbled. "And my pets are missing."

  Mellman's pupils widened. "Did you go in the house?" he asked.

  Leigh and Cara looked at each other.

  The police chief interpreted their silence correctly, but managed to control his displeasure. "What pets did you have, Leigh?" he asked gently.

  A trace of a smile escaped her lips as she remembered Mellman's soft spot for animals. "A cat," she answered. "And two finches."

  He nodded, then turned aside and began talking jargon into his radio. Leigh made out "and keep your eyes open for a cat," before he starting walking around the side of the house.

  The cousins stood in uncomfortable silence. "I should never have relied on that security system," Cara said finally. "This is all my fault, Leigh. I'm sorry."

  "Don't be ridiculous. None of this is either of our faults." Anger was creeping back into Leigh's veins. "We didn't ask for any of this. And this person is going to regret it." She turned suddenly, remembering her cousin's condition. "How are you doing? You're not having contractions, are you?"

  Cara shook her head. "I'm fine. Angry, worried—but fine."

  After a few more minutes, Mellman appeared in the foyer. "It's all right, girls. Whoever was in here is long gone."

  A sudden sense of relief overcame Leigh. In her mind she had seen an officer coming to the door, his face pasty. "Were you the one with the cat? I'm sorry Ma’am, but—."

  It hadn't happened. But where was Mao Tse? Where were the finches? She shivered and forced gruesome images from her mind as she and her cousin walked inside the front door. "Leigh, you go with Officer Banks, and Cara, you go with Officer Schofield. Do a walk-through and tell them anything you think is out of place or missing. Try not to touch anything."

  Another woman suddenly appeared on the porch, her face flushed to a rosy glow. "What's happening? Is everything okay?"

  Leigh thought she heard Mellman sigh. "Were you home this evening, Mrs. Rhodis?" he asked.

  "Of course," she said, eyes glittering.

  "Then come with me."

  Leigh led Officer Banks, who couldn't have been more than 21, up the stairs. Schofield. Had Maura mentioned a Schofield? Was he married? Guilt rushed over her at the idle thought. She took a deep breath and started the search. The guest bedrooms all looked normal. So did the nursery and the master. The door to the attic stairway was closed. A bathroom cabinet was open, but nothing more. There was no sign of Mao Tse.

  Leigh's bedroom was the last stop. "Mao Tse? Are you here?" Please, be here.

  There was no response.

  Leigh looked into the bedroom. One end of a curtain rod had been pulled out of its hook, the curtains dangling diagonally over the window. The closet doors were open. Empty hangers were scattered on the floor.

  Afraid to breathe, she dropped to her knees and looked under the bed. A wild-eyed, fifteen-pound Persian looked back at her. And hissed.

  Thank you, God. She stood up on weak knees. "She's fine."

  "You found your cat?" the officer asked.

  Leigh nodded.

  "And what's out of place here? Anything?"

  Leigh laughed. She was feeling better. "Everything. This is my room, not Ms. March's. The closet should be shut. These hangers belong inside, and that is not my taste in window treatments."

  The officer dutifully took notes, then examined the window with the crooked curtains. "Doesn't look like anyone tried to open it. Could your cat have pulled this down?"

  She nodded. "If she was scared and flipping out, yes."

  A high-pitched ranting echoed from somewhere below, and Leigh and Banks scrambled over each other to get back downstairs. When they arrived, Mellman, Schofield, and Mrs. Rhodis were all gathered round Cara in the back hallway. "The nerve!" She was shouting in a voice Leigh seldom heard, and did not want to hear now. "Nobody pulls a stunt like this on me!"

  All eyes were fixed on the floor at Cara's feet, and Leigh's joined them. Lined up neatly against the wall were two metal gasoline cans, and a box of long matches.

  ***

  Almost an hour had passed before Leigh had Cara calmed to her satisfaction. The expectant mother lay on the sofa in the family room, dutifully swallowing a pale serving of instant caffeine-free tea. "Nothing was taken," Leigh repeated, "Nothing was damaged. They were interrupted before they could start the fire. Everything's going to be fine."

  The hot flush of anger suffusing Cara's face had subsided to a warm glow, but her eyes still shot daggers. "They were going to burn my house down. Mao Tse could have died."

  "They didn't. And she didn't. We got here in time. Now drink. Are you having any contractions?"

  Cara shook her head, but her mind appeared elsewhere. "We've been wrong all along. They didn't want anything in the house. They wanted to destroy it. Why?"

  Officer Schofield stepped into the study, looking apologetic. "I'm sorry to disturb you again, Ms. March. We're almost through here, but I need to ask one more question. Do you remember whether you left any dishes in the sink?

  "I haven't any idea." Cara answered honestly. "I'm a slob about things like that. Leigh, did you notice?"

  Leigh remembered the two glasses, peanut-butter-smeared knife, and greasy popcorn bowl she had moved from the counter to the dishwasher earlier that afternoon. "No, I don't think there was anything there when we left. Why?"

  Schofield looked uncomfortable. "Thank you." He retreated.

  Excusing herself to bring more tea, Leigh traced Schofield to the kitchen, where he was exchanging muted words and a series of head shakes with Mellman. She looked between their shoulders and into the sink at the ten-inch-long butcher knife.

  ***

  The outstretched hands of the officers were not quick enough to keep her from stumbling backward over the stepstool. The combination of pain in her tailbone and embarrassment over her clumsiness was unpleasant. But even more unpleasant was any of the various scenarios she could imagine for why the intruder had gotten out a knife. "Is it...clean?" she forced out weakly.

  "Yes," Mellman answered firmly. "Looks clean as a whistle. But we're going to check it, just the same. Does it belong to Ms. March?"

  Leigh nodded, recognizing the carved handle. Her cousin kept a matching set of knives in a wooden block on the kitchen cabinet, and the hole that received the 10-inch was empty. She was certain the knife hadn't been out earlier. She had cleaned up the kitchen right before they lef
t for dinner—a habit ingrained by Frances. "Never leave your house a mess, dear," she had harangued. "You never know who might pop over."

  Who, indeed.

  Leigh felt for the stool and sat down. Why a knife? She glanced at the empty bird cage in the breakfast nook, and felt the last of her nerve crumbling. She could deal with rude people, greedy people, even people who made threats and stole things. But cruelty scared her.

  The birds were gone. Where were they? And why? Why would anyone want her pets? A series of images flashed through her mind. Disconnected images, random images, suddenly forming a morbid order. With a jerky movement, she clutched at the stool underneath her. It was Mao Tse's stool. The stool she hid under whenever she was afraid. Just like she hid under the couch, or under the bed. The stool could be moved, but to get a cat out from under the furniture, you needed something else. Like a broom. Or coat hangers.

  And then, maybe a knife.

  Leigh felt a warm lump of bile rise in her throat. She got up to head for the bathroom, and the officers didn't stop her.

  Chapter 15

  "If you two won't leave," Maura said, sounding defeated, "I'll be happy to sleep over."

  Cara poured more decaff. She had calmed down considerably, but the red highlights over her cheekbones betrayed anger still simmering. "Thank you, Maura. But that won't be necessary. Todd is taking care of everything."

  Leigh took another long drag on her coffee. A Hampton Inn—even a Motel 6—sounded awfully good. But Cara couldn't be left alone. And Cara wasn't going anywhere.

  The clock in the kitchen read 1:00 AM, and Leigh was exhausted. "When did Todd think he would finish?" she asked, bleary-eyed.

  Todd Ford, standing in the doorway to the breakfast nook, answered the question himself. "I'm all done, Cara. The phone line's repaired, and I've got you set up with a radio back-up this time."