Never Buried

by Edie Claire

  "Fabulous. Goodbye!" Leigh walked backwards into the house, then scurried over to a front window to see if South was leaving. Cara was already there, watching him.

  "What did you tell him?" she asked.

  "Nothing," Leigh answered. "But he knows most of it. And I have a bad feeling..."

  South, after having briefly rummaged in the back seat of his car and shared a few words with the guard, began walking across the front lawn. Leigh stamped her foot.

  "Damn! He is going to Mrs. Rhodis' house."

  "So what?" Cara asked calmly. "It will all become public eventually. Maybe that will be a deterrent."

  Since Leigh had no sound reasons for her actions, she decided not to defend them. She headed back out the door to intercept South, but didn't get far. Before she reached the bottom of the steps, Maura's car rolled up the Boulevard and pulled into the only available spot, the grass on the other side of the driveway. Leigh went to meet her, a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach.

  Maura stepped out of the car. She looked dreadful. Her skin was pale and she was sweating too much, even for a hot August morning.

  "What's wrong?" Leigh asked, shaky.

  "It's Mom," came the weak reply. "She's gone."

  Chapter 16

  "What happened?" Leigh breathed.

  "She wandered off sometime last night." Maura leaned back onto the hood of her car and rubbed her hands over her face. "When we got home from your parents' house, she said she was tired, and she went upstairs. I didn't hear any more from her, and I assumed she was asleep." She paused. "When the call came about the break-in, I told my aunts I was leaving, and I took off. Whenever I'm out, we open the connecting doors in the duplex so they can listen for her, but they didn't hear anything last night. This morning, she was gone."

  So she could have been gone all night. "Has this happened before?" Leigh asked softly.

  "She's wandered off in the day a few times, but never at night. And—"her voice cracked slightly—"never for very long. She's never gone more than a few blocks before either somebody recognized her or she recognized a house."

  They were no longer alone, Leigh noticed. Cara, South, and Mrs. Rhodis were clustered at her elbow, and the guard was listening too—albeit at a discreet distance. "I'm so sorry," she said. "Just tell us what we can do."

  Maura glanced furtively at Cara, then turned back to Leigh. "If you could help spread the word, I'd appreciate it, but other than that, I want you to watch out for yourselves. You have your own problems to deal with." Leigh began to protest, but Maura raised a hand to stop her. "The guys on the force are being great. They're all out looking for Mom—most of them on their own time—and Vestal is organizing volunteers at the Episcopal church. We're bound to catch up with her soon."

  "Is Vestal at the church now?" Mrs. Rhodis asked.

  Maura nodded.

  The older woman stepped over to the car and pressed her wrinkled hands over the policewoman's thick ones. "Don't you worry, hun. Mary Polanski's as tough as they come. We'll find her."

  Maura smiled appreciatively, and Mrs. Rhodis headed off.

  "Are you sure we can't do more?" Cara asked gently.

  "You need to find that evidence, if that's what it is," Maura answered flatly. "The sooner the better." She stood up. "I need to get to St. John's. I'll keep in touch."

  Leigh and Cara saw her off sadly. South had already left, without a word. The women walked back in the house and closed the door. There was work to be done.

  ***

  By late morning it was evident that South's renewed interest was the tip of a media iceberg. He hadn't been the only reporter in the city to connect the break-in with the body, and once the story was out, it was way out. A decade-old body, the threat of arson, and a hint of mystery were excellent fuel for a dull news day, and every television crew in the city wanted visuals of the March house. Leigh did her best to fend off the masses while Cara was content to stay inside, making phone calls. The timing wasn't all bad—none of the news crews left without promising to run a picture of Mary Polanski on the next broadcast.

  After the major locals had come and gone and Cara had asked every Avaloner she knew—and many she didn’t— to keep an eye out for Mary, lunchtime was declared. Leigh told the guards to shoo away any stragglers, turned off the phone ringer, and dug her answering machine out of a still-packed box. "We'll check it for important messages," Leigh explained as she plugged it in, "but we won't have to keep answering while we search the house."

  After scarfing down several rather excellent pimento cheese sandwiches, the women got a second wind. Cara went to get her maps of the house, and Leigh went to make sure the answering machine was working. It was already blinking.

  She pressed the message button and turned up the volume. The voice was all too familiar. "Leigh dear, this is your mother speaking. Are you there?" There was a pause. "You weren't in church this morning. I'll assume you've been helping Maura. We'll be looking for Mary ourselves this afternoon. I called to tell you that we heard about the fire. Lem has to work until five, but as soon as he's done, we're getting his pickup and we're coming over to get your things. Please be ready. Cara will be staying with your Aunt Lydie until Gil can come home. Your father agrees. See you at five thirty."

  Leigh cursed. "Too bad," she said out loud, rewinding the tape with a flourish. "I guess it isn't working after all."

  "Any messages?" Cara asked, maps in hand.

  "No good news, sorry."

  Cara sat down and spread out the plans. "We're going to settle this, Leigh," she said firmly. "Paul's little legacy must be either in the basement or the attic. As soon as we find what this person is after, we'll make it public, and that'll be the end. By the time Gil gets back, it'll be like nothing happened." She was lost in thought for a moment. "Although I dare say he won't be pleased with me when he finds out I've kept all this from him."

  Leigh tended to agree, but she knew Gil couldn't stay mad at Cara for long. It was Leigh he would blame, probably forever.

  "Well," Cara announced cheerfully, "I'll deal with that when the time comes. Right now, we can't waste a moment."

  It didn't take long to rule out the basement as a hiding place. The concrete-block walls were clammy, even in the middle of August, and conditions for long-term storage hardly seemed ideal. Furthermore, there were no obvious spaces unaccounted for.

  The cousins walked back up the basement stairs, Leigh following Cara in case she slipped. "Why did Paul Fischer have to make this thing so damned hard to find, anyway?" Leigh griped. "Didn't he want it to be found?"

  Cara reached the top of the stairs and turned around, her hand on her abdomen. "We've been over this before. He wanted to leave evidence that would be found only after his death. If he hadn't hid it, it would be too easy for Norman's killer to steal it."

  "Maybe he already did."

  "A negative attitude will not help!" Cara snapped.

  Surprised at the change in tone, Leigh looked at her cousin's face closely. "You're having contractions again, aren't you?"

  Cara looked away. "It's just the steps. Starts them off every time." She walked into the kitchen and poured herself a large glass of water. "I've got to lie down for a while. Will you start mapping out the attic?"

  Leigh sighed. If the contractions got any worse, she was going to call Gil herself, and that was that. In any event, she had a strong feeling that neither of them would be in the house much longer. Not that she planned on allowing herself to be dragged off to her parents' place. A tent city, maybe, but not her parents' place. She looked at her watch. She had about three hours before something hit the fan, one way or the other.

  She was just about to start upstairs with the drawing supplies when the front doorbell rang again. Fairly certain the guards wouldn't let any of the press on the porch, Leigh went to answer it. It was Lydie.

  "I told you my daughter lived here!" she said to the guard indignantly.

  The younger guard that Leigh had admi
red out her window that morning merely smiled. "Just doing my job, ma'am," he said politely, then gave her a wink and turned away. She started. The only winks she got were from men who were either over 60 or capable of firing her. She watched his departing form with a new sense of appreciation. Beats the detectives.

  "Leigh!" Lydie insisted, tapping on her arm. "I asked where Cara was."

  "Oh, sorry," she answered, closing the door reluctantly. "She's in the family room."

  Cara, who was relaxing on the couch, sat up a little when she saw her mother. "Is there any word on Mary?" she asked.

  Lydie shook her head.

  A strong wave of guilt spread over Leigh. She should have asked that question herself the moment Lydie walked in. Curse the guard and his wink! "How's Maura holding up?" she offered meekly.

  "She's a strong girl," Lydie answered sadly, "but the more time that passes, the more we all worry. Mary wandered off on foot, and you'd think she couldn't get too far that way, especially with everyone looking. But, with no sign of her at all, I just wonder—"

  "You think she's had some sort of accident?" Leigh asked tentatively, her heart pounding faster at the thought.

  Lydie shook her head. "Who knows?" She sighed. "But what else could have happened? She didn't get on a bus—the PAT drivers that were around have all been questioned. Plus, she didn't take her purse." Lydie was quiet for a moment, then looked at her daughter. "But I didn't come over here just to talk about Mary. I know about what happened last night." She struggled to keep the anger out of her voice. "Why didn't you girls call us? Why did we have to find out about it through the grapevine?"

  "I'm sorry, Mother." Cara answered, sounding tired. "I didn't see the point in worrying you in the middle of the night. We're fine, and with the guards here we're perfectly safe."

  Lydie looked at her daughter with the shrewd appraisal only mothers can perfect. "The contractions are worse."

  Cara didn't answer, but her eyes betrayed an anxiety neither woman could miss.

  "What does Gil say about all this?" Lydie demanded. Cara looked away and took another drink. Lydie's eyes widened. "Oh, no, honey. Don't tell me you haven't told him!"

  "I update him every day about the contractions," Cara said defensively. "It's just—"

  "Just what?" her mother prompted.

  "I'm afraid that I'm going to end up on bed rest. When I called the doctor this morning I got an ultimatum. If the contractions get regular, I'm down for the count."

  "Well, that's it then," Lydie said decisively. "You're coming home where I can pamper you appropriately." She stood up. "I'll stay and help you pack some things. This snipe hunt is too stressful for you, and it's got to stop. Leigh and I can keep searching during the day if it makes you happy. But you've got to get away from this—physically and mentally—for the baby's sake."

  Cara sat quietly, looking at her drink. Both women expected a protest, but none came.

  ***

  Lydie began packing, and Leigh supposed she should, too. After all, she'd wanted to get out of the house for days; the only thing holding her back had been responsibility for Cara. So why didn't she want to leave now?

  The doorbell rang. Leigh skidded past Lydie and opened it. The young guard was there, as hoped, and his eyes were a brilliant shade of blue. Unfortunately, he failed to wink as Leigh acknowledged the man that brushed past him and barged inside.

  Warren looked nothing like a politician. His hair was still wet, his jeans had holes in the knees, and his faded black Beam me up, Scotty T-shirt had shown only marginal taste in its prime. Leigh's eyes widened. "No offense, but I feel I ought to warn you—there are reporters and cameras all over the place."

  Warren looked briefly over his shoulder, then recovered. "Never mind. Are you okay?" He put his hands on her shoulders and studied her closely.

  "Of course," she said, puzzled. "Why wouldn't I be?"

  He exhaled, then released her. "I know about the break-in. And Mo's mom."

  "You saw it on TV?"

  Warren shook his head, but didn't elaborate. He took Leigh's hands and pulled her over to the parlor couch. "Sit down. There's something you need to know."

  Leigh's heart rate started climbing. She'd had enough shocks in the last few days and didn't care for any more. "Like what?" she snapped, pulling her hands away.

  Warren, well versed in her tendency to shoot the messenger, took a deep breath. "When I got out of the shower this morning, there was a message on my answering machine. It was a fake-sounding voice—either a woman, or a man trying to sound like a woman. They said—" he paused. "Well, the intention was to threaten my girlfriend."

  Leigh looked at him as if he'd gone mad. "Since when do you have a girlfriend?"

  He sighed. "They were talking about you, Leigh. I think someone has been watching the house and saw me come over—saw us leave together."

  Her brow furrowed. "That's ridiculous. How would anyone know who you were?"

  "I'll try not to take that as a subconscious insult," Warren said stiffly. "You do remember that my mug was prominently displayed all over the county last fall?"

  "Oh, right." Leigh said absently. "But I'm not your girlfriend."

  "If you'd quit fixating on that, you'd realize that it doesn't matter how the caller got my number," he said irritably. "The point is, he or she did. And I wasn't happy with what they said."

  She looked up expectantly.

  "The caller said: 'If you want your girlfriend to keep her pretty face, you'll get her out of my house.'"

  Leigh looked away. A generalized order to vacate was one thing. This threat was personal. Her hand rose automatically to her cheek.

  Warren pulled it down. "I've already taken the tape to the police station, and they're on top of it. Nothing's going to happen, Leigh. That's what you've got Brutus for anyway, right?"

  She looked up, perplexed. "Who?"

  "Brutus." He tilted his head toward the door. "Mr. Macho."

  "His name is Brutus?" she asked, distressed.

  Warren frowned. "I don't know what his name is. Shall I ask him for you?"

  Leigh ignored the sarcasm. "Cara hired the guards last night." She did her best to explain the night's events without sensationalizing, but that was a difficult task. Warren took it in uneasily.

  "I assume you two are leaving now."

  "Well," she answered hesitantly, "Cara is."

  His voice rose. "What do you mean 'Cara is'?"

  She stood up and began to pace. "Look, I've been ready to cooperate with this creep from day one. He wants me out, I'm out. But Cara wouldn't go. She held her ground, and believe it or not, I admire her for that. And now she's buckling, not because she's afraid of getting hurt herself, but because the stress is putting her baby in danger. You know how that makes me feel? It makes me mad as hell. I think this guy is a bully, and a coward! Why can’t he threaten me in person? Why does he call you? I may be the world’s biggest wimp—but right now I’m mad enough to choke the life out of this jerk myself!"

  She took a deep breath. "It's hard to explain. I know that even if Cara isn't here, she's going to worry about this thing. If only I can find 'it' today and settle this, she won't have anything to worry about anymore, and maybe it will help the contractions."

  Warren was not convinced. "If she's like you, she'll just find something else to worry about. You both need to let it go."

  Leigh folded her arms over her chest. He studied her for a minute, and his steady gaze unnerved her. He always could read her like a book.

  "I'll give you the afternoon," he said finally, rising. "I'm going to go help find Mo's mother. If you're still here when I get back, I'm going to drag your sorry butt out myself." He headed for the door. "And don't think you're fooling me. You want to solve this thing for you."

  Leigh's mouth dropped open. "Meaning what, exactly?"

  He walked back over to her and put his hands on her shoulders. "Some free advice from a old friend. This isn't a game, Leigh, and you're no
t a contestant. Don't try to be a hero. You'll live longer that way."

  He released her and started walking to the door, unaware that the back of his T-shirt made a nice postscript. There's no intelligent life down here.

  "Warren?"

  He turned. "Yes?"

  "I thought you got over the Captain Kirk thing in college."

  He gave her a reluctant smile. "Forgive me friends, for I am a trekker. It has been six months since my last convention."

  Leigh grinned as she watched him go. Maybe she was trying to be the hero. Maybe she did want to be the one to find all the answers. But wouldn't everyone be better off once this mess was cleared up?

  She picked up her drawing supplies and headed for the attic.

  Chapter 17

  Leigh pushed Mao Tse's already flattened face with her toe and backed her out of the attic doorway. "Sorry, girl. I can't let you roam around up here. You might fall through the insulation or something." She pulled the thin wooden door closed, only to feel Mao Tse scratching against the other side, mewling plaintively. Leigh sighed. The cat had an uncanny knack for feeling most affectionate when it was least convenient.

  A loop of string hung down from just above the doorframe, and Leigh tugged on it to illuminate a single naked lightbulb on the attic ceiling. With windows on every side, the space wasn't as dark as it could be, but a little extra light was welcome. She walked the length of the attic and back. The ceilings were high in all but the farthest corners, and the space could easily have been finished into a comfortable third floor. She wondered if that had been part of the original plan. Unfortunately, Anita's family, and the Fischers after them, had only gotten smaller with time.

  Leigh ran a sleeve over her sweaty brow. The attic was hot and stuffy, but she tried not to dwell on that. She stationed herself at the far end and began sketching the layout, taking measurements of the walls and looking carefully at the floor for signs of a section that was movable. After almost an hour of steady, but fruitless work, she flipped over her sketch to see if taking notes could help organize her brain.