by Edie Claire
"I'll do my best."
Chapter 6
Leigh felt fairly certain that if her mother didn't take off soon, Bess was going to send Frances flying through the front door with a well-placed kick from her formidable new splint. The surgery had gone well, but both Frances and Leigh's Aunt Lydie had babysat Bess at the hospital all morning and at the farmhouse all afternoon, and their smothering attentions had apparently not worn well on their fiercely self-reliant big sister. By the time Leigh arrived to begin her scheduled overnight shift, Bess was edgy as a razor.
Lydie had already left, but Frances pulled on her coat with excruciating slowness, barking orders as she dawdled. "And I want you to make absolutely certain she doesn't go anywhere or try to do anything, you understand?"
"I'm right here, Francie," Bess snapped with exasperation. "You don't have to talk like I'm not in the room."
Frances ignored the outburst and continued instructing her daughter. "She's a little testy from the anesthesia. Don't let her bully you. Understand?"
Leigh nodded cooperatively, trying not to laugh at the murderous gestures Bess was making behind her mother's back. "She'll be fine, Mom. I have medical training, remember?"
Frances tilted her chin down and glared at her daughter. "Making a stubborn woman take care of herself and helping your father put an IV in a Dachshund are two different things." The coat was finally in place. "Call me if you have any trouble."
"Well, don't call here!" Bess insisted. "I'm going to bed early tonight."
Frances looked at her sister skeptically and waggled a finger at her as she headed for the door. "Just don't overdo. The only one you'll be hurting is yourself."
Bess returned an exaggerated salute, and Frances left, pulling the door shut behind her. Bess muttered something under her breath, and Leigh's eyes widened. "Um, what was that, Aunt Bess?"
Bess looked the other way. "Nothing, kiddo. Just saying what a pleasure it is to be around your mother for prolonged periods of time. Incidentally, how the Sam Hill did you grow up normal?"
Leigh grinned. She didn't get called normal too often. "Because you took pity on me and let me hide out here once in a while, that's how."
Bess smiled back. "I did, didn't I? Right. So now you owe me. Grab my coat and hand me those crutches. I've got a wedding rehearsal to coordinate—and I'm late already."
***
Leigh sank down in a pew midway through the sanctuary, her shins propped irreverently on the back of the pew in front of her. She was easy, there was no doubt about it. But Bess had managed getting in and out of the car surprisingly well, and she had sworn she wouldn't move all night from the comfortable chair Leigh had parked her in. There wouldn't be any harm done. Unless, of course, Frances found out.
Leigh shuddered at the thought, then returned her attention to the rehearsal, which was proving quite dramatic indeed. Bess had been late in arriving, but not quite as late as the Reverend Humphrey. And though the pastor had sauntered into the sanctuary with a ready smile and a pleasant apology, Ted Hugh's answering glare had quickly enveloped the whole room with tension.
Within half an hour, Ted was sweating like a horse and bellowing like a mule. The slightest little problem seemed to set him off, and his wife was working overtime to pacify him, her face pinched tight with concern. The bride and groom were doing their best to ignore him, but Bess was clearly ready to duct tape his face to the baptismal font when Warren intervened. He put his arm around his uncle's shoulders and they exited towards the parlor, while the rest of the wedding party decided to take a short break.
Leigh watched them curiously. Shannon went straight to Joy, presumably to apologize on Ted's behalf. But it didn't look as though the bride was going to let her father's bizarre behavior get to her—she and the groom still beamed at each other as if they were alone. The imported minister made a joke Leigh didn't catch, and everyone at the front of the church shared a laugh. It was a nervous laugh, however, and the sound rang hollow over the wooden pews.
Leigh was wondering if Ted's outbursts were the only problems with this wedding when a warm hand squeezed her shoulder. "Miss Koslow? We meet again. I'm delighted."
Reginald Humphrey extended a hand that was still lightly bandaged. "It's all right," he said with a smile. "This hand got a good workout on Sunday and I'm no worse for the wear." His green eyes twinkled at her, and she took the opportunity to look into them closely. He certainly seemed sincere to her. But then again, she'd been wrong about people before.
She extended her hand and shook his gently. "I'm glad you're recovering so well. My Aunt Bess is doing wonderfully, too."
He smiled. An honest, open smile with absolutely no guile. Leigh found herself smiling back. Damn, he was good.
"Your aunt is one of my favorite parishioners—but if you quote me on that I'll deny it," he said, continuing to grin. "I thank God for women like her in the church. We'd all crumple up and blow away without them. Do you have a church home, Ms. Koslow?"
And he's a smooth recruiter, too, she thought wryly. "Call me Leigh. And yes, I've belonged to Greenstone Methodist all my life."
"Ah," he said, scratching a chin whose weathered skin was shaved smooth. She studied his face, her mind flashing back to Bess's army picture. The older man had gained no small amount of wrinkles, which seemed to lessen the shine on his cheeks and obscure some of his freckles. But otherwise, the image was dead on. This was the boy called "Money." She was almost sure of it.
"Greenstone," he continued. "That's in Avalon, right?"
She nodded.
"Excellent church, I'm sure. But don't get so attached to it you never come visit us again, you hear?"
Leigh offered a smile, but the wheels in her head were turning deviously. She had to know whether the man beside her was a saint or a scumbag. But how could she find out for sure without tipping Bess's hand? "Have you ever been a Methodist?" she asked pleasantly, hoping for a brainstorm.
"Oh, yes," he answered proudly. "And a Presbyterian, and a Disciple of Christ, and a Congregationalist. All good churches, but there's room for other ways of thinking. Ways with a little less baggage."
Leigh thought hard. She knew where she wanted the conversation to go, but she wasn't sure how to get it there. "My mother has always been a Methodist," she began, as inspiration came. "But my father used to be an atheist." She tried not to dwell on the fact that she was lying through her teeth. Perhaps fibbing to a con artist was a lesser sin?
Humphrey took the bait. "Used to be?"
Leigh nodded. "It was the war that changed him. Korea. He almost died."
The pastor nodded soberly. "I understand completely. Nothing like mortal combat—staring into the face of death—to make you think about what's really important in life. I've been meditating on that myself lately."
He was clearly thinking about the Molotov cocktail, but now that things were rolling she had no intention of letting him change the subject. "Were you in combat, too?"
He smiled a small, half smile. "Not really. I was drafted during the Korean war as well, but Fort Jackson was as far as I ever got. I never saw a battlefield."
Bingo. "Fort Jackson, South Carolina?" she asked innocently. "My father went through basic training there!"
"Indeed?" he said, eyes widening.
She smiled at her own slyness, and watched his face carefully for the coming reaction. "I still remember the funny nicknames my father's old army buddies had. There was Jelly Roll, and DoDo, and Tooter. Any of those sound familiar?"
Humphrey's eyes gazed off into the distance for a moment, and she looked anxiously for the light bulbs she knew would pop up in them. But there weren't any. "I'm sorry," he said, looking at her sympathetically. "But the names don't ring a bell. A lot of boys went through Fort Jackson, you know. It was an awfully long time ago, and not a very good time, for me. But I'm happy that the experience brought your father to God."
Deflated, Leigh sat for a moment trying to remember what he was talking about.
Oh, right. The atheist thing. Her shoulders sank a little. Unlike her, competent liars probably managed to keep their stories straight for more than five seconds. She was struggling to come up with some intelligent response when Bess spared her by calling the party back to action. Humphrey rose and applied another fatherly squeeze to her shoulder.
"It was nice visiting with you, Leigh. If you ever need someone to talk to—just drop in. No strings attached. Okay?"
She nodded, and he gave her a friendly wink.
Magnetic, Leigh thought again, watching him rejoin the group. There really was no better word to describe him. She rose from the pew and went to check on Bess, who sat with her ankle propped up on a soft ottoman imported from the parlor.
"Do you need anything?" Leigh asked.
Bess shook her head. "I was going to ask for my shotgun, but I see your friend Warren has gotten Ted under control again. Let's hope it lasts."
She glanced at Ted, who did appear much calmer. He sat on the bride's side and smiled at his daughter as she practiced her vows. Shannon, who was serving as matron of honor, watched him nervously out of the corner of her eye.
As the rehearsal dragged on less eventfully, Leigh's mind wandered. The wedding party was strictly a family affair, with the groom's father serving as best man and the groom's sister and bride's cousin (a.k.a. Warren) completing the ranks. But despite the small cast, the church at large was buzzing with activity. A group of middle-aged women roamed about decorating the sanctuary with flowers and ribbon, and occasional bursts of raucous laughter drifted up from the youth meeting down in Fellowship Hall. Leigh was tempted to leave her post and go exploring, but after a last blocking run-through, Bess declared everything flawless. The bride and groom practiced their kiss again, and Warren beat a hasty retreat from his perch on the altar steps. Leigh grinned at him as he walked over.
"Having fun?" she asked.
He rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "Let's just say I'm glad that Joy's happy and leave it at that." He glanced at his uncle, who was smiling pleasantly as he talked with Tim's father.
"Was it Valium or threats of violence?" Leigh joked, following his eyes. "What exactly did you do to him?"
"We just had a little talk, that's all," Warren insisted. "He wants everything to be perfect for Joy—he just doesn't know how to go about it. I gave him some pointers." He smiled a little. "Will I see you at the wedding tomorrow?"
She nodded. "It looks like I'll be hanging out with Bess most of the week—at least until she can drive and walk down the stairs without killing herself. It's not exactly the vacation I had in mind, but that's all right. She keeps begging me to keep my mom away from her—and I do have a heart. Are you sure you don't mind checking on Mao at night? I'll pop in during the day."
"Pizza and donuts!" a voice rang out pleasantly. "The youth ordered plenty to go around, so if you guys have any room left, just come on down to Fellowship Hall!" The invitation was delivered by a jovial young man Leigh assumed to be the youth director, and though the food combination was questionable, either component was sufficiently tantalizing. She, after all, had not had the luxury of a nice rehearsal dinner.
But tonight, neither entrée was in the cards. Bess looked exhausted, and the Frances in Leigh knew enough was enough. "I'll take care of her imperial majesty," Warren replied, referring to Mao Tse. "But don't stay away too much longer, or she may start to like me."
Leigh grinned. Mao Tse didn't like anybody but her master, which of course was part of the cat's charm. Still, anything was possible. Mao was a cat after her own heart.
***
The shrill ringing of an old-fashioned rotary phone vibrated inside Leigh's foggy head, and it took a few seconds for her to remember that she was in her aunt's spare room. She rolled off the comfortable four-poster twin bed and started to reach for the telephone, but when no ring followed the first, she sat back down. Bess must have gotten it. Her eyes focused lazily on the unoccupied bed beside her, and she smiled. She and her cousin Cara had spent many a happy night in this room when they were growing up. Bess had insisted they sleep over once in a while to keep her company, then had spoiled them with popcorn and late-night games of Clue and Rummy.
A shuffling sound drew Leigh's attention to the doorway. Bess stood poised on her crutches, still dressed in a nightgown. "Good, you're awake. I hate to ask you this, but I need a ride to the shelter. The manager just called—there's been a break-in."
Leigh blinked twice and rose. "The homeless shelter?" Her aunt's list of nonprofit board memberships had always been too long to keep up with.
"No," she answered. "The animal shelter. The one by the church, of course."
Leigh nodded, feeling stupid. Though the shelter hadn't existed during her formative days working at her father's veterinary clinic, she'd certainly heard a lot about it since. Bess had founded it herself a few years before, on a patch of land purchased from her old Presbyterian church. The shrinking church had sold off the narrow end lot partly because of financial trouble, and partly because Bess had sweet-talked the session into it. What she had had to do to gain the approval of the zoning board, however, Leigh and the rest of the family preferred not to know.
Leigh dressed hastily and went to see if Bess needed any help. She was amazed to find her aunt already dressed and ready to go—modified beehive in place. She seemed rather stiff, however, and they took the trip down the stairs and out to the car slowly.
The ride itself was almost instantaneous, as the nondescript concrete-block building sat right around the corner on Nicholson Road, with only a thin patch of woods separating it from what was now the First Church of the New Millenium. Like the church building, it would have been within easy walking distance of the farmhouse—had Bess been able to walk.
With the shelter itself in sight, Bess's mission seemed to become more urgent, and Leigh was hard-pressed to keep her aunt from slipping on the frosty concrete walk. The manager, an efficient-looking woman about Leigh's age, opened the door and ushered the two inside. "I called the police—they said they're on their way," she announced with distress, running a hand through her hair. "I don't understand what happened. I'm telling you—nothing's missing, nothing's even out of place, besides the door."
Bess hobbled across the bright linoleum in the reception area, moving behind the main desk and inspecting it carefully. Once satisfied, she moved over to a heavy metal door marked "Dogs" and promptly heaved it open, releasing a deafening chorus of barks. She started to step into the run, but the recently mopped concrete floor was still slick, and her good foot immediately started to slide. Leigh sprang into action, narrowly preventing another disaster. "If you break a hip, too," she whispered harshly, "you really will be an invalid." Bess responded with a flippant glare, and Leigh proceeded with her trump card. "And you'll have my mother living with you twenty-four hours a day, because once she finds out I let you get hurt—I'll be deader than a doornail."
Bess scowled and let the door swing shut.
"All the dogs are present and accounted for," the shelter manager assured, bringing over a chair. "The cats too. Please don't hurt yourself. There's nothing to see except in the basement, and there's no way you can get down there safely."
Bess allowed her niece to lower her to the chair, where she sat miserably. "I'll have a look around for you, okay?" Leigh cajoled. "You know I have a way with crime scenes."
Given Leigh's history, it was a bad joke, but it did bring the ghost of a grin to Bess's pouting lips. "Fine," she said. "But I'll expect a full report."
Leigh gave her aunt a dutiful salute, then followed the manager through the door marked "Dogs" and around the corner through another one labeled "Staff Only." They filed into a multipurpose room with an exam table in the middle and a kitchen counter and cabinets along the walls. "Everything was fine in the dog run—and in the cat room too," the manager explained. "I didn't notice anything was wrong until the puppy food bin ran low and I went down to the basement for another bag." She tilte
d her head toward a narrow staircase leading down, and was in the process of leading Leigh to it when they heard Bess's voice ring out.
"Police are here!"
The manager turned back toward the front. "Well," she said, "you can see for yourself I guess."
Sensing that her time to roam would be limited, Leigh nodded and walked quickly down the staircase. She wasn't sure what she expected, but what she found was a basement that looked much like the one at the Koslow Animal Clinic, complete with stacks of dry food bags, a deep freeze, isolation cages, and a washer and dryer. Everything was clean and tidy; there were no muddy tracks on the floor and no open cabinets. She remembered that the manager had mentioned something about a door, and cautiously approached the back exit.
Light filtered in around the basement door, which was lodged an inch or so out of whack, its displaced screws hanging limply from sagging hinges. The key lock appeared to have been wrenched out of position, and in Leigh's admittedly uneducated opinion, she was not looking at the work of a locksmith so much as the result of a few powerful, well-placed kicks. Or maybe a battering ram.
Heavy footsteps squeaked on the wooden staircase behind her. "Excuse me," a familiar voice said formally, "but I'm afraid you'll have to wait upstairs with the others."
Leigh considered making a run for it, but decided that would be pointless. She straightened her back and turned around.
The newly promoted County Detective who stood at the bottom of the steps ordinarily stood about six foot two inches, but at the sight of Leigh, her body sagged down into the five-foot range.
"Tell me I'm hallucinating," she said dryly.
"Sorry, Mo," Leigh said sheepishly. "It's really me. But don't worry—it just so happens that this time I have nothing whatsoever to do with anything."
Maura Polanski looked at her ex-college roommate with a skeptical glare. "That's what they all say."
"Really!" Leigh protested. "I've just been helping my Aunt Bess get around since she broke her ankle. She dragged me down here with her when the manager called."
