Never Kissed Goodnight

by Edie Claire

  Hit over the head with a rock? Leigh considered. She couldn't very well argue the fact, but she didn't remember it either. The last thing she remembered before blacking out was taking Mathias to the play yard. The next thing was waking up by the barn. She puzzled a moment. Then an image popped into her head, seemingly from nowhere. She looked up at Maura, smiling broadly. "NTZ-879," she said triumphantly. "It made me think of the name 'Nitzi,' and it's sort of like the phone number I had in college."

  Maura pulled out a notebook and scribbled quickly. "The license plate on the Escort," she confirmed. "Good going. Anything else you can tell me?"

  "He had his car parked on that private road on the other side of the Harmony Shortline," she explained. She then described as concisely as she could how she had managed to beat him back to his car and recapture Mathias. Maura took everything down in her notebook, her facial expression unchanging.

  "Had you ever seen this man before?" the detective asked when Leigh appeared to have finished.

  She swallowed. "Yes. I saw him Saturday night, at the bus station. Have you talked to Gil about this yet? There's so much you need to know—"

  Warren cut her off. "It couldn't have been Saturday night, Leigh. You were with me at the dinner, remember?"

  Leigh felt a stab of guilt. She still hadn't got around to confessing her meanderings. "It was after I left," she told him apologetically, before turning back to Maura. "You have talked to Gil, haven't you?"

  Maura exhaled slowly, then nodded. "I have. Just now, as a matter of fact."

  "So you know it was Mason," Leigh said, feeling more than a little relieved that the truth was out. "You know he tried to kidnap his own grandson. We've been wanting to keep Cara out of it—"

  "I think," Maura said, rising, "that it's time you and Gil compare notes. He and Cara are waiting outside, along with your parents. I'm sure they're all anxious to see you. So, if you'll excuse me, I've got work to do."

  Maura saluted the other two musketeers and departed, leaving a pregnant pause hanging in the air.

  Warren broke it. "Leigh, my love," he said a little too calmly, "either you start explaining to me what's been going on with you, or I'm going to start explaining corporate investment strategy. In detail."

  Leigh winced. "You would torture a woman in a hospital bed?"

  He brought her hand to his lips and gently kissed it. "Yes."

  "I'll explain everything soon—I promise," she said earnestly. Although she was proud of the financial aptitude that was moving her husband along so well in politics, nothing—with the possible exception of Frances's friends' medical problems—could bore her more. "But I really need to talk to Gil as soon as possible, without Cara around. Do you think you could distract the rest of them for a while?"

  Warren's eyebrows rose. "You want me to forgo asking why you were at a bus station in the middle of the night so that I can engineer a private meeting between you and a man who looks like a younger version of Robert Redford?"

  She couldn't help smiling. "Well, yeah. But I promise to make it up to you."

  "Yes, you will," he said suggestively, rising. "I'll be back."

  Leigh pulled him in and delivered an appreciative kiss. He released her hand slowly, then headed for the door. It was only a matter of seconds before Gil appeared alone, as she knew he would. Her politician husband could convince almost anybody of almost anything.

  "So, what did the PI say?" she asked her cousin-in-law anxiously, a million questions swirling in her head. "Was he able to track Mason after he left the bus station? Could he help the police find him now? And what about the situation with Lydie? Is she in any legal danger if we catch him and he squeals?"

  "Hold on, there," Gil admonished with a tired smile, sitting down in the seat Maura had just vacated. "First things, first. Are you sure you're okay?"

  "Of course I am, as long as Mathias is all right. I didn't hurt his leg, did I?"

  He shook his head. "He's fine, thanks to you. We really can't tell you how—"

  "Please don't," Leigh interrupted, oddly uncomfortable with his gratitude. "Just fill me in on what's happening."

  He watched her with a puzzled expression, then sighed and rubbed a hand over a chin that hadn't been shaved in a while. "I'm guessing you didn't see the mug shots in the PI's file."

  She stared at him dumbly. There were mug shots in the PI's file? She had only gotten as far as the rap sheet when Cara's notebook had distracted her. "No, I didn't see them," she answered. "But I did see him up close and personal at the bus station Saturday night. I hope I didn't get in the way of anything," she added quickly, wondering to what extent the PI had ratted on her. "But I got a perfectly good look at him. There's no doubt it was the same man who tried to kidnap Mathias."

  At the word "kidnap," Gil's eyes assumed a haunted look. He had probably been blaming himself, she thought, wondering if the abduction attempt could have been prevented. But how could any of them have known that Mason was desperate enough for money to try something so heinous? And why, it occurred to her suddenly, would he be that desperate anyway, since he really did have information that could ruin Lydie's reputation, if not her life? After all, Gil hadn't refused to pay the blackmail. He'd only asked for the details of what Lydie had done. Mason could have provided those easily enough, couldn't he?

  "Maybe he wasn't taking Mathias for ransom," she offered. "Maybe he—" she broke off. The theory sounded lame, but more bizarre things had happened. "Maybe he just wanted to see his grandson," she said softly.

  Gil shook his head sharply, his eyes brimming with anger. "No. The police found a ransom note in the sand box. It did ask for money, and it was signed Mason Dublin."

  Leigh's hopes fell. "I see," she said soberly. There appeared to be no getting around it. Cara's biological father was as low as they came. And there was no hope of keeping that grim truth from her any longer. "So. Have you told Cara that her father is a blackmailer and a kidnapper, too?" she asked miserably.

  He looked back at her with equal misery. "In a way," he said heavily, "I wish he was."

  Leigh stared at him in confusion, and he continued. "It's what I didn't get a chance to tell you earlier. The PI had those mug shots of Mason Dublin all along, so he knew last night that the man who picked up the box at the bus station was not Cara's biological father."

  Leigh's mouth dropped open, then she snapped it shut. The ordinary schlub…was an ordinary schlub? "But if that guy wasn't Mason, then who—."

  "That's just it," Gil explained tightly. "We haven't the faintest idea."

  Chapter 13

  "But why," Leigh began faintly, her head starting to feel cloudy again. "Why would somebody else claim to be Mason?"

  "The PI has two theories," Gil answered. "The first is that both this guy and the one who wrote the other letter somehow found out that Mason had both a rich son-in-law and a potential hold over his ex-wife. They decided to use the information at the same time; maybe because they'd just discovered it and maybe because they recognized my name and Cara's on Movers and Shakers, and it helped them figure out how to locate us."

  Leigh looked back at him skeptically. As much as she would like to believe that Mason Dublin, miracle of miracles, really had nothing to do with any of this, she wasn't that much of an optimist. How could anyone possibly find out about Lydie's past unless Mason had told them? "Seems far-fetched," she responded.

  He nodded in agreement. "There's the second theory."

  Leigh waited.

  "That Mason Dublin was really behind the whole thing, but sent a lackey or two to do his dirty work."

  There was silence for a moment, and she wondered to herself which option was really better. In the first case, there was at least a glimmer of a chance that Cara's father was not a monster. On the other hand, if he was behind everything that had happened, they had a much better chance of tracking down the kidnapper.

  "The second theory has its problems, too," Gil continued. "Both blackmailers were vague about
the details of Lydie's crime, which Mason knew full well. And the fact that the man you saw resorted to kidnapping after we called his bluff..." He shook his head. "That's hard to figure with Mason in the picture."

  An image of the kidnapper in the train station flashed through Leigh's mind. He had just read Gil's letter in the shoe box, and she remembered the look in his eyes quite distinctly. It was sheer, total desperation. Not exactly the look an employee might sport when his boss's plans were foiled. Did he have something more personal at stake?

  "So what did the PI find out?" she asked again. "Did he trace the cab the man got into last night?"

  He nodded. "The cab took him to the airport, which we thought originally was good news. But now we suspect he was just trying to cover his tracks in case he was followed, because apparently all he did there was rent a car and drive back into town."

  Leigh frowned. "Under Mason's name, I'm sure."

  He threw her a determined, but slightly guilty look. "I don't know. Maura Polanski is taking over the investigation. But in light of what's happened, I'm keeping the PI on as a security consultant. We won't be caught off guard again."

  An image flashed in her mind of Snow Creek Farm—patrolled by armed guards and encircled by a twelve-foot high, electrified fence. Her cousin would be miserable. "So, how much have you explained to Cara?" she asked hesitantly.

  Gil's eyes flickered with discomfort. "She saw the ransom note," he began. "So I admitted to her that the other threats had also come from men claiming to be Mason Dublin. Of course I knew then that they weren't from him, so I was able to reassure her. But she's not stupid. She's well aware that her father must have something to do with all this."

  Leigh's stomach, which had been developing a nice pit of late, started churning again. "How did she take it? You didn't tell her about her mother's role in the robbery, did you?"

  "Of course not," he said defensively. "Your parents and I agreed that that decision should be left to Lydie."

  They heard Warren's voice loud in the hallway, and Leigh took it as a warning sign. Seconds later, Cara swung open the door. She looked pinched and pale, but she greeted Leigh with a broad smile.

  "I had to fight your parents for the next visitor's spot," she said with feigned cheerfulness. "Your mom is champing at the bit to come fuss over you. How are you? Better?"

  Leigh nodded and tried to smile back, but the emotion was just as fake on her end. Her cousin's method of dealing with pain had always been to suppress it, and Leigh wished, not for the first time, that her headstrong cousin would just break down and bawl like the rest of the world.

  "Would you mind if we had a moment alone?" Cara asked her husband. Her voice was pleasant, but it brooked no dissent.

  "Sure." Gil rose, hugged his wife's shoulders, and left, throwing Leigh a conspiratorial glance on the way. You see how she is, it said.

  When the door had closed behind him, Cara turned her eyes toward Leigh. Despite her best efforts, the hurt that brimmed in them was obvious. "I know Gil was just trying to protect me," she said in a low, even voice. "You all were. But I can't help feeling like a fool because of it. And I want you to tell me the truth. Do you think my father is behind all of this?"

  Leigh looked into her cousin's tortured face and felt like crying herself. "I don't know, Cara," she said weakly. "I really don't know. Nothing makes a whole lot of sense right now."

  Cara's eyes searched hers for a moment, then she nodded and stood up. "I believe you," she said, her voice stronger. "But I do know that there's more Gil isn't telling me." She walked over to the hospital room window and stared out blankly. "The funny thing is, in a way I'm glad he won't. I'm not sure I want to hear it."

  Leigh's heart sank a little. Her cousin's relentless—and often reckless—pursuit of real-life puzzles was legendary, but since her visit to Trudy Dublin, her father's disappearance was the one case she had had no interest in cracking. Evidently, the attempted kidnapping of her son fell into the same category. Too close to home.

  "Cara," Leigh said helplessly, "please try not to worry about Mathias. He's safe now. As for Mason Dublin—" She tried hard, but no comforting words came to mind. Was there nothing she could say?

  Cara turned back from the window and sat down on Leigh's bedside again. "Never mind," she said distantly. "Mathias will be fine, and as for the rest—I've lived with a no-good father as long as I've been alive, so none of this should shock me. I've known ever since I met Trudy that all the childish wishing in the world wasn't going to turn the man into a hero. And I don't need him to be. I already have a father, a wonderful one."

  Leigh smiled painfully. Randall had always gone out of his way to treat Cara as if she were his own, and Leigh had never minded sharing. The vet clinic, which her cousin had never had the stomach for, had always been Leigh's special place to be with her dad. But when Randall wasn't working, he was always there for Cara. He never missed a father-daughter dinner or a dance recital, and he rearranged his whole schedule whenever the Indian Princesses had a camp-out. He had taught her how to pitch a ball overhand, interrogated her dates, and given her away at her wedding.

  There was no doubt Cara did love Randall like a father. But that didn't mean anyone could heal the still-gaping hole in her heart.

  "Why are you looking at me like that?" Cara admonished as Leigh's eyes grew moist. "I just said it doesn't matter to me how much of a loser Mason Dublin is. Now stop worrying about me, all right? I'm a big girl. You're the one with the concussion. Is there anything I can do for you?"

  Leigh wiped her eyes and took a deep breath. "Yes," she said emphatically. "I want a Diet Coke and a Snickers. And I don't care what the damn chart says."

  Cara grinned, for a moment looking more like her old self. "Done!"

  ***

  "Good," the pudgy little neurologist said, pocketing his penlight. "Your neurologic examination is normal this morning, and the scan showed no signs of a skull fracture or bleeding."

  "That means you're springing me, right?" Leigh said hopefully. Dr. Varma was clearly of Indian descent, but his corpulent physique bespoke a distinctly American lifestyle. He hadn't even had a fit when he caught her with the chocolate, though he had been firm in his order that she stay overnight for observation.

  "You're sprung," he declared, "but you should rest at home at least a day. No work, no marathon jogging. Nothing strenuous for forty-eight hours, just to be safe."

  Leigh smiled. She had already planned on taking off for the election, but an extra day away from Hook would be nice. She was bored stiff with the chemical company promotion she was spearheading, and though sitting at her desk staring at her computer screen probably wasn't considered strenuous, it did hurt her head at times.

  She wanted some time off to think, to put the whole business with Mason Dublin in perspective. She was certain there was something they were all missing, and she was determined to find out what it was. Particularly since an intriguing thought had occurred to her in the middle of the night last night, somewhere between the third and fourth time a nurse had interrupted her sleep to ask if she remembered her name and where she was. If her memory wasn't mistaken, someone of particular interest was also at Allegheny Central Hospital.

  "The nurse will provide you with written instructions," the doctor continued. Then he smiled devilishly. "Of course, your mother requested her own set."

  Leigh averted her eyes in embarrassment. Frances could be counted on to flip out over any minor injury, but a concussion was one of those classic catastrophes for which overzealous mothers spend their whole lifetimes preparing. Leigh had often wondered if her mother wasn't a little disappointed that despite all the times she had gone barefoot in the rain, she had never actually gotten pneumonia.

  "Call if you experience any of the symptoms listed. Okay?" The doctor pronounced the word "okee," and Leigh responded with a smile and a nod. He was no sooner out the door than she was on the phone.

  "Yes," she said pleasantly to the receptionist
at the hospital's main desk. "I was hoping to visit my aunt this morning—Trudy Dublin. Could you tell me her room number and when visiting hours are?" She committed the first piece of information to memory, ignoring the second. "Uh-huh. I know about her condition, but I really would like to see her, just for a minute. The doctor said okay. Right. Thanks."

  She hung up the phone and proceeded to change from the hospital gown into the sweat suit Warren had brought her. He had promised to deliver donuts at nine, which meant she still had some time to kill. She wasn't a good liar, but the fibs she had just told were only white lies. She might not be Trudy Dublin's blood niece, but Cara was, and that was close enough. And the doctor did say something was okay, just not her visiting a trauma patient.

  She dressed quickly and headed out, not certain whether she wanted to look like an inmate or a visitor. Visiting hours hadn't started yet, so street clothes might arouse suspicion. But she had no desire to go trolling around in a flimsy hospital gown either. Perhaps the sweat suit was a fair compromise. Any roving nurses would just assume she was an ambulatory patient out for a little exercise.

  She slipped out her door and turned to look at the nameplate on the wall beside it. 912 Koslow, Leigh. Excellent, she thought to herself. Trudy was only one floor up. Though physically she was feeling rather chipper, she couldn't deny there was still a certain fogginess clinging inside her head, and she had no desire to pass out in the middle of a long ride on a crowded elevator.

  Walking slowly would suit her purposes better anyway, she reasoned. Most patients out for a stroll would take it easy. They also wouldn't be looking at all the room numbers as they walked by, she reminded herself, trying to get an idea of the layout with an occasional discreet glance. The halls were buzzing with uniformed people, but as could be expected, they all had more important things to do than notice her.