by Edie Claire
"The reason I asked you here," he said suddenly, standing, "is Cara. I'm in enough trouble with the police already, as you know. I can handle that; I'm convinced we can all weather this just fine, with a little patience. But Cara can't seem to let it go. She wants to do something. And I don't mean just trying to substantiate my alibi. I'm afraid she's going to do something else, something... desperate."
Leigh sat up a little. She would like to assuage Gil's fears, assure him his wife would never do anything foolish in pursuit of what she considered to be her husband's best interests. But they both knew she'd be lying.
"I agree," she said flatly. "But as far as I know, she hasn't come up with any bright ideas yet. Do you know of something?"
Gil's teeth clenched, making a muscle pop in his square jaw line. "I'm afraid so. She's fixated on Diana Saxton. For some reason, she thinks the woman has it in for me, which is ridiculous. Diana went ballistic on the phone yesterday, true, and I was worried that she might babble the same nonsense to the detectives and make the whole situation worse for me. But she was understandably upset; she'd only just heard that Brandon was murdered! Now that she's had a chance to calm down and think things through, she'll realize how out of line she was to accuse me. She's high strung, but she's not irrational. The idea that she would coldly plot against me now is ludicrous. Our relationship was always polite and civil, at least up until I got short with her on the phone the other night when she was looking for Brandon—and that was my fault. As I've told Cara over and over again, despite the awkward circumstances, Diana and I parted ways very professionally."
Leigh slumped in her chair. So much for the understanding women thing. "What is it you think Cara's going to do?"
He began to pace. "I don't know. I don't know if she knows—yet. But sooner or later, she'll think of something. And the worst thing she could do, the absolute worst, is to try and confront Diana herself."
An image of such a meeting popped into Leigh's head. She winced. "That wouldn't be pretty," she agreed.
"It would be disastrous," Gil stated. "Can you imagine how a prosecutor would look at something like that? But what worries me more is the danger to Cara herself. And I don't mean from Diana—she's harmless. But someone killed Brandon Lyle, and that someone is still out there. Who knows what Cara could put her foot into? I don't want her involved!"
Leigh looked up into Gil's earnest, troubled face, and knew that his fears were justified. Cara would walk over hot coals for him. "What do you want me to do?"
"That's simple," Gil said with relief, sitting back down. "All I want you to do is make sure she stays with the Pack. No matter how much she wants to help me, she would never put the children at risk. If she's responsible for them, she'll stay put. I know the two of you have a schedule, and you usually trade off, but I was thinking maybe you could tell her you had something urgent come up at work, and that you need her to pick up the slack. At least for the next couple weeks? You won't even have to lie to her. I'll give you the work. I can easily scrounge up two weeks' worth of stuff that the firm needs to have done, and I'll pay Hook's going rate. Please, Leigh?"
Leigh bit her lip. She was a lousy liar. She was lousy at fooling Cara even when she wasn't technically lying. But asking Cara to watch the kids more than her fair share was hardly an unusual request. And it was certainly for a worthy cause. With luck, the police would settle on a non-Gil suspect long before the two weeks were up.
"All right," she agreed.
Gil smiled at her. "Thank you."
"As long as you quit messing around with Courtney Lyle."
He frowned. "Is that supposed to be funny?"
Leigh couldn't resist a chuckle. There really was no point in answering that question.
"I'm surprised you're not more sensitive to the issue," Gil said, his tone reprimanding. "Considering everything Warren's been through."
Leigh stopped chuckling. "What do you mean?"
A loud knock sounded on the door. Gil rose quickly. "You know what I mean," he said as he moved across the room. "Women are always—" he broke off as he swung the door open.
Women are always what?
"Maura!" Gil said with surprise, ushering the policewoman inside. "Is this an official visit? I thought Peterson was in charge of Brandon's case."
"He is," Maura responded, surveying the room and taking in Leigh's presence with a visible look of chagrin. "I'm just doing him a favor. Hi, Leigh. Fancy meeting you here."
Gil waved the detective to another empty chair, then sat down again himself. "Should I call my lawyer?" he asked.
Maura shrugged. "That's up to you. I just need to ask you one question; you can decide after you hear it. And you too, Leigh, since you're here." She pulled a notebook and pen from her pocket. "Both of you had a working relationship with Brandon Lyle. What I'd like to know is, were either of you ever aware, at any time, that he was carrying a weapon?"
Leigh considered, fighting off another unwelcome image of Brandon's handsomely dressed body sprawled awkwardly on the ground. He had been wearing a suit then. He usually wore at least a sport coat, despite the weather. "I was never aware of a weapon," she answered. "But if he was concealing it, I wouldn't know."
Maura nodded and turned to Gil. He was frowning. "I knew that Brandon owned guns," he answered. "I heard him talk about them; he mentioned going to a shooting range. I never actually saw him with one, but like Leigh says, he could have been concealing it, and I wouldn't know."
Maura nodded, then fixed her gaze back on Leigh. "And you would have told me if you'd seen a gun on or around the body, right?"
"Of course," Leigh said defensively. "But I didn't. Not that I looked very hard. I told you that, too."
"Maura," Gil said soberly, sitting forward. "You should know that Courtney Lyle came to visit me here in the office about a half hour ago. She was upset about the apartment being searched. Or as she put it, 'torn apart.' And she told me about the handgun."
The detective breathed out heavily. "My, my. Word does travel fast, doesn't it?"
"What handgun?" Leigh inquired.
Maura tapped her pen on her notebook. "As Gil here is obviously already aware, Brandon Lyle owned several firearms, and one of them is missing. His wife claims it was in its place in the cabinet the last time she looked, though she's a little vague on when that might have been." She cast a glance at Gil. "Ms. Lyle is a little vague on a lot of things."
Gil met her eyes without difficulty. "She's a little vague, period," he stated.
"Did she say anything else to you that I should know about?" Maura asked.
Gil considered. "I don't think so. She came to talk to me about his memorial service. She's not having much of one, but she's concerned that no one will come. Brandon was an only child and both his parents are dead, so she may be right. She wanted me to call some of our mutual college friends, let them know. Mainly," he said heavily, "I believe she was trying to drum up my sympathy, and get me to take some of the logistical burden off her shoulders. Brandon's affairs were messy on several fronts; she's a bit overwhelmed."
"I wouldn't advise your doing any of that, under the circumstances," Maura offered.
"I won't be," Gil said succinctly.
Maura rose, then paused and looked at Leigh. "I don't suppose you want to tell me why you're here?"
Leigh shrugged. "Gil and I were putting our heads together, trying to figure out how to keep Cara from doing something stupid."
Maura let out a long, exasperated sigh.
"What?" Leigh said, offended. "How could keeping someone else out of trouble possibly get me into it?"
"I don't know, Koslow," Maura said gloomily, turning to leave. "But I'm sure you'll find a way."
Chapter 14
Leigh stepped off the elevator into the lobby of Gil's office building. She hoped it had stopped raining. Her shoes were still clammy from her last hike in from the parking garage. Before she could reach the doors she was approached by a familiar—albeit unexpec
ted—figure.
"Excuse me, Leigh? That is your name, isn't it?"
Leigh looked into the smiling, yet obviously anxious face of Courtney Lyle. The woman's raccoon eyes had been repaired. A fashionable suit jacket now covered her bare shoulders.
Leigh resisted the urge to give a wary look around. All evidence pointed to Brandon's widow having laid in wait for her, which was disconcerting. She must have waited quite a while. It had taken Gil at least twenty minutes to describe the copywriting he conveniently wanted a rush-job on, and that was after Maura had left. But the lobby was safe enough. And the woman's demeanor was hardly threatening.
Just a little weird.
"Yes," Leigh answered. "That's me."
"I'm sorry to interrupt you," Courtney said insincerely, still smiling, "but I wondered if you had a minute? There's something I need to ask you."
Leigh sighed. The fact that Maura always blamed her for these situations was so unjust. Had she asked to attract the attention of the widow of the man she'd found murdered who coincidentally had just tried to seduce her cousin-in-law?
"Um..." Leigh looked over her shoulder into the reception area. A uniformed security attendant sat behind a desk, looking down at what might be a security camera, but more likely was the internet. "Sure," she answered. "Let's sit right here." She pointed to two chairs near the door, and dropped into one. The security guard glanced over briefly, then resumed staring downward. Courtney looked around uncertainly at first, but then—perhaps after assessing that the ambient noise level made them unlikely to be overhead—she sat down also.
"You must be the one who found... Brandon," Courtney began. Her voice wavered as she talked, but her eyes were dry, the set of her mouth determined. "I didn't realize. I knew it was someone he had worked with, and a relative of Gil's, but when he mentioned your name it didn't sink in at first. It was you, wasn't it?"
Leigh tried not to bite her lip. She had the distinct feeling she was being not only questioned, but analyzed. Or maybe... suspected?
It made sense, she supposed, from Courtney Lyle's perspective. If Courtney hadn't killed Brandon herself, she must be wondering who had. All she knew about Leigh was that she had "found" the body, and that she had "worked with" Brandon before.
Leigh had to admit, she would suspect herself, too.
"I was the first to find his body, yes," she answered, doing her best to sound direct, but not defensive. "But only because I'm on the board of the animal shelter that leases that property. I was walking the grounds with my dog. I wasn't at the church meeting the night before—I didn't have anything to do with any of that. I wasn't even doing his PR; that was handled by someone else at my firm. And I have no idea who might have killed him, except to say that I'm sure it wasn't Gil. Is that what you wanted to ask?"
Courtney's brown eyes looked at her probingly. After a very long, decidedly uncomfortable moment, Courtney raised a hand, fluffed her blond bangs, and sighed. "He wasn't doing you," she announced.
Leigh's eyebrows rose. She didn't know if—under the circumstances—she had been complimented or insulted. Either way, the conversation was over.
She got up and headed back out the door.
"Wait!" Courtney cried, following her through the lobby and out onto the plaza.
Naturally, it was still raining.
"What do you want?" Leigh said testily, opening her umbrella. Courtney reached into her own handbag and did the same.
"Don't take it personally!" the woman insisted, her tone pleading as she followed Leigh into the crosswalk. "I know Brandon would sleep with anyone. I just want to know who killed him. I thought maybe you could help."
Anyone? Gee thanks, you surgically enhanced—
Leigh stopped with sudden lurch; a car turning left had nearly grazed her thigh. She swore. She hated downtown traffic. Pedestrians were always taking their lives in their hands, even when it wasn't pouring rain and they didn't have crazy women in weather-inappropriate heels dogging their every footstep.
"Look," Leigh said firmly, still moving. "I'm sorry you lost your husband, but there's nothing I can do to help you. I already told you everything I know." It was a white lie, of course. But she felt no compunction.
Courtney continued to follow her.
"I need to know," the woman squealed from somewhere over Leigh's left shoulder. "I need to know if it's realistic that a business associate might have done it. You've worked with him... if you suspect anyone in particular, would you tell me? I thought that Gil would help me, but he won't!"
The last words were a girlish whine, but they were punctuated with a stinging animosity. Leigh stopped.
"What do you have against Gil?" she asked.
Courtney reeled back in surprise. "Nothing," she answered.
Leigh started walking again.
Courtney caught up with her, her voice becoming suddenly earnest. "Look, we both know that Gil's no murderer. He's no philanderer, either. I was only messing with him just now for the fun of it. The guy's always had such a rod up his butt! It's hard to resist, you know?"
The corners of Leigh's mouth twitched.
"But he won't help me with anything, and there's so much to do, and I have to know who's the likeliest person to have killed Brandon, or else I can't—"
Courtney cut herself off, and Leigh stopped moving and looked at her. Although virtually everything about the appearance and manner of Brandon's widow screamed "ditz," Leigh found herself suddenly skeptical. Between those eyeliner-tattooed eyelids she could swear she caught a flash of long-suppressed intelligence. "Or else you can't what?" Leigh asked.
Courtney stepped back. She lowered her umbrella for a moment, hiding her face. When she lifted it again, her expression was composed. "I can't sleep at night," she finished. Her eyes fixed on some point in the distance, and her next words were a mumble. "I'll get another room."
Leigh considered. Courtney was hardly an easy woman to read, but the fear in her last words seemed genuine. The question was, fear of what? "If you're concerned for your own safety," she suggested, "you should tell the detectives."
Courtney's eyes snapped back to attention. "I'm perfectly fine," she insisted. "But if you hear anything about the case—"
"You would hear before me," Leigh white-lied again. "You're his widow, after all." I just have a knack of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
She looked down and noticed that she was standing in a puddle.
Like now.
"I'm also a suspect," Courtney said bitterly. "Which means they won't tell me anything. All I know is that Brandon was shot, most likely with his own gun. Which means nothing, other than that he was stupid enough to let somebody get it off him. He never could shoot the damn things anyway. Some protection!"
Courtney began to fumble with something in her bag, and Leigh tensed. Stop that, she chastised, reminding herself that she was standing on a crowded city street in the middle of the business district.
"Here," Courtney ordered, pulling out a limp business card and pushing it under Leigh's umbrella. "That's my cell at the bottom. I don't need a judge and jury... I just need to know if the police are convinced it was somebody here. Can you do that much for me? Please?"
Leigh blinked. She couldn't think of a reason why Courtney Lyle would assume Leigh owed her anything. But perhaps a woman like her didn't need a reason. Growing up rich and pampered, looking as attractive as she did, she might easily take other people's obsequiousness as a given.
Leigh pocketed the card without comment. She supposed Courtney had given her something. She'd given her a prime piece of intel for her next conversation with Maura. Of course, then she'd have to tell Maura they'd had this conversation in the first place.
Rats.
Leigh sighed. "I really can't help you, Courtney," she repeated. "You should just stay in touch with the police."
Courtney frowned. "Thanks," she said sulkily. Without another word she tilted her umbrella, pivoted on her heels, and disappeared.
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Leigh did not get wetter watching her go. She put her head back down and concentrated on avoiding the rest of the puddles between her and the parking garage.
"Somebody here," she muttered to herself as she walked. "Somebody here."
Whatever had the widow Lyle meant by that?
***
A full afternoon's work at Hook, one hasty chicken dinner with the kids, and half a turn around the North Park lake trail... and it was still raining.
Furthermore, it smelled bad. Cara's van, like Leigh's own, did not smell pleasant under the best of circumstances. But when it was crammed full of five wet women and four wet dogs, one of which was a borrowed bloodhound that drooled so much Frances kept pushing a pie pan under its nose, the odor was nearly unbearable.
And it was raining too hard to open the windows.
"I think they're looking for another body," Bess insisted, her hackles raised by yet another disagreement with her equally headstrong younger sister.
"That's patently ridiculous," Frances fired back. "No one else is even missing!"
"Well, you don't drag a pond for nothing, that's all I know," Bess retorted, fanning her face with a cardboard store flier she had plucked off Cara's dashboard. "It costs money to bring out the tractor and all that equipment—the people don't work for free, either."
"When did the police say it would happen, Bess?" Lydie called from the backseat, struggling to stay in the conversation while a blurred conglomeration of wet spaniel and corgi bounded in a continuous loop around her lap, the seat next to her, and the floor around her feet.
"They wouldn't pin it down for me," Bess answered. "They just asked my permission, seeing as how the pond is partly on my property. They also asked Anna and the church board chairman, and of course we all said yes. Anna was a little concerned about the fish, but I told her if anything they'll filter out about a hundred years' worth of beer bottles and trash. Anyway, they said sometime tomorrow; that's all I know." She let out a sudden groan. "Ugh! Chester, will you please stop that! It's too hot to cuddle." She placed the soggy Pekingese mix on the floor by her feet. "Just sit right there. The bloodhound won't hurt you, for heaven's sake!"
