Never Con a Corgi (20 page)

"All I can say, Koslow," Maura responded, "is that there's a big difference between its being
possible
for someone to plant evidence and proving that they actually did."

Leigh blew out a breath in frustration. "But if she didn't kill Brandon, how did she even
get
the gun? And more importantly, who
did
kill him?"

"Current evidence," Maura answered heavily, "says Gil March."

"But you
know
—"

Maura cut off Leigh's protest with a hand. "Of course I know. But instincts are one thing, and evidence is another." She softened her voice. "I put Peterson on this case for a reason, Koslow. He may not look like the touchy-feely type, but that doesn't mean he's blind to human nature. Peterson gets people. He knows what motivates them, he knows what they're capable of, and next to Gerry and me, he's got one the best bullcrap detectors I've ever seen. He'll get this case sorted out eventually. But what I want you—all of you—to know is this. My gut is telling me that this case isn't what it looks like. It's not linear; it's not clean. There's more than one thing happening here. Do you get what I'm saying?"

Leigh's stomach churned. What Maura was saying was that the police had no idea who had murdered Brandon Lyle. And until they did, everyone involved with him—and his nefarious development business—could be in danger.

"I see," she responded.

"If you could find a witness for Gil that would be great," Maura said, pulling her keys out of her pocket and gently dislodging the corgi from her foot. "But stay away from Diana Saxton.
All
of you." She opened the door of her car, then turned around again. "And, Leigh?"

"Yes?"

"Stay away from Courtney Lyle as well. If she tries to contact you or Cara, let me know right away."

The intensity in her friend's tone made Leigh's pulse rate climb. She nodded wordlessly. Maura started up her car and pulled away, and Leigh turned Chewie back onto the trail. The specter of a homicidal Diana Saxton was bad enough. But what else was going on? How well did Gil really know his old college pal Courtney? Or—worse yet—was Lyle's murder tied to the development deal by more than its location? Maybe Bess had been wrong to discount the entire church full of people Lyle had threatened that night. Given that building's karma, anything was possible. Who was to say that one of the devoted old guard hadn't popped their cork when Lyle started blathering about eminent domain? Or worse still, Lyle's murder could have been random: the act of some indiscriminate, still roaming lunatic...

She started. A woman had just come into view jogging around the bend ahead. A blond woman with two babies in a side-by-side stroller.

Leigh's steps quickened.

She tried to control her excitement as she confirmed that the babies, both less than a year old, were girls. They were dressed in identical yellow sundresses with matching sunflower hats; their mother sported a sleek running outfit and pony tail. Leigh allowed herself a brief surge of jealousy at the young mom's trim, athletic figure. Her own twins had been walking and talking before she'd looked a day under six months pregnant.

"How cute!" Leigh said genuinely, smiling at the little girls. "My twins are ten now, but I used to have a stroller just like this. Well, almost like this. Yours has bigger wheels."

The woman slowed her steps, then stopped. A smile lit up her face. "It's a running stroller," she explained. "Took us forever to find a side-by-side, but it's worth it. We had a tandem one, but—"

"The kid in the back gets bored," Leigh finished, amused at the capacity of any new mom to talk ceaselessly about baby gear. She did remember that much from the lost years. "Tell me about it. The side-by-sides get stuck in doorways, but at least you don't have to switch the kids around every ten minutes to stop the whining. And besides, the wider ones are better to mow other people down with."

The young mom laughed. "Are yours identical?"

Leigh shook her head. "Fraternal. A boy and a girl."

"That's nice."

The women exchanged a smile. Leigh pressed on. "I'm out here tonight for a reason, actually, and I was hoping you could help. My brother-in-law was out walking on this trail Monday night, right about this time. Our family is trying to locate someone who might have seen him here. It's very important."

The woman gave a sympathetic look. "Is he missing?"

"Oh, no. But he's been accused of being somewhere else, and we'd like to clear his name. Were you and the girls out Monday, by any chance?"

"I think so," the woman answered. "Unless... no, it was Tuesday that Ellie had the sniffles. And yesterday it rained. We were here Monday. Is that his picture?"

Leigh's heart thudded in her chest. She held out the picture of Gil that she had been carrying clamped under her arm.

Amazingly, the women's face lit up. An amused smile spread across her face. "Oh, yeah, I remember him! Hard not to notice a man like that, particularly when he takes the time to smile and wave at your babies."

Leigh beamed. It took a good deal of restraint for her not to jump up and down. The woman was telling the truth—she was sure of it. With adults Gil was stiff as granite, but he was surprisingly comfortable around babies. For him to interrupt the walking off of a temper tantrum to coo at two adorable baby girls would be entirely in character.

"You saw him? You're sure?"

The woman nodded. "Absolutely. That was him. I'd thought he'd stepped off a film set. What a hottie!" A sudden flush sprang up in her cheeks. "Oh, but don't tell his wife I said that. Or my husband either, for that matter!"

At this particular moment, Leigh would promise the woman almost anything. "If you're sure," she said carefully, "would be willing to give a statement to the police? I know it's a huge imposition, but it's really very important."

The woman's smiled faded. "The police? What is he accused of doing?"

Leigh steadied herself, then explained the situation as concisely as she could. She figured she might as well be honest; better the woman know what she was getting into now than dash all of their hopes down the road.

"I heard about that man being murdered," the woman remarked when Leigh was finished. "I hate to think of something like that happening so close to here." She cast a protective glance down at her babies, paused a moment, then raised her chin. "But your brother-in-law obviously wasn't involved, so if I come forward, it can only help the police catch the real killer, right?"

Leigh's heart leapt.
Yes!
She held out her pad and pen, her arm practically shaking as she did so. "Absolutely. If you just write down your name and contact information," she said, "someone from the county detective's squad will call you. Probably either a Detective Peterson or Polanski. I can't thank you enough!"

The woman took the pad and started to write. The baby girl on the left had started wailing. Her sister had a blue ribbon, and she wanted it. "Just a second, Zora," the mother crooned without looking up. "We'll get moving soon." She finished writing and handed the pad back to Leigh.

Leigh looked down, saw a legitimate-looking name, phone, and email, and let out her breath with a whoosh. "You have no idea how happy this will make my family," she said sincerely. "We all owe you so much."

The woman smiled. "I don't suppose your dog would consider parting with her bling?"

Leigh glanced over to see the babies engaged in full-blown sibling combat over Chewie's bow, which one of them had unclipped from his head. She laughed. "I really don't think he'll miss it." She gestured toward the corgi, who now lay placidly beside the stroller, licking his toenails.

Licking his toenails?

Leigh looked closer. The dog's nails had not only been neatly trimmed, but each one shone with a lustrous glow. She closed her eyes and shook her head. A lot of people painted their dog's toenails, yes. But only Frances Koslow would use clear polish.

"Your girls are more than welcome to the ribbon," she insisted. "Thank you again."

The woman waved off Leigh's thanks, said goodbye, and jogged away down the trail. Leigh looked in the opposite direction, toward where Cara and Lydie would now be patrolling. She smiled broadly.

Cousin Cara needed a little good news. And she was going to get it just as fast as Leigh's legs could carry it.

Chapter 20

"Whose car is that?" Cara asked with alarm as her van pulled into the gravel drive behind the March's garage. She stopped and let her headlights illuminate it.

"I've never seen it before," Leigh answered, irritated. Her cousin had been deliriously happy for all of about an hour. The women had stayed at the park until dusk, making sure they didn't miss any other possible witnesses—just in case. Then, in true Morton style, they had celebrated by going out for ice cream.

Now, Cara was upset again. "Gil didn't tell me he was expecting anybody," she said tightly.

Leigh surveyed the bright yellow Porsche. Its license plate said "1BANANA."

"That's a woman's car," Cara said with certainty.

Leigh's pulse sped up. "It's not—"

"No," Cara said vehemently, shaking her head. "It's not Diana's. I know her car. Besides, she could never afford a Porsche. It is a woman's car, though. A woman with a lot of money to burn. And a low-brow sense of humor."

The cousins exchanged a glance. "Courtney Lyle," Leigh suggested.

Cara nodded. "I'd bet money on it."

"We should call Maura," Leigh suggested, pulling out her phone. "She said she wanted to know if Courtney tried to contact either of us—"

Cara's hand flew across the seat to stop her. "Wait a minute," she insisted. "Courtney isn't contacting us—she's contacting Gil. He's known her since they were teenagers, and if he didn't think it was perfectly safe to talk to her, he would never have let her in the house. You can call Maura after we're done."

Leigh's trouble-o-meter dialed up a notch. "Done? Done with what?"

Cara steered the van slowly away from the other car and turned off the engine. Her voice dropped. "Done figuring out exactly what it is that the late Brandon Lyle's wife wants with my husband, of course." She opened her door slowly. "Get out," she ordered, "but don't slam the door. We've got to be quiet."

Cara slipped out of her car door and gently pushed it closed. Leigh did the same, then came around to meet her. "But what if—"

"Shhh!" Cara warned, putting her finger to her lips. She slid open the side door of the van and let the dogs out. "She won't have seen us drive up, because Gil will have put her in the study and closed the door behind them. He wouldn't want to talk to her in the living room with the kids at home. But if we sneak in through the kitchen we can listen through the old serving window. Follow me!"

Cara crept off across the drive on tiptoe. She let Maggie run, but held onto Chewie's lead as she made for the sun porch. Leigh followed mutely, her instincts at war with her better judgment. Surely the phone call to Maura could be delayed by just a few minutes? Leigh hoped so, because she understood completely why her cousin could not, in fact, simply wait and ask her husband about the conversation later. It wasn't that Gil wouldn't
try
to explain, it was that the man had the emotional intelligence of a boiled clam. Even if he could recount every word that Courtney said to him, he could never pick up the nuances. Negotiating with other businessmen was one thing; deconstructing female head games was another.

Cara led Chewie onto the porch and unclipped his lead. The women moved quietly to the sliding doors, and Cara punched her code into the security box. The March's system was so elaborate that Leigh still didn't quite understand it (and tripped it herself on a regular basis), but under the current circumstances she was grateful for its existence. She could also understand, now, why Cara had insisted on putting Bess's camera out by the road. Diana Saxton didn't have a prayer of getting inside the March house to plant the gun, but she could have left it anywhere else on the six-acre property... stuck in a tree, thrown in the creek, laying in the drainage ditch. In which case—God forbid—the Pack could have found it.

Leigh shivered at the thought.

Cara slipped through the sliding doors, ushered Leigh into the room behind her, and silently closed them again. They were standing in the breakfast nook by the kitchen. The study, which used to be the old farmhouse's dining room, was on the other side of a serving window closed off by wooden shutters. Standing close and leaning over the counter, they could hear every word that was said.

"I didn't believe her," Courtney was insisting, her loud voice half-cajoling, half-whine. "I knew you would never sleep with a wench like her, even if she wasn't working for you. But I only know that because I know you. The police don't! They have every reason to believe her story. Brandon sure as hell fell for her."

"I am
not
Brandon," Gil growled.

"I know that," Courtney cooed. "That's why I'm here."

"Why
are
you here?"

There was a long pause. Leigh could feel Cara's tension as the same image undoubtedly swept through both their minds—Courtney sidling her shapely body closer to Gil's.

"To warn you," Courtney said silkily. "Because I don't want anything to happen to you. That woman is evil, Gil. She's a lying, scheming, sociopathic slut, and for whatever reason—although we both know the reason, don't we? You hopelessly loyal thing—she has it in for you. I
wish
she had been the one to kill Brandon, I do, because I'd really like to see her skinny little trash-butt rotting in a prison cell. But I don't think she was."

"So who did?" Gil asked, his voice sounding farther away now.

"I don't know," she answered, her own voice drifting away after his. "I don't even know if she knows. But what's obvious is that she's trying to frame you. She told the detectives that the two of you had an affair, that she dumped you, and that you fired her for it. She also told them that up until the day of the murder, Brandon didn't know you'd had an affair with her, and that
you
didn't know she was shacking up with
him!"