Never Sorry: A Leigh Koslow Mystery (8 page)

"Hello, this is Frances Koslow, calling to leave a message for my daughter, Leigh Eleanor Koslow. Please inform Leigh that she is to call home
immediately
. Thank you very much."

She sighed. It was inevitable, of course, that her mother would get wind of the tragedy. By now, almost everyone in Pittsburgh must know. Dismemberment in a zoo was, after all, not your typical noon news. The trick would be finding out how much Frances knew without inadvertently adding to the arsenal. Lisa had said that the television reports had not given Leigh's name, and the murder had happened too late to make the morning papers. Perhaps there was hope. If Leigh could get to her mother before she found out who actually found the body, perhaps—

She shook her head and smiled sadly. It was pointless. Her mother would find out everything regardless. She always did. The questioning, the lawyer. A bad memory swept across Leigh's brain. The last time she'd needed a lawyer, her mother hadn't handled it well. Dr. Koslow didn't illegally script valium to relatives for nothing.

The last message on the machine was for Tanner, from Leo Martin, the zoo director. It cut off at an inopportune point, namely "I want to see you immediately because—"

Tanner left in a huff, and Leigh picked up the phone and dialed. The receptionist at the Koslow Animal Clinic answered promptly, but as usual, her father took his time getting to the phone. "Leigh?" he said finally, over a background of barking dogs.

"Hi, Dad. Could you tell Mom I'm okay?"

"Be happy to. Is that the truth?" Randall Koslow, DVM, was not one to get excited unnecessarily. Leigh was sure he knew everything her mother did about the murder, but wasn't too worried about it.

"Yes," Leigh said weakly, unsure if she were lying or not. "I found Carmen's body. It wasn't fun, but I'll survive. Just tell Mom I'm really busy running back and forth between the two jobs. And tell her that the zoo has quadrupled security—or some such thing."

Dr. Koslow gave a muffled order to an employee, then returned to the conversation. "Okay, honey. Anything else?"

"Yes," Leigh thought quickly. "The business in high school…didn't the lawyer say my record would be wiped clean?"

"I believe so." Dr. Koslow paused. "Should I ask why you want to know?"

"Probably not. I'll talk to you later, Dad."

Leigh finished the afternoon hospital chores, and when Tanner had not returned by five, she decided to take off. She'd given the zoo overtime already, and the lack of sleep and food was beginning to wear on her. Warren picked her up at the main gate, having graciously agreed to drive her to the strip district to reclaim her car. They arrived back at their apartment building in tandem.

"Did you ever get any lunch?" He asked, concerned.

Leigh shook her head. "I've got bologna in the fridge, and maybe I could make some macaroni and cheese. I'm out of milk, but if you double the butter—"

Warren raised a hand. "Enough with the violins already. You're invited. But since we're in a hurry, I'll just order pizza."

Leigh smiled. She could have really gone for some of Warren's homemade quesadillas, but she wouldn't push it. She owed him too many meals already. She hiked upstairs to her apartment, shucked the odiferous zoo uniform, and took a quick shower. Clean and ravenous, she ignored the blinking of her own answering machine and headed back down to Warren's place. Pizza—followed by a prolonged state of unconsciousness—sounded great.

But Warren was not alone. And given the two large pizzas laid out on his kitchen table, he hadn't expected to be. Maura Polanski shoveled in a mushroom-laden piece of pie, offering Leigh a wave in lieu of a greeting.

"I asked WonderCop to join us," Warren explained, using Maura's college tag line. "I thought you could use some more good advice. And moral support."

Leigh didn't want to think about anything but food and sleep, but she smiled weakly. "The more the merrier. Provided I get enough pepperoni." She dug into the second box, elated to see that Warren had ordered thin-crust—her favorite. She ate two pieces almost without chewing, then felt more sociable. Looking at Maura, she suddenly realized that despite the policewoman's healthy appetite, she looked awful, with blue-red bags under both eyes.

"Are you all right?" Leigh asked, concerned. "You're not working double shifts again, are you?"

Maura shook her head and finished swallowing a hefty mouthful. "No, we're staffed now." She paused uncomfortably. "It's Mom."

Leigh's heart felt heavy. Maura had lost her father, a police chief and community idol, just last year. Now her mother was battling Alzheimer's, and deteriorating quickly.

"Her sense of day and night is off," Maura explained. "She keeps waking up and trying to leave the house. My aunts used to stop her when I wasn't home, but Charlotte's hearing is going, and they're exhausted besides. Mom's been out twice in the last week."

Warren and Leigh both listened with sympathy. Maura had left the city force, and her plans for making detective, to take a position on the suburban force of her home borough of Avalon. Twenty-four-hour close proximity was the only way she could adequately care for her mother at home. Though the two aunts who lived in the other half of the Polanski duplex tried to help, they were elderly themselves.

"Maura," Leigh said seriously. "Don't you think it's time?"

The policewoman's eyes moistened. "Maybe." Her tone indicated that the discussion was over for the time being.

Leigh knew better than to push, so she returned to her pizza and polished off half of it with ease. She put her dirty dishes in Warren's dishwasher and slipped a five surreptitiously into his cookie jar. For a financial genius, Warren was exceptionally generous, but she had always insisted on paying her share, which is why the thought of a hefty legal tab galled her. She had nothing to pay it with, and she had no choice but to accept a loan. It was a rotten feeling.

"Katharine Bower's the best," Warren was telling Maura, "so unless our Leigh actually is a homicidal maniac, I'm sure everything will be fine."

"That's a big 'if,'" Maura joked. "You know these creative types and their violent outbursts."

Leigh glared at them both. "Thanks for the moral support. By the way, Warren, do you have any idea why Detective Frank hates my lawyer?"

Warren gave her a puzzled expression. "Who says he does?"

"Nobody. But I could tell. There's history there, trust me."

They both looked at Maura. "Do you know Frank?" Leigh asked.

Maura cleared her throat. "Not personally. I've heard good things about his work. He's thorough." She stopped talking, but it was clear there was more.

"Spill it!" Leigh insisted impatiently. "Does he hate all women lawyers or what?"

Maura's eyebrows rose as Leigh's words hit near the truth. "All right," she sighed. "I'll level with you. Frank's got a rep as a misogynist. He went through a nasty divorce a few years ago—nearly bankrupted him. I think he's fair enough, but in your situation, I wouldn't push his buttons."

Leigh sat and stared. So it wasn't her imagination. Frank hadn't liked her from the get-go. This was all she needed.

Warren attempted to lighten the mood. "Leigh will be an angel in khaki, won't you? Anyway, I'm sure Frank will fixate on a more likely suspect soon. One with a motive, for instance."

Leigh's stomach had begun to complain after the misogynist comment, and was now back to peak acid production. She hadn't told Frank—or her lawyer either, for that matter—
everything
about her past with Carmen. It had seemed wise at the time, but now she wasn't so sure.

"Maura," she asked nervously, "do you think Frank would care, I mean, would the trouble I had in high school be relevant?"

The policewoman looked at her, puzzled. Then she smiled. "Oh, you mean the possession thing?"

Leigh nodded.

Maura chuckled under her breath. "Come on, Koslow. You were seventeen and you were acquitted. Get over it already. Nobody cares."

"Frank will."

"Why should he?"

"Because the whole thing was Carmen Koslow's fault."

Chapter 7

Maura was silent for a moment. "Maybe you'd better tell me the story again," she said finally.

"What story?" Warren demanded. "Why haven't I heard about this before?"

Leigh looked at him and sighed. "I didn't think the future President of the United States would look too kindly on a teenage drug trafficker."

"Don't be ridiculous," Warren said irritably. "What really happened?"

Leigh had no desire to relive the experience that had ruined her senior year of high school, but in comparison to what she'd been through the last twenty-four hours, it seemed trivial.

"It was just a few months before graduation," she began. "My dad was at a veterinary conference out of state, so my mom let Cara and I drive to school in his car—a major coup at that age, as you can imagine. I had just let Cara out at the front door when Carmen came running up."

Leigh could picture the seventeen-year-old Carmen quite clearly. Medium height, thin as a rail, with Cher-like black hair cascading over her shoulders. Her cheeks had been flushed with excitement—rosy circles on her smooth, olive skin. "Leigh!" She had said, flustered. "Scoot over!"

Carmen had opened the driver door and started to slide in behind the wheel. Leigh had the choice of either moving over or having Carmen in her lap. She had moved.

"I left my history paper at home!" Carmen had bleated. "I've got to get it fast!" She had pushed the accelerator, and they were off.

"Didn't you protest?" Warren interrupted, surprised. "If somebody tried that now, you'd poke their eyes out with the car keys."

"Maturity helps," Leigh said with regret. "I didn't have the guts back then. Carmen was like an alien being to me. She was so unlike anyone else I knew—she was fascinating."

The years rolled back in Leigh's mind. She herself had been a plain, book-smart, and sheltered youth. Carmen, who thanks to alphabetical seating had been assigned to the next desk every morning during homeroom, was a wild woman. From the seventh grade on, Carmen had regaled Leigh with tales of older boyfriends, petty theft, promiscuity, and generally raucous independent living. Leigh knew better than to believe it all—but the entertainment value was high, regardless. Over time, Leigh became a regular confidant for Carmen's escapades, living them vicariously from the safety of her orange plastic chair.

So when, that fated morning, Carmen had wanted a favor, Leigh felt compelled to help. She didn't trust Carmen, and she doubted that the teenaged Morticia look-alike had ever completed a history paper, much less worried about turning one in late. But she couldn't say no. Carmen wouldn't understand why—and that could be a problem, since they had no choice but to sit next to each other every morning till graduation.

Leigh sighed again at the memory, and at her own idiocy, then returned to the story.

"Carmen drove in the opposite direction from her house almost immediately, but since she didn't really care if I believed her story, she didn't bother to explain the inconsistency. She drove to the parking lot of an apartment complex about three miles from the school, then took the keys and jumped out. A scummy-looking guy in his mid twenties was sitting in the front seat of some rusted old gas guzzler, and she hopped in the passenger door. She sat there about a minute and a half, then popped back out with a collection of plastic bags."

"Did you know what she was up to?" Warren asked.

"I wasn't
that
sheltered," Leigh answered. "I was furious. We were going to be late to school, and I was going to get detention. I'd never had detention, and I certainly didn't want to get one just so Carmen Koslow could get high. When she got back to the car, I ripped the keys out of her hands and took over the wheel."

"Much better," Warren grinned. "That's the Leigh we know and love."

"Carmen just shrugged and smiled," Leigh went on. "She had what she wanted, and my outrage only amused her. I drove back to school like a bat out of hell—I was mad, and I was
not
going to rot in detention with a bunch of delinquents like Carmen."

"I take it you didn't make it?" Warren asked.

Leigh shook her head. "I was pulled over two blocks from the high school for doing 45 in a 25 zone. Here I was, my first chance to drive my Dad's good car, and I was getting a speeding ticket. At that moment I didn't think things could get any worse. I was naïve. When the officer asked for my car registration, I reached over and opened the glove compartment."

There was silence for a moment.

"She didn't," Warren said incredulously.

"She did!" Leigh fumed, getting mad just thinking about it. "It all toppled right out onto her lap—in nice, perfectly clear plastic bags, in full view of the officer."

Maura chimed in. "That was a bad break, you know. The officer would have had no right to search. But when you wave it right under his nose…"

"I know, I know," Leigh said irritably, thirteen years evaporating in her mind. "The lawyer did a great job of explaining to my parents exactly what fantastic odds I overcame in order to get myself arrested."