Never Con a Corgi Read online

  Leigh looked thankfully at her aunt-by-marriage, who despite looking like she could blow away on a strong wind, often showed surprising strength. Nice lady, always had been. Still, Leigh could never quite shake the feeling that there was something a little... well... odd about her.

  "The police are coming, aren't they?" Shannon added tentatively.

  The question was answered by the high, thin wail of a distant siren.

  "Gotta run!" Leigh exclaimed. She hurried down the stairs, grabbed the lead, clucked to her eager-looking corgi, and took off at a jog. The animal shelter was only a short distance down the road, at least for a healthy human. To a thirty pound dog with six-inch legs, it probably seemed longer, but Chewie was not one to complain. He charged off beside her at a full gallop, his short strides bunching up his long body like an inchworm.

  Not daring to slow, Leigh swerved around the parking lot and headed for the back of the building.

  "Hey, mom!" A young voice called with amusement. "Why are you running?"

  Leigh halted at the gate to one of the empty play yards. The fact that the sight of her running would elicit such a question was evidence of the shape she was in.

  After several long moments, she caught her breath.

  "I've got to get back to the church," she answered, locking Chewie securely in the run, where he made a beeline for the automatic waterer. "I'm meeting your Aunt Maura there—it may take a while. You just stay put till I get back, okay?"

  The boy, who was walking a lab mix with one hand and some chow-looking beast with the other and making little progress in any direction, tossed his head to see from under the sheaf of bright red hair that fell across his eyes. "Whatever," he said cheerfully. "I'm not going anywhere. With these two, I may never go anywhere!"

  Leigh paused just long enough to smile. Ten-year-old Ethan loved hanging out at the animal shelter—walking the dogs no one else wanted to walk. His clothes were already laced with slobber and his shoes would have to be scraped before she'd let him back in the car, but she was terribly proud of him. Besides being a hard worker, the boy had her love of animals and his father's cheerful disposition... what more could a parent ask for?

  She hurried through the back door and passed through the hallway by the cat room. She would have to let Angie know she might be late in returning—

  "Mom?"

  Leigh halted in her tracks and back-stepped. "Yes?"

  A petite, dark-haired girl sat cross-legged on the floor, a litter of kittens mewling as it tumbled across her bony lap. "Grandpa needs to take a look at these," the girl said determinedly. "They were all fine yesterday, but today this one's kind of sluggish, and I don't like the look of that eye discharge at all. They may have to be quarantined."

  Leigh fought back an indulgent grin. If ever a pair of siblings were twins in birth only, it was hers. Her brainy, solemn daughter made quite a contrast to her easy-going, extroverted son. Even physically, while Ethan seemed an even blend of her own features and Warren's, Allison resembled neither of them. Rather, the poor thing was the spitting image of her grandfather Randall. "Do you think I should call him?" the girl asked, wrinkling her nose to adjust her glasses.

  "Sure, honey," Leigh answered, bemused at how her daughter seemed to have inherited her grandfather's mannerisms as well. "Go ahead. I may be late getting back today. Just please, don't get scratched again."

  "I'll be fine," the girl answered, not looking up. "I have my antiseptic spray."

  The sound of a second siren wailed on the road outside, and Leigh hastened her steps through the building and up to the reception desk. "I may be back late, Angie," she said to the young manager at the desk as she moved, "there's been... a problem at the church next door. Just keep the kids here—don't let them wander around the woods today, okay? Call me if you need me!"

  "All right, but what—" the front door closed behind Leigh before she could hear the end of the question, which was just as well, because she knew she couldn't answer it. She raced to the car, grabbed her purse and phone, and took off down the road at a jog. Her fingers itched to text her husband, but she had no idea what to write. Found body; please sympathize? Client dead; not my fault? Either way, it would hardly make his morning.

  She arrived back at the church parking lot, panting, to find not one but two black and whites in residence, their occupants already questioning a visibly flustered Shannon and Michelle. "She's back now," Leigh heard Shannon say as she came into range. "She'll tell you."

  The three policemen turned to face her.

  "Sorry," Leigh said weakly, still trying to catch her breath. "I got back as fast as I could, but I had to check on my kids and make sure they stayed at the shelter."

  "She ran right there and back," Shannon chimed in. "Michelle and I have both been watching—she hasn't been gone five minutes."

  Leigh resisted the urge to throw Shannon a thankful smile. At least one person understood her paranoia where law enforcement was concerned.

  "You say you found a body?" one of the township policemen questioned, his skeptical tone making clear that either (1) her full name hadn't been mentioned, or (2) he had never spent quality time with anyone on the county detectives' squad.

  Both points were in her favor.

  She nodded.

  "Supposing you show us where?" he prompted.

  Leigh looked in the direction of the woods, took another steadying breath, and started walking.

  She really wished she could develop another hobby.

  Chapter 3

  Maura dropped her solid frame down onto the wooden picnic table that sat in the shady grove behind the church. She settled herself next to Leigh, who had been effectively chained there for the last half hour, and sighed.

  The two women stared at one another.

  "I don't do it on purpose, you know," Leigh offered.

  Maura's eyebrows puckered. "Debatable."

  "How could I?" Leigh argued. "You think I have some cosmic attraction for the marked to die, or the recently deceased?"

  The detective considered a moment. "Let's hope not. Sure as hell wouldn't bode well for me."

  Leigh frowned.

  The ghost of a smile crossed Maura's otherwise sober face. "Sorry. Couldn't resist. Now let's get this damned thing over with, shall we? You know the drill. You tell me absolutely everything about how you happened to be the first one to stumble onto Brandon Lyle's body, and then you move on to everything else you know that you're planning not to tell me unless I ask you about it specifically. And so help me, Koslow, if I find out later that there was one shred of evidence you didn't tell me, one little detail you thought it would be better for your cousin's in-law's daughter's pet turtle if I didn't know, I will—"

  "Yes, yes," Leigh cut in. "Thumbscrews, honey and ants, partial decapitation with a dull razor, yada, yada. Why would I hide anything from the authorities? I want nothing to do with this mess. I'm a mother now, remember?"

  "Yes," Maura said hopefully. "There is that." She tapped her pen impatiently on her notebook. "Start talking."

  ***

  Maura lifted a hand to massage her temple. Her short, dark hair was limp; her dimpled baby face (which had always made an interesting contrast to her otherwise intimidating appearance) was beaded with sweat. "Koslow," she said wearily, "when you say 'he practically blew up, right there in my office,' do you mean that he raised his voice, or do you mean—"

  "I had to threaten to call security before he would leave."

  Maura sighed.

  Leigh's description of how she had found the body had gone well enough. Explaining her personal association with Brandon Lyle was proving more problematic.

  "It wasn't the first time an ad agency ever had a business argument cross the line," Leigh defended. "I've seen it happen other places. At Hook, we work hard to keep our clients from getting irate in the first place, but when you're dealing with a guy like Lyle, who was a total—"

  "Koslow!" Maura barked, "Will you watch what you
say to me, please?"

  "Oh, right," Leigh retreated. "What I meant to say is, when an agency has a client with a volatile personality who's risking large sums of money, meetings can get emotional, no matter how professional we are. Brandon was a problem from day one, but Jeff Hulsey and I were able to manage him. Until yesterday, that is."

  The sweat on Maura's brow had coalesced into droplets, and she pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed. Maura was the only woman Leigh had ever known who carried a handkerchief. Then again, she was the only woman Leigh had ever known who did a lot of things.

  "Just start at day one," the detective said tiredly.

  "His development company has been with Hook for a couple of years now," Leigh explained. "We did two other projects for him before this one; we produced brochures and presentations to help him recruit investors and then later to sell the properties. Things went fine on our end, but rumor has it those two previous developments ran into major problems. Exactly what, I don't know—we had nothing to do with the financials. But it was clear he was banking on this current project to bail him out somehow."

  "You mean the deal where he needed to buy your aunt's land, or the church's, in order to connect his other properties with the road?" Maura questioned, clearly remembering at least some of the conversation they had enjoyed so casually over pierogie casserole last night. Leigh had given her guests a quick overview of the situation after she had excused herself to take Cara's anxious call about the church meeting. But she hadn't told them everything. When you had a family like hers and you were friends with two married detectives—both of whom had a thing about not showing favoritism in official matters—you learned certain editing skills.

  "Either both of those properties, or the land where the animal shelter is, or maybe both the church and Bess's neighbor Clem's place," Leigh explained. "It's a little complicated, but Lyle had several options. Two months ago, when he hired us to do the investment piece, he wasn't even worried about the access. I had no idea Aunt Bess's place was even involved until Cara showed me the mockups for the brochures."

  Leigh's cousin Cara, a graphic designer of some repute, had for years now been doing high-profile jobs for Hook, the ad agency Leigh had helped to create. Cara didn't ordinarily work on brochures, and she hadn't been working on Lyle's. The woman was just plain nosy.

  "When I saw the architect's drawings, I almost lost my lunch," Leigh continued. "These things never turn out as grandiose as the original plans, of course, but Lyle wanted more than just a fancy entryway with brick gateposts and a waterfall. He had a whole neighborhood shopping square laid out, with a coffee shop, boutiques, even a grocery market! In order to do even half of that, he'd have to buy all the land on that side of the road. It was awkward, under the circumstances, but Cara and I decided to warn him, right up front, that we didn't think our Aunt Bess would ever sell. Lyle just blew us off, saying that everyone had their price, and that he had surveyed those houses already and he was sure none of them were worth anything."

  The detective issued a low, growling sound. "So," she asked gruffly. "What did you two do then?"

  Leigh widened her eyes innocently. "Do? What do you mean?"

  Maura growled again.

  "We didn't do anything!" Leigh protested. "Aunt Bess already knew about it; she had ignored umpteen letters and phone calls already. Like we suspected, she had no intention of selling to the man at any price, and furthermore, she planned to see to it that the church didn't either. She's been dead set against development on Nicholson all along, and now those acres around her are about all that's left of the original woods. You know how Bess is...once she takes up a cause and digs her heels in—"

  Maura raised a hand. "I'm familiar with the family trait, Koslow. Believe me. Now, proceed. What exactly led up to Lyle's outburst yesterday?"

  Leigh took a breath. Now her own forehead was sweating. "Lyle paid for his brochures, and that was that. I didn't see him again until about two weeks ago, when Gil sent him to me for PR advice."

  "Whoa, wait a minute!" Maura exclaimed. "Gil as in Gil March, Cara's husband, the county's highest-priced business consultant? Do not tell me he's involved in this, too!"

  Leigh nibbled on a fingernail. Or at least, she started to. But her fingers smelled like corgi slobber. She put her hands at her sides instead, bracing herself.

  "Would nearly getting in a fist fight with Lyle behind the church last night qualify as 'involved?'"

  Maura's face turned an unpleasant purplish shade.

  "I'll take that as a yes," Leigh said carefully. "But you'll be delighted to hear that I wasn't present for that particular event. All I know about their argument is what Cara told me over the phone, that—"

  Maura raised another hand. Speaking calmly appeared to be an effort for her. "Don't tell me what Cara said. I'll deal with the two of them personally. Just tell me what happened when you saw Lyle two weeks ago. He hired you to do what?"

  Leigh chose her words with care. The more she thought about it, the more she realized just how deeply her family was entangled with the affairs of one Brandon Lyle.

  And not in a good way, either.

  "Gil's known him a long time," she began. "They've done business before. But you'd have to ask Gil about that. All I know is that Brandon wanted Gil to help him save this housing development, and Gil—despite the obvious risks to family harmony—was trying to do his best. He sent Brandon to Hook because he thought we could put our best PR person on it—have them try to persuade the church, and maybe this guy Clem, to sell. I think Brandon had given up on Aunt Bess by that point, as well as the woman who leases land to the animal shelter, Anna Krull. If Brandon had her on board he could get his access road, at least, but she's even more of a tree-hugger than Aunt Bess is, and just as obstinate."

  Leigh stopped and took a breath. Maura tapped her pen aggressively on her notepad, waiting for Leigh to go on.

  "I don't want to see those hills leveled to make way for yet another crop of mushroom mansions any more than my Aunt Bess does," Leigh continued, wondering if the stab of guilt she felt at having worked with a scumbag like Lyle in the first place was showing. "But business is business. We do have a really good PR person, Geralyn Toms, so I put her on it. Who was I to say the development was a lost cause? As long as Lyle wasn't lying to people, I figured the other landholders had a right to make up their own minds. Geralyn is honest; she doesn't mislead people. But she is skilled at maintaining goodwill in tense situations."

  "So what happened?" Maura prompted. The detective was still a little too purple for Leigh's tastes, but at least steam wasn't coming out of her ears.

  "Geralyn set up an open meeting at the church for last night. She was also supposed to be meeting privately with Clem, Bess, and Anna—but that end of things wasn't going well. Anna and Bess politely refused her, and Clem wouldn't meet with her at all. Yesterday Geralyn told me that she'd finally caught up with him that morning—and he'd threatened her with a shotgun."

  Maura turned her head to the side and muttered a string of words Leigh didn't often hear anymore, seeing as how Maura generally managed to control her mouth around the children.

  Yet another benefit of being a parent.

  "Geralyn was still willing to do the church meeting," Leigh continued, "but she refused to deal with Clem again. Lyle was furious. Started yelling, blaming Geralyn, calling her incompetent, among other things. He went totally off the rails. Sweet, mild-mannered Geralyn finally told the—"

  "Watch it, Koslow," Maura warned again.

  "Right. What I mean to say is, Geralyn told the fine, upstanding gentleman exactly what location he could place his job into and at what velocity he could place it there—"

  "Yeah, I got it," Maura interrupted again. "Keep going."

  "There's not much else to say," Leigh finished. "When she walked out, Lyle asked me if I could run the meeting myself, and I refused. I told him I wasn't trained as a negotiator, and that—despite what he seemed to think
—I had no personal clout with the Church of the Horizon. He got furious all over again, cursed at me, cursed at everyone else in the office, and told us we were all incompetent and he would never do business with any of us ever again. I told him to leave or I would call security, and he cursed a little more, and then he left. That was about three o'clock in the afternoon, and that was the last I heard from him."

  The detective did some more cursing of her own. "So you didn't go to the church meeting?"

  "You know I didn't!"

  "Well, where were—"

  Leigh's raised eyebrows stopped her.

  "Oh, right!" Maura exclaimed, her pained face erupting, albeit briefly, into a genuine smile. "You were with me and Gerry!"

  Leigh smiled back. "A county detective and a city police lieutenant. Best alibi ever, eh?"

  Maura snapped her notebook shut and slid off the picnic table. "The situation's bad enough, Koslow," she commented wryly. "But I suppose it could be worse. At least we won't have to scrounge up bail money this time."

  Maura's mouth twisted suddenly into a frown, and Leigh could sense her next, unspoken thought. At least not for you.

  "Look, Leigh," Maura continued soberly. "The department's been cracking down on personal involvement in cases lately—we've had some problems. With my being friends with the person who found the body, as well as knowing Gil and Cara and your Aunt—there's no doubt I'll be off this case by tomorrow. But I can at least get it started right. I'm going to pull in our best guy, pronto, and as soon as I do, he and I will question Gil and Cara, and Bess. And until we get there, I don't want you telling any of them jack. Do you understand me? Not. One. Word."

  Leigh offered her best, most sincere salute. This was one promise she would have no trouble keeping. The list of things she would rather do than tell either Gil March or his doting wife that the man he'd publicly brawled with had been murdered later the same night was very long indeed.

  That was, if Lyle had been murdered. Leigh was pretty sure she had seen at least one dark spot on his suit jacket, but she hadn't looked all that closely.