Never Tease a Siamese Page 6

  "How old was he?"

  She whistled. "Oh, almost seventy, I'd say. It was a miracle Dean was ever conceived."

  "Well, apparently he wasn't," Leigh answered dryly. She looked up to see if the lawyer planned on continuing, but found him hemmed in by a pack of agitated beneficiaries.

  She thought for a moment. "Was Lilah the maternal type?"

  Adith raised an eyebrow, then burst out laughing.

  "I'll take that as a no," Leigh continued. "So if Lilah married Albert for his money, why would she even want a child? A son or daughter would just take away half her inheritance. Unless she was worried that if she didn't produce an heir, he would dump her for an even younger wife…"

  The older woman shook her head. "I can see Albert divorcing her if she couldn't have a kid. But she didn't marry him for his money. He didn't have a dime."

  Leigh's eyes widened. "But this house was his!"

  "Sure, the family mansion, the respectability. But Albert Murchison was a dud with money. Lost most everything his family gave him. It was the second husband who had the cash—and the clout. But that money was new money, if you know what I mean, and he was an upstart, an outsider." Adith raised her chin. "Albert Murchison was genuine class, and that's what Lilah wanted next. A husband who could bring her up in the world."

  And, Leigh thought uncharitably, who wasn't likely to live very long. "So, she faked a pregnancy and tricked him into thinking that Dean was their baby. And she probably had a prenup so that the money she brought to the marriage was safe from the child anyway. Amazing."

  "Cold," Adith said wickedly. "She was vicious cold. Stole a baby to keep Albert Murchison happy after she'd given one of her own away. Now, that's the part I wonder about. Why would she give up a baby of her own?" Her lips pursed in thought. "Maybe it was during marriage number two—and her husband knew it wasn't his."

  Leigh didn't answer. Her thoughts were back on the clinic, and how much Lilah Murchison had appeared to trust her father. Enough to share personal secrets? If someone was threatening Randall not to expose the contents of Number One Son’s jejunum, that was bad enough. But what if "the truth" referred to something else—something her father already knew?

  "But then," Adith continued to prattle, "How could she have been in a family way without anybody knowing? I suppose she did keep out of sight a lot. And some women just don't show, you know. Now, when I was carrying my Jimmy—"

  Leigh's mind wandered as she scanned the room. Most of those present were on their way out now, but Dean and Rochelle didn't appear to be going anywhere. They had backed the poor attorney into a corner, literally, and the only thing standing between them and him was a particularly belligerent-looking Nikki.

  Leigh put a finger to her lips and rose. "I'm going to move a little closer and see if I can hear what they're saying." Adith's eyes gleamed and she started to rise as well, but Leigh put a hand on her shoulder. "We can't be too obvious. I'll report everything later, I promise."

  The older woman sat back down with a resentful look, and Leigh worked her way inconspicuously forward until she could make out the lawyer's words. Understanding what Dean and Rochelle was saying was not a problem.

  "But why doesn't it say who this heir is?" the young man bellowed. "It has to!"

  "I believe," the attorney answered, "that Mrs. Murchison wished to allow the individual the option of remaining anonymous. The choice of whether to come forward and claim the inheritance is theirs."

  "Well, what if they don't come forward?" screeched Rochelle. "Who gets the money then?"

  "As I stated earlier," the lawyer continued with admirable poise, "the blood heir is given five years to come forward. If they do not present suitable evidence of their parentage within that time, the inheritance is to be divided equally between Dean Murchison and Dr. Koslow's choice of feline charities."

  The couple fell silent a moment. Then Dean rolled his eyes. "I have to share millions with a bunch of mangy cats?" he whined.

  "It's still millions," Rochelle answered stiffly. "Right?"

  The lawyer cleared his throat again. "Almost certainly. Although I must caution you both again that—"

  "Let's get out of here," Rochelle said loudly, grabbing her husband's arm. "We've heard all we need to hear."

  Dean cast a goofy, conciliatory glance back at the lawyer and Nikki as he allowed his wife to turn him around. "Yeah, okay." The two stomped through the parlor back to the foyer and let themselves out with a bang.

  Nikki exhaled loudly and plopped down on the arm of the couch. "Sorry about that, Mr. Sheridan," she exclaimed. "I'm surprised you don't bring security with you for these things."

  The lawyer smiled unconvincingly. "All in a day's work, I assure you. Now, if you'll excuse me…"

  Leigh backed up again, hoping neither Nikki nor the lawyer had been paying any attention to her. As the two of them walked to the front door, she crept back to the settee and scanned its empty cushions with a sigh.

  Adith was gone again.

  Chapter 6

  "Mrs. Rhodis!" Leigh hissed desperately up the back stairway. "Come down here! We're the only people left." There was no response, except for the eerie howling and mewling that been echoing down from the bedrooms for almost an hour now.

  "Mrs. Rhodis, eh?" Nikki's drill sergeant voice, coming from a few inches below Leigh's ear, made her jump with a screech.

  "I'm sorry," she said quickly, whirling around. "I know this is incredibly rude, but Adith—"

  "I know who she is," Nikki said evenly, her gray eyes locking on Leigh's flustered brown ones. "I went through her purse after she disappeared the first time. You want to tell me why you brought a relative of the kid who broke into your Dad’s clinic into this house?"

  Leigh reddened. "Um, well, yes." Ouch. This looked bad. She hadn't thought about how bad until now. "Adith is Ricky's grandmother. She asked me to try to find out what he was really up to, because she doesn't believe he broke into the clinic to steal drugs. But that's not why she's here. She just happened to follow my car over here, and—"

  Nikki's hard eyes showed a flicker of perception, then softened ever so slightly. "Don't tell me. She just had to see the house where Lilah Murchison lived."

  Leigh nodded.

  Nikki snorted. "Her and half of the North Boros."

  "Look, I'm really sorry—"

  "Save it. I don't care. As long as she doesn't mess with the cats or steal anything."

  Surprised by the gruff woman’s unexpected generosity, Leigh faltered a moment. "Oh! I'm sure she would never—"

  "You've got to see this, honey!" Adith popped gleefully down out of the stairwell, her arms extending an onyx statuette of two humans in an indisputably compromising position. "It's Mexican!"

  Leigh's face drained of color as she shifted her gaze toward Nikki. Adith's eyes followed, then widened. "I've always appreciated fine art, you know," the older woman said smoothly, pulling the piece back and cradling it protectively with an arm. "I'll just put this right back…"

  Adith did a jerky about-face and popped out of sight, and Leigh apologized for a third time. "I'm sorry. We'll be going now. I'll give my dad the news as soon as he gets back. It was—um, very generous of Mrs. Murchison to think of him."

  Nikki looked back at her strangely. "Whatever. I just work for the woman."

  An awkward moment passed as they waited for Adith to reappear. Not one to endure nervous silences, Leigh decided to press her luck. Nikki had been about to say something before the lawyer had arrived—something about a person who had been in the house before Number One Son discovered lunch.

  "You know," she began as evenly as possible, "I can't help wondering if the incident with Number One Son—and maybe even that rock being thrown—has something to do with Mrs. Murchison's will."

  The smaller woman stared hard at her for a moment, her pale eyes difficult to read.

  Leigh continued. "When I asked you earlier if you remembered anyone who might have been in t
he house—"

  "Dean," she answered flatly. "Dean and Rochelle were here yesterday morning, hassling me." Her expression darkened. "Dean thinks he's God's gift to the human race—always has. Ms. Lilah spoiled him rotten when he was a kid. Anyway, they were over here with some lame story about how Ms. Lilah had called and told them she wanted to see them at the house right away—that she was coming home from New York early. I let them in and Rochelle slipped off—said she had to use the bathroom. I tried to follow her, but Dean hung me up. God only knows what she was doing."

  "Ten bucks says dropping something the cat found," Leigh answered quickly. "Something Rochelle might have wanted back?"

  Nikki looked thoughtful. "Maybe," she admitted reluctantly. "Dean and Ms. Lilah had a huge blow-up a few days ago. I'm thinking maybe she told him he was out of her will."

  Leigh's pulse quickened. "Had she done that before?"

  "Threatened, sure. They were always at each other's throats about something." Nikki hesitated, as if she wasn't sure whether to say more. Then she looked at Leigh purposefully. "I've got no clue what Number One Son could have swallowed that was so important, but if Dean really wanted it back, I guess I wouldn't put it past him to try to steal the cat out of the clinic. He could have been watching me when I dropped the two cats off over there Friday afternoon—maybe he was afraid Number One Son would throw it up. Either way, if he didn't want Ms. Lilah to find out what the cat had eaten, he'd have to do something fast."

  "Do you know if Dean or Rochelle were friends with Ricky Rhodis?" Leigh asked eagerly.

  Nikki scoffed. "Girl, the less I know about Dean Murchison's personal life, the better. That guy comes closer to getting my fist in his face every time I see him."

  "Thank you, anyway," Leigh said with a smile. "I think you've just helped get Mrs. Rhodis' gullible grandson out of jail." Now, the message on that rock. "Do you have any idea who this mysterious heir might be?"

  To her surprise, Nikki rolled her eyes. "Oh, forget about that."

  Leigh's brow wrinkled. "Forget about it?"

  Nikki gave her head a shake and waved one hand dismissively in the air. "I suppose Ms. Lilah could have another kid out there, but if you ask me, it's just a scam. Ms. Lilah was a big one for pulling hoaxes, and she loved to dangle her money in front of Dean and make him jump through hoops for it. She'd think it was hilarious to make him sweat for five years, not knowing if he was getting the money or not. I can just see her laughing."

  "But, to tell everyone he wasn't really her son!" Leigh said with disbelief. Adith had said the woman was cold, but…

  "He might be adopted," Nikki said casually. "He doesn't look a thing like his parents. But what difference would that make? I'm telling you, all he cares about is the money, anyway."

  Adith had appeared at the bottom of the stairs again, this time looking quite proper. "Thank you so much for your hospitality, Ms.—er…"

  "Just call me Nikki," the younger woman said tonelessly. "And tell that grandson of yours that if he knows what's good for him, he'll stay the hell away from Dean Murchison."

  Adith looked questioningly at Leigh.

  "I'll explain everything later," Leigh replied, and she pulled her companion forcibly toward the door.

  ***

  Leigh stopped pacing across her parent's small living room and paused to look out their window for the fortieth time. Randall and Frances were not home from Hershey yet. They had not been home any of the twelve times she had called the house earlier, and they had not come home in the last half-hour she had been staked out at their house. Pretty soon, she was going to explode.

  She began the pacing again, wishing for anything to burn off the nervous energy that had kept her up most of the night.

  If the truth comes out, I'll kill you.

  Was the threat from Dean and Rochelle Murchison? They were the obvious candidates. If the mystery heir really did exist, they would be the only ones who stood to gain from that person failing to come forward. Except, of course, for a few choice cat charities. And somehow she doubted that many non-profit veterinary organizations secured their funding through drive-by rock throwings.

  Maybe, incredible as it sounded, Number One Son had swallowed something that pointed to the identity of the real heir. Or maybe Number One Son was only part of the picture. What if, on one of her father’s emergency house calls to the mansion, he had wittingly or unwittingly stumbled across something he shouldn’t? What if he already knew who the real heir was?

  The questions spun maddeningly in her head, as they had since yesterday evening. She wished again that her husband was home, or that their mutual college friend, Detective Maura Polanski, had not been working all night. Both could be counted on to help her make sense out of nonsense, and either would be more effective than she at making Randall take the threat on the rock seriously.

  The grating sound of car wheels on a gravel driveway met her eager ears, and she flew to the window. Her parent's Taurus was pulling into the garage behind the house.

  She went immediately to stand outside the back door, not wishing to give her mother a stroke by appearing in the kitchen like a burglar. Characteristically, however, her mother chose to have a stroke anyway.

  "For heaven's sake, dear!" Frances crooned, her eyes wide as she hurried up the walkway. "Whatever are you doing here? Is Warren all right?"

  Leigh forced a smile. Frances Koslow's lifelong fear of her daughter's accidental and/or foolish demise was topped only by her concern for her sainted son-in-law.

  "Warren's fine, Mom," she assured. "He'll be back from Philly tomorrow night. I just need to talk to Dad."

  Frances eyed her daughter skeptically, then turned her penetrating gaze back on her husband. "What's going on? Is something up at the clinic?"

  "Everything's fine, dear," Randall said mechanically, making his way into the house with a suitcase in each hand and another one under his arm. "Number One Son doesn't need surgery again, does he?" he asked Leigh quietly as he passed her.

  "No," she answered. "I mean, not as far as I know. I haven't heard."

  Randall nodded and disappeared into the house.

  "Exactly what do you need to talk to your father about?" Frances questioned, carrying two shopping bags into the kitchen and depositing them on the table. "And why don't you try parting your hair on the other side for a change?"

  Leigh chose to ignore the second question. As for the first, her father had obviously not found his mention in the will of a millionaire to be sufficiently interesting to tell his wife about. Typical. "It has to do with Lilah Murchison," she admitted.

  "Your father told me about the plane crash," Frances said heavily. "Tragic. But what does that have to do with you?"

  Out of the corner of her eye, Leigh caught her father escaping into the basement. She couldn't really blame him for avoiding her. The taciturn veterinarian had, after all, just completed a four-hour car ride with her mother. But talk he would, and now, or the impending explosion of her brain would realize Frances’s every fear.

  "Later, Mom," she answered over her shoulder, taking off toward the basement door. She caught up with Randall at his tiny workshop, where he was busily engaged at screwing something into something else. "Dad," she began almost breathlessly, "you've got to hear what happened last night."

  She first related his role in the will, and was gratified to find him pleasantly surprised about the money earmarked for feline causes. He was less enthused about the Siamese guardian role, though it did not seem to surprise him. What did surprise him was what wasn't supposed to.

  "How could you think I would know something like that?" he asked her in amazement. "In thirty years I never said a word to that woman about anything besides her cats. Why would I?"

  She looked back at him in confusion. "But you have to know something about the heir, Dad. Maybe you just don't realize it. Why else would someone be threatening you to keep quiet?"

  Randall finished whatever he was doing with the screwdriv
er and started sanding instead. "I don't believe anyone is," he said calmly. "It was just a prank."

  Leigh launched into a quick explanation of everything she had learned about Mrs. Murchison's son and his likely role in the foiled kidnapping of the Siamese, but it did not make much of an impression. "I assure you that whatever is going on with the woman's heirs," he said finally, "it has nothing to do with me." He took a breath and put down the sandpaper for a moment. "But I do believe now that Ricky Rhodis was probably after Mrs. Murchison's cat, and it sounds like there's a good chance he was doing it for her son. So, no harm done. His grandmother can deal with the moral issue; as for the criminal charges, I'll drop them first thing tomorrow."

  He cleared his throat, and turned to face her. "Now. No offense, but—."

  "I know, I know," Leigh interrupted. "Introvert attack. I'm gone. But you should know that I'm going to run all this by Maura, and see if she thinks you're in any real danger from that rock thrower." She paused. "You'll listen to her opinion, won't you?"

  Randall offered a perfunctory wave as he took out his electric sander and flipped it on to high speed.

  She took the hint.

  ***

  Leigh knew perfectly well that, with boxes still piled to the ceiling in her toasterless new house, she had absolutely no business going to visit an old woman she barely knew in a shabby boarding house in Avalon’s neighboring borough of Bellevue. But here she was. Her father might be determined not to take recent events seriously, but someone had to.

  Randall wouldn't lie to her about not knowing the identity of Lilah's Murchison's heir, she was certain about that. But it was not improbable that he had information he didn’t know he had. She knew her father's work habits well enough to know that Lilah could have confessed serial murder to him, and if he was in the middle of administering ear mite medication, he wouldn't remember a word of it. Furthermore, three decades of living with her mother had given the man a nearly infallible female chatter detector, and when the alarm went on, his brain shut off.