Never Sorry Page 7

  The print ads for X-M Mold Remover should have been a snap job. On a better day she could have rolled out a half dozen great slogans—with copy—by noon. Not this morning. Her mind was enveloped in a haze that three cups of coffee had yet to touch, and the pressure in her sinuses was building up like a powder keg. She was staring at the blank document on her monitor, debating whether Frank had given her a cold in addition to an ulcer, when the door to her office opened slowly. Two women of equal height and build shuffled quietly inside and stood looking at her.

  The one wearing two strands of pearls and carrying an embroidered handbag cleared her throat. Leigh looked up at the women and smiled weakly. Like many identical twins, the two were a study in contrast. One in full Barbara-Bush regalia, the other in shiny pink sweats. "Leigh, dear," said the proper one, "We're sorry to interrupt, but you never answer your phone anymore, and we're worried about you."

  "I'm fine, Mom," Leigh answered with as much cheer as she could muster. She offered the women seats, then realized there weren't any. She pulled out her chair, dragged over Alice's, and settled herself on the desktop. "How do you like the place?" she asked, waving an arm to show off the red-painted concrete-block walls and exposed pipes.

  Frances Koslow pursed her lips together and looked at the floor.

  "I think it's got character," Leigh's Aunt Lydie said approvingly. "Definite potential."

  Leigh smiled.

  "Let's not pussyfoot," Frances said heavily. "We're here because we know that you were the one who found that Koslow girl's body, and it's all over the morning papers that the police have several suspects. You're one, of course. Your father and I agree that you need your lawyer again. He's retired, which is unfortunate, since he knows your history. But his firm is still operating. I called them this morning—"

  Leigh quietly clenched her heels together—a tried and true alternative to screaming her guts out. "I already have a lawyer, Mom. Warren found one for me yesterday."

  "Did he?" Frances' face lit up. She had always thought Warren Harmon made prime son-in-law material, and made no secret of it. "What a nice thing to do. You should write him a thank-you card."

  The muscles in Leigh's calves were starting to fatigue when Lydie jumped in. "Have you met with the lawyer yet? Did he reassure you?"

  "The meeting went fine, thanks. And it's a 'she.'"

  Frances gasped. "A woman lawyer? Do you think that's wise?"

  Leigh leapt off the desk and shook out her arms. It was the next stage of self-control therapy. She hoped she wouldn't need the third, which required an exercise mat, or at least plush carpeting.

  "For heaven's sake, Frannie!" Lydie said indignantly. "Why on earth shouldn't a woman make as good a lawyer as a man?"

  Frances clutched her handbag defensively. "I'm not saying one couldn't, in some fields, but criminal defense is a male-dominated area. Men deal better with other men—" she stopped. "Leigh, will you please quit that ridiculous exercising? Can't you do your sit-ups at home? This tile will ruin your back."

  "I think I hear my phone," Leigh said hastily, springing up. "Back in a jiff!"

  Ten carefully counted seconds later, she returned. "Isn't this your phone?" Frances asked accusingly, pointing to the mute instrument on Leigh's desk.

  "That's Alice's," Leigh answered truthfully. It was Alice's. Alice's and hers. "Listen, Mom, Lydie, I really appreciate your coming down, but everything is under control. Warren says my lawyer is the best. But I have a headache coming on and a ton of work to do, so…"

  "I'm sure you have a lot more time now that you're not running back and forth to the zoo every day," Frances declared. "Although you do need the money. I'd be happy to talk to my friend Doreen down at Mellon Bank. They're always hiring for something…"

  Leigh sighed. She knew that Frances Koslow wouldn't rest until her only daughter had a boring, stable desk job that came with a 401K and a dental plan. The threat of a call to Doreen had hung over her head ever since college graduation, and her uncertain employment of the last decade had done nothing to lessen it.

  "I'm fine, Mom. Please don't stress poor Doreen. I already have another source of income." The same one I've had.

  Frances eyed her daughter skeptically. She knew Leigh well enough to know that although she generally didn't lie, her verbal acrobatics were well seasoned. "Really. And what might that—"

  "Leigh!" shouted Carl from the abruptly opened doorway, "Sorry to interrupt, but we really do need you in here."

  "Sorry, Mom, Lydie." Leigh apologized happily, pushing the women toward the front door with the subtleness of a backhoe. "Sounds important." With mutterings of discontent and commands for Leigh to keep in touch, the visitors departed.

  Leigh turned and leaned heavily against the back of the door. Carl and Alice watched her and smiled.

  "It was my turn, wasn't it?" Carl asked. "Sorry if I lost track of time. But I think I was still within the requested five-minute range."

  "You did good, Carl," Leigh praised. "Next cappuccino's on me."

  ***

  Deep in the Avalon Borough Police Headquarters, Maura Polanski tapped a pen against the stack of papers littering her narrow desk. She stared, as she had off and on all morning, at the black telephone balanced precariously over the desk's right edge. Should she, or shouldn't she?

  She was used to bailing Leigh Koslow out of trouble—she'd been saving her friend from herself on a regular basis ever since college. But this time, things were especially complicated. Maura sighed heavily, picked up the phone, and dialed the city detective's desk.

  "Vincent Fanelli, please."

  The deep, booming voice on the other end of the line seemed pleased at the interruption. "Polanski! How the hell you been and why the hell haven't you made detective yet? We were supposed to do this together, remember?"

  "I'm with the Avalon force now," Maura answered cheerfully, trying to keep the regret out of her voice. "Things move slower here. But someday I'll come show you guys how it's done."

  Vince Fanelli gave a deep chuckle. "So, what's up?"

  Maura took a breath. "Bad news, Vince. A friend's in trouble."

  "What kind of trouble?"

  "Your kind."

  Vince gave a low whistle. "Homicide?"

  "Yeah. Name's Leigh Koslow."

  There was a short pause. "As in the zoo murder?"

  "Right." Maura paused a moment. "Leigh can irritate the fire out of you, but she's no killer. You got my word on that. She just has a knack for being in the wrong place at the wrong time."

  Vince said nothing.

  "I'm not asking you to leak anything," Maura said firmly. "But I thought maybe you could tell me how worried I should be."

  There was a rapping sound as the detective tapped his own pen on his desk. Then he sighed. "It's like this, Polanski. Circumstantials add up. Publicized case means pressure for an arrest. To sum up—your friend better have a damn good lawyer. Today."

  Maura's spirits sank. It was worse than she thought. "Thanks, Vince. Appreciate it. Keep a seat warm for me over there, will you?"

  "Will do."

  Maura hung up the phone with a new weight on her shoulders. This was going to get worse before it got better.

  She had to do something.

  ***

  If the worst thing about having your own business was lack of a paycheck, the best thing was setting your own schedule. After giving the X-M Mold Remover account one more miserable shot, Leigh gave up and decided to take a couple hours off to clear her aching head. She took a brisk walk to her favorite coffee shop and invested in a cup of espresso and the morning paper.

  Surprisingly, Pittsburgh's intrepid reporters seemed to know even less about Carmen's murder than she did. As a potential suspect, she had gotten off relatively easy—the media seemed to have missed the "running away from the crime scene" tidbit, and mentioned her merely as the employee who found the body. Her name still hadn't surfaced, thank goodness.

  Leo Martin had manag
ed to contribute his typical inept plug—noting merely that the murder had occurred after regular zoo hours. Lisa Moran, who was probably the nearest thing to another tiger keeper that the reporter could find, was more forthcoming. When asked if she was concerned for her own safety in the zoo, Lisa was quoted as saying: "No, not at all. I think it was just a personal thing. If I thought there was some psycho on the loose, I wouldn't be here."

  Leigh's eyebrows rose. Lisa seemed awfully sure of herself. She almost made it seem as though the murder was justified. What exactly did she know about Carmen's sins?

  When the last drop of her espresso had been drained, Leigh downed a handful of mints from the counter and set off again. It was time to cock an ear to the zoo grapevine and find out what had been going on with Carmen. Maybe it mattered to the murder investigation. Maybe it just mattered to how she felt about Tanner. Either way, she had to know.

  Chapter 8

  After changing hastily into her uniform, Leigh drove to Riverview Park and entered the zoo through the main gates. She didn't know if the employee gate would still be manned, given that the morning staff should have already arrived, and the "secret" entrance was no longer an option. She couldn't help but imagine what was left of Carmen's body being dragged under the fence, and it was an image her peace of mind could do without.

  Fighting an urge to head straight for the hospital, she instead went looking for Lisa Moran. It wasn't easy to get her feet walking in the direction where Lisa was most likely to be. The tiger exhibit had been temporarily closed to the public, but the tigers and Carmen's other big cats still had to eat. Mercifully, Leigh found Lisa taking a smoke break on a tree stump just outside the leopard enclosure. Breathing a sigh of relief, she approached.

  Lisa acknowledged her visitor with a smile and a nod, then began examining her fingernails with fervor. "Chipped again," she moaned. "I really should wear work gloves."

  Leigh's mind drifted back to a long forgotten ritual: the state-of-Carmen's-nails address. "See, Leigh," the teenaged Carmen would begin as soon as she had taken her seat in homeroom. "This one's tearing now, and I had got it all the way out to here." She would demonstrate the loss, giving the history of each nail in stunning detail. She wasn't asking Leigh's advice, just keeping her informed. As a courtesy.

  "Did Carmen wear work gloves?" Leigh asked suddenly.

  Lisa looked up from her own hands, assuming a puzzled expression. "I don't know. A lot of women here do. Why?"

  "No reason," Leigh muttered, embarrassed.

  Lisa studied her. "You're worried, aren't you?" she asked sympathetically. "I heard that you have some kind of history with her. But don't flatter yourself. You're only one in a long line of suspects, as far as I can tell. Carmen had plenty of enemies."

  "She did?" Leigh asked innocently.

  Lisa wasn't buying. "Yeah, right. Did you know her or not?" She leaned toward Leigh conspiratorially. "I gave that detective a notebook full when he talked to me. I hear everything around here, you know, as a floater."

  Leigh could imagine.

  "Carmen had only one real friend here—and that was Kristin. And I happen to know that even they didn't part on the best of terms."

  Leigh searched her memory bank for mention of a keeper named Kristin. None came to mind. "Kristin who?"

  "Kristin Yates," Lisa answered. "They used to work the big cats together before Kristin took over the bears. She and Carmen went way back."

  A sinister image suddenly bored its way into Leigh's mind, giving her a chill. Kristin Yates. The frightening, horse-faced delinquent whose reign of intimidation had oppressed North Hills girls throughout the early eighties. Kristin had the kind of cold gray eyes and haughty air that made for good adolescent horror fiction. She could play the evil ringleader who slipped the heroine a faux chocolate laxative, locked her in the bathroom, and stole her clothes. Preferably on prom night.

  "Kristin Yates worked here?" Leigh said stupidly.

  "Yeah, like forever," Lisa answered, watching her. Then Lisa's face lit up. "They went to high school together, didn't they? So you must have known them both."

  Leigh nodded. "Vaguely."

  "Kristin was all right," Lisa said charitably. "She was easy to work with. At least she stayed out of everybody's business."

  Leigh's eyebrows rose. The Kristin Lisa was describing was a far cry from the one she remembered. But then, people change. Most people, anyway. "Where is Kristin now?"

  "She left a couple weeks ago," Lisa chatted merrily, looking at her nails again. "She got a job offer at the zoo in D.C. She's been wanting to move there for a long time, because she's really into Pandas. She's starting off with hoof stock, but she figures at least she's got her foot in the door."

  Leigh couldn't imagine the Kristin she knew caring about much besides where her next Marlboro was coming from. In any event, she was glad Kristin was out of the picture. "I wonder if she knows about Carmen yet."

  Lisa shrugged. "I guess she'll find out the next time she calls anyone back here. I'd call her in D.C. if I knew her number. But like I said, she and Carmen didn't part happy."

  "What happened?"

  A cloud passed over Lisa's face, and she took a long drag on her cigarette. "Let's just say it was man trouble," she said flippantly, watching Leigh's eyes. She stood up. "Gotta get back to work. See you around."

  "Wait!" Leigh called after her. "Are you saying Carmen was serious about somebody?" A ray of hope had emerged. She had assumed Carmen was a love-em-and-leave-em kind of girl, but if she had a significant other, the accursed "love triangle" theory wouldn't hold water, no matter how Leigh felt about Tanner.

  Lisa's eyes looked at her with something between pity and disgust. "That depends," she answered cryptically, "on who you ask."

  ***

  Leigh trudged up the hill to the hospital more frustrated than ever. Why did Lisa always have to clam up just when she was getting interesting? She had done it before, on Tuesday. Lisa had been chattering on about staff romances, and she had started to say something about Carmen, but Tanner had walked in and interrupted, and Leigh had forgotten the whole thing.

  She opened the hospital door aggressively enough to bang it against the wall, startling a tall, stooped man standing just inside the doorway.

  "I'm sorry," Leigh apologized quickly, recognizing Leo Martin, her boss's boss. "I'm not sure how it got away from me."

  Leo scowled at her without any pretense of politeness. His appearance was forbidding enough even when he was in a good mood—thanks to his Ichabod Crane stature and cigar-stained teeth. How this man could be expected to put on a good PR face for the zoo was beyond Leigh, but since the zoo was her employer and not her client, she didn't waste time worrying about it.

  "There'll be no more of this after-hours nonsense," he said to her sternly, poking a finger in her face. "And I don't want you or anyone else talking to reporters. Got that?"

  Leigh bristled. Boss's boss or no, she didn't appreciate being talked to like a petulant child. Especially when this wasn't even her real job.

  "Excuse me," she said, as sweetly as she could manage, "Have we met? I'm Leigh Koslow, an advertising copywriter. I'm here helping out Mike in my spare time."

  Some of the creases in Leo Martin's scowl flattened. He looked at her as if studying a stinging insect—patronizing, but cautious. "Leo Martin," he said gruffly, "Director."

  He cast a scathing glance at Tanner. "Fill her in," he barked. Then he was gone.

  After the door banged closed, Tanner burst out laughing. "What are you doing here so early?" he asked, gathering Leigh up in his arms. "You're a hoot, you know that?"

  Leigh wasn't sure if being a "hoot" was desirable, but all indications were positive. Tanner kissed her soundly. "Leo needs somebody to shake him up once in a while. I remember once, Carmen—"

  He broke off the sentence abruptly, the merriment draining quickly from his eyes. He let Leigh go and stepped back.

  "It's okay," Leigh said softly. "You c
an talk about her. In fact, that's why I'm here." She didn't want him to talk about Carmen at all, certainly not fondly. But there were secrets lurking in that gorgeous head of his that she had to know. She dragged him to the couch in the lounge and sat him down.

  "Look, Mike," she began. "I know nobody wants to speak ill of the dead, and I know you considered Carmen a friend, but let's get real here. I knew Carmen, too. She was a sociopath. Or a psychopath, or an antisocial personality—whatever the jargon is nowadays. The point is, she had no conscience, and she used people. Most everybody in the zoo hated her for some reason. You know all about that. And if you have any theories on who killed her, I'd really like to know about them."

  "Carmen wasn't a psychopath," Tanner defended uncertainly. "She was just…" he broke off and sighed miserably. "I don't like talking about it. It's the police's job to find killers, not ours." He stood up suddenly, then added, "I still can't believe somebody would do this to her."

  The words struck a chord in Leigh's brain. He had used them before—the night it happened, and they had struck her then, too, but now she knew why. "I can't believe somebody would do this to her." Not "I can't believe this happened," or "I can't believe she's dead." It was as if he wasn't surprised she was dead, wasn't surprised somebody wanted her dead, but the way it happened—that he couldn't grasp.

  Leigh stood up beside him and tried again, the words running out of her mouth before she could censor them. "What is it you know? Are you trying to protect someone in the zoo?"

  Tanner looked at her incredulously. "Of course not! How could you think I would do that? This person's sick, for God's sake!"

  "I'm sorry," Leigh apologized quickly, cursing her impetuousness. "I didn't mean that you'd condone anyone hurting Carmen, I just thought that maybe you had some suspicions about somebody, maybe even an accident—"