Never Buried: A Leigh Koslow Mystery (13 page)

Warren opened his palm and let the bill flutter to the floor. "Please. My pleasure. You know I'd do anything for you."

Leigh smiled. Warren was a politician to the bone. Every word out of his mouth sounded like part of a State of the Union Address. It always had, even when they'd been eighteen-year-old freshmen paired off in Tennis 101. He had been on the fast track to the Presidency, she had just wanted
not
to be the worst player in the class. When he rescued her by taking that honor himself, she promised to write his campaign literature for free. And a decade later, in his first race for public office, he’d taken her up on it.

"Here." Leigh peeled the plastic lid off the first cup and handed it to him, then took the second cappuccino-in-Styrofoam and led the way into the relatively casual atmosphere of the study. "Make yourself at home. I do."

Warren bent his tall form and sunk gracefully into a leather recliner. Leigh watched him curiously. Her tennis pal had been a gawky kid with acne-scarred cheeks and a toothy smile, but this Warren bore little resemblance. It must have been a slow evolution—because she'd missed it entirely. How long had it been since they'd seen one another? "You realize we haven't done lunch since the election?" she asked accusingly. "Big Jury Commissioner forgets the little people, eh?"

"Don't toy with me," he answered with a smile. "You know I'm the Register of Wills."

"Just testing you," Leigh grinned, settling in the opposite recliner. "I figure you'll be running for something else before too long."

"Naturally. But the row offices are on their way out, as you should know. Next is the new County Council. Then perhaps the State Senate. Of course, the earlier I can get a seat in the House, the younger I'll be as Governor." Like most politicians, Warren rarely sounded sincere. Unlike most politicians, he usually was. "And as for forgetting the little people, it's you who's been too busy to get together, remember?"

"Oh, right." Leigh said absently, taking a swig of cappuccino.

"But enough about me. I want to hear about this body you found. And I'm curious as to what sort of favor you're angling for. Fair warning: if the two are related, I'm leaving."

"What happened to 'I'd do anything for you?'"

"I stop short at the macabre. And I would never do anything outside the law, naturally."

"Naturally."

"So?"

"So...I need some information and I'm not sure how to find it. I need to figure out how much money someone had when he died."

Warren laughed. "Is that all? Good grief, Leigh. You could have come in during business hours for that."

"Really? You mean, anyone can find out what's in anyone else's will?"

"I don't have copies of wills on file, if that's what you mean. But the office keeps inheritance tax returns, which are matters of public record. Did this person die in the last 9 months?"

"1989."

"No problem. Give me the name and I'll look it up Monday. I can tell you who the heirs were, how much they inherited. Is that what you need?"

"Perfect," Leigh smiled. "And what if there were no heirs?"

"Property would revert to the state. The records will show that. What's all this about?"

Leigh took another long drag of cappuccino while she sized up Warren's sense of discretion.
Oh, what the hell
.

She started at the beginning. It wasn't long before Warren was thoroughly engaged. "I'll check out the records for Anita and Norman as well," he offered. "If Anita had family money, it might have been put in trust for her son."

"Great! You can check this out first thing in the morning, right?"

Warren cleared his throat. "Seems like I said Monday."

"Yes," Leigh cooed, "but that was before you cared. Come on, you're the big cheese down there, aren't you?"

Warren studied her as he swished dregs of cappuccino around in his cup. "One condition. You come with me. No—two conditions. We do breakfast first. You buy."

"That's three conditions."

"So be it."

"Deal." Styrofoam cups met with a squeak. There was a soft rapping on the door.

Leigh got up and admitted Cara, who had finished an early bath and was now looking divine in frilly evening wear. "Cara, this is Warren Harmon, Allegheny County's most recent and soon to be last Register of Wills. Warren, this is my cousin Cara, whose study you're sitting in."

Warren rose immediately and extended a practiced hand. "Charmed! Leigh has told me so much about you over the years, and you're even lovelier in person!"

Leigh rolled her eyes.

"Why, thank you." Cara answered sweetly. "I didn't mean to interrupt. I just wanted to say hello before I turned in, and to tell you two to make yourselves at home." Her eyes appraised Warren, then threw Leigh a sideways "go for it" as she turned to leave. "I can't hear a thing from my room. You two continue your chat."

The way Cara said "chat," it was all Leigh could do not to slam the door on her perfect behind. When they were alone again, Warren laughed. "So, she's the one who stole all your boyfriends, eh? My, my."

Leigh glared.

"Sorry," Warren said, not bothering to stifle his grin. "I see we're still a little sensitive where that's concerned. But on the upside, I'm honored. You appear jealous."

Her eyes narrowed further.

Warren crumpled his cappuccino cup into a ball and dropped it into the trash can. "Don't you worry," he said, dropping a brotherly arm around Leigh's shoulders, "one of these days you'll bring a man home and he won't look twice at her. Then you'll get married and live happily ever after."

"Fat chance."

"Don't be so negative. I'd marry you myself, but, well—you know."

"I know. I'm not First Lady material."

"Absolute death. I know just what you'd say: 'Am I getting paid for this? Because if I'm not—I'm outta here!' You'd leave all those foreign dignitaries' wives balancing teacups on their laps while you put on sweats and went out for a Diet Coke."

"Damn straight."

Warren sighed. "You'd make a much better President."

Leigh smiled. It was nice to have friends who understood you.

Chapter 12

The next morning, Cara watched shamelessly out the window as Warren stepped out of his new VW beetle and started towards the front door. "What do you mean average-looking?" she said to Leigh accusingly. "He's quite attractive, and I know you get along. What's your excuse this time?"

"We’re just friends," Leigh answered automatically. Warren had always been her relationship-safe geek buddy, and she liked it that way. So he wasn’t geeky anymore. So what? “I prefer to date men who are—”

“
Yes?” Cara prompted.

Leigh faltered. “Um…short. I like to date men who are short.”

“
Oh, really,” Cara asked, amused. “And why is that?”

“
No time to explain. See you later!” What had she been going to say? She made a hasty exit, cutting Warren off at the porch steps. "I'm starving," she announced. "How about Eat'n Park?"

After Leigh had treated him to a bountiful breakfast of pancakes and bacon, Warren led her into the City-County building and through a door on whose glass window was painted
Warren J. Harmon III, Register of Wills
. He went dutifully to work, opening and shutting drawers and fingering through yellowed files for what seemed to her like hours. Finally he collected a small stack of documents and motioned for her to follow him into his office. She stood impatiently over his shoulder while he sorted through them at his desk. "Well? What's the bottom line? Did Fischer have any money or didn't he?"

Warren fidgeted with the papers some more before he answered. "If we're talking about Paul Fischer, in a word, no."

Leigh's face fell. She walked around the desk and slumped into a comfortable armchair. "Really? But he had to. I mean, it's the only thing that makes sense."

"The only thing of value he owned was the house, and it reverted to the state. No heirs could be located."

"Not even a distant cousin?"

"The search only extends to grandparents and descendants, and then you have escheat. Sorry. No buried treasure there. However, Anita Fischer did have several thousand in stocks when she died."

Leigh perked up. "Who inherited?"

"Robert Fischer. She had no will, either. Ordinarily her estate would be divided between her husband and son, but since Norman failed to survive her by one hundred twenty hours, Robbie got it all. Or at least—he would have gotten it all."

"Would have?"

"Since he went AWOL, it was held in trust."

Leigh got an idea, and her eyes brightened. "So he could still claim it?"

Warren shook his head. "Afraid not. We're talking almost fifty years here. There are notice procedures that have to be followed, but then it reverts to the state again."

Leigh exhaled loudly in frustration. "The state sure made a killing on this one, didn't it?"

Papers continued to flip as Warren searched further. "That's interesting."

"What?"

"I was wondering how Paul Fischer managed to hold on to Anita's house when he wasn't a beneficiary. Turns out it wasn't her house after all. Our friend Norman had her sign over the deed shortly after their marriage."

The cold eyes in the newspaper picture crept back into Leigh's mind. "Did Norman have any money of his own?"

"Nary a cent."

"It figures. He'd probably already gone through what his first wife left him."

"Paul's mother? How did she die?"

Her head turned. "You know—I don't know."

"What was her name? We could look her up too, if she died in the county."

Leigh shook her head. "I don't know anything about her. But I'm sure I will soon."

***

After thanking Warren for the favor by agreeing to write all his campaign literature in perpetuity, plus try out the new Chinese buffet on McKnight Road later in the week, Leigh stepped out of his car and walked up the steps to Cara's front door. She was surprised to hear a loud yapping inside.

Pansy?

She opened the door tentatively, but the poodle greeted her with affection. Apparently the dog fancied herself more of a butler than a bouncer. Leigh followed the sound of Cara's laughter (and the little dog's waggling rear end) into the parlor. Mao Tse was on top of the secretary, staring daggers.

Cara sat on the couch; Adith Rhodis, on one of the wingbacks. Both looked up at her expectantly. "Well?" Mrs. Rhodis asked loudly. "What did you find out? Paul didn't have a dime, did he?"

Leigh shook her head, explaining how Anita's money was lost to the state.

"So somebody bumped Norman off before he could inherit it," Mrs. Rhodis declared proudly. "And good riddance, if you ask me."

"The one-hundred-twenty-hour rule complicates things," Cara noted. "If, for instance, Paul wanted to kill both Anita and Norman so he could have everything, he timed it wrong. But if Robbie wanted to keep Paul from inheriting Anita's money, he timed it just right."

Leigh shook her head. "True. But if Robbie committed murder for money, he overlooked something. Like collecting it."

"Oh." Cara said, deflated.

"Don't forget," Mrs. Rhodis said, finger pointing, "they might neither of them have known about the 120-hour law."

Leigh nodded in agreement and sat down. "Let's stick to the facts. One, Norman was an abusive SOB who wanted his wife's house. If they'd stayed married happily ever after, it wouldn't have mattered whose name the house was under. But if she died first, it mattered, because unless she stated otherwise in her will, Robbie might get the house instead of Norman. Two, Norman had another wife who died young. Is there a pattern here?"

Mrs. Rhodis shook her head. "I don't think so, dear. Seems like Anita said Paul's mother died in childbirth."

"Do you remember her name? If she left Norman any money?"

"Oh, Lordy. I don't think I ever knew her name. She wasn't from around here." Mrs. Rhodis sank deep into thought and scratched her chin. "If she did have money, I'm sure Norman spent all that, too."

A low-pitched sound echoed in from the side of the house. "
Ad-die
!"

"
Just a minute
!" Mrs. Rhodis screamed, making Cara and Leigh both jump. "Sorry girls," she apologized, rising. "Gotta see to Bud. Probably lost his blame glasses again."

She slapped her leg for Pansy to follow, and headed for the front door. "You girls let me know what's going on, you hear?"

They promised they would.

"Where's your mom?" Leigh asked when they were alone.

"She had a class at noon, so she asked Mrs. Rhodis to keep me company till you got back." Cara sighed. "We couldn't find anything on the second floor. But there's still places down here to check. And the basement and the attic, of course. Could you help me search this afternoon? We won't be able to this evening."