Never Steal a Cockatiel (Leigh Koslow Mystery Series Book 9) (20 page)

The women settled on the steps of the porch and found that the evening air was indeed cooler than the stuffy kitchen.

“What’s bugging you, kiddo?” Bess asked. “And don’t tell me nothing. You know how poor a liar you are, although Lord knows I’ve tried to train you better.”

Leigh smiled sadly. Ever since Maura left, she had debated with herself over how much, when, and with whom she should share the disturbing new information. As yet, she had made no decision. She wanted the Pack out of the matter entirely, but since they were already in it, that was easier said than done. It was one thing for the children to muse about the identity of a local petnapper. Involving them in a state police investigation of the murder of two professional gamblers was another.

Maura’s news had been grim. Kyle Claymore had been in attendance at an illegal poker game up in Erie County, along with several notable lowlifes, when their play was interrupted by accusations of cheating. Shots were fired, and a man was killed. Whether the original victim was the accuser or the accused was still unclear, but the theory of the state police was that Kyle, a relative unknown in the group, had witnessed the murder. He had most likely attempted to flee from the scene, but he had not gotten far. His car had been found abandoned in a ditch off an isolated road a few miles away, and his body was found in some nearby woods three days later.

It wasn’t impossible that Kyle himself was responsible for the first murder. But for reasons Maura wouldn’t get into, the state police didn’t think so. The boy had owed some loan sharks somewhere a whole lot of money, and he was desperate to win some back. But he had been playing out of his league.

Leigh didn’t even want to think about Mason’s potential involvement. If he had done anything illegal — if he’d had anything at all to do with the murderous gamblers — the family would be devastated.

Leigh didn’t know what to tell anyone. She wanted to discuss the issue with Warren, but tonight was the big closing dinner of his conference, and he wouldn’t be home until late.

What to do?

“I miss my husband,” Leigh said wistfully, answering Bess’s almost forgotten question. “There’s just so much going on. I’m thinking of pulling a Scarlet O’Hara and ignoring it all till tomorrow.”

“Works for me,” Bess said simply, stretching out her legs. “Lydie will be back tomorrow, and we’ll all be delivered. I may fall prostrate and kiss her feet.”

Leigh grinned, but her smile quickly faded. “Cara’s upset. About her mother being so secretive… again. She feels like Lydie doesn’t trust her.”

“Hogswaddle,” Bess said immediately. “It has nothing to do with trust. Lydie trusts me, and I don’t have a clue what the hell she’s up to.” Bess pursed her lips thoughtfully. “But she’s definitely up to something, I’m sure of that.”

Leigh leaned in and lowered her voice still further. “Aunt Bess,” she began uncertainly, “Cara and I were wondering… Do you think there’s any chance that her friend Cynthia… I mean, that maybe Lydie and she…”

“Oh, no,” Bess said sharply. “No, no, no.”

“What?” Leigh argued. “You don’t think it could happen in this family?”

Bess laughed out loud. “Oh, heavens, no. It isn’t
that.
Why, your Great Aunt Myrtle was gay as a maypole. Lived with her ‘friend Ruth’ out in Sharpsburg for fifty-seven years. And don’t you remember our cousin Byron? The one who moved to Florida?”

Leigh thought. “The musician?”

“He was a church organist.”

“Oh.”

Bess chuckled again. “Lydie likes men, kiddo. I’m quite sure of that.”

“Then who the heck has she been seeing?” Leigh demanded.

“Damned if I know,” Bess lamented. “She’s always been miserably secretive, that one. After everything that went down with Mason, she felt so guilty it’s like she chose to be a nun, just to punish herself. Sister Lydie has a serious martyr complex, if you haven’t noticed. Puts everybody else’s happiness first. Now that she’s finally gotten up the nerve to do something for herself, she’s too chicken to admit it. Honestly, kiddo — I don’t even think Francie knows who she’s been seeing.”

The landline rang inside the house, and Leigh jumped up. If she didn’t get there quickly enough, her father would attempt to answer it. She raced around to the kitchen and pulled the headset off its wall cradle just as Randall reached for his second crutch.

“Koslow residence,” she answered.

A strange, high-pitched male voice caterwauled on the other end. “I need to speak to Dr. Koslow!”

“Who is this?” Leigh asked as politely as she could. The person was practically sobbing as they spoke.

“It’s Olan! Please! Put him on, now!” A hysterical gulping noise followed.

“Okay, okay. Just a second.” Leigh pulled the headset down to her chest. “Dad, it’s Olan. He sounds really upset.”

Randall reached for his crutches again. Leigh looked at the coiled leash on the ancient phone with a sigh. It was long enough to stretch to her mother’s cooking area, but not all the way to the table. “Just sit,” Leigh ordered. “I’ll get the other phone.”

She jogged upstairs to the master bedroom, grabbed the portable phone she had given them for Christmas years ago and which they never used, and returned to the kitchen. She could hear Olan sobbing on the other end as soon as she turned it on. “Here,” she said breathlessly, handing the phone to her father. She really did need to exercise more.

“Hello. This is Randall,” her father said calmly.

She could hear Olan squalling even with the receiver to Randall’s ear. The rest of the crowd at the table, including a returning Bess, stopped what they were doing and stared.

“Calm down, Olan,” Randall said after a moment. Then he paused for another long interval while the tinny screeching continued unabated. “Olan!” Randall said finally, his voice firmer. “You shouldn’t be calling me. You should be calling the police.”

Leigh’s eyes sought her daughter’s. She found Allison looking right back at her.
Another petnapping!

“You need to think about why they told you that,” Randall explained evenly, his voice no different than if he were explaining how to trim a nail. “They don’t want anyone to contact the police precisely
because
once that happens, they know they’ll be caught.”

More screeching followed. “Olan,” Randall continued, “they are aware of all that. They will work with you to make sure no one knows you’ve contacted them. That’s part of what they do.” He paused a moment, then grimaced. “No, that will
not
help. Do you want an innocent person hurt? Skippy could go to jail for that.”

“Oh, merciful heavens!” Frances interjected. “Tell him to call the police, Randall!”

Randall nodded to her with a raised palm. “Olan, I’m going to give you a phone number. You know Maura Polanski? Right. Chief Polanski’s daughter. You’re going to call her, and she’s going to walk you through what you should do. She understands the situation, and she’ll make sure—” A particularly high pitched squeal vibrated through the phone, and Randall lowered it briefly, closing his eyes with a sigh. “Olan, listen to me. Maura knows all that. No sirens, no flashing lights. You have to trust the police, Olan. You have to. For Zeus’s sake.”

Allison’s eyes met her mother’s again.
Zeus!
The magnificent cockatoo was Olan’s pride and joy. He had said as much when he was in the clinic just the day before yesterday.
I would die if I lost Zeus, Doc! I would just die!

“That’s right, Olan. Good man. You have something to write with?” Randall looked up at Leigh. She nodded and told him Maura’s number, which he repeated into the phone. “You’re doing the right thing, Olan. Yes, I’m absolutely sure. Okay, Olan. Goodbye, now.”

Randall gave the phone back to Leigh and picked up the hand of cards resting on the table in front of him. “Whose turn is it?”

His question was met with groans. “For pity’s sake, Randall!” Bess chastised. “You have to tell us what the man said!”

Randall looked at the uniformly expectant faces around him and sighed. “His favorite cockatoo disappeared from its cage on his back porch. There was a ransom note threatening him not to tell the police. He’s understandably upset. But he agreed to call Maura. Now, is it my turn?”

The veterinarian would say no more, and one by one the card players picked up their hands and resumed the game.

Leigh drifted back into the living room. Her mind was reeling again, but as her gaze fell on Frances’s perfectly symmetrical color-coded stacks of files, she recognized her window of opportunity.

“I have no idea what you’re doing,” Bess whispered as Leigh began rifling through the stacks. “But something tells me Francie wouldn’t approve, so can I help?”

“I need to sneak a peek at the personnel files,” Leigh whispered back. “While keeping an eye on the kitchen!”

Bess winked back conspiratorially, and the two began the hunt. Within a minute Bess tapped Leigh on the back with a folder. Leigh turned and took it, then flipped through its contents with a smile. She nodded silently to Bess.

“I’ll make sure you’re not disturbed,” Bess whispered, facing toward the kitchen. “But you have to tell me what you find!”

Leigh’s eyes roved over the papers hurriedly. It sounded like the card game was fast nearing its conclusion.

Paige Smyth was 34 years old and lived in an apartment in Avalon. Her emergency contacts included her parents in Irwin and a Steve Hawley, about which she had given no information other than a phone number. She listed her hobbies as animals, skiing, and snowboarding.

Morgan Childress was 24 years old and appeared to still be living with her parents in Mount Lebanon. Her resume went on forever about her bird experience, including the Pittsburgh aviary. She had obviously misunderstood several of the questions. Under “hobbies” she had written “blue” and for “career goal” she had listed some random woman’s name and phone number.

Leigh shook her head and moved on.

Amy Washburn’s personnel forms were equally instructive. She was 62 years old according to her listed birthdate, she gave herself as her own emergency contact, and she supplied her high school name and graduation date in three different places — the latter information serving, at least, to confirm Leigh’s suspicion that her true age was somewhere between 21 and 23. She lived at an indecipherable address in Bellevue that included a 12-digit zip code.

Clearly, the last two had been hired when Randall had no business manager.

Leigh slapped the file closed and handed it back to Bess. “Worthless,” she murmured.

Bess slid the folder back where it belonged and looked at Leigh expectantly. “So, what were we looking for, exactly?”

“I don’t know,” Leigh whispered back. “I’d take anything that would make me suspect one employee over the others.”

Bess’s heavily made-up eyes widened. “Suspect them of what exactly?”

“Colluding with the petnapper,” Leigh confided uncertainly. She still had not managed to completely process Maura’s news about Kyle. Opie the cockatiel had been stolen from Leonard’s house last Friday night. Kyle Claymore had left for Erie sometime on Saturday and had never come back. Mason had found both animals early Monday morning and brought them to her. But Kyle’s apartment had been broken into
after
that, after Kyle was dead and the animals were gone. Why? Was it the loan sharks Mason had mentioned, looking for Kyle… or was it Kyle’s own accomplice, trying to retrieve the bird?

Leigh shuddered. There was no doubt about it — Kyle had to have an accomplice. And that accomplice must have been the one to petnap Lucky, and to steal back the cockatiel, and now to take off with Zeus. But if one of the clinic employees was in league with Kyle, they had to know by now that he was dead, or at least be worried about his disappearance. Yet as far as Leigh could tell, none of the staff seemed in the least upset.

It made no sense. Could there possibly be an entire ring of petnappers, of which their clinic informant was only a part? Was the employee in question not emotionally involved with Kyle at all? Or was she a full-blown sociopath?

Leigh shuddered again. Her past experience with sociopaths had not been pleasant.

“What are you thinking?” Bess demanded.

They could hear chairs scooting back from the kitchen table. The card game was over.

“I’m not sure,” Leigh replied miserably. All at once she felt very, very tired. “But whatever it is, I’ll think about it tomorrow.”

Chapter 19

Tomorrow came entirely too soon. Warren didn’t straggle home until nearly midnight and he fell asleep within seconds of lying down. Leigh hadn’t the heart to wake him, and so had spent much of the night staring at her ceiling again, wondering how anyone at the clinic could be cold-hearted enough to conspire in a petnapping scheme, and wondering further how Mason Dublin could be such a terrible judge of character as to consider Kyle his “buddy.”

She came up with a variety of answers. She didn’t like any of them.

She had finally dropped off in the wee hours of the morning, then woke to find Warren’s side of the bed empty again. Thank goodness this was the last day of his conference. She could have used his help in the speech she was about to give the children, but unfortunately, she had to face them alone.

She took a long drag on her second cup of coffee and looked across the kitchen table at the twins. Ethan was deep into a bowl of sweetened cereal; Allison nibbled on some organic whole grain bread that looked like it was covered with birdseed, one of several healthier (a.k.a. more expensive) food items the girl was now demanding thanks to the influence of her Aunt Cara the earth mother.

“I think it’s best,” Leigh began firmly, “if you guys don’t go in to the clinic today.”

Allison’s head shot up, her dark eyes radiating annoyance. Ethan merely shrugged and dug back into his cereal.

“We weren’t going to anyway,” he said. “We finished up Jared’s stuff yesterday.”

Leigh studied her son. His mop of red hair was standing straight up in the middle of his forehead, and she made a mental note to get it cut again. “I thought that Mathias talked Grandpa into paying you guys to do some work outside tomorrow. That’s what you said at dinner.”