Never Tease a Siamese: A Leigh Koslow Mystery (29 page)

Leigh swallowed. "You didn’t know about the will then, did you?"

Nancy shook her head slowly. "I wasn’t notified about the reading…officially, I mean. I only heard about the 'mystery heir' business when the staff started talking about it."

Leigh’s brow furrowed. She understood that Lilah wanted to offer Nancy the option of preserving her anonymity. But how could Lilah have been sure that her daughter would find out about the will at all? There was certainly a good chance she would, given her current employment and Randall Koslow’s involvement in the inheritance. But it was not a sure thing. What if Nancy had suddenly decided to leave the clinic and go to graduate school out of state?

"I was glad, at first, that she set the will up the way she did," Nancy continued. "Not that it was some great act of kindness on her part, you understand. It was just a dangled carrot. 'Here’s the money, free and clear…you just have to acknowledge me.' Of course, she had no interest in acknowledging
me
. Not while she was alive to suffer the embarrassment."

Oh.
Leigh breathed out in frustration. "I’m sorry, Nancy. I don’t know what to say except that the woman was not only evil—she was a complete idiot. And the more I think about it, the more I believe she and Dean were made for each other." She slumped back over the sink and stared idly at the processor. "You’re like the daughter every woman dreams of. Hell—my own mother would trade me in for you in a minute."

Nancy laughed, and there was another moment of silence. Then her tone grew serious. "I thought maybe the will could be a good thing because all I had to do—it seemed—was nothing. In five years, Dean would get his money and all would be well. I didn’t care in the least if he went through it all in a week. In a way, I’ve always felt sorry for him. He had plenty of money and opportunity, but he never had a Hetta. He was a goofy, undisciplined kid and he grew into a complete jerk. Mrs. Murchison shouldn’t have been surprised."

Leigh sat up a little. "He doesn’t know, then?"

"About me?" Nancy shook her head. "No way. I’m sure he’s as confused about these threats as I am."

The threats
, Leigh remembered painfully. As much as she had learned in the last half hour, she was still no closer to finding the perpetrator.

"Nancy," she began hopefully, "you must have some idea who could be threatening you. Someone, somewhere knows who you are. But how could they?"

Nancy shook her head again. "I have no idea. Mrs. Murchison claimed that no one knew the whole story except my mother and Peggy Linney. There was some doctor—who she was probably also sleeping with—who she paid off to attend the pregnancies and keep his mouth shut. But he had died of a heart attack even before she told me all this. Dean’s birth mother never knew the whole story…I just can’t think of anyone."

"One of those people must have told someone else, then," Leigh thought out loud. Her stomach rolled a little as she faced the fact that Peggy Linney’s death had, almost certainly, been unnaturally hastened. Two women murdered to keep the secret safe; Nancy herself repeatedly, and anonymously, threatened to keep her mouth shut.

"I hate to admit it," Leigh muttered ruefully, "but this person has been fiendishly clever. He—or she—has got you too scared to talk to the police, and they were able to do it without tipping anyone off to your identity." She looked at Nancy. "Did any threats come directly to you? To your apartment?"

She shook her head.

"They wouldn’t," Leigh continued to hypothesize. "If anyone found out about that, it would be a dead giveaway." She thought some more, nibbling nervously on her fingernails. "Silencing Peggy Linney was easy. No one suspected a thing. She didn’t seem like a threat to spill the beans when I talked to her…in fact, she had every motivation not to, if she wanted Dean to inherit. But I’m sure whoever killed her didn’t want to take any chances. Particularly if they found out that she had been meeting secretly with Mrs. Murchison’s lawyer…"

"But explaining my death would be trickier," Nancy finished gravely.

Leigh looked at her sympathetically. It was true. A deceased Nancy, or even a missing Nancy, could lead the police right to the truth. And she was darn lucky that was the case.

"What I’ve worried about," Nancy continued, her voice truly miserable, "was that somebody else at the clinic would get hurt. The threats were clear—it might not be me who paid for my indiscretion. It could be anybody." She swallowed, and her eyes grew moist again. "How was I supposed to handle something like that?"

She was silent for a moment, then wiped her face with a handful of toilet paper and stood up. "All I could do was comply. And I have. But the threats keep coming. And I don’t know where it’s going to end."

Leigh took a deep breath and faced her. "I’ll tell you where it’s going to end. It’s going to end when the police find out who’s behind this. With all the information you’ve just told me, I’m sure they can figure out the rest. It’s the only way."

"No, it’s
not,
" Nancy protested, her eyes resolute. "This person is watching me 24/7. I can feel it. One trip to the police station, and he’s going to retaliate. I can’t have that on my conscience. Don’t you understand?"

"But it has to end
somewhere
," Leigh argued reasonably. "You can’t go on walking on eggshells forever. Maybe this person will make their move for the money in a couple of months, maybe not for a couple of years. Maybe they’re sitting on a big pile of forged documents right now, waiting for just the right time to come forward as Mrs. Murchison’s heir."

"Fine!" Nancy shouted. Then, suddenly fearing they would be overheard, she dropped her voice low again. "I don’t care who gets the money. The sooner the better. Once they have it, they’ll leave me alone."

"No, they
won’t
," Leigh insisted heavily. "You’ll never stop being a threat to them. Once they’ve made their claim, you could come forward at any time and put them behind bars for murder one—never mind the money and the fraud. This person has killed twice already. You think they won’t take you out, too? Years from now, when you least expect it? When the police won’t think twice about the connection anymore?"

Nancy turned away and choked back an anguished groan. Leigh hated badgering her like this, but she had to face the facts. "You have tell the police, Nancy," she finished softly. "You have to."

A long moment passed, and still the other woman did not turn to face her. "If I tell them everything, and they still can’t figure out who’s behind this, then someone else will get hurt."

"You can’t think that way."
"I have to think that way!" Nancy answered immediately, whirling around. "It’s the only thing that matters to me."

"But no one even has to know you’ve talked to the police," Leigh reasoned. "I’ll work it out with Detective Polanski—it can all be concealed. But once the police know that you are the real heir, they’ll be on the alert for a phony one. And as soon as this person makes a move for the inheritance, he’ll be suspect number one. The game will be over."

Nancy thought for a moment, then shook her head firmly. "What makes you so sure that this person’s game is to claim the inheritance for themself? We don’t know that. Maybe what this person really wants is for Dean to inherit. I’m not saying Dean or Rochelle are responsible, because I don’t believe they are. But maybe this person has plans to bilk them out of their money. God knows it wouldn’t be difficult.

"Or what about your father and the millions he would control? Perhaps they plan to get the money by cooking up some elaborate fake cat charity. Or maybe—" She exhaled sharply. "Maybe they just don’t want me to have it. My point is, we don’t know. And if you’re wrong, going to the police could backfire."

She faced Leigh squarely. "I’ve given this a lot of thought already. And the only thing I can do is this: play along. No one else can ever know who I really am."

Leigh plopped back down on the sink. Regrettably, Nancy had a point. She thought hard, until inspiration dawned. "All right," she said firmly, grabbing Nancy by the arms. "Think about this. The gist of the threats is that you are not to admit that you are Lilah Murchison’s daughter. Right? But what if you could refuse the inheritance
without
admitting it?

"I’d have to check with the lawyer," Leigh continued rapidly, "but I bet that you can stake your claim as her heir—confidentially—without any need for your identity to become public. You could refuse all rights to the money, and the will could go straight into probate. You will have kept your part of the bargain, because you will not—at least as far as this person will know—have ever gone to the police. And yet, if the plan was for this person to present himself or herself as the heir, it will be a moot point. If their plan was to steal money from Dean or my dad—let them try. The police will be waiting. And if their only goal was to keep the money away from you—they will have succeeded."

She paused for a much needed breath. "So they’ll have no reason to hurt anybody."

Nancy’s eyes brightened, but only for a second. "But how can I know they wouldn’t retaliate still?" she argued. "Who’s to say this person doesn’t already have a screw loose? If they lost the money one way or the other, they could still hurt me—or anyone else—just out of spite."

"If they’re acting irrationally," Leigh insisted, "they could hurt anybody at any time anyway, no matter what you do."

Nancy had no response to that.

"You’ve got to play it smart," Leigh continued. "And this makes sense."

There was still no response.

"Nancy?" Leigh prompted. "If I set up a discreet meeting with Maura Polanski, will you talk to her?"

The other woman let out her breath with a shudder. "I want to know if it’s possible to refuse the inheritance and remain anonymous. Can you ask the lawyer if he’ll do that?"

"You really need to talk to the police."

"I want to talk to the lawyer first," Nancy insisted. "But I won’t talk to him unless he agrees to keep my name out of it. Can you ask him?"

"If I do, then you’ll talk to the police as well?"

"Only if there’s no way anyone can possibly find out."

"I understand."

The women exchanged glances. Nancy moved past Leigh and opened the door. "The sooner the better," she whispered over her shoulder, straightening her hair and wiping her eyes again. "I have a bad feeling about this."

Chapter 22

Leigh flipped through the phone book that was stashed under the counter in the treatment room, located William Sheridan’s number, and dialed. She had no time to
waste; it was almost five o’clock, and he might very well be on his way out the door already.

"Sheridan," a brusque voice responded.

"Hello, Mr. Sheridan. It’s Leigh Koslow," she began, trying her best to sound polite. The grumpy lawyer had never seemed to like her, and this particular request was definitely pushing her luck. "I’m glad you’re still in the office—"

"I’m on my way out. Call the office tomorrow morning, please."

"I’m afraid this is urgent," she responded firmly. "I need to ask you a question about the Murchison will. It has to do with the unknown heir—"

"Ms. Koslow," Sheridan said with a sigh, unable—or more likely, unwilling—to conceal his annoyance. "You seem to have misunderstood my role as regards the Murchison estate. I have been paid to clarify issues for the beneficiaries and to determine the legitimacy of any potential claimants. I am not obligated to answer questions from outside parties based solely on curiosity."

Leigh squeezed the phone as hard as she could and counted to five. It was one of many anti-detonation techniques she had mastered over the years—an essential skill when growing up with Frances Koslow as a mother. "Mr. Sheridan," she continued, keeping her voice serious, but pleasant. "I have been in contact with Mrs. Murchison’s legitimate heir. The questions I need to ask you are on their behalf, not mine. Surely you could wait at your office just a few minutes? I can be there in five."

There was a short pause. "Sorry. I’m on my way to another appointment."

"When do you expect you’ll be back, then?" Leigh pressed. "Should I wait at your office?"

"I wasn’t going back to the office," he practically growled. "My business is in the North Hills."

"Fine—I can meet you up there afterwards. Just name a time and place."

There was another pause, punctuated by grumbling. "North Park, then. I’ll look for you by the North Carolina Pavilion. But if you’re not there, I’m driving on."

"Fabulous. What time?"

"Just wait for me."

The line went dead, and Leigh glared at the receiver. With all due respect to her father, Mrs. Murchison had an uncanny ability to surround herself with the socially maladjusted.

She hung up and dialed Maura’s cell phone, willing the detective to actually pick up this time. Though Maura always had her phone with her, she turned it to voice-mail mode whenever she was working. That was how it had been all afternoon, and that’s how it still was. Leigh exhaled in frustration as she waited for the beep. "Maura—it’s me again. Listen, the chest is at my house now, and you need to come pick it up."