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

by Edie Claire

  “Sorry,” Leigh said genuinely. It would be a tough couple weeks for Randall, who was used to working long hours in his veterinary domain, then escaping to his basement workshop at home to putter. Enforced rest and excessive togetherness with an equally incapacitated Frances would surely take their toll. Leigh resolved to take him out for a long drive over the weekend.

  “To answer your question,” Randall replied, “no. I can only think of two feline amputees that are living now. One’s a Persian that had cancer and the other is a black shorthair that got run over by an ATV. But as I told Allison, one of the other vets could have seen the cat.”

  “Allison?” Leigh asked. “When did she ask you about it?”

  “A couple days ago.”

  Of course she had. Most likely Allison had also already asked the other vets about Peep, and checked the computer to see if Kyle Claymore was in the client database.

  Paige entered from the waiting room leading an older woman who carried a geriatric dachshund wrapped in a blanket. Leigh nodded a farewell to her father and scooted out the other exit, just passing Allison as the girl hurried back to the exam rooms with a new box of syringes. Leigh walked down the stairs, hoping to find some relative quiet in her father’s office. She passed by the refrigerator and nearly tripped over a pair of legs sticking out in the floor beside it. “Ethan?”

  The boy sat up. He had been wiping down the side of the fridge with a rag. Leigh smiled to herself. “Jared getting near the end of his list, huh?”

  Ethan rolled his eyes. “I hope so. Jared’s a nice guy, but geez. He’s as bad a clean freak as Grandma!”

  Leigh chuckled. That was a strong statement, indeed. “What’s Matt doing?”

  “Wiping out the bottom of the freezer,” Ethan answered. Then his face soured. “Man, is he in a mood.”

  “What happened?”

  Ethan’s eyes rolled again. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Kirsten, of course. Her boyfriend picked her up. In a car.”

  “Ouch,” Leigh agreed, feeling her nephew’s pain. With good looks and a rich family to his credit, Matthias was ultimately unlikely to suffer much in the romance department. But there was only so much a guy straight out of the eighth grade could do when his competition had a driver’s license.

  “Carry on,” she advised, moving into Randall’s office. She plopped down in her father’s chair and closed her eyes. Kyle Claymore. He lived in an apartment in Bellevue and played professional poker. She got the impression from Mason that he was young, maybe in his twenties. She’d had the same impression of the guy who broke in the kitchen window. Mason said he was in financial straits, perfect motive for moonlighting as a petnapper. But how had he known that the cockatiel was at her parents’ house? Mason hadn’t even known.

  Kyle had to have some connection to the clinic. Most likely, a willing accomplice.

  Leigh went over the payroll in her mind, starting at the top. Her father’s two associate veterinarians, Dr. McCoy and Dr. Stallions, were above suspicion. Both women had been with her father for over a decade, and both were in their forties and married. She also ruled out Jeanine, who had been with Randall since the dinosaurs roamed. Nora, the other longtime technician, was also above suspicion, even if she hadn’t been on vacation the last week. And of course Jared was innocent. He was far too honest to cooperate with such a scheme willingly, and anyone trying to pry information out of him by trickery was doomed to disappointment. Jared had the importance of privacy drilled into him at an early age by his overprotective little sister Nicki, and any question he deemed the slightest bit suspect was met with a firm and mechanical, “I’ve got nothing to say about that.”

  There hadn’t been a business manager in house for months, and they were down one part-time receptionist as well. That left the two veterinary assistants, Paige and Morgan, and the full-time receptionist, Amy.

  Leigh picked up a pencil and tapped it on a notepad. Paige was over thirty, but the other two appeared to be somewhere in their twenties. None of them were married; any of the three could be dating — or at least consorting with — the likes of Kyle Claymore. Paige had been with the clinic a few years, but the younger girls were both relatively new hires. Leigh could consider all the other youngish staff who had worked at the clinic at one time or other and still occasionally dropped by, but then she would lose her mind. There were far too many of them. Besides, whoever had told Kyle that the cockatiel was headed for Dr. Koslow’s house in West View must have been in the clinic on Tuesday.

  Even then, Leigh thought with frustration, as much as one lutino looked like another, how could they possibly be sure that the bird Leigh had brought in was the same bird Mason had taken from Kyle’s place? Maybe the kids were talking about “Grandpa Mason” and were overheard. Or maybe someone recognized the cage.

  A shiver slid down her spine. If that was the case, the informant wasn’t just passing along random tidbits on clients and their proclivities unawares. They must have actually seen the stolen bird while it was in Kyle’s possession.

  Leigh set down the pencil and pulled over the keyboard and mouse of her father’s ancient desk computer. She typed in his personal password (which had been the same for years), pulled up a search engine, and typed in Kyle Claymore’s name. It was a relatively uncommon one, and she zoned in quickly on the most likely prospect.

  Kyle Claymore had a Facebook page. Although it hadn’t been updated in ages, some basic information was readily attainable. He had started community college in Butler County, but never finished his degree. He had played online poker all through his late teens and early twenties, and when that industry was shut down, he had moved into casinos. He was not into posting pictures of himself, but preferred screenshots of poker plays. He was a man of few words who would now be in his late twenties.

  And other than the Facebook page, he had not left much of a footprint online. At least not under his real name.

  Leigh pulled up the clinic software and ran a quick search on his name in the client database. There were no hits. She logged off the computer and began tapping with her pencil again.

  Paige, Morgan, and Amy. Could it really be one of them?

  It seemed unlikely. Yet she could not rule any of them out.

  A tall, solidly built man with a full head of blond hair and bright blue eyes appeared in the doorway. “Hello, Leigh Koslow.”

  “Hello, Jared,” Leigh responded.

  “It’s dirty in here, Leigh Koslow.”

  Leigh looked around. Now that he mentioned it, there was an unusually thick layer of dust over her father’s office. She knew that Jared had been forbidden to touch Randall’s files or disturb things on his desk, but surely he still cleaned around them?

  “Dr. Koslow told me to leave this room alone, Leigh Koslow. I don’t clean in here anymore.”

  Leigh considered the odd instruction, then smirked. Perhaps, with clean freaks constantly scouring both his home and his clinic, Randall had decided he needed one oasis of human normality. That explained the filthy files, anyway.

  “Jared,” Leigh inquired, changing the subject. “Have you heard anybody around here mentioning the name Kyle lately?”

  “Yes, Leigh Koslow,” he said immediately.

  She straightened. “Who?”

  “Allison and Matthias and Ethan.”

  She slumped back in her chair again. “Oh. Do you know anyone named Kyle?”

  He blinked at her a moment. “I’ve got nothing to say about that.”

  Leigh sighed. “Thanks anyway, Jared.”

  He whirled on his heel and walked away. Leigh’s eyes rested on the file cabinet where her father kept his personnel records. She knew she shouldn’t, although that technicality had never stopped her before. Still, what good would it do? None of the unmarried women were going to list a significant other’s name on their employment applications. Then again, they could list an emergency contact…

  She rose from the chair and moved toward the cabinet, only to no
tice that the drawer in question was sticking out a little. She pulled on it. It was empty.

  Frances.

  Leigh’s phone rang. She answered. “It’s me,” Cara’s voice said apologetically. “Look, if you’re home working, do not worry about this. But your mom really seems to want the contents of the bottom file drawer in your dad’s office. She’s muttering about ‘organizational continuity’ and she’s gone absolutely bonkers with those color-coded folder labels she sent Aunt Bess out for—”

  “No problem,” Leigh resolved. “I’m in the office now, actually. I’ll drop them by.” And maybe look at some of the others while I’m there?

  Leigh finished the call and looked around for a box to transport the contents of the bottom file drawer. The prospects had already been picked over, and she found nothing until she got to the freezer room in the back corner of the basement, where one limp, oversized box sat on top of the recyclable bin, waiting to be crushed. She grabbed it and left the room, opting not to speak to Matthias, who muttered darkly to himself as he wiped out the deep freeze.

  Leigh loaded up the desired files, slipped out the basement door, and climbed the steps to the parking lot. Allison was there, waving as a car pulled away. It was the elderly woman who had brought in the dachshund, and Leigh assumed Allison had helped her to get her pet back into the car. Leigh studied her daughter thoughtfully.

  “Allison,” she asked quietly, setting down the box. “You don’t happen to know whether Amy or Paige or Morgan are dating any mystery men that might be our friend Kyle, do you?”

  Allison smiled smugly. She took a quick look around for listening ears. “Paige has been living with a guy named Steve for, like, years. Amy and Morgan don’t have boyfriends, but Morgan goes out a lot.” Her dark eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. “Anything else you want to know?”

  Leigh’s teeth gritted. “Have you found any link between Kyle and anybody at the clinic?”

  Allison shook her head. “Not yet.”

  Leigh picked up the box again. She wasn’t sure what to say. “Carry on” would be too permissive. But “be careful” was too… well, too Frances.

  “I’ll… uh, see you later,” she said lamely. She drove the files back to her parents’ house and parked in the street again. She was beginning to feel like she’d done nothing all week but drive in circles.

  Probably because she hadn’t. The few hours she had spent staring at real work from Hook, Inc., her advertising agency, had been next to worthless. Her mind was hopelessly distracted, and she was relieved that she had scheduled herself so lightly this week. Although she’d had no premonition of the current level of chaos, the prospect of Frances’s bunion surgery alone had been daunting enough to plan for a mental health break.

  She walked into her parents’ living room to find her mother more deeply buried in paperwork than ever. The bed itself was now covered with stacks of files, as well as the card table and the floor. Each stack was aligned relative to the others with perfect symmetry, the labels making a pleasing spectrum of color.

  “Oh goody!” Frances said delightedly, looking at the box in Leigh’s arms. “Now everything will be complete!”

  Leigh set the box down in front of her mother, and Frances rubbed her hands together. Leigh slowly backed away.

  “I’m afraid to go back in there,” she whispered to Cara when she reached the kitchen. “I’m afraid she’ll start explaining what she’s doing.”

  Cara smiled tiredly as she wiped down the spotless countertop. “Your fear is wise.”

  Leigh’s phone made a siren sound. She looked down to see a terse, three-word text from Maura, asking for Leigh’s location. She answered, but received no further response.

  The exchange did not bode well.

  Leigh looked up at her cousin, and her anxiety increased. Cara’s normally peachy complexion seemed flushed. “Are you okay?”

  “What?” Cara stared at her a moment, then shook her head. “Sorry. I guess I’m not feeling so great, actually.” She paused a moment. “Mom finally got around to answering my texts.”

  Sensing an issue, Leigh dropped into a kitchen chair, and Cara immediately sank down beside her. “What’s up?” Leigh asked.

  Cara sighed. “I don’t know. She hardly said anything. It seems like she’s so busy — or preoccupied — that she can’t be bothered.”

  Leigh remembered having the same impression when she’d answered the call from Lydie earlier in the week. She waited.

  Cara sighed again. “I guess I’m just having trouble dealing with the fact that she doesn’t trust me.”

  “Trust you?” Leigh repeated, confused.

  “Well, why else would she insist on keeping her romantic life such a huge secret?” Cara whispered. “Does she really think I couldn’t control myself from running off to tell Aunt Frances? Why can’t she just be honest with me? Throughout my entire adult life I’ve kept asking her if she isn’t lonely, if she doesn’t miss having a significant other…” Cara’s voice broke. Her face was etched with hurt. “She knows I’m not judgmental about… that sort of thing. So why can’t she talk to me?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t understand it, either,” Leigh replied. But she did have a theory. “I bet it’s not really about your reaction, or even my mom’s, so much as how your mom feels about herself. You know the history — she went completely postal when Mason was running from the law, and the excuse she always gave for covering the whole thing up was that she said she didn’t want you to suffer the stigma of being a criminal’s daughter. But it was really about her overcompensating because she felt like she’d failed you as a mother.”

  Cara nodded. “I know that’s probably the root of it. But her feeling like she has to be perfect all the time just to keep from disappointing me is so damn irritating.”

  Leigh smiled. “Yeah? Try having a mother who expects you to be perfect all the time.”

  Cara chuckled, even as her eyes glistened with moisture.

  Leigh felt another wave of dread. She needed to tell both her mother and Cara that the cockatiel was home with its real owner and that all was well — at least from the bird’s standpoint. But telling them that the bird had been petnapped originally would implicate Mason as an accessory, which would upset Cara all over again. Never mind subjecting her to Frances’s predictable reaction.

  An unpleasant noise from the second floor delayed the issue. “Lenna?” Cara said worriedly, rising. Leigh followed her cousin up the stairs to discover a miserable-looking Lenna hanging over the bathroom sink. The poor girl had been sick. And she was still sick.

  “I told you I wasn’t faking it, Mom,” Lenna gasped.

  Cara felt her daughter’s forehead. “You’re feverish.”

  Leigh stepped up and put her own hand on Cara’s flushed forehead. “So are you,” she announced. “I bet you’ve both caught that bug Gil brought home from Houston.”

  Cara nodded with unhappy acquiescence.

  “Take Lenna home,” Leigh instructed. “I’ll stay here.”

  “But I was supposed to make dinner for everybody,” Cara protested weakly.

  “I’ll manage,” Leigh lied, wondering if her favorite Chinese place delivered this far south.

  “The chicken is already in the marinade,” Cara instructed, “and for the vegetables, all you have to do is—”

  Cara looked like she was about to imitate her daughter.

  “On second thought, just relax,” Leigh ordered. “I’ll call Gil to pick up the both of you.”

  A half hour later, Leigh waved goodbye as Gil’s Lexus pulled away from the curb with two unhappy passengers holding plastic trash bags in their laps. Neither she nor Frances commented on the risk of the bug spreading any further in the family. Under the circumstances, it was too horrible to contemplate.

  Before Leigh could close the front door, Maura’s car pulled up into the space Gil’s had just left. The policewoman unfolded her long legs from the too-small car and walked over.

 
“Where’s Eddie?” Leigh questioned, her anxiety increasing.

  “Asleep,” Maura answered, reaching her. “Neighbor’s watching him.” Her eyes flickered toward the house, and Leigh let the half-open door swing shut. This wasn’t good.

  “What’s happened?” Leigh whispered.

  “It looks like we’ve been barking up the wrong tree,” Maura said soberly. “It couldn’t possibly have been Kyle Claymore who broke into this house last night.”

  “And why not?” Leigh asked.

  “Because he’s dead,” Maura answered. “He was murdered four days ago.”

  Chapter 18

  “Come on, kiddo,” Bess said affectionately, putting a hand on Leigh’s arm. “Let’s go sit outside a minute and cool down. It’s hot as Hades in here.”

  Leigh shut the dishwasher door and punched the start button, then looked over her shoulder at the crowd gathered around the kitchen table. Matthias had talked her parents into joining the kids in a game of Rage while Leigh and Bess cleaned up the dinner dishes. Everyone knew that Mathias was not so much interested in entertaining Randall and Frances as he was in avoiding going home to a sick mother and sister, but whatever his motivation, Leigh was glad. The group was laughing and having a good time, and she felt like anything but.

  “Come on,” Bess repeated, heading toward the front porch.

  Leigh followed. She was feeling very kindly disposed toward her aunt at the moment. As soon as Cara reported her illness, Bess had come to Leigh’s rescue, picking up the crew at the clinic, making dinner for everyone, and then offering to stay another night. “You have kids,” Bess had insisted with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I only have the cats at home, and as much as I’d like to believe otherwise, the creatures are horridly self-sufficient. Ever since I got the automatic feeder they barely bother to yawn when I come home.” Leigh doubted the truth of that statement, but hadn’t argued. Since the cockatiel was no longer in residence at the Koslow house, Bess had brought her dog Chester along, which Leigh knew would be helpful on two counts. One, because Bess wouldn’t feel guilty about the elderly Pekingese mix being alone so much, and two, because his profuse shedding would give all of Frances’s caretakers something real to clean.