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

by Edie Claire

  Lydie looked at Leigh curiously.

  “My mother’s standards of perfection are high,” Leigh explained. “Frances herself is the gold standard for women everywhere, of course. But you’re the next best thing, with Cara coming in a close second. The only thing you ever did that she didn’t approve of was to marry Mason, and in her mind, that ruined your life. She sees his influence as the antithesis of her own. In the black and white world of Frances Koslow, he is an evil that it is her job to vanquish… and she is determined not to fail you.”

  Lydie winced. “Good Lord, that’s dramatic.”

  Leigh grinned. “You know I’m right.”

  “But what can I do?” Lydie shot back. “Other than choose between them? Again? That picture you painted doesn’t leave much room for compromise.”

  “That isn’t your problem,” Leigh insisted. “She doesn’t get to decide who you love. You make that decision; her job is to deal with it.”

  Lydie huffed. “She won’t deal with it. She’s absolutely refused to spend any time with him since he’s come back. She can’t be bothered to get to know the man he is now.”

  “So give her a reason to!” Leigh fired back. “Stand up to her. Tell her that Mason is a part of your life now, whether she likes it or not. Then she’ll have no choice but to make the effort!”

  Lydie drew in a long, tired breath.

  “You do not need to choose between them,” Leigh finished gently. “The only choice is my mother’s. She has to decide whether being your sister is more important than being Mason Dublin’s enemy. And we both know what she’s going to pick.”

  Lydie looked up with a guarded expression.

  “Eventually,” Leigh added.

  Lydie smiled back. “I hope you’re right.”

  Leigh stood. “So,” she pressed playfully. “Where have you been all day? And all last weekend? You went to quite an effort to pull off this ruse.”

  Lydie grinned. “You have no idea. Our daughter is too smart by half and must be part bloodhound. We’ve had more than a few narrow escapes.”

  Leigh smirked. The thought of Mason climbing out her aunt’s window and sliding down the drainpipe as Cara walked in the front door calling, “Mom! The kids are here!” was really too funny. But that had probably never happened. Having Frances living next door 24/7 must have scaled back the couple’s options considerably.

  “I did go to the historical symposium,” Lydie defended. “For the weekend, anyway. I flew out of Harrisburg to take the cruise, which is why I had to drive back down the Turnpike just now.”

  “And the pawnbrokers’ convention?” Leigh asked.

  “It’s been happening in Las Vegas all week. But I’m afraid Mason never had any intention of going.”

  Lydie’s tone held just enough smugness that Leigh wondered if her aunt didn’t actually enjoy the sneaking around… just a bit. Mason had called Lydie “an adventurer,” and as Leigh studied the twinkle in her aunt’s eye and the pinkish flush to her cheeks, she knew he was telling the truth.

  It was disturbing how long one could know a person without really knowing them. Or rather, without seeing them as someone else might.

  “Well, take your time coming over,” Leigh offered, moving toward the door. “Relax, unwind.”

  Lydie looked like she was trying not to laugh. After a moment, Leigh realized why. Her aunt had never looked more “unwound” in her life.

  Chapter 24

  It was past dark when Leigh finally made her way out the door of her parents’ house, setting off to drive yet another West View/Avalon loop before heading back up to the North Hills and home. The fact that she could make the drive in her sleep was fortunate, because doing so might be necessary. She yawned as she parked her van across the street from the clinic, hopped out, and made her way toward the basement door.

  She didn’t carry keys to the clinic. Since the last break-in a decade ago, no one did, except her father. After-hours visits were always made through the basement door, where a staff key was cleverly hidden in a slot behind an electrical box. Randall didn’t worry that an intruder would find the key, because unless he or she proceeded immediately to the security panel upstairs and punched in the proper code, the police would be arriving shortly. And the code itself was changed on a regular basis by Jeanine, who would write each new creation down on a special card she inserted into the veterinarian’s wallet. The system worked brilliantly as long as Randall remembered to check the card.

  Tonight, doing so had been Leigh’s job, and she repeated the numbers in her brain as she jogged down the stairs, unlocked the door, and replaced the key. 8258, 8258… She slipped inside and locked the door behind her, then headed up the stairs. 8258…

  Leigh didn’t pause to switch on the lights, as she could see well enough by the emergency lighting and was anxious to get to the panel in time. She had made way too many mortified calls to the Avalon PD over the years explaining how a false alarm was the result of her either forgetting the code, tripping on the staircase, or chasing a wayward young twin across the parking lot.

  8258. Leigh reached the security panel and pressed in the code. It took her several seconds to realize that the monitor screen was blank. She frowned and looked at the power light, which generally glowed green.

  It was dark.

  Leigh swore and looked around her. She saw no evidence of a power failure. The autoclave light was on and the refrigerator was chugging.

  Well, that’s just friggin’ fabulous, she muttered to herself. The last thing Randall needed to worry about tonight was a problem with his security system. The timing was wretched in any event, with the police definitively linking the petnappings to the clinic. If word got out about a security failure on top of that grim note, no one would ever leave a pet overnight again.

  Leigh continued to mutter as she flipped on the lights and scouted the treatment room and pharmacy countertops. Her father could have taken the cell phone out of his pocket anywhere, including the bathroom. Surely someone on staff had noticed it after he left? In which case, where would they put it?

  She flipped off the lights in the back and turned on those in the reception room. Randall’s cell phone was not on the main desk, or in its drawers, or even in the secret cash compartment under the ledgers. Leigh slammed the last drawer shut again. She felt uneasy, and that annoyed her. It was ridiculous for her to be afraid of being in the clinic alone at night. Her father did it frequently, as had she herself countless times before. So what if the security panel was down? All the doors were locked. And she would be out again in a matter of seconds.

  Provided she could find the damn phone.

  She raised her head and looked around the waiting room. She opened her mouth to direct a question to the empty yellow chair in the corner, then chuckled at herself. Mrs. Gregg’s chair might as well have her name on it, as often as the woman was in residence. No doubt the lonely widow knew that Randall had gone home sick today. She might actually even know where he left his…

  Leigh froze. Her gaze remained fixed on the chair. It was the nearest chair to the reception desk. It was also the closest chair to the door of exam room #1, where Randall had parked himself since his injury.

  Was it possible?

  Her mind quickly ran through the information their petnapper needed to know — information that could have come from watching the clinic from the outside.

  Or, Leigh thought with a sharp pang of anxiety, it could have come from sitting right there.

  Mrs. Gregg? A petnapper? It was inconceivable. Partly because she was too darn sweet. Partly because she had no motive. And partly because her hair was in a bob and her short, roundish body could under no circumstances have been the intruder Leigh saw hanging through her parents’ window.

  But did all those “partlies” add up to a whole? Mrs. Gregg could have been the accomplice. The informant. The one who knew which clients were vulnerable and how much each had to spend. The one who knew that Lucky was headed back home a
gain. And that the cockatiel was going to Randall’s house.

  It was possible. But was it likely?

  Leigh searched her mind for everything she knew about the woman. Mrs. Gregg was somewhere in her fifties. She lived within walking distance of the clinic. She was always spoken of fondly by others, although it was often in a hushed, empathetic tone because her husband had died young of cancer, and their only son had gone to—

  Crap!

  The memory galvanized her instantly. She moved into the exam room and flipped on the lights. Where was that dratted phone? Had her father been in here when he got sick? If so, it was probably still sitting on the counter…

  She searched the room with a growing sense of urgency, even as she willed herself to remain calm. She was in no immediate danger. She just needed to find the phone and get back to her father.

  The phone wasn’t there. Leigh swore out loud again, then quickly checked the other exam rooms. The clinic always felt eerie when it was quiet, and tonight it seemed deathly so. The two cats in their cages in the recovery room had taken no notice of her as she passed by, nor did whatever rabbit, ferret, or guinea pig was sleeping in its nest box in the kennel on the floor. Dogs usually barked when someone came in at night, but at the moment there were none to oblige.

  Leigh headed back down the stairs. If someone else found Randall’s phone, perhaps they would put it on his desk in the basement. She moved quickly down the steps, around the corner, and past the row of extra-large dog runs that led back to her father’s office. A relic from the bygone days when the clinic had doubled as a boarding facility, the runs had more space than most sick pets needed and were now used mainly for storage. The last run held old newspapers for the cage bottoms, and Leigh noticed as she passed it that Jared’s usually ordered stacks were jumbled. Blaming Ethan and Mathias, she made a mental note to question them later. But she didn’t stop walking. She wanted to find the blasted phone and get out of here.

  Mrs. Gregg’s son, she pondered, switching on her father’s office light. She could remember the woman mentioning him just a few days ago, when Maura was in the waiting room. My Jonathan, the widow had said fondly. He always cried when strangers talked to him. Somehow, when Mrs. Gregg said those words, Leigh had thought of a shy little toddler.

  Aha! Leigh pounced on the phone on her father’s desk with glee. It was sitting right in the middle of the newly cleared workspace, and she berated herself for not checking his office first. Her father might not be able to get down here himself on crutches, but it was still a logical place for someone on the staff to put his belongings.

  She pocketed the phone, flipped off the light, and turned to leave. Then she heard the sound of a key turning in a lock.

  She stopped her breath. The sound was coming from the far side of the basement. From the same door she had come through.

  She heard the pop of a metal door opening. Then the swish of rubber weather-stripping sliding along the concrete floor.

  Footsteps.

  Leigh released her breath as quietly as possible. There was no reason to panic. Whoever had walked in obviously knew where the key was hidden and was probably supposed to be here. They would be heading up the stairs any second to punch in the code, and once they were overhead, Leigh would hasten herself out. That way she would be covered on the extremely small off-chance that said person wasn’t supposed to be here.

  The footsteps moved slowly. They stopped now and then. Whoever had entered seemed in no rush to get up the stairs.

  Did they know that the security system was down?

  Leigh shivered at the thought, but could not rule it out. The petnapper did seem to know everything else about the clinic… and its clients.

  Thanks to dear, sweet Mrs. Greg, Leigh thought to herself miserably. That poor, lonely woman whose only son had gone to jail…

  The beam of a moving flashlight reflected off the ceiling outside Randall’s office.

  …for beating his girlfriend to death with a shovel.

  Chapter 25

  Leigh remained still. The irony was great, given how frequently the chorus of barking in the basement could break an eardrum, that it was now so quiet she feared to move.

  She tried to come up with a nonthreatening explanation.

  Maybe Jeanine or Dr. Stallions had noticed a problem with the system when they locked up. They had called the company and a friendly technician had just arrived.

  Nice try. No way would anyone on staff do such a thing without notifying Randall, or at least asking Frances to do so. But no one from the clinic had called all afternoon.

  The narrow beam continued moving, and Leigh’s heart began to pound. Strike two. Anyone with authorization to be here, including a technician, would have no reason to use a penlight. They would simply flip the wall switch.

  Jonathan Gregg.

  Leigh had never met him. She would not remember who he was now had his conviction not been front-page news at the time. Everyone at the clinic had felt terribly for his mother, who had seemed both heartbroken and bewildered. Maybe if his father were still alive, the gossipmongers had theorized. But she couldn’t control him. Poor Mrs. Gregg. Poor, poor woman.

  The light moved away again. Leigh began to relax, then heard the sound of a cage door clanging.

  She tensed all over again. This was no burglar out for drugs or cash. The intruder was looking for something in particular. Something he expected to find in a cage?

  Leigh conjured a mental picture of Mrs. Gregg. Short, frumpy, sweet-natured. She had seemed as happy as anyone when Skippy rallied the community to catch the petnapper. Could her warm smile and slightly dim manner be an act? Was she desperate to help a son paroled — or possibly escaped — from prison? Was he giving her any choice?

  The footsteps came closer again. Leigh’s breath shuddered. From what reflections she could see, the flashlight beam seemed to be drifting over the empty dog runs.

  What animal was he looking for? Leigh hadn’t noticed any patients in the basement earlier. The surgeries had all gone home now; the sick animals were kept upstairs.

  Was he looking for an animal at all?

  Leigh struggled to control her breathing. It sounded like she was wheezing.

  Wait. Was that her breathing? Or was that tinny, muffled, TV-volume-down-all-the-way sound coming from him?

  A creak sounded at the bottom of the stairs, and Leigh’s taut shoulders slumped with relief. She was only imagining things. The intruder wasn’t closer; he was farther away. He was climbing the steps now.

  And as soon as he was up them, she would be free. She would run for the door and call the cops the second she was safe. She didn’t need to understand what was happening; she only needed to get the hell outside.

  If only he wouldn’t notice her on the way up. When he reached the halfway point, he would technically be able to see her, but she consoled herself with the fact that she was in darkness. The dim glow of the emergency lights only lit up the steps and the exit route. She would be able to see him as he came up the stairs, but he shouldn’t be able to see her.

  Unless, of course, he decided to shine his light right at her.

  Don’t breathe!

  The figure moved into view. Leigh willed her heart to stop thumping so loudly. It disobeyed her.

  Step. Step.

  She saw his face first. And she really wished she hadn’t. His hood was down, and the strange light made his skin glow a yellowish orange. His dark hair was long and pulled into a band at the base of his neck. His lower lip was swollen and the whole right side of his jaw looked puffy. His chin and neck bore multiple scratches. His left nostril was an amorphous blob of swollen tissue and dried blood.

  Leigh choked back a cry of horror. Don’t shine the light here, don’t shine the light here…

  The figure passed. The footsteps stopped; the doorknob at the top of the steps squeaked slightly. Leigh swore she could hear the man breathe again.

  The door swung open. Footsteps moved on int
o the treatment room. Leigh allowed herself one good drag of oxygen. Surely he would head straight for the kennels now. She prepared to make her move.

  As soon as his footsteps moved from the doorway overhead she tiptoed the first few feet out of the office and into the corridor between the staircase and the dog runs.

  She heard a noise and stopped again. Another door had just swung open.

  The basement door that she was headed for.

  One of Maura Polanski’s favorite curse words echoed inside her head.

  Leigh looked to her right and left. It was hopeless. Scarface, whoever he was, was most definitely not supposed to be here. But the person who’d just entered wasn’t either. And this one didn’t even have a penlight. The basement door had popped open as quietly as it was possible to pop it, and the few footsteps that followed had gone nowhere. Criminal Number Two, as far as Leigh could tell, was doing nothing but standing quietly by the door.

  She could not run out of the basement. She could not run up the stairs. She could not make the slightest sound, and she could not stay where she was. If the silent doorman decided to move, he would spot her as soon as he rounded the corner. She could backtrack into her father’s office, but if anyone bothered to search it they were bound to find her, because there was absolutely nowhere inside of it to hide.

  Could she hide anywhere else? An idea formed in her mind just as the sounds started up again. The ceiling creaked as the man upstairs walked, and the footsteps across the basement began to move as well. Leigh didn’t bother thinking through the rest of her plan. She used the cover of other sounds to pivot and slip through the door of the paper run.

  A rough hand grabbed her and covered her mouth; another coiled around her waist.

  She decided it was okay to panic now.

  “Don’t scream!” a male voice hissed in her ear, just as she freed a hand to poke at the nearest eyeball. “We’re the police! It’s a sting!”