by Edie Claire
Chester hopped back up onto Bess's lap immediately, burrowed his wet fur under the crook of her arm, and whined.
"Perhaps a little air conditioning, Cara?" Leigh panted from the middle seat.
Cara's brow furrowed. "Just open the windows a crack," she suggested. "No need to pollute the planet."
Cara turned the key, and the women all lowered their windows as much as possible without soaking the upholstery. Leigh made a mental note to bring her own van next time.
The bloodhound sneezed.
Leigh changed her mind.
It had been a trying evening all around, after they had arrived with such high hopes. Gil had remembered seeing a young woman with two babies in a stroller, and the rain seemed to let up just as they set out to find her. But the lull was only temporary, and the park had proved nearly deserted anyway. Now it was pouring again and growing darker. No woman in her right mind would have her babies out tonight.
Leigh had rarely seen Cara in a fouler mood.
"I hope they do it soon," Bess continued, looking at Leigh. "I had just moved all that equipment out to the pond when they called, and then I had to move it back again! Not that I was doing anything illegal, mind you—"
Frances snorted. "Certainly that would never happen."
Bess ignored her. "But I prefer to keep my little spy camera a secret, for now." She winked at Leigh. "We wouldn't want the feral cats to catch on, would we?"
Frances drew in a breath as if to say something else, but Lydie mercifully interrupted. "But what could the police be looking for in the pond?"
"The gun," Cara said stonily, her eyes gazing out the front windshield into the rain. "They're looking for Brandon's gun."
The women in the back of the van exchanged glances.
"What makes you think that, kiddo?" Bess asked gently.
Cara exhaled. "When the police searched Brandon's apartment, they found his handgun missing. His wife pointed it out, actually—said it was there when she left town. Now it's gone. And it wasn't found with the body, obviously. They asked Gil if Brandon ever carried it concealed, and of course he didn't know—it's not like he waltzed with the man. But Brandon must have been wearing it when he went to the church that night." She paused a moment, her voice still a disturbing monotone. "Which raises a lot of interesting questions. Why would the man pack a handgun to a church meeting? Not that the Church of the Horizon hasn't had its problems... but still. It seems far more likely to me that Brandon was planning on meeting someone else that night. After the church meeting."
The women digested her words thoughtfully.
"It makes sense," Bess agreed. "Look at the facts. After his fracas with Gil, Brandon drove away from the church. We don't know where he went then, but he couldn't have gone very far, because it wasn't long before he doubled back and confronted Anna on her front porch. He was acting so bizarre, so "desperate" that he gave the poor woman the heebie jeebies—and believe me, Anna's no shrinking violet. Then, after everyone else had left the church, he drove back and parked in the empty lot again. Why? He must have been going to meet somebody!"
"The somebody he had packed the handgun in anticipation of meeting," Leigh finished. "Somebody he knew to be afraid of."
"Of course," Frances interjected. "The only question is who."
A low growl uttered from Cara's throat, and all four women turned to look at her. "Diana Saxton," she said bitterly.
Leigh and Bess exchanged a glance. Lydie and Frances looked down at their laps in silence. It was clear they had all heard the story.
"It's possible, honey," Cara's mother said gently. "But I don't think it's very likely. She wouldn't seem to have much to gain and, well, it's hard to imagine a man like Brandon being afraid of her."
Cara uttered another growl, this one distinctly animal-like.
Chester burrowed himself further under Bess's arm and whimpered.
Leigh could understand the dog's sentiments. Her cousin was a good-natured and fundamentally reasonable person... but in this case, Gil was right. Cara was fixated on Diana's being to blame, both for Brandon's death and for Gil's current difficulties, and her protective instincts were making her anything but reasonable. She was a lioness defending her mate and cubs. And her claws were most definitely out.
"Aunt Bess," Cara said suddenly, swiveling in the driver's seat. "Do you have more than one of those motion-activated cameras?"
Bess drew back in surprise. "I have two, actually. Why?"
"Because I'd like to borrow one. If that woman comes onto our property, I want to have proof she was there."
"But honey," Lydie tried again, "Why on earth would she—"
"To make Gil look guilty, of course!" Cara interrupted, her cheeks flaring. "You don't really think they're going to find that gun in the pond, do you? I've been stupid not to think of it already—it might be too late." She turned back to her aunt. "Could I come by now and get the camera? You can show me how to set it up."
Bess's eyes turned, ever so subtly, in Leigh's direction. Leigh thought quickly, then offered a subtle nod. Camera surveillance of Snow Creek Farm, while almost certainly purposeless in terms of Gil's defense, would make the ideal preoccupation for Cara. What could be safer for her than sitting in her own living room staring at a TV screen that showed nothing but the end of her driveway?
"Sure thing, kiddo," Bess said cheerfully. "We might as well call it quits, here. This rain's not letting up before nightfall."
"Same time tomorrow, ladies?" Frances demanded.
All agreed.
Leigh breathed in a welcome gasp of fresh air as the van doors opened and three women and three dogs scrambled out. Only two dogs were supposed to get out, however, and by the time the hyper spaniel had been corralled back into the van, both Lydie and Cara were thoroughly soaked. Leigh gave Chewie a grateful pat on the head. He would have been out with Maggie in a flash under ordinary circumstances. Fortunately for her, he hated the rain.
Leigh's house was more or less on the way to Bess's from the park, so Cara dropped her and Chewie off before driving out to fetch the camera. Cara spoke little en route, her mind obviously elsewhere, and Leigh had to admit relief when she at last walked through her own front door and—for the last time, at least tonight—out of the rain.
Warren stood in the living room, waiting for her. "How did it go?" he asked, not sounding particularly hopeful.
"Lousy," Leigh confirmed, shrugging off her things. "Kids in bed?"
Warren nodded, and Leigh walked into his embrace, feeling blissfully comfortable until she remembered the nagging question that had been bugging her for the last twenty-four hours.
She drew back and looked at him.
Warren, who was well acquainted with his wife's "studying" look, lifted an eyebrow. "What is it?" he asked.
Leigh continued the examination. "Tell me the truth. Do women hit on you? I mean, at work?"
He blinked. "Excuse me?"
Leigh let out a sigh. "You heard me. You're only buying time so you can figure out how to answer. Fabulous. I'll take that as a yes."
Warren smiled a little. "If I'm not needed in this conversation, can I just go?"
"Hell, no," Leigh chastised, collapsing on the couch and pulling him down beside her. "Why wouldn't you tell me? Now I feel like an idiot. Cara knows about all the women who hit on Gil."
"No, she doesn't."
Leigh sat up again. "Are you kidding me?"
Warren wrapped a long arm around her. "Look, it's not the most pleasant conversation for a man to have. Do you say something and make your wife upset, or do you not say anything and risk her getting even more upset later? It's lose-lose."
Leigh's teeth gritted. "I wouldn't get upset."
"Liar."
"Okay, I would get upset," she amended. "But I would still want to know."
"Why? How would that help anything?"
"I don't know!" Leigh wailed.
"You're already upset," Warren pointed out, "and I didn't t
ell you a thing."
"Yes, you did!"
"I assure you I didn't," he argued, his brown eyes smiling. "I was quite careful not to, actually. Would you like to see the transcript?"
Leigh groaned and sank back into his arms. "You should have been a lawyer."
He shook his head. "I hate paper cuts."
Leigh laughed. Despite the disadvantage of being an honest man, her husband had made a successful career for himself as a local politician. But after a long and lauded run as chair of the County Council, he had decided to retire to a life of relative anonymity as a private financial consultant rather than continue on the Presidential track. He claimed that at long last, politics had jaded him, and that he wanted to make a difference on the other end—by working with nonprofits. But Leigh knew the real reason was even more elemental. Despite his ambition, her husband was a family man, enjoying home and hearth a whole lot more than planes, trains, television mics, and assembly halls.
She leaned over and kissed him. "You're just lucky I trust you," she declared.
"Thank you," he answered. "I'm so glad we haven't had this conversation. Now maybe we can talk about how, other than dog walking at the park, you've managed to stay completely out of Brandon Lyle's murder investigation today?"
She hesitated.
Warren's eyes narrowed knowingly. "Lose-lose?"
Leigh grinned and cuddled closer. "I just love it when we don't have these conversations."
Chapter 15
Leigh was awakened the next morning by a rapping on her bedroom window. She didn't need to lean over and pull up the shade to know who it was, but she did anyway. The blur that was her cousin gestured anxiously toward Leigh's back door, then disappeared.
Leigh sat up and tried to focus her eyes. Warren had left for an early meeting already, and the house was quiet, which meant that Ethan and Allison must still be asleep. She grabbed a robe from the closet and stumbled out to open the back door.
"I'm sorry to wake you," Cara apologized promptly, hastening inside and making a beeline for one of Leigh's kitchen chairs. "There's no emergency. At least I don't think there is. But I don't know. Oh, Leigh! What am I going to do?"
Mao Tse, who had been lounging on one of the other kitchen chairs, flicked her bushy tail with agitation. She had always tolerated Cara better than other non-Leigh humans, which was to say, she didn't usually hiss at her on sight. But the tension Cara now radiated was palpable, and Mao had no patience for drama. The cat stretched, wrinkled what little nose she had to wrinkle, and padded sulkily out of the room.
"Coffee?" Leigh offered, still blinking away the cobwebs.
Cara laughed ruefully. "Caffeine is the last thing I need. But you go ahead."
Leigh studied her cousin as she poured herself an already steaming cup from the pot her thoughtful husband had left warming for her. Cara was indeed jittery; she fidgeted with both hands and feet, and her face showed new and unusual worry lines.
"This isn't like you, you know," Leigh said lightly, sitting down. "Your mother is the normal one. It's me who got the anal-retentive hysteria genes."
The ghost of a smile flitted across Cara's face. "They're identical twins. They have the same genes."
Leigh waved a dismissive hand. "Don't distract me with technicalities. You walked all the way over here and woke me up from a perfectly nice dream that I'm pretty sure involved chocolate. So, spill it. What's happened?"
Cara glanced at her phone. "There was a bomb threat at the gym this morning. I heard about it on the news just now."
Leigh's eyebrows arched. "Which gym?"
"Gil's gym. The one he left to go to about half an hour ago."
Leigh took a sip of coffee and waited for more. "Well," she said finally. "There wasn't a real bomb, was there?"
"They're still looking," Cara answered. "The gym never opened, of course."
Leigh took another sip. Her cousin's behavior was growing more bizarre by the minute. "Cara!" she exclaimed finally. "Clearly, Gil never stepped foot in the gym. It was almost certainly just some prank to begin with. Why are you so upset?"
Cara stood up. She began to pace. "I can't reach him. He's not answering my texts or my calls."
Leigh willed herself patience. "He's driving," she reasoned. "He probably just went on into the office. You want him to text in the middle of the Parkway North?"
Cara's blue-green eyes misted over. She sank back down into her chair. "I don't think it's a coincidence, Leigh," she said softly. "I can't explain why, exactly, but I just know. It's going to happen exactly like I was afraid it would, and I don't know how to stop it."
"Stop what?" Leigh urged.
The sound of wheels crunching on the gravel drive outside echoed into the quiet kitchen, and Cara leapt to her feet again and moved to the window. "It's Gil!" she exclaimed with relief. Then she turned to Leigh and grabbed her arm. "Come with me. I want you to tell him I'm not being overly dramatic, that he has to take the risk seriously. He won't listen to me—he thinks my judgment is too clouded by my own feelings about her. But you know it's not!"
Leigh's head spun a little, but as the words gradually fell into place, she began to understand. Cara wanted her to help convince Gil that Diana Saxton's supposed vendetta against him was more than a figment of his wife's superb and well-documented imagination.
But was it?
Leigh hesitated.
"He'll listen to you, Leigh," Cara insisted. "I know he will."
Leigh lifted an eyebrow. On what planet she had any influence whatsoever over the all-knowing Gil March, she had no idea. But as she had spent her entire childhood and most of her adult life playing protector to her headstrong and impulsive "little sister," she could hardly refuse the impulse now.
"Just let me get dressed," she responded. "I'll wake the kids up and get their breakfast, they should—"
She broke off as she spotted her daughter, slim as a broomstick, leaning silently against the doorway to the hall. Leigh's heart skipped a beat. How much Allison had overheard this time was anyone's guess. The child had earned a black belt in reconnaissance by the age of three.
Leigh opened her mouth to protest, but changed her mind. Chastising Allison for eavesdropping was ineffective; the girl had inherited way too much talent for playing lawyerball from her father. If reproached, Allison would simply point out—quite calmly and rationally—that (1) she had been in plain view the whole time, and (2) no one had told her it was a private conversation.
Leigh sighed.
"I can get our breakfast, Mom," Allison said helpfully, stepping towards the kitchen. "Ethan's up, too. He's just lying in bed trying to get to level seven on Ninja Snowblast. Hi, Aunt Cara."
"Hi, sweetie," Cara returned with a motherly smile, all traces of anxiety well hidden. "Say, if I send Matt and Lenna over here, can you guys entertain yourselves for a while? Your mom and I need some time alone with your Uncle Gil."
"No problem," Allison said expressionlessly, opening a kitchen cabinet and removing a box of cereal. "I'll watch everybody."
Leigh and Cara exchanged veiled grins. Allison was a head shorter than any of the other children, but her moral authority had always gone unquestioned.
"Thank you," the women answered together.
Ten minutes later, Leigh rapped on the door of Cara's farmhouse and was let in by a strained-looking Gil, who glanced over her shoulder as if expecting someone else.
"Detective Peterson is on the way over," Cara announced grimly as Leigh stepped inside. "That's why Gil came home, instead of going into town. His lawyer is meeting us here, too."
"I see," Leigh responded, trying her best to sound upbeat. "Did he say why?"
"No," Gil answered, closing the door behind her. "Only that he had more questions for me."
An awkward silence followed. After a moment, Cara led them all back into the living room.
"So," Leigh began, breaking the uneasy silence and dropping down into a chair. "I hear there was some excitement at the
gym this morning?"
Gil shrugged. "All I know is that it was closed. The lot was swarming with police cars."
More silence.
Leigh's arrival had clearly interrupted something. Cara and Gil were rarely present in the same room without displaying some honeymooner-like affection, yet now they stood well apart, with a distinct chill in the air. "Well, you could always use the workout center in your office building," Leigh babbled. "That's a nice one. I used to walk by it daily when I had copywriter job #2. Not that I ever made use of it myself, of course."
Gil nodded and sat down. "I thought about that this morning, actually, but I didn't have my gym bag. Besides, the detective called just as I was pulling out of—"
"What do you mean?!" Cara shrieked, whirling to face her husband.
Gil started as if he'd been struck. Leigh felt herself do the same.
"What do I..." he repeated in confusion. "What are you talking about?"
"Your gym bag!"
Gil looked helplessly at Leigh. She looked helplessly back.
Cara collapsed onto the couch beside him. "You said you didn't have your gym bag. Why not? Where is it?"
"It's in the gym," he answered calmly. "I guess. I don't know for sure. I thought I brought it out with me yesterday and put it in the car like always, but it wasn't there last night, so I must have left it in my locker."
Cara's face went pale as chalk. "You thought it was in the car, but then it wasn't?"
Gil raised a tentative hand and placed it on his wife's shoulder. "It doesn't matter, sweetheart. There was nothing important in it."
"Cara," Leigh pressed, "What are you getting at? We're baffled here."
Cara sat slumped for a moment, looking defeated. "It may be nothing," she said finally, her voice a choked whisper. "I'm sorry I yelled at you. I didn't mean to. It's just that—" she raised her chin and looked at Leigh. "Well, tell him, Leigh."
Gil looked over at Leigh expectantly.
She shrank in her chair.