Never Buried

by Edie Claire

  "All right," Leigh sighed. "It's like this, Cara. I was worried that the body wasn't left here as a random prank, so I decided to speed things up a little. You know, help Maura out." Maura started to open her mouth, but Leigh gestured for her to be patient. "I wanted to know if we really should be alarmed. The note did concern me."

  Cara perked up instantly. "What note?"

  Maura looked at Leigh with surprise. "You didn't tell her about the note?"

  "Well, no," Leigh said, feeling distinctly uncomfortable, "not right away."

  Cara's eyes blazed. "What note?!"

  ***

  By the time Leigh had completed her confession and Maura had filled in the details she left out, all three women were on their second cup of coffee.

  "Well," Cara was insisting, "it seems to me that the next step ought to be taking a good look at Paul Fischer's life. We need to know what might be in this house that someone else could want badly enough to steal a corpse."

  "Not just any corpse," Maura pointed out. "This person got hold of Paul Fischer's corpse. Now that either happened totally by coincidence—he ran into some necrophile and offered to buy it off him—or else we've got to assume he stole it ten years ago with some particular purpose in mind."

  "If that's true," Cara reasoned, "this is the first time in that ten years that the house has been regularly occupied. Maybe that's what he was waiting for. Or she."

  "But what would be the point?" Leigh wondered out loud. "If there was something in the house this person wanted, why couldn't they have taken it out while no one was here? Why wait for someone to move in first? Unless they want the house vacant for some other reason..."

  Maura rose and stretched. "You two keep brainstorming all you want. But your main goals should be to keep your security system running and take the extra precautions we discussed. Leave the investigating to the police, okay? Nobody needs to get hurt trying to do our job." She looked purposefully at Leigh as she stressed "our."

  "Leigh will behave herself," Cara said with a devious smile. "I'll watch her."

  Maura headed for the door. "That was a fabulous dinner, Cara. Thank you again."

  "Hey!" Leigh interjected. "I got down the garlic."

  "Don't make me laugh, Koslow," Maura snorted, opening the door for herself. "I'll never forget that time you tried to make chili in a hot pot—" she broke off the sentence and turned around. "And by the way... how did that 'roast in the oven' turn out?"

  Cara looked questioningly at Leigh, who shrugged and held up her hands. "You can't believe everything you hear, you know."

  Chapter 7

  At first, the sounds echoing into Leigh's bedroom brought on pleasant dreams of sea gulls and sand. But as the screeching caws intensified, reality took over. Puzzled, she woke reluctantly. No one was watching a Hitchcock movie. Why the racket? She swung her feet onto the plush carpet and crossed over to one of the two windows that faced the Ohio River.

  In the dawn light, she could see smoke from Neville Island curling above the trees while the river flowed peacefully below. Considerably less peaceful was the collection of birds clustered around the patio. At least a dozen black crows squawked and fought as they picked at some unidentifiable mess on the concrete. She turned and shoved her feet into a pair of slippers. It wouldn't be the first time she had picked up scattered garbage.

  She moved into the hall, and as she passed her cousin's bedroom door, it opened. A groggy-looking Cara slipped out. Even half awake and seven-months pregnant, she managed to look elegant in a pale silk gown. "Are those crows?" she asked, stifling a yawn.

  "Yeah," Leigh answered with equal enthusiasm. "In the garbage. You go back to bed, I'll take care of it."

  Leigh started down the stairs, and Cara, ignoring the offer, followed. When they reached the back door, Leigh banged on it with her hand to scatter the crows while Cara turned off the security system. The birds grudgingly flew away from the patio, only to resume squawking from the nearby trees.

  Leigh unbolted the back door and swung it open. She was right, the crows were picking at garbage. She just wasn't sure whose garbage it was.

  "Cara," Leigh asked with a yawn as her cousin joined her outside, "When did you throw out fish?"

  Cara stepped over to investigate the assortment of fish and fish portions scattered over her patio. "I didn't," she said matter-of-factly. "I hate fish, especially lately."

  Leigh raised her eyebrows. Cats were prone to dragging in their kills, but even if Mao Tse were allowed outside, which she wasn't, the odds of her catching half a dozen fish in the Ohio river were not worth contemplating. Furthermore, no other pet she knew made fishing a regular pastime. Perhaps a dog dragged someone else's garbage over?

  Cara stooped and poked at a nearly whole fish with her toe. Her eyes narrowed. "Leigh," she said intently, "look at this."

  Leigh walked to her side and squatted down for a closer look. The fish was missing one eye and a good bit of brain tissue, but its scaly side was intact, marked with red paint. She squinted at the red streaks. "It looks like a U," she announced.

  Cara grabbed a stick from the grass and picked at the edge of another fish to flip it over. "And here," she said, "this one is marked, too. It looks like somebody tried to make a six, or a G." Leigh and Cara exchanged a brief glance, then began gathering the fish and turning them paint side up.

  There were five fish in all, but thanks to the crows, several were no longer in one piece. Leigh undertook the anatomic reconstructions while Cara puzzled over the red markings. When fish number five had most of its body reoriented, the women stood back.

  "We have two T's, a G, a U, and an E." Cara announced. "Lovely. Any ideas?"

  "Well," Leigh said intelligently, trying to pretend she was looking at a puzzle book rather than a bunch of mutilated fish, "how about GUTTE? Maybe that means 'gut me' in French?"

  Cara laughed. "I'm afraid not. Try again."

  "TUTEG?" Leigh hypothesized. "UGTET?"

  "Maybe it's two words," Cara said thoughtfully. "Like EAT GUT without the A." She raised her head and her eyes met Leigh's as a new possibility struck them. Wordlessly, they began searching again. After a few moments, Leigh found the majority of a sixth fish under a shrub.

  "Well," she announced, pushing it next to the others with a stick. "It's not an A, it's an O."

  Suddenly, her blood ran cold.

  GET OUT.

  Get out of my house.

  Leigh said nothing as she tried to decide whether to share her thoughts. But Cara soon sighed in disgust and dropped into one of the patio chairs. "You know," she said in a tired voice, "this is really getting on my nerves."

  Leigh looked at her questioningly.

  "Oh, please!" Cara said with a wave of her hand. "Don't pretend you don't know what it means! You're the word-game master, not me."

  Oddly, Leigh couldn't think of anything to say. How exactly should one respond to a threat spelled out in fish?

  "Of all the idiotic wastes of time," Cara continued, glancing at the newly risen sun. "I could have slept in this morning."

  Leigh's eyes widened. "You don't sound as though you're taking this too seriously."

  Cara laughed and spread out her hands. "You call this serious? Painting letters on fish? I call it...well..." she faltered, searching for the right word. "I call it just plain stupid!" She put her hands by her sides for leverage and rose from the chair. "I'm going back to bed."

  Leigh blinked. "Cara," she said maternally, "you can't tell me you don't find two threats in three days a little disturbing."

  Cara stopped momentarily in her progress toward the back door. "Disturbing, yes. Convincing, no. Although I must admit the tactics are original."

  Leigh dropped her shoulders in disbelief. Was she the only person in the world who knew when to be scared? "Cara, you can't just forget that, for whatever reason, someone wants you out of this house."

  Cara stopped with a sigh. She really did look tired. "So, someone wants me out of thi
s house," she began calmly. "Well, tough. I happen to want me in this house. I've spent a lot of time dreaming about it, not to mention a lot of money and energy buying it, decorating it, and furnishing it. If some wacko thinks it's worth his time to steal corpses and paint fish to get me out, fine. I'll play. I'm going to find out who this person is and what it is he wants. Then I'm going to keep it."

  Speech finished, Cara shuffled to the back door and went inside. Leigh watched her retreating form. She knew from a lifetime of experience that Cara was not an easy person to intimidate. Bravado was all well and good, but somebody had to be reasonable.

  She collected the fish in a empty shoe box and set the mess down by the back door. Mao Tse made a break for it as soon as the door opened, but Leigh swept her up with a well-practiced gesture and carried her back inside. "Sorry girl. Chain of evidence and all that."

  The cat was not appeased. "Okay, okay. How about some of the gourmet stuff as a compromise? Ocean perch in aspic, perhaps? I'm sure I brought some from the apartment..." After a half hour of rattling around Cara's kitchen feeding the cat, the finches, and her caffeine habit, Leigh had developed a plan. As soon as a more respectable hour of the morning approached, she would take the fish down to the police station. Maura could lift fingerprints off the scales—or whatever. Then she would find out what the heck Mrs. Rhodis had been babbling to Cara about.

  An answer to an old mystery? Maybe. Leigh was skeptical. Crimes of passion were well and good in the movies, but reality was usually more predictable. Avarice was the root of all evil. They had evil. The money must not be far behind.

  Chapter 8

  Leigh was dressed and ready to head for the police station when the phone rang. She eyed it suspiciously. It had only brought her bad news so far. She crossed to the kitchen counter and picked it up.

  "Hello?"

  "Hello!" rang a cheerful tenor voice, muted somewhat by static. "Leigh, is that you?"

  Leigh allowed herself a smile. It was Cara's husband, and it had been a while since she had heard his voice. "Yeah, it's me. How are you, Gil? And where are you now, Istanbul?"

  Her cousin-in-law laughed merrily. "Don't start with that. You know I'm still in Tokyo. But not for much longer. I'm counting the days!"

  Leigh felt the slight knotting in her stomach that she always felt when reminded of Gil's happiness with Cara. Not that she was jealous. How could she be, when she had had the first shot? Leigh had met Gil through work, and was astonished when he asked her out. Gil was the type of man one normally sees only with the aid of photography. His admirable physique, square jaw line, and impeccable taste in clothes were not to be sniffed at. Furthermore, he had the kind of twinkling eyes and carefree grin that most estrogen-dominant individuals would kill for. Unfortunately, he hadn't really understood Leigh's sense of humor. So what would have been the point? Instead of acting interested, she had referred him to Cara for a specialized design project. The rest was history.

  "So how's my little family doing?" he continued happily. Leigh could picture him lounging on a bamboo mat in an Armani suit, his hazel eyes beaming with pride. Her stomach twitched again, and guilt surged.

  "Cara's fine. And she says the baby is kicking up a storm."

  "That's great!" he enthused. "Is she up yet?"

  Leigh's guilt was suddenly replaced by recall of her cousin's predicament. Had Cara told Gil about the body? Leigh's brow furrowed in thought. Cara probably wouldn't have—she wouldn't want him to worry. But he certainly deserved to know. Besides, Leigh had promised to report anything that might get Cara upset. She cleared her throat. "Listen, Gil, do you have a minute?"

  Leigh shrieked as long fingernails scratched at her hands. Cara, materializing from nowhere, snatched the receiver with a fierce look of disapproval. She covered the mouthpiece with her palm. "Don't you dare tell him anything!" she whispered. "One word and he'll be on the next flight back to Pittsburgh, and all his hard work will be for nothing! He's got to finish up this project now, so that after the baby’s born he can stay put for a while. I'm not going to let this mess spoil all our plans!"

  Sufficiently chastened, Leigh retreated. Cara smoothed her hair and spoke cheerfully to her husband. "Hi, Honey. Sorry about that. Leigh wanted to talk to you some more but I couldn't wait any longer, so I wrestled the phone away from her." She paused. "Oh, I'm wonderful, and so is little Pippi or Bobo. Except that we both miss you."

  Having no desire to hang around and eavesdrop, Leigh decided it was time to visit the Avalon Police Department. She arrived there five minutes later, shoe box in hand. Finding a place to drop it on Maura's cluttered desk was difficult, but she managed. It landed with flair—displacing several sheets of paper and sending a stray pen rolling to the floor.

  Maura, who had been too buried in paperwork to notice her approach, glared. "Koslow," she acknowledged, her voice deadpan. "Nice entrance." She examined the box as Leigh stooped for the pen. "You bought me air soles? How sweet."

  "Um," Leigh hedged, glad that Maura was being sarcastic, "not exactly. Are you a seafood person?"

  "Turf and surf in cardboard? I'll pass."

  Leigh sighed and sat down. "It's fish. They were scattered over Cara's patio this morning."

  Maura's eyes flickered. She sat up and opened the box lid. Then, with a grimace and a wrinkle of her nose, she slammed it closed.

  Leigh couldn't help laughing. "I can't believe that got more reaction out of you than a ten-year-old corpse."

  "I've never liked fish," Maura said simply, settling back in her chair. "So what's the deal? I don't get it."

  Leigh took a breath. "The deal is, those fish have letters painted on their sides. And the letters spell 'GET OUT.'"

  Maura's eyebrows rose. "You're sure?"

  Leigh nodded.

  Maura rose from behind her desk and leaned over the cubicle wall. "Hey, Chief! Got a minute? Fish question." She sat back down and turned to Leigh. “Lucky for you, we have an award-winning angler on staff.”

  Donald Mellman's bulky form soon loomed over them both. As Leigh explained the morning's events, his pudgy fingers stirred the collection of fish pieces.

  "Bluegill," he said with pride. "And this one's a crappie."

  Leigh wondered what possible difference it made what kind of fish they were. She started to ask, but Maura interrupted.

  "Are these the kind of fish you could buy in a grocery store?"

  "Not hardly," Mellman answered, poking his finger into one of the fish's mouths to show the hook scar. "These fellas are a pretty common catch around here. If you just went out and starting fishing, this is what you'd end up with. Pan fish. Most people throw 'em back."

  If they'd been store-bought, Leigh thought, a clerk might have remembered the purchase. Rats.

  "Koslow," Maura began with a heavy tone. "One threat could be a fluke. Two threats, and you need to take it personally. This could be a dangerous situation."

  "You don't have to convince me," Leigh said sincerely. "But Cara refuses to leave. She thinks the whole fish thing is just an amateurish stunt, to keep us from finding something that's hidden in the house."

  The Chief shook his head. "She's taking for granted that the perp's got all his marbles. What if he doesn't?" His voice assumed a paternal tone. "The safest thing would be for you and your cousin to find another place to stay—at least until this blows over."

  Leigh sighed. "I'm all for that. I'll keep working on her."

  With a trademark nod, Mellman retreated to his office.

  Maura pulled a plastic bag out of a cabinet and dumped in the contents of the cardboard box. "You know, Koslow," she said in her police voice, "you should have just called us over. It would have been better if we could have seen the way everything was laid out."

  Leigh sighed. "I told you, the fish weren't laid out. I suppose they were once, but our slightly dense lunatic didn't count on a bunch of crows picking them to smithereens before we woke up."

  Maura offered the empty box, but Leigh
declined it with a grimace.

  "So what's next?" Leigh asked. "Is Vestal being charged with anything?"

  Maura's eyes narrowed slightly as she relived her annoyance with Leigh. "Vestal's legal problems are not your concern. Your safety is. We don't know what this perp is capable of. Perhaps you and Cara could move in with your parents for a week or so?"

  A cold chill ran down Leigh's spine. Back home? Horrors. And the lease on her old apartment had just expired. How had she gotten herself into this situation? Hi Mom! I'm unemployed again! Just as you predicted. What's for dinner?

  She shivered.

  Maura looked at her, eyebrows raised. Leigh decided that a truthful explanation would be a bad idea. Her friend had barely had time to mourn her father's fatal heart attack before her mother had started showing signs of dementia. After Mary wandered out of her house and into a neighbor's house a block away, interrupting a friend's husband during a bath and demanding to know where Chief Polanski was, Maura had made a decision. She had left her cozy apartment in town and moved back into the family duplex with her mother and two elderly aunts—waylaying her plans to make detective by taking the first available spot on the Avalon squad. Leigh could hardly expect sympathy for her own petty phobias.

  "I don't think our moving out is necessary," she said carefully. "The house has a top-notch security system." Maura opened her mouth to speak, but Leigh went on. "And besides, our best chance of getting out from under this threat is to figure out who's delivering it, and why. We have a much better chance of doing that in the house than out of it. If this guy is as big a moron as we think, he's going to get himself caught pretty soon."

  "What makes you so sure it's a he?"

  "I told you already," Leigh said impatiently. "I saw a man on the bluff the night the body appeared."

  Maura's expression turned serious. "What if I told you it was me you saw that night?"

  Leigh's eyes widened. Nonsense. Why wouldn't Maura have said something? "The figure was a man," she insisted. "It had broad shoulders, and—"