Never Kissed Goodnight

by Edie Claire

  She was almost at the front door when she stopped cold. Gil's car was right before her eyes again, sitting placidly in one of the coveted visitor's spots.

  Chapter 3

  The Saturn wasn't empty. Gil sat with his head on the headrest, staring out into space. But when he caught sight of her he got out quickly.

  "Leigh!" he called pleasantly. "I almost missed you."

  She watched in puzzlement as he came toward her. First he had been looking for her dad; now, oddity of oddities, he appeared to be looking for her. Ironic, that, but she wasn't knocking it. At least he seemed to have no clue she'd been behind him all morning.

  "Gil," she answered, trying her best to sound casual. "What's up? Have you been waiting long?"

  He shook his full head of sandy blond hair and smiled at her with perfect teeth. Years ago, his chiseled California-surfer look had wreaked havoc on her hormones, but their one and only date had mercifully diminished the effect. They had met through the ad agency she worked for, and she had been flabbergasted when he had asked her out to dinner at Top of the Triangle, a downtown Pittsburgh eatery with a view to die for. Back when she was an idiot, his good looks and gladiator complex had seemed a dream come true. But they hadn't even made it to their entrees before she realized that the man who had everything had everything but a sense of humor, which was, of course, a fatal flaw. By dessert she had offhandedly referred him to Cara for design work, and the rest was history.

  "I'm glad I caught you," he continued, accompanying her into the lobby and onto the elevator. His smooth tenor voice turned serious. "I was hoping you had a few minutes to talk."

  Leigh assured him that she did, and the two were soon settled on the couch in her apartment, sipping diet colas. He had refused any food, but she, unwilling to starve for the sake of politeness, dove hungrily into a canister of cheese puffs. She couldn't wait to hear what he had to say, but unfortunately, on reaching the apartment he seemed to lose his nerve.

  "So, I guess Warren's not around much these days," he said idly.

  She shook her head, her mouth being temporarily full of cheese puffs. "The election's only three days away," she said finally. "He's got a really good chance of winning the District 2 seat, but it'll be close. In the meantime, I'm lucky if he even comes home at night."

  She meant the comment as an innocent exaggeration, but its relevance to Gil's predicament made him tense up immediately. He rose from the couch and began to pace. "Thanks for sending Cara home safely last night," he began. "I was worried about her."

  "So was I," Leigh responded bluntly, deciding not to pull punches.

  He ignored the comment and continued to pace, talking more to himself than to her. "I never expected she would react like this."

  Leigh waited a minute for him to say more, then pressed. "What exactly did you expect?"

  Gil stopped pacing and stared at her. "I don't know how much Cara told you, but the fact is, she's upset because I've been keeping something from her. What she doesn't understand is that I have to, because I know what something like this could do to her. I thought I could handle the situation on my own, but now I'm not so sure." He dropped back down on the couch again, his voice sounding defeated. "Everything has suddenly gotten more complicated. And with Lydie out of town, I need your help."

  Leigh's mind raced. For a moment she had feared a fatal-attraction scenario, but since she doubted any cheating husband would seek help from his wife's family, she dismissed it. And judging from the look in Gil's eyes, his primary problem at the moment was fear rather than guilt. But how on earth could she or his mother-in-law help?

  Eventually she found her voice. "What can I do?"

  He exhaled loudly, then fixed her with an intense, hopeful stare. "It's about Mason Dublin."

  She stared back, her heart beginning to pound. "Cara's father?"

  He nodded. "I need to know everything you can tell me about him. His marriage to Lydie, when he left, why he left, whether he's ever been back, and most importantly—where he might be now."

  Leigh sat dumbly for a moment, then found herself glancing furtively around the room, as if checking to make sure no one else had overheard. Mason Dublin had always been a taboo subject in the family, and old habits died hard. But they were all grown-ups now. They could talk about it, couldn't they? It just so happened that ever since Cara had become a grownup, she hadn't wanted to.

  It wasn't a topic to be taken lightly. "Why do you want to know about Mason?" she asked quietly. "Can't Cara answer your questions?"

  Gil let out a frustrated breath and turned away from her. "Come on, Leigh. You know what effect that man's abandonment has had on Cara. Now she's finally reached a point where she seems settled about it, and I don't want to mess that up."

  Neither did Leigh. She could remember well the few times her cousin had been genuinely distraught, and the worst by far were directly attributable to Mason Dublin, the father she had never met.

  The story had been the same as long as she could remember; neither Cara's mother nor anyone else in the family having ever chosen to sugar-coat it. Lydie had fallen madly in love with a charming young man who sold steak knives door to door, and had foolishly eloped with him before they really knew each other. Lydie soon realized she had made a mistake, but by then she was pregnant. And though the couple planned to stay together, the marriage didn't last. Mason met someone else, and before his daughter was born he had left, never to be heard from again.

  It was tough stuff for a kid, and Cara had done about as well with it as could be expected. But Gil was right; the sense of peace she had gradually developed with the issue was fragile at best. There were too many unresolved questions, too much pain for the subject ever to be buried completely, even by an otherwise emotionally healthy adult.

  "Why do you need to bring it up?" Leigh questioned. "Why does it matter now?"

  Gil rested his head in his hands for a moment, then took a deep breath and looked up at her. "He called me."

  Leigh's heart skipped a beat. Although she had no particular reason to think it, she had always assumed that Mason Dublin must be dead. Perhaps that was what she wanted to be true, for Cara's sake. No matter how lousy a person he might have been, a dead father seemed easier to deal with than a live one who was capable of redemption—but didn't give a damn.

  When she said nothing, Gil continued. "The call came in at the office. I've had a fair number of crank calls, ever since that accursed television show aired. My secretary has been screening them, but when the caller said he was my father-in-law, she thought she'd better put him through, just in case."

  The show. The connection occurred to Leigh with the force of a freight train, and a wave of fear shot through her as she realized Gil's claim could be true.

  "The show" was, in her humble opinion, a debacle of monumental proportion. It was also entirely Cara's fault. When Movers and Shakers had approached Gil about devoting a segment to his meteoric rise to riches, he had turned them down flat. The show wasn't as cheesy as some, and it did take the moral high-ground of profiling people who had worked their way to the top the good old-fashioned way, as opposed to those who happened to be born with a big bank account, a great body, or a knack at playing the lotto. But it was exploitation nevertheless, and Gil had no interest in it.

  Cara, on the other hand, had thought the opportunity to be perfectly marvelous. The idea of national television exposure thrilled her to no end, and she had harassed her husband mercilessly until he had agreed to do the show. When it had aired two weeks before she had been giddy with delight, proud as punch of her entrepreneurial hubby. The rest of the family—particularly Gil himself—were less enthused, finding such large-scale notoriety unsettling at best.

  Gil was adamant that no scenes be shot at the suburban farm where the Marches lived, but Cara herself did make the cut, along with little Matt. The show had mentioned Cara's success as a graphic artist, and even delved into their marriage a bit—the latter intrusion, again, being no
one's fault but Cara's own. The consummate optimist had merely shrugged off her husband's embarrassment as modesty and set about making multiple videotapes to preserve for posterity.

  Leigh had never even considered that a live-and-kicking Mason Dublin might be among the millions who happened to tune in that night. Neither, evidently, had anyone else.

  "What did he say?" she asked weakly.

  Gil swallowed, looking distinctly uncomfortable. "Not what you might expect, I'm afraid. He started off by introducing himself, and asking if I was surprised to hear from him. But then he cut right to the chase. He wanted to know how much I knew about my mother-in-law."

  Leigh blinked. "He what?"

  "He was intentionally vague," Gil continued soberly. "But he was hinting that Lydie had some deep dark secret, something that could ruin her—and possible Cara's—lives. And he was testing me out to see if I knew about it." His eyes slid up to Leigh's expectantly, but hers remained suitably blank.

  "Are you kidding?" she asked defensively. "Of course I've never heard of anything. Lydie's an angel and an open book besides. What gives?"

  Gil rose and groaned in frustration. "There must be something, Leigh," he said quietly, his voice turning grave. "Because whatever it is, he seemed very sure I'd be willing to pay to keep it quiet."

  Blood rushed quickly up into Leigh's face, and her cheeks burned. For a moment, she was speechless. She simply sat, listening to the beating of her own heart. "Cara's father called because—" she faltered. "Because he wanted to blackmail you?"

  Gil's hazel eyes bore into her own. "You got it."

  Chapter 4

  Leigh sat mutely for a moment, unable to process how bad Gil's news really was. Not only was Mason Dublin alive, he was even more of a scoundrel than she had imagined.

  And if Cara knew, it would kill her.

  "How did he leave it with you?" she asked finally, setting aside the cheese puffs. Not only was her appetite gone, but what she'd eaten earlier was threatening a reappearance.

  "He said that if I didn't know what he was talking about, I should ask my mother-in-law." Gil answered tightly. "And he said he'd make contact again in a few days. He didn't say how, though, and I was worried that he might get to Cara first. We just had our unlisted number changed at home, so I wasn't concerned about that—but I did keep a watch on the post office box. I didn't think he could get the number, but I didn’t want to take any chances." He sat back down, heavily, on the couch beside Leigh. "I didn't want to believe him—about Lydie," he said more quietly. "I figured there was a good chance he was making the whole thing up. That he'd seen the TV piece and was just trying to figure out a way to cash in on a rich in-law."

  "That could be it," she said hopefully.

  "Maybe," he continued skeptically. "But if Lydie really doesn't have anything to hide, not only would Mason get nothing, he'd risk prosecution for trying. That scheme would only work if he knew that Lydie was out of the country and that I might not be able to get in touch with her before the pay-off was due. But I can't figure out any way that he could know about her travel plans—and besides, he wasn't pushing me to deliver. He didn't call back for a week. It was like he was trying to make me—and probably Lydie—sweat for a while.

  "After the first call, I hired a private investigator to trace the number from the office's caller ID records, and to try to get a fix on Mason Dublin and what he's been up to the last thirty years. The PI has a solid reputation; I found him through an old friend who's a corporate insurance attorney. I was meeting him at my friend's place in Shadyside on Wednesday when Cara followed me."

  He paused a moment, obviously reliving the unpleasant marital encounter.

  Leigh tried to spare him. "So what did you find out?"

  He exhaled with frustration. "Not enough. The first call came from a payphone at an outlet mall in someplace called Boaz, Alabama. Which might be helpful, except that the PI couldn't find any other trace of Mason anywhere near there—at least not in the last six months. He had managed to track Mason's comings and goings pretty well all the way from the sixties up to then, but as of last spring, the trail simply ended. It's as though Mason Dublin dropped off the face of the earth."

  If only, Leigh thought ruefully. "So he did call back?"

  Gil nodded. "Yesterday. But I was ready for him. The PI suggested I keep playing dumb, to get all the information out of him that I could. I tried, but this time Mason seemed in a hurry to get off the phone. All he said was that he wanted thirty thousand in cash in a shoe box in a particular trash can at the bus station downtown. If I didn't produce it, or if something happened and he didn't get home, a buddy would send a letter to the police—revealing everything."

  Leigh swallowed. "And where did that call come from?"

  Gil's expression turned grim. "The bus station."

  Leigh turned her gaze aside, not wishing for him to see the fear in her eyes. Mason Dublin was in Pittsburgh. What Gil was telling her was nothing less than a nightmare—and it was becoming more real every minute. "Did the detective find out anything about Lydie?" she asked weakly, trying to compose herself. "Any possible explanation?"

  He shook his head with frustration. "No, nothing on record. And I was adamant that he not interview anyone in the family—at least not yet. I can't let this get back to Cara—not unless I've absolutely no other choice. You understand."

  She nodded. As much as she would like to condemn his covert maneuvering, she knew that, in his place, she would have done the same thing.

  "I put off trying to contact Lydie as well," he continued, sounding regretful. "As I said, I thought at first it might be a hoax, and I was hoping that with the PI's help, I could handle it without anyone in the family having to know. I hated to ruin the only real vacation Lydie's ever taken. India's a tough place to track a tourist down, even with a good itinerary. I'd be leaving emergency messages with hotels and we'd be playing phone tag, trying to get a good line through. First she'd have a heart attack thinking something terrible had happened to Cara or Mathias, and then she'd have to hear the real news." Guilt clouded his eyes. "I should have called her anyway, but I was too optimistic about what the PI could find out on his own. Now I've waited too long."

  "What do you mean?" Leigh asked, distressed.

  "Lydie's already in Nepal, on that wildlife excursion. She and Bess will be spending the next two nights in a jungle lodge—there's no way I can reach them there."

  She exhaled slowly, then smiled with hope. "But my mother will be back tomorrow!" she exclaimed. "She decided against the optional extension, remember? And I guarantee Lydie won't have any secrets that her twin couldn't tell you."

  Gil smiled politely, but shook his head. "I already tried to reach your mother, but she's in route as we speak, but she won't be back soon enough to help us. Mason was quite specific. The drop-off has to be tonight."

  Leigh rose and began to pace in frustration. "So what are you going to do? I can’t help you. I haven't a clue if this thing is for real."

  "Wait a minute," Gil interrupted. "You haven't heard the whole story yet."

  Leigh stopped pacing, but she was too uptight to sit down.

  "As soon as Cara left the house this morning, I headed over to Lydie's. I don't know what I was looking for, but I was desperate. I thought maybe I could find some clue as to what she was hiding. I didn't, of course."

  She felt a small amount of guilt, but tried to ignore it. She could confess that she already knew where he had been today, but what would be the point?

  "I did find something I wasn't expecting," he continued, not looking at her. He reached into a pocket and pulled out the crumpled letter he had taken from Lydie's mail stack in the kitchen. "Take a look at this."

  Leigh pounced on the letter nervously, spreading it out in her hands. It was written on plain white copy paper, block letters of black ink scribbled in an uncertain—and decidedly unskilled—hand.

  Dear Lydie,

  Sorry to bug you but I need money
and I no you got it now. Else I'll tell everyboddy whut you did. Send to Genrel Delivry in Panama City us name Ed Jones. Five grand for now or Im telling.

  Mason

  Leigh blinked at the letter for a moment before she could talk. "Us name Ed Jones?" she asked shakily.

  "I think he means 'use the name Ed Jones,'" Gil responded. "Whoever 'he' is."

  She tried to think, but the wheels in her brain didn't seem to be getting any traction. "It doesn't sound like Mason, does it?" she conjectured. "I mean, I don't know much about him, but whoever wrote this letter sounds borderline illiterate. And why would Mason put the squeeze on you and Lydie both? Surely he assumed you would compare notes."

  Gil shook his head. "I don't think it is from Mason. I don't know who the hell it's from. But it was mailed the day after the show aired."

  She flipped over the envelope and looked at the postmark. From Panama City, Florida. And the dates matched.

  "Good God," she sank down on the couch again, her legs feeling distinctly unreliable. "Another blackmail threat from the deep South. Sounds like Mason's a blabbermouth."

  They sat quietly for another moment while Gil extracted the letter from Leigh's hands and put it back in his pocket. "I've got to get this to the PI and see what he thinks," he said finally. "But before we make any plans about what to do tonight, there's one more person we can talk to." He glanced at his watch. "When does your father finish his appointments?"

  Leigh looked reflexively at her own watch, but her brain didn't even register the time. She got up quickly and motioned for Gil to follow her.

  "Right now."

  ***

  Randall Koslow, DVM, peered at his daughter curiously over the stacks of backlogged veterinary journals and junk mail that were heaped high on the modest metal desk in his basement office. "Have a seat," he said calmly, directing Gil to a stepstool and her to a pile of forty-pound bags of weight-reducing dog food. "What's up?"