Never Con a Corgi

by Edie Claire

  Licking his toenails?

  Leigh looked closer. The dog's nails had not only been neatly trimmed, but each one shone with a lustrous glow. She closed her eyes and shook her head. A lot of people painted their dog's toenails, yes. But only Frances Koslow would use clear polish.

  "Your girls are more than welcome to the ribbon," she insisted. "Thank you again."

  The woman waved off Leigh's thanks, said goodbye, and jogged away down the trail. Leigh looked in the opposite direction, toward where Cara and Lydie would now be patrolling. She smiled broadly.

  Cousin Cara needed a little good news. And she was going to get it just as fast as Leigh's legs could carry it.

  Chapter 20

  "Whose car is that?" Cara asked with alarm as her van pulled into the gravel drive behind the March's garage. She stopped and let her headlights illuminate it.

  "I've never seen it before," Leigh answered, irritated. Her cousin had been deliriously happy for all of about an hour. The women had stayed at the park until dusk, making sure they didn't miss any other possible witnesses—just in case. Then, in true Morton style, they had celebrated by going out for ice cream.

  Now, Cara was upset again. "Gil didn't tell me he was expecting anybody," she said tightly.

  Leigh surveyed the bright yellow Porsche. Its license plate said "1BANANA."

  "That's a woman's car," Cara said with certainty.

  Leigh's pulse sped up. "It's not—"

  "No," Cara said vehemently, shaking her head. "It's not Diana's. I know her car. Besides, she could never afford a Porsche. It is a woman's car, though. A woman with a lot of money to burn. And a low-brow sense of humor."

  The cousins exchanged a glance. "Courtney Lyle," Leigh suggested.

  Cara nodded. "I'd bet money on it."

  "We should call Maura," Leigh suggested, pulling out her phone. "She said she wanted to know if Courtney tried to contact either of us—"

  Cara's hand flew across the seat to stop her. "Wait a minute," she insisted. "Courtney isn't contacting us—she's contacting Gil. He's known her since they were teenagers, and if he didn't think it was perfectly safe to talk to her, he would never have let her in the house. You can call Maura after we're done."

  Leigh's trouble-o-meter dialed up a notch. "Done? Done with what?"

  Cara steered the van slowly away from the other car and turned off the engine. Her voice dropped. "Done figuring out exactly what it is that the late Brandon Lyle's wife wants with my husband, of course." She opened her door slowly. "Get out," she ordered, "but don't slam the door. We've got to be quiet."

  Cara slipped out of her car door and gently pushed it closed. Leigh did the same, then came around to meet her. "But what if—"

  "Shhh!" Cara warned, putting her finger to her lips. She slid open the side door of the van and let the dogs out. "She won't have seen us drive up, because Gil will have put her in the study and closed the door behind them. He wouldn't want to talk to her in the living room with the kids at home. But if we sneak in through the kitchen we can listen through the old serving window. Follow me!"

  Cara crept off across the drive on tiptoe. She let Maggie run, but held onto Chewie's lead as she made for the sun porch. Leigh followed mutely, her instincts at war with her better judgment. Surely the phone call to Maura could be delayed by just a few minutes? Leigh hoped so, because she understood completely why her cousin could not, in fact, simply wait and ask her husband about the conversation later. It wasn't that Gil wouldn't try to explain, it was that the man had the emotional intelligence of a boiled clam. Even if he could recount every word that Courtney said to him, he could never pick up the nuances. Negotiating with other businessmen was one thing; deconstructing female head games was another.

  Cara led Chewie onto the porch and unclipped his lead. The women moved quietly to the sliding doors, and Cara punched her code into the security box. The March's system was so elaborate that Leigh still didn't quite understand it (and tripped it herself on a regular basis), but under the current circumstances she was grateful for its existence. She could also understand, now, why Cara had insisted on putting Bess's camera out by the road. Diana Saxton didn't have a prayer of getting inside the March house to plant the gun, but she could have left it anywhere else on the six-acre property... stuck in a tree, thrown in the creek, laying in the drainage ditch. In which case—God forbid—the Pack could have found it.

  Leigh shivered at the thought.

  Cara slipped through the sliding doors, ushered Leigh into the room behind her, and silently closed them again. They were standing in the breakfast nook by the kitchen. The study, which used to be the old farmhouse's dining room, was on the other side of a serving window closed off by wooden shutters. Standing close and leaning over the counter, they could hear every word that was said.

  "I didn't believe her," Courtney was insisting, her loud voice half-cajoling, half-whine. "I knew you would never sleep with a wench like her, even if she wasn't working for you. But I only know that because I know you. The police don't! They have every reason to believe her story. Brandon sure as hell fell for her."

  "I am not Brandon," Gil growled.

  "I know that," Courtney cooed. "That's why I'm here."

  "Why are you here?"

  There was a long pause. Leigh could feel Cara's tension as the same image undoubtedly swept through both their minds—Courtney sidling her shapely body closer to Gil's.

  "To warn you," Courtney said silkily. "Because I don't want anything to happen to you. That woman is evil, Gil. She's a lying, scheming, sociopathic slut, and for whatever reason—although we both know the reason, don't we? You hopelessly loyal thing—she has it in for you. I wish she had been the one to kill Brandon, I do, because I'd really like to see her skinny little trash-butt rotting in a prison cell. But I don't think she was."

  "So who did?" Gil asked, his voice sounding farther away now.

  "I don't know," she answered, her own voice drifting away after his. "I don't even know if she knows. But what's obvious is that she's trying to frame you. She told the detectives that the two of you had an affair, that she dumped you, and that you fired her for it. She also told them that up until the day of the murder, Brandon didn't know you'd had an affair with her, and that you didn't know she was shacking up with him!"

  Cara's lips mouthed a string of vulgarity such as Leigh had never heard before—at least, not from Cara. The other woman's face was beet red and her fists clenched the countertop so tightly her knuckles whitened. Leigh silently encouraged deep breaths.

  "Well, that's just fabulous!" Gil fumed, his voice a strangled shout. "You heard her tell the detectives this?"

  "I was standing right there!"

  "And did you set them straight?"

  The pause lasted only a heartbeat. "Of course I did," Courtney soothed. "I told them I'd known you for decades and that you would never cheat on your wife. You did know about Brandon and Diana already, didn't you?"

  "I suspected," Gil replied gruffly. "But Brandon and I didn't talk about that sort of thing."

  "I can see that," Courtney said wryly. "I wonder if he realized he was doing one of your rejects?"

  "Diana wouldn't—" Gil was quiet for a moment. Then he muttered a curse. "Who knows what she told him? He was furious with me that night, but there were other reasons... I mean, he'd been acting like a lunatic for days—how the hell should I know what he was thinking?"

  There was another pause, then Courtney's tone turned silky again. "Look, Gilsy, I know you didn't ask for any of this. Neither did I. But it's happened and... well, I really do need your help."

  Gilsy?

  Gil let out a rough exhale. "We've been through this already, Courtney. I'm the number one suspect in Brandon's murder. I can't be poking into his personal business now! I can't help you with the funeral, I can't sort out your finances, and I certainly can't have anything to do with Lyle Development. Can't you understand that?"

  "That's not what I'm talking abo
ut," Courtney pressed, her voice dropping. "This is different. It's about me."

  The room went silent.

  "I'm scared, Gil."

  Cara made an involuntary movement toward the shutters; Leigh shot out a quick restraining arm.

  "Scared of what?" Gil asked tonelessly.

  The next pause was nearly unbearable.

  "Of a man I met in Chicago," Courtney continued soberly. "Just a month or so ago. I didn't think he was dangerous. Really, I didn't. I thought he was all show. But he was handsome and he was exciting... and he was crazy about me. But now... well, I'm not sure what he is."

  "Why are you afraid of him?" Gil asked, his tone gentler now.

  Courtney released a long, slow breath. "I may be overreacting. But just a couple days before Brandon died, this man found out that I was married. I thought he knew already... I wasn't keeping it a secret. I just didn't talk about it. But he heard about it from somebody else, and he totally flipped. He never even spoke to me, he just started throwing things around my apartment... and then he walked out. After that I started hearing things from people. About how crazy possessive he was. About how violent he could get. Even about another woman that he..." She paused a moment. "I was terrified. I texted him saying I was going on a shopping trip to New York, but I came back to Pittsburgh instead. I wanted to get some things and lay low for a while—maybe on the West Coast. Brandon wasn't at the condo when I got there, but Diana's crap was everywhere and I sure as hell didn't want to run into her, so I took my stuff and checked into a hotel. The next morning, the police called me on my cell and told me they'd been trying to locate me—that Brandon was dead."

  "Did you tell the detectives all this?" Gil asked. There was a pause. Then he spoke again. "Why not? Courtney, do you realize this could open up the whole case?"

  "Of course I do!" she fired back, struggling not to shout. "But what if I am overreacting, and he had absolutely nothing to do with Brandon's death? If he's not out to get me already, he sure as hell would be after I turned the Pittsburgh police onto him for a murder charge!"

  Leigh could hear Courtney's heels clicking on the hardwood floor, could picture her pacing.

  "But, still!" Gil argued. "Who is this guy? If he did—"

  "Even if he did," Courtney retorted hotly, "there's no guarantee the police can prove it! He's so clever; you have no idea. The stories I've heard... and he's never gotten arrested for any of it. If he thought I betrayed him, I'd never be safe!"

  The heels clicked some more.

  "All I can do is wait it out," she finished. "Continue to pretend I really am on that shopping trip—at least until he cools down. He's texted me, finally, and I've texted back. I think we're making peace."

  "He could be misleading you," Gil pointed out.

  "I know that!" Courtney snapped. Her voice turned whiny again. "But don't you see? It's the only chance I've got to finesse my way out of this. Once his temper cools, I can go back to Chicago and let him break up with me. I played dazzling and seductive to get him; I can just as easily play boring and frumpy to lose him. Then I'll be free of him for good!"

  "I don't like it," Gil protested.

  "And I don't like being stuck in Pittsburgh!" Courtney exclaimed. "I don't feel safe at the hotel. There are only so many four-stars in town, and they all have only one way in and out. If he knew I was here, he could find me in a heartbeat! Whether he had anything to do with Brandon's murder or not, if he finds out I've been lying to him all this time, that when I told him I was going to New York I actually went home to my husband..." She let out a groan. "Can't you see that telling the police anything about him is only going to make matters worse for me?"

  Gil exhaled roughly. "What is it you think I can do?"

  Another pause. Courtney's voice became that of a frightened little girl. "Would you let me stay here for a while? I know you've got good security. But even if you didn't, no one in Chicago knows I have any ties to you. It would be the perfect hiding place!"

  "Can I listen too, Mom?"

  Leigh and Cara jumped a foot, their heads banging together with a clop as they simultaneously whirled to face Cara's twelve-year-old son, who stood lounging casually against the kitchen doorway.

  He laughed out loud. "Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you."

  "Mathias!" Cara chastised, rubbing her head. "You know you shouldn't sneak up on people like that."

  The boy grinned devilishly. "If you say so."

  Leigh rubbed her own aching head, wishing she could crawl under the countertop. How did she let Cara talk her into these things?

  "So who's the lady?" Mathias asked, opening the cupboard and getting himself a glass of water. "I saw her come in, but Dad made me go upstairs. I suppose he didn't want to be overheard."

  Smart aleck.

  Leigh kept an eye on Cara's composure, but her cousin was perfectly in control. "She's an old friend of your father's," Cara said placidly. "And it's no concern of yours. Now go back upstairs, please."

  "All right," Mathias said with disappointment. "Can I have a cookie first?"

  "No."

  "But I'm starving!"

  "You can have a spinach ball."

  The boy winced. "Never mind. G'night, Aunt Leigh."

  "Goodnight, Matt," Leigh returned.

  He walked out the door and into the hallway. They listened until they heard his footsteps complete the flight of stairs, then Cara turned abruptly to Leigh. "Unbelievable! We've got to go in there and—"

  "Cara?" Gil's voice froze them both where they stood. They looked up to see him and a flustered-looking Courtney standing in the doorway to the living room. "I thought I heard the back door just now," he said, throwing them both a hard look.

  Leigh attempted an innocent smile.

  "Hello, Courtney," Cara said pleasantly. "It's nice to see you again. I wondered whose car that was. It's rather distinctive."

  "Yes, I suppose it is," Courtney said thoughtfully. "It's nice to see you too, Cara. And Leigh," she added with a nod.

  The air hung thick as tofu.

  "Courtney was just leaving," Gil announced, gesturing his guest toward the front door. He spoke to her quietly as he walked her out. "I'll call Ken tonight and see what he says. If it's a go, I'll put you in touch with him. In the meantime, remember what I said."

  Courtney's voice was barely above a whisper. "You won't say anything to the police, will you?"

  "I'll do what I think is best for everybody," Gil answered stiffly. "Goodnight, Courtney."

  The door shut. Gil returned to the kitchen.

  Leigh braced herself for an explosion from Cara, but her cousin merely wrapped her arms around her husband's neck and held him tight. "I thought for a moment you might say yes," she confessed when she released him. "I was afraid you'd feel sorry for her."

  "You know I'd never let anyone put you or the kids in danger," he said reproachfully, though his gaze was—as always with his wife of fifteen years—adoring. "And you'll be happy to know you didn't miss anything, either. We'd been in the study all of about thirty seconds when you arrived and moved into position."

  Cara smirked. "You heard the van on the gravel?"

  "Of course," he responded. "But Courtney didn't notice it." His eyes moved to his cousin in law. "Thanks for helping with my alibi, Leigh."

  She nodded. "You are going to tell the police about this madman from Chicago, aren't you?" she asked impatiently. Courtney's confession to Gil did seem to fit with the woman's odd behavior on their walk in the rain downtown. Maura had to know ASAP.

  Gil's jaws clenched with consternation. "I'll tell them what I know, of course," he responded. "But I'm not sure how much it will help. Courtney wouldn't give me his name—she seems terrified of what would happen if the police contacted him. It was all I could do to get a description out of her—and she would only give me that if I agreed to help her find someplace to stay."

  "I don't want her coming back here," Cara said firmly. "I always knew she was a flake, but if I
had any idea she was hooked up with mobsters..."

  Leigh's own jaws clenched. She wasn't entirely sure Courtney had been telling Gil the truth, but under the circumstances, she didn't need to be sure. The thought of such a person being within a mile of her children made her blood freeze. She could not take any chances. "Do you really think this guy could be... connected?" she asked.

  Gil's brow furrowed. "I have no way of knowing. Courtney can be overly dramatic. On the other hand, she's always been attracted to both money and trouble."

  "She can't come back here," Cara repeated.

  "Of course not," Gil agreed. "I told her that. She knows I won't lift a finger to help her if she comes near any of you again. But we all need to watch out for a man fitting this guy's description—just in case."

  Leigh burned the details into her brain as Gil spoke them. Tall and solidly built. Early fifties, but looks younger. Gray hair, dark eyes. Expensive taste in wardrobe, but more showy than sophisticated.

  She would not forget.

  "Where are you suggesting she stay?" Cara asked.

  "I have a client from Philadelphia who leases an apartment downtown he rarely uses; I think he'd be willing to accommodate her," Gil answered. "She can make herself invisible enough in a crowd, as long as she watches how she uses her phone and stops driving such an easily recognizable car." He took his own phone from his pocket. "But my first call is going to Peterson."

  Gil stepped away to dial a number, and Leigh took her leave. She had a sudden, irrepressible desire to check on the occupants of her own house.

  She collected Chewie from the porch and headed down the drive. The distance between the cousins' houses was only a couple hundred yards, and the Marches had lit the whole way with lamp posts shortly after Leigh and Warren moved in. Even in the dark, it was a comfortable stroll Leigh had taken thousands of times. But tonight, every inch of it spooked her.

  Her eyes roved the trees and bushes; her ears attuned to any sound that wasn't a passing car, frog, or cricket.