Never Buried: A Leigh Koslow Mystery (6 page)

"The records say that Fields Funeral Home picked up the cost of the burial plot, so evidently Mr. Fields did know him. Would you like to wait and speak with him?"

Leigh's brow wrinkled. "Fields paid for the funeral? Is that typical?"

"No, no," the man responded. "The funeral arrangements were made in advance, but apparently Mr. Fischer had not yet purchased a plot at the time of his death. It happens sometimes. Fischer being a lifetime resident of Avalon, and having already paid for the funeral, I suppose Mr. Fields was willing to help out. He's a good man."

Leigh took the pink note and thanked the man profusely. She slipped out the way she had come in and returned to her car. The funeral, thankfully, was still in session. With luck, the procession wouldn't be following her to Peaceful Acres.

The old cemetery was in West View, another of the many Pittsburgh boroughs which, although a stone’s throw from the metropolis, had a distinctive small-town feel. It was in this larger borough to the North where Cara and Leigh had grown up in red brick row houses, side by side. That situation had occurred partly because their mothers, who were identical twins, were inseparable, and partly because Cara's father had abandoned the family before his daughter was born. Leigh drove through West View in a circuitous fashion, careful to avoid her parents' neighborhood. God forbid her mother should see her driving about on a Thursday morning.

She pulled up to the small wood-frame structure that served as the cemetery office, and was relieved to see the door propped open. Someone was home. She parked the car, walked up to the door, and looked in. A small sitting room was empty. Leigh knocked on the door's inner surface. "Hello? Is anyone here?"

A thin interior door opened slightly, then stopped. A woman's voice swore. With a grunt from the other side, the door broke loose from the buckled floor boards beneath. It burst open, followed closely by the shoulders of a stout woman of medium height and middle age. She slammed the door behind her and turned to look at Leigh with eyes eclipsed by black eyeliner and glittery blue mascara. She sighed heavily. "Damn door. I told Pete last spring to fix the thing." She gave Leigh a saccharin smile with lips that were a little too pink. "But then men never do do what you tell them, do they?"

Leigh returned a smile. She wasn't sure she wanted to male-bash with this particular individual, but she did need help. "My name is Leigh Koslow. I'm doing some genealogical research, and I'm trying to find the gravesite of a Paul Fischer, who was buried here in June, 1989."

The woman's mouth twitched slightly in disappointment, as if she had been hoping Leigh were selling cosmetics rather than visiting a grave. She sighed. "Sure, honey. Just let me take a look at the book." She pulled the door open again with a heave and a few strong words, not bothering to close it. Leigh couldn't see into the inner office, but she could hear heavy books being moved about, pages turning, and even more choice words. When the woman reemerged, her dyed-black hair looked a bit moister around the roots, and her expression was less friendly. "Paul Fischer's in section C, lot 14." She pointed out the area on a faded wall map encased in yellow-tinged plastic, and Leigh was dismissed.

Leigh hiked out to the far hill, careful not to step directly on any graves. It was an indirect route, but eventually she reached the area of flat stones where the woman had directed her. They lay close together in rows, a bit more orderly than the hodge podge of graves with upright headstones. She walked up the fence line and read the stones as far as she could see. When she reached the fifth row from the top and read the third stone over, she stopped. "Paul Byron Fischer: Born February 13, 1925, Died June 5, 1989."

So, Mr. Fischer, here you are. Or—here you were
.

There was nothing special about the marker, which looked just like those around it. The grounds were well tended, and no weeds covered the stone's edges. Remembering the purpose of her mission, she stepped back to look at the ground. It was covered with healthy grass that blended perfectly with that around it. Not a blade out of place. No telltale clods of dirt, no obvious swell of the landscape. No one had dug into this ground in months, maybe not even years.

Leigh sighed softly, then felt a little foolish. And she had thought she was doing so well as a sleuth. Had she really expected to come out here and find a gaping coffin-sized hole that no else had noticed? She exhaled in disgust and started back towards the car. She was better off doing résumés. The body, whosoever it was, probably had nothing to do with Paul Fischer or Cara's house. She should let the police handle it. At least they were getting paid.

***

Seeing the maroon Taurus parked in Cara's driveway did nothing to improve Leigh's spirits. She parked behind it and walked into the house, shoulders drooping. A prim, heavily accessorized woman sat in the parlor with Cara, teacup in hand. When she saw Leigh, she hastily put down the cup and rose, her face a perfect blend of concern and irritation. "Well, there you are! Are you feeling all right? I've been worried about you, you know. Why didn't you call me yesterday?"

Leigh took a deep breath, wheels turning in her mind. She had to tread carefully. "I'm fine, Mom. Why do you ask?"

Frances Koslow's orange-tinted lips formed an exaggerated "O." "Why do I ask?
Why
do I ask? I read in the morning paper that my daughter is a witness in a murder investigation, and I know nothing about it. And you ask me why I'm concerned?"

Leigh exhaled. If her mother only knew half the story, she was in good shape. "It wasn't a murder investigation," she answered calmly. "I just found a body, that's all."

"
That's all
?! And poor Cara here alone and unprotected?"

Cara bristled a little, but said nothing.

"Mom," Leigh tried again, "There's nothing to be upset about. Maura thinks the man probably died of natural causes. We're fine. I didn't mention it because I didn't want to worry you."

"You didn't think I would read the paper?"

Leigh had no response to that.

"And if you're so fine—"

Here it comes
.

"—Why aren't you at work? Your receptionist told me you weren't coming in today, and Cara didn't know where you were either."

Today
? Leigh sighed in relief.
Thanks, Esther. I owe you one
.

Cara rose and looked at Leigh around Frances's shoulder, a question in her eyes. Leigh shot her a warning look.

"Well?" Frances insisted. "What's wrong with you? You know you just can't go taking off from work all the time. You'll lose your job for sure."

Leigh bit her lip, and inspiration came. "I have plenty of time off coming, Mom. In fact, I just talked with Mr. Lacey yesterday, and he encouraged me to go ahead and take it."

Frances's brow wrinkled slightly, but she seemed satisfied. "Well, good. I'm sure Cara can use some help around the house. No point wasting money on maids and nurses when family can pitch in." She scooped up her oversized embroidered purse and fumbled for her keys. "Thank you for the tea, Cara dear. It was lovely. I have to run. Music Club is at noon."

She motioned for Leigh to walk her to the door. "I want you to let me know what's going on with this investigation, do you understand?" she said in a hushed tone. "Cara shouldn't be exposed to this. You know what her doctors said."

Leigh nodded. She opened the door wide.

"Oh, and I almost forgot," Frances continued, gesturing with her keys. "I want you both to come over for dinner on Saturday. It's been too long since we had a nice family meal. I want you to invite your friend Maura, too. I haven't seen her in years."

Leigh wondered what motivated the latter invitation. "Maura may have to stay with her mother," she reminded. In a cruel twist of irony, the woman with the near-perfect memory was now in the early stages of Alzheimer's disease.

"Oh, of course," Frances responded thoughtfully. "Then invite her too. The more the merrier."

"Okay, Mom. Goodbye."

Leigh shut the door, but soon heard a gentle rapping. She opened it to face a look of stern disapproval. "I can't go anywhere, dear. You have my car blocked in. Oh, and by the way—"

Leigh steeled herself for the honey-coated insult she knew was coming.

"—your car is looking a little neglected. You can come over and use our hose if Cara's won't reach the driveway. No sense paying for a car wash. You should vacuum it out, too—I'm sure it's long overdue..."

Leigh slipped into zombie mode and followed her mother out to the cars. Saturday would be a blast.

***

With Cara off at an afternoon doctor's appointment, Leigh had settled herself in front of the computer with good intentions of updating her résumé. But when the phone rang half an hour and one rewritten sentence later, the interruption was welcome.

"Hello again, Leigh," Maura said, sounding tired. "I have some news for you."

Leigh wondered whether she should tell Maura of her own investigations. Probably not.

"This doesn't usually happen," Maura continued. "In fact, I don't know if it's ever happened, but the county has kicked your case back to us. Seems this whole business boils down to an abuse of corpse, and the detectives are up to their eyeballs in real homicides."

Leigh was lost. "Abuse of corpse?"

"The coroner's report came out earlier today. The man whose body you found died at the approximate age of 60, and was embalmed about 10 years ago. The most probable cause of death was advanced pancreatic cancer—i.e., natural causes. There was no homicide. The body isn't where it should be, but messing around with a corpse is only a second-degree misdemeanor. Long story short—the county no longer cares. You're stuck with the locals."

Leigh smiled. Maura was back in the loop. The detectives had been a disappointment anyway. She hadn't expected raincoats and cigars, but an unattached, thirtyish one with a sardonic smile and a cute posterior would have been nice.

"I'm not sure who Mellman's going to put on it, but I've already made a few phone calls. Paul Fischer's records from his first and last admission into Suburban General Hospital match up with the coroner's findings."

Leigh's stomach tightened.

"He died at Suburban General on June 5th, 1989, at the age of 64, of complications of pancreatic cancer."

Leigh tried to reconcile Maura's words with the smooth, flat lawn below Fischer's headstone. "But that's not possible," she said without meaning to.

"Come again?"

"I just came back from looking at Paul Fischer's grave, up at Peaceful Acres," Leigh answered hesitantly. "There wasn't a blade out of place."

Maura was quiet for a moment. "Perhaps the body hasn't been there for a while. Landscaping can change in a decade."

A long silence followed. Finally, Maura broke it. "Look, Koslow, I know this is creepy. But we're going to get to the bottom of it, I promise. I'm going to grill the hell out of Vestal as soon as I can, but first I've got to check on a domestic situation, and that may take a while. What I'm wondering is—" Maura broke off, as if she were about to give away more than intended. "Sit tight, Leigh. You guys have a good security system over there, right?"

"Yes."

"Well, use it. Just in case this prankster isn't the friendly type."

"
Comprende
," Leigh answered mechanically. They hung up.

She sat for a long time, staring into space. Something was nagging at her. If the body was Paul Fischer, then she'd been looking at an empty grave. But empty for how long? She closed her eyes and pictured the site: the carefully tended green grass, the rows of long flat stones, laid out so precisely.

Her eyes opened. She knew what was wrong. And she knew that not only was Paul Fischer's body not in that grave—it never had been.

Chapter 6

When Leigh's Cavalier pulled into the driveway of Fields Funeral Home for the second time that day, the parking lot was nearly deserted. She parked near the main entrance and walked up to the heavy wooden double doors. She started to pull one open, with no small amount of effort, and quickly found herself aided by another red-coated man. This one was considerably younger than the last she had encountered, and not nearly as polite.

He looked condescendingly at her tee shirt and jeans. "Can I help you... Ma’am?"

She bristled. "Yes," she said firmly, and more than a little high-handedly. "I'd like to speak with Vestal, privately."

"He's busy in his office right now," the youth replied. "Is there something I can help you with?" His eyes twinkled evilly. "Perhaps you'd like to have a look at one of our advance planning programs?"

Leigh stared at him hard, wondering how their relationship had gotten off to such a fabulous start. "I've already made plans with a taxidermist"—she smiled sweetly—"but thank you." She pushed past him and started walking in what she believed to be the general direction of the main office.