Never Sorry: A Leigh Koslow Mystery (17 page)

"You told me about it!" he protested. "You were still obsessed with him in college—when we met. You joked about how you wanted a Southern man because
they
knew how to treat a girl."

"I did?" Leigh tried to sound ignorant, but she was starting to remember. For a few years after Tanner had left the Koslow Animal Clinic to start a prestigious zoo residency, she had carried around a rather large torch. She was sure Stacey would meet some beach bum in San Diego and take off for good. Then Tanner would come back to town…

"That was stupid kid's stuff," she said, blushing.

"I know it was," Warren said, more gently this time. "What I'm trying to say is—it still is. Do you understand?"

Leigh turned away from him and drained the last of her iced tea. Sometimes, Warren was too damned perceptive for his own good.

***

Katharine insisted on doing the driving. Leigh didn't feel like arguing, but she did demand they visit a fast food drive-through on the way up. Lawyers might be able to work on negative calories, but advertising copywriters could not. She ate a chicken sandwich without enjoyment, watching out the windows as rain started pouring down from the darkening sky.

The ambience was perfect.

Tanner hadn't been in the jail long, having spent a fair amount of the afternoon at the Butler hospital. He sat across from them at a table, handcuffed, while a guard looked on. He looked almost as miserable as Leigh felt.

"Do you have a lawyer yet?" Katharine asked.

Tanner shook his head. He seemed older than his thirty-eight years, and very tired, but at least he was lucid again. "I thought I'd call my brother in Alabama and see if he can float me a loan. I'd use a public defender, but my salary may disqualify me. I don't have any savings. Most of what I had—"

He broke off in mid sentence, but Leigh could guess the rest. "Most of what I had, Stacey got." The pain in his eyes was deep, far deeper than the anger she had seen when Stacey had confronted him at the zoo the day before. Leigh recalled an old expression about love and hate being two sides of the same coin. She watched him as he mechanically answered Katharine's gently worded questions, his eyes bloodshot and moist. He didn't seem to realize that the lawyer was there only to help Leigh; in fact, he didn't seem to notice Leigh at all.

The realization sunk into her brain with a dull ache. Tanner really had loved Stacey. He probably had never stopped loving her, insufferable witch that she was. Had he even wanted the divorce?

"Do you have any idea how long you were at the cabin before Leigh arrived?" Katharine asked.

Tanner looked at Leigh for a brief moment. "Were you at the cabin?" he asked tonelessly. "I didn't see you."

I'll bet not
. "You were in shock."

He looked at her as if he didn't believe her, but made no comment. "I can see why they arrested me—I guess. I was there. But they've got to keep looking for the real—" he stumbled over his word choice. "The real person who did this. Stacey wasn't even supposed to be there. When I saw her car, I thought she'd come for the antique rifle. She probably did." He smiled slightly, as if even his ex-wife's avarice was now endearing. "But someone else was there, or someone else surprised her." His tone assumed a faraway quality. "A madman in the woods."

"You didn't see anybody else?" Katharine prodded.

Tanner shook his head.

"Did you pass any cars on your way in?"

He jerked his head up and looked at her. "No, should I have? The detective asked me about cars, but I didn't know why."

Leigh sat up. "What cars?"

"He asked if I knew anyone who drove either a green Pinto or a tan Eldorado."

Leigh looked at Katharine meaningfully. "He asked me about a Blue Buick or a tan Eldorado." She turned to Tanner. "
Do
you know anyone who drives a tan Eldorado?"

He nodded. "I used to. One of the keepers. But she's gone now."

First excited at the prospect of a break, Leigh's joy was suddenly tainted with dread. She thought she knew whose name was coming next.

"Kristin Yates," he announced, nonplussed. "But I don't see how she could have anything to do with this. She's in Washington now. And even if she wasn't, she'd never do anything like this."

Leigh studied his sincere expression and began to wonder if this Kristin Yates and the one she remembered were one and the same after all. The Kristin Yates she knew would have had a hard time reaching thirty without committing a felony. "Was Kristin from the same high school as Carmen?" she asked Tanner.

He looked surprised by the question. "I don't know. They were old friends, though. Why?"

Leigh shook her head and shrugged.

Katharine asked Tanner several more questions, most of which he answered without hesitation. But on the subject of his personal relationship with Carmen, he was closemouthed. Katharine seemed to accept this stonewalling as expected, and when Leigh asked for a moment alone, the lawyer threw her an approving look and obliged.

Wary of the guard who hung just close enough to overhear, Leigh leaned over the table and lowered her voice. "I'm really sorry about this, Mike," she said honestly. "Believe me, I know exactly how you feel. But I'm going to beat this thing, and so are you."

He smiled, but not sincerely. It seemed more of a polite gesture.

"There's one thing I have to know, though. And I'm not asking for my own petty reasons. I'm asking for my own deadly serious reasons." She took a deep breath. "The prosecution's theory is based on the idea that you and Carmen were involved. And don't play semantics with me. You know what I mean. They think that the three of us were caught up in some love triangle, and that Carmen attacked me, or I attacked her, or some such nonsense. Then of course we nonchalantly hacked her up and fed her to the tigers."

Tanner winced, but Leigh pressed on. He could get squeamish—and she could throw up—later. "Everyone at the zoo has testified that you and Carmen were an item. I want to hear it from you. Were you?"

She stopped, sitting back in her chair and trying not to look as anxious as she felt. She didn't want to ask, and she didn't really want to know. But she had to do both. Warren had been right, blast him. She hadn't been looking at Tanner objectively, and if she didn't wake up soon she wouldn't be up just any creek; she'd be up the Niagara River.

Tanner avoided her eyes. She'd never seen him squirm before. Did he squirm before he lied, or before he told the truth?

He sighed, long and deep. "Look, Leigh. It was true what I said before. Carmen and I were friends. First and foremost. Maybe there was more there occasionally—maybe she wasn't as sure what she wanted. But I knew what I wanted. I didn't want to be tied down to another woman. Period."

The words washed over Leigh in a muddy drizzle. Evidently, her hero had studied at the Bill Clinton School of Semantics. She, however, was an alumnus of the School of Women Who Aren't Idiots. She hadn't believed Clinton then, and she didn't believe Tanner now.

"I see," she said simply. His definition of the word "friend" was now clear. A friend was someone he liked, but had no intention of ever committing to. Sex would not be precluded, of course. It was just another form of friendly recreation—like going to a movie.

She rose to leave. "Leigh?" he said hesitantly. "You believe me, don't you?"

Leigh looked at him sadly, painfully aware of his navy-blue jumpsuit and shackles. Being a prisoner was demoralizing, even if Butler County did have better fashion sense than Allegheny. She couldn't kick a man when he was down.

"Don't worry about what I think," she said, smiling. "Concentrate on getting yourself out of here. Try to figure out how Carmen's and Stacey's deaths could be connected—if they are connected. Can you do that?"

Tanner nodded.

"Good," Leigh smiled again. "If you come up with anything, call me. Or if they won't let you, have your lawyer call mine." She headed for the door, then turned around. "When you're out, we'll do dinner, okay? I'm buying."

She left him smiling, which was at least some small accomplishment. She wanted him to hang in there, to stay strong, to come out swinging. Because after she bought him the dinner she had promised, she was going to beat the crap out of him.

Chapter 13

Katharine dropped Leigh off at the front door of her apartment building, and Leigh climbed immediately to Warren's floor. The thought of facing her maniacally blinking answering machine held little appeal, and she suddenly felt very…lonely.

She knocked on his door and he pulled it open part way, as he sometimes did when he had an important visitor. Leigh's heart sank.

"Hi," he said, a trace of sadness in his voice. "I've got company. Can you come back in about fifteen minutes?"

Leigh nodded glumly and mounted the last two flights to her own apartment. A neglected Mao Tse attacked her shins immediately, and Leigh swept the cat up and cradled her upside down. Mao Tse purred contentedly. She wouldn't let just anybody get away with that, but Leigh was privileged.

The answering machine announced a mere four messages, and Leigh was pleasantly surprised. Two were from her mother, announcing the specific location, menu and agenda of tomorrow's family conference. The menu—her Aunt Lydie's famous lasagna—sounded great. But given the location and agenda, Leigh wasn't sure she could stomach even that delicacy.

Jeff Hulsey had also called—he said for Leigh not to worry, that the whole incident could actually be good for Hook's business, provided she was cleared. Despite his impure motives, Leigh was encouraged. He seemed to have no doubt (along with everyone else who knew her and had half a brain) that she was innocent. Character witnesses were allowed in criminal trials, weren't they?

Only one message was from a reporter, and there had been no reporters waiting outside. She smiled. It was a good trend. All messages disgorged, the machine rewound and beamed its steady light once more.

Leigh looked at her watch. It had been twelve minutes since she'd talked to Warren. That was close enough. She plopped Mao Tse down on the couch, and the Persian protested loudly. "Oh, all right," Leigh said, feeling guilty again. "You can come with me."

She plodded down the stairs, holding tight to the anxious Mao Tse. "Don't get out much, do you, girl?" Warren's door was open a bit, and as she came closer, it swung open the rest of the way to let out a well-dressed, portly gentleman with a briefcase. Leigh stepped back.

The man shook Warren's hand goodbye and took off down the hall away from Leigh. She crept forward slowly, her hands clamped tight on the struggling Mao Tse. Warren hadn't completely shut the door, so she walked on in.

"Is the coast clear?" she teased, shutting the door behind her.

Warren, who had collapsed into a recliner, didn't look up. "Yeah. Come on in."

She sat on the couch opposite him, and released Mao Tse onto the coffee table. The cat sniffed tentatively at the tea-soaked
Wall Street Journal
, then hopped down silently and began strolling toward the bedroom. Warren scowled. "I don't have a litter box, you know."

"Don't worry," Leigh said assuringly. "She'll make do."

Warren threw her a hard glance, and Leigh noticed that he didn't look so well. "How'd it go with Tanner?" he asked.

"Fine," she answered evasively. "Who just left?"

He sighed. "Myran Wiggin, Chair of the Allegheny County Democratic Party. How's your talent for spin holding up these days?"

"Superb, as always," she answered proudly. No doubt it was a big reason Warren tolerated her friendship. But why did he need PR now? "Myran Wiggin the philanderer?" she asked. "What did he want?"

"He wanted to inform me of how having my fiancée convicted of first-degree murder is likely to affect my future."

For a happy few seconds, Leigh didn't get it. Then the perpetual knot in her stomach twisted up another notch. Oh…right. The charade they had pulled last Thursday morning.

Crap.

She felt slightly nauseous. The publicity was annoying, yes, but she hadn't really thought about the fallout to her friends. She had certainly never considered herself a political liability to Warren.

The wheels in her brain turned rapidly. A seat on the new county council was Warren's dream—at least his most immediate one. He couldn't lose it because of her. "But Barbara Wiggin didn't have any reason to think we were engaged!" she cried. "Just tell them it was a one-night stand. Myran should appreciate that!"

Warren shook his head sadly. "It's too late. I sort of misled Barbara, you see."

Leigh remembered when Warren had whispered into Mrs. Wiggin's ear. The shocked woman had visibly relaxed afterwards. "You told her we were engaged?"

He sighed again. "I didn't lie to her. I just implied we were heading that direction, and she thought what she wanted to think."

Leigh wondered what Warren could have implied that wouldn't be a lie. He wasn't the type to twist words. The Bill Clinton School of Semantics would have thrown him out in a day. "NOT TRYING HARD ENOUGH," his report card would say. "REFUSES TO COMPROMISE PRINCIPLES." It was a hard line to toe in politics, and it would probably be his downfall. But Leigh couldn't help but be proud of him.