Edie Claire - Never Preach Past Noon (Leigh Koslow Mysteries)

NEVER PREACH PAST NOON

Copyright 2000 by Edie Claire

Originally published by New American Library, a division of Penguin Putnam, Inc.

Digital edition for PubIt published in 2011 by the author.

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author.

Dedication

For my parents, Jack and Pat, who gave me my love of mysteries, and who want you to know that they are not like Randall and Frances (except, of course, for my mom and the clean-freak thing).

Chapter 1

Deciding not to replace her recently deceased answering machine had seemed like a good idea at the time. Leigh Koslow was busy enough at her fledgling advertising agency without coming home to a message light that blinked like a neon sign in Vegas. Especially when half the calls were from some eager soul whose mission in life was to convince her that her fourth-floor apartment needed vinyl siding.

But the call-back-later plan had its disadvantages. One significant one, Leigh thought to herself as she buried her head under her pillow, was being awakened at midnight by someone who evidently wanted to make darn sure she was there.

Six rings. Seven rings. Maybe it was a wrong number. Even if she was somewhat inaccessible, who would have the gall to call her this late on a Thursday night? Eight rings. Nine. She removed the pillow and opened her eyes. What if it was an emergency?

She forced herself upright and stumbled into the living room, where her telephone sat vibrating on a cheap end table. She shook her head and attempted to clear her throat. "Hello?"

There was a short pause on the other end, then a woman's voice, unfamiliar and uncertain. "Hello. Is this Leigh Koslow?"

Leigh's heart skipped a beat. So much for the wrong number theory. "Yes, what is it?"

"This is Gretchen Cawley at Passavant Hospital. We've had a patient brought into our E.R. who asked us to call you. Her name is Elizabeth Cogley."

Leigh swallowed, then took a deep breath. She sank down on one end of the couch with shaky legs. "That's my aunt. Is she okay?"

Another pause. "Her condition is listed as fair," the woman said encouragingly. "I'm sure there's no reason for alarm, but it would be helpful if she had a family member here. Can you come down?"

"Of course," Leigh answered automatically. "What happened?"

"I'm sorry, but I don't know any details. You'll have to ask her yourself when you get here. All right?"

Suddenly feeling very cold, Leigh hung up the phone, ripped off the overlong T-shirt she'd been sleeping in, and pulled on a sweatshirt and jeans. She felt hideous, but knew she wouldn't be the first person to show up at Passavant with messy hair and bags under her eyes. She grabbed her wallet and coat, locked her apartment door, and started down the stairs.

When she got to the second floor, a strong impulse pulled her toward Warren Harmon's door. She wanted to tell him about Bess, to see if he could go with her. But she fought the urge. They were still just old pals, after allhe was under no obligation to help out with her family crises. She bit her lip and made her feet stay on a downward course. Work had been so crazy lately she'd neglected him even as a friend, and waking him up at midnight was no way to make up for it. She couldn't afford to tax his ordinarily abundant good nature, or things would never work out like she wanted them to.

The drive up McKnight Road was dark and cold, but the pavement was clear of snow, and there were hardly any other cars out. Such fantasy conditions on that hectic thoroughfare would ordinarily excite any local, but Leigh couldn't be cheered. What on earth had happened to Bess? And what did "fair condition" mean, anyway?

Her fears were not abated when the E.R. desk informed her that her aunt had been admitted to the intermediate care unit. Too antsy to wait for an elevator, Leigh located a stairwell and hastily climbed to the third floor. It was eerily quiet, and she could hear her heart pounding in her ears as she opened the door to the intermediate care waiting area.

The small lobby was separated from the patient area by thick glass windows, through which she could see the woman she sought in a bed by the far wall. Bess Cogley, Leigh's mother's older sister and the self-proclaimed black sheep of the Morton clan, sat propped up on a series of pillows, her body consuming a large majority of the slim hospital bed. Despite the oxygen cannula in her nose and the various wires trailing out from under her hospital gown, Bess looked much like her usual flamboyant self, and Leigh breathed a deep sigh of relief.

"Can I help you?" asked a nurse who had opened an adjoining window.

"I got a call about my aunt, Elizabeth Cogley," Leigh replied, still watching Bess. The older woman's modified beehive was intact, as always, and her cheeks were their usually ruddy hue, but her face seemed dirty. One heavily bandaged foot was propped up on a stack of extra pillows, and she seemed to be coughing. "I was told she needed a family member to come down. Can I see her?"

"One moment," the nurse answered.

Leigh took another deep breath. Bess didn't seem badly hurt. What could have happened? A car accident, maybe? Her attention wavered enough to notice that a man was standing near her aunt's bedsidea man who didn't look like a hospital employee. A new boyfriend, perhaps? Leigh watched the couple closely. The man was very attentive, and seemed to be speaking to Bess earnestly. Bess, oddly, was avoiding his eyes.

The nurse interrupted the scene, and the man nodded as if preparing to leave. Leigh watched as he placed a hand gently over one of Bess's hands. The patient just smiled stiffly and gave a cursory nod, and the man walked away. Leigh's brow furrowed. Perhaps he was more of an ex boyfriend.

She watched as the man made his way back into the waiting area, then lifted a pair of dazzling green eyes to meet hers. His whole face lit up instantly, as if he'd been waiting his entire life for just such a moment. It was probably the same greeting he gave everybody, Leigh thought sensibly, but it certainly packed a wallop. He smiled and extended his hand, then retracted it quickly. It was covered with white bandages, and from the way he was holding it, seemed tender He chuckled slightly and extended the other hand. "I'm so sorry, but we'll have to do this backwards. Do you mind?"

Leigh shook her head and extended her left hand, shaking his awkwardly.

"I'm Reginald Humphrey, Bess's pastor friend," he explained. "You must be her niece."

"Leigh Koslow," she offered. "It's nice to meet you. Thanks for coming." She studied the man carefully, wondering how he had gotten to Bess before she had. Was he a hospital chaplain? Last she heard, Bess didn't have a pastor. Not since the tiny Presbyterian church by her house had fallen on hard times and gone defunct.

"I'm afraid I have to get busy finding myself a place to stay, but you tell Bess I'll come see her again tomorrow. She's a plucky woman, your aunt!"

The pastor's eyes twinkled as he spoke. He was on the short side for a man, missing Leigh's own height by at least an inch. But he had a presence that was difficult to quantify. His face was weathered and lightly freckled, topped with a precisely trimmed crown of carrot-colored hair, and his light green eyes had an unusually piercing quality that gave the impression he could see straight through her. Yet despite his confident introduction, his clothes were rumpled, his face and neck were smudged with grime, and he smelled like a chimney sweep. "Plucky?" Leigh repeated, distracted. "Oh, yes, plucky. That's Bess, all right."