Never Sorry: A Leigh Koslow Mystery Read Online Free PDF Page B

taste in nightwear, anyway."
    Leigh looked down at the elephantine sweats bagged up from her ankles to her knees. She realized one shoulder was completely uncovered. "These aren't mine," she said hotly, jerking up the neckline.
    "That's what concerns me," he said, sounding serious. "Did I interrupt something?"
    Leigh scoffed. Not likely . "These are Maura's," she answered. "Enough about me. I want real coffee. And a nice, long explanation for this little performance."
    "Fine," Warren agreed, "but I'm fresh out of vanilla almond."
    Ten minutes and a change of clothes later, Leigh was again sitting at Warren's kitchen table, this time drinking a full-strength brew.
    "Myran Wiggin is the chair of the Allegheny County Democratic Party, as every good Pittsburgher should know," Warren explained. "He's extremely influential. To make a long story short, he can make or break my chances for the new county council."
    Leigh tried not to let her gaze wander. She loathed politics, as Warren well knew. But changing the world through channels was his life goal. That—and being President, of course. She used to laugh at his aspirations, but now she wasn't so sure. He had won his first election—to become the county's Register of Wills—by a landslide, then gone on to collect considerable accolades for his cost-cutting innovations. Now, with the revamping of the county government underway and the extinction of his current post looming, he was vying for a charter membership on the new Allegheny County Council. Warren was brilliant at all matters financial, but she could never quite figure out how he succeeded in politics, given the fact that he was basically honest.
    "It appeared that I was standing in pretty good favor with Myran," Warren continued, "until last weekend."
    Despite her efforts, Leigh's gaze wandered to a water stain on Warren's ceiling.
    He waved a hand in front of her face. "Yoo hoo, Leigh? Stay with me—the good stuff's coming."
    She redoubled her efforts.
    "We were having drinks at a hotel bar after a committee meeting—standard stuff, and Myran was feeling unusually festive. So festive, in fact, that he offered to serve up a couple of female companions for the evening—his treat."
    Leigh was back with the program. "And you said—?"
    "I declined, of course. Gracefully—or so I thought. He sulked through a few more drinks, then I put him in a cab and sent him home to Barbara."
    "Where he belonged."
    "Granted."
    "So what was the problem?"
    "The problem was that when he came over last night to talk shop again, he seemed uneasy. He kept looking around my apartment like he was trying to find something."
    "Thought you'd squeal on him, eh?"
    "Hardly. I don't think he loses much sleep over his reputation. Barbara is well aware of his weaknesses."
    "Oh," Leigh said, disappointed in the little woman. Any man who tried that on her would regret her knowledge of the neutering procedure.
    "I got the distinct impression," Warren continued, "that he thought I didn't share his taste for women. Any woman."
    "Aha…" Leigh cooed, catching the drift. "The single, slender, and neat thing, eh?" She smiled. "You are awfully neat for a man, you know."
    Warren glared. "Don't start with me. The point is, he had his suspicions. And as conservative a Democrat as Myran is, those suspicions could be the death knell of my campaign."
    Leigh laughed as she poured herself a second cup of coffee. "Hence the sleepover façade."
    "Right, although that was sheer luck. He called before dawn this morning to tell me he'd left his glasses, and that he was sending Barb to pick them up."
    "The little woman again," Leigh scowled, sitting back down. "Fetch, dear! What a jerk." She took a long drag of coffee.
    "Myran is no saint, but he has political talent," Warren defended. "Besides, you'll be happy to know that he doesn't know as much about his wife's whereabouts as he thinks he does."
    Her eyes widened. "Really? Mrs. Prim and Servile herself? Do tell!"
    But