Bake Me a Murder (11 page)

I sat with my arms around myself and stared at a fly on the door. My silent curse on the city’s potholes threatened to go audible.
If only Ed hadn’t had a flat. If only I had called him sooner.
I mentally slapped myself out of it. Regret and its partner, guilt, were getting in the way.

I heard Ed, yelling, “Claire, what the hell?” A uniformed cop had stopped him. I rose, darted outside and, ducking under the police tape, stood beside him. Together we waited for Corrigan.

The Medical Examiner turned up fifteen minutes later and confirmed what I already knew. Yolanda had been shot once.

The police canvassed for witnesses. They lifted fingerprints and searched for the murder weapon, Yolanda’s phone, and the lipstick tube. These last three couldn’t be located.

The longer the hunt continued the tighter Corrigan’s jaw clenched. I wondered if he’d make me stay at the crime scene the rest of the day. What he wanted turned out to be worse. “If someone came into the house to kill Ms. Cruz, they’re long gone. It’s a good thing your gun hasn’t been fired recently. So far you’re in the clear. But I’d still like you to come down to the station.”

I glanced at Ed, who shrugged his shoulders.

Turning back to Corrigan I asked, “What for? You just said I was in the clear, and I’ve already given you my statement.” My head began to pound harder than a carpenter’s hammer.

Corrigan was quick to reassure me. “You’re not being arrested.”

“Then why?” The butterflies in my stomach flapped their wings faster, fearing an even worse reason for being hauled in. But then that vein in his temple stuck out and I knew it’d be better for me to stop arguing and go with him.

Corrigan lowered his voice. “So you’re safe.” He peered into my eyes like he wanted to touch my heart.

I took an unconscious step back, uneasy yet thrilled, like he’d caressed me with those baby blues. I felt like I could purr. No guy had ever looked at me like that. Not even Justin, my one-time fiancé. For a moment, I couldn’t speak.

Ed shuffled his feet, bringing me back to the real world. “Sorry I didn’t make it here in time. Friggin’ potholes.” Ed whispered. “Cut Corrigan some slack. It’ll be easier on all concerned. The guy’s nuts about you. I’m taking off. Call me if you need me.” He waved at Corrigan and left.

Nuts about me? I wasn’t sure that was true. Even if it was, romance was out of the question. I frowned, feeling the need to re-establish the previous borders of Corrigan’s and my relationship, at least until Merle was cleared. “I’ll go with you, Detective, although I’m not sure if I trust you not to use handcuffs on me.”

By Corrigan’s scowl, I realized I’d said the wrong thing. Previous borders re-established.

Corrigan’s hands squeezed his steering wheel. I wondered if he was imagining it was my neck. I cleared my throat. “Want to talk about it?” Judging by the steel glare I got, he didn’t.

Inside the station, he had a lively conversation with another cop. Then he led me into the same interrogation room I’d used to look at mug shots. “Wait right here.” He took off, leaving me alone and wondering what I was supposed to do.

I was about to stomp out of the room when Corrigan reappeared holding a blue sweatshirt. “Here. Take off your shirt and put this on.” I cocked my head to one side, confused. He explained, “You don’t want to wear a top covered in blood, do you?”

“Of course not.” I snatched the sweatshirt and waited for him to leave. When he didn’t move, I lifted an eyebrow. “Are you planning on standing here while I change?”

He gave me a devilish smile. “Only if you insist.”

I tossed back my hair. “In your dreams.”

His face as solemn as a funeral director’s he murmured, “Yes, you are.”

For a moment I stood there, trance-like, aware of how close he stood to me. I rocked back on my heels. “Whew! It’s warm in here. I’ll go change in the ladies’ room. Be back in five minutes.” I rushed out the door like someone with a grenade had just pulled the pin.

In the restroom my trembling fingers fumbled with the buttons on my blouse. I caught myself wondering if Corrigan would do any better.

When I returned to the interrogation room, Corrigan had taken off his jacket and was sitting backwards on the chair across from what I supposed was my seat. I began rubbing my hands together so fast they could have burst into flames.

“Relax, Claire. Like I said, you’re here so I can keep an eye on you. Keep you safe. Understand, there’s no way of knowing if Ms. Cruz’s killer will come after you.”

My hands dropped back into my lap. “I’m supposed to stay here until you catch him, him, being Rico?”

The cop Corrigan had spoken with earlier, opened the door. “Mr. Goldfarb here to represent Ms. DeNardo.” Harold stuck his head out from behind the cop.

“Harold! How did you know I was here?” Thank God I didn’t need him. He might drive a beat-up Ford but unless a fairy godmother deposited money in my account, I couldn’t afford him.

Corrigan didn’t even glance up. “Ms. DeNardo isn’t being charged with anything.”

With the flexibility of an acrobat, Harold wiggled his way past the cop at the door. “I’m here to make sure she doesn’t say anything that could be construed as an admission of guilt as accessory to a crime.”

I wondered at the smoothness with which he said that line. Had he used it countless times before? No opportunity to dwell on the thought.

Like a knight rescuing a damsel Harold took my hand. “Come on, Claire. Let’s get out of here.”

Corrigan stood and addressed Harold. “I don’t think you understand the situation.”

Outside the open door of the interrogation room someone handed the escorting cop a message. He read it and without a word, turned it over to Corrigan who read it and suppressed a satisfied grin. He addressed Harold, “I need to talk to Ms. DeNardo for one minute. Alone. She’s free to go after that.”

I cocked my head. “It’s okay, Harold.”

He nodded. “I’ll be right outside.” The door closed behind him.

Corrigan waved the note around. “This is notification that Rico Carreras is in custody. No gun on him, but it’ll turn up. His fingerprints are all over that house. Could be, he’s Yolanda Cruz’s killer.”

“And Coco’s?”

“Maybe. We’ll question him.”

“Good.” The tension receded a bit. “Can I go now?” I’d been out of the loop with Merle for too long, and we needed to catch up.

That’s when I remembered my car was back at
Cannoli’s
.

Corrigan tapped the note against the palm of his hand. “I’d take you back to
Cannoli’s
, but I’m going to be tied up for a while. I’ll call you a cab.”

To my surprise, a speck of sadness floated into my heart. Rather than figure out where the feeling had come from, I swept it away. “That’s okay. I’ll call my aunt and see if she can come get me.
Cannoli’s
is just closing up”

I opened the interrogation room door and almost collided with Harold, who was ending a call. He put his phone away and smiled like he’d gotten away with the golden goose. He whispered, “I’ve got an appointment with Dr. Jonathan Williams first thing tomorrow morning. He’s a dirt specialist.”

“So is my neighbor’s two-year-old grandson.” The light clicked on in my dim head. “Oh! About the dirt found on Coco matching Merle’s clothes.”

He flashed such a mischievous smile, I half-expected him to shout, “Only kidding.” Instead, he continued. “Absolutely. I believe that dirt could be from anywhere. Or maybe from two areas.” He showed me a pill container filled with soil. “Like from Ms. Sanchez’s front yard.”

My eyebrows shot up. “How did you get that? We just found out where she lived.”

“I have my ways.” He used a bad German Nazi accent, reminding me once more how young he was.

“That’s good.” I checked the time, hoping it wasn’t too late to call my aunt. “Excuse me. I have to call my aunt for a ride back to my car.”

“Never mind calling her. I can take you.” Thoughts of his beaten, rust-bucket made me hesitate. He must have read my mind. Or my expression. “Relax. I’ve got the good wheels today.”

What’s his definition of ‘good’?
I agreed to be his passenger.

He opened the door for me like a gentleman. I slid into a late model BMW.
Probably his dad’s.
“Here, I’ll lay your jacket down in the back seat.”

Once on the road, I asked him how he knew I was at the police station.

“Let’s just say I have contacts in the right places.”

I looked at his smooth, beardless face,
Who? Your school crossing guard?

Without waiting for any reply from me, he switched topics. “Is there anything between you and Detective Corrigan, that is, besides a murder case?”

Assuming his question had to do with more than Merle I answered, “We went out a few times.” A wave of my hand dismissed anything further. “It didn’t work.” I forced a smile.

Harold kept his eyes on the road. “Good, because once Merle’s free, I want to take you out to dinner.”

To Chucky Cheese? I was old enough to be his babysitter.
I coughed to buy time for a calm response. “Harold, I’m flattered, but,” I got an inspiration. “I broke my rule about not dating anyone who could be involved in any of my cases when I went out with Detective Corrigan. It gets too awkward and doesn’t end well. I hope you understand.”

“I do. It’s a good rule, for the most part. But it doesn’t pertain to us. We wouldn’t be looking to have a great love affair.”

I shifted in my seat. “What do you mean?”

“Claire, you’re very hot, and I like my women older, but when I settle down it’ll be with someone closer to my own age. For the sake of future offspring, you know?”

I didn’t know whether to be insulted or relieved I wasn’t in his target age range. Either way, Harold as a lover didn’t exactly send flames shooting from my loins.

With an exaggerated nod, I said. “I get it. But I’m still sticking to my rule.”

He shrugged. “Okay. However, if you change your mind, you know how to find me.”

A few uncomfortable minutes later, we pulled up to
Cannoli’s
. I pointed out the window. “There’s my car.”

When he hit the brakes, I unclasped my seatbelt and grabbed my jacket. “Thanks, Harold. Good luck with the dirt doctor.” I jumped from his car, threw my jacket over my shoulder and slid into my car. So he’d leave, I even turned the motor on and waved.

As soon as Harold drove away, I turned off the ignition and sneaked inside
Cannoli’s
. Why I felt compelled to be so secretive, I didn’t know. Harold and I were, to my knowledge, on the same team. Chalking it up to the day’s happenings, I dismissed my unease.

Aunt Lena was cleaning up when she heard me come in. “Did Brian catch up with you? I called him as soon as you left.”

I gave her a bear hug. “Yes. Thanks.”

She looked me up and down. “That’s not your sweatshirt.”

Looking down as if I’d forgotten what top I was wearing, I said, “No. It’s Brian’s. He gave it to me so I wouldn’t have to wear—um—I spilled tea all over myself.” I didn’t want to alarm Aunt Lena by telling her yet another woman had died. “Any cream puffs left?” So many calories, but after today I deserved one.

“In the fridge. Bring them out here and you can explain better while I mop.”

Lost in plotting what to omit in my explanation, I opened the refrigerator door. When my jacket, still over my shoulder, hit against the steel of the refrigerator something made a clinking noise. I let the door close by itself and checked through my jacket. Nothing in the left pocket, but my fingers touched something deep inside the right one. A lipstick tube. I shrieked and the memory of discovering Yolanda’s corpse flooded back.

My aunt heard me and plowed through the kitchen’s swinging door, holding the broom as if it were a weapon. “Are you all right?”

“Lipstick.” I grabbed a napkin and wrapped the tube in it.

Aunt Lena lowered the broom. “What is it? The wrong color?”

My stomach began a roller coaster ride. “No. It’s evidence.” Had Yolanda found it and dropped it in my pocket before she died? Or had Harold discovered it when he visited Coco’s house for the dirt?
I wanted to let Corrigan know but got his voicemail. I didn’t want to leave a message. He was probably still questioning Rico.

My mind raced. “I’m taking this to the police.”

I must have had a crazed look in my eyes because my aunt said, “You’re not in any condition. I’ll drive you.”

“You don’t have to.” My resistance was no match, though, for her iron will and handy broom.

All the way to the station I replayed my interactions with Yolanda and then with Harold. The boy lawyer seemed the more likely of the two. But why give it to me instead of the police? He must have known better than anyone the penalty for withholding evidence.

I still hadn’t come up with a realistic answer when we pulled up outside the police station.

Aunt Lena parked the car and looked at me while I ruminated. “Well? Aren’t we going in?”

Chapter Eleven

M
y mind hashed out the best tack for me to take. Turning the lipstick tube, or evidence, over to Corrigan was the smartest and right thing to do. It’d be a whole lot less frightening for me. I frowned. What was wrong with me? I wasn’t acting like a private investigator at all.

My aunt was still waiting for an answer. “Not yet.”

“Claire. You’re not thinking of hunting the man who killed Merle’s dancer girlfriend yourself, are you?”

“Coco’s real murderer, Rico, has been taken into custody.”

“That’s a relief.” She gave me a light slap on my forearm. “Why didn’t you tell me? Merle’s free then?”

“No. The police still think Merle killed Coco. This is about Yolanda’s murder.” My aunt’s eyes opened wide. I pressed my lips together, wishing I could retract my words. Scaring my aunt wouldn’t help anything.

“That woman you were talking to? She’s dead now too? That’s horrible.” She shuddered. “You’re right in turning this over to the police.” Her face paled. “Oh no. You’re not going to, are you?”