Bake Me a Murder (13 page)

Next thing to deal with was the issue of Merle’s lie. I hoped he’d tell Harold, assuming Harold remained Merle’s attorney. That brought me back to Bucanetti. Was he a bit player in this drama or the director and producer? It felt like a maze and no matter which way I turned in it I ran into a dead end.

Pushing aside the uneasy feeling still bouncing around in my head regarding Harold’s affiliation and Merle’s latest confession, I went to work. I had to figure out whose address I’d discovered inside the lipstick tube. Best place to start was my computer.

After an hour of research I learned the address belonged to a furniture store on Brookpark Road in Cleveland. Maybe this Jimmy person worked there. I wondered if Corrigan had already been to the store. Then my appearance would be the store owner’s second visitor with questions about a murder. In the highly unlikely case Corrigan missed something I decided to go anyway.

First, I placed another call to Merle, wondering if I should tell him about Yolanda.

Merle picked up right away. “Thanks for calling back again, Claire. I was worried you might not. I heard they arrested Rico Carreras for killing Coco’s friend.”

“Yes. I forgot to tell you. Did you know Yolanda?”

“No. Harold asked me the same thing. Claire? I hope you don’t drop me as a client because of what I told you. I shouldn’t have lied, but…I’m just real sorry.”

He sounded as pathetic as a dog left outside in the rain. “I’m not dropping your case. Don’t worry about that. How are you holding up, Merle?” It sounded inane but I needed to know he wasn’t going to skip town, or do anything dumb like that.

“I…uh, don’t know. Can’t sleep. Can’t eat. Do you think the cops will be able to find out if Carreras killed Coco? If that guy goes free, I swear, before they put me away, I’ll kill him.”

“Merle. No. Don’t say that. I’ll make sure there’s enough evidence against Carreras. In fact, I have a question for you.” I gave him the address from the lipstick tube. “It’s a furniture store now, High Style Furniture. Know anything about it?”

“Yeah. Before it became a furniture store, it was a beer joint. Lots of low lives. Some of the guys I saw in the homeless shelter where I volunteer hung out there. Ed would probably know more about it. He used to go in his hell-raising days. Not that I was a choirboy, but my cousin got around, if you know what I mean.”

Picturing Ed in full-on bad boy gear made me grin. The grin faded when I recalled my next task. “Okay. Have you heard from Harold?” I didn’t want to share Alex’s revelation until I talked to Harold myself.

“He called about the soil doc. He wants me to bring over any work clothes I haven’t washed yet.”

“Anything else?”

“No. I was hoping you’d have more news for me.”

“Not yet. I’m going to call Ed and then check out that furniture place. If it turns out to be something, I’ll let you know.”

I was about to do that when a call from my father came in. I winced, remembering I hadn’t talked to him for a few days. My aunt had probably given my poor dad an earful. “Hi Dad. How are you?”

“Doing great. Your aunt’s been going on about that case you’re working. Doesn’t completely make sense, but then I only half listen to her. Figured I could get the whole picture from you. How about you come over for dinner tomorrow night? Say, 7:00? We could talk then. Plus, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

Oh God!
It had to be that neighbor Aunt Lena had gone on about. I kept my tone lighthearted, teasing, “Is it a woman?”

Dad chuckled. “Let me guess. Lena’s been bending your ear about Suzy, and I doubt it’s with compliments.”

To my surprise, I felt a little pang of sadness inside me for my late mother’s sake. But my dad deserved happiness. “I’d love to meet her.”

“Why don’t you ask Brian to come? That way it’s an even number.”

When did an even number matter to my father?
Maybe Dad was hoping for a neutral party. “I’ll let you know later if he can make it.” I wasn’t sure whether to ask Corrigan or not, but I had the rest of the day to decide. In between trying to find evidence showing Merle’s innocence. In fact, I didn’t have the time for a leisurely dinner, but woman doesn’t live by investigation alone.

After a few more minutes of small talk, Ed beeped in. I ended the conversation with my dad promising to get back to him by this evening.

Ed asked, “Hey, kiddo. What’s shaking?”

“I had called you about High Style Furniture. Merle said you might know something about the place.”

“I don’t know a lot about it now, but legend had it you could get anything you wanted in the backroom—girls, drugs, gambling. Irate citizens finally got the city to shut it down. Now it’s a furniture store, but I hear tell if you know the right people, you can still get a deal on something more exciting than a sofa and loveseat.”

“What about some guy named Jimmy? Is he one of the right people?”

“I know about five Jimmy’s. What’s his last name? And why the interest in High Style Furniture?”

I brought Ed up-to-date in Yolanda’s murder case, ending with the note in the lipstick tube. When I finished, I asked him if he had any interest in looking at furniture. I held my breath hoping he’d agree to go. As a rule, living and dining room pieces are some of the few things that don’t fill me with terror. But this did.

My fear grew when Ed told me he was after several other customers at Tire Haven and had no idea when he’d get done.

I assured him I didn’t mind going alone.

In truth that sick feeling you get when you’ve eaten two corn dogs and a funnel cake and then go on the roller coaster came over me. I chastised myself for my terror. What could happen in a furniture store with other people there? Except maybe me buying a lamp I couldn’t afford.

On my way to High Style Furniture, I wondered if I should call Corrigan to tell him my destination. Then I remembered he didn’t know I had the information from the lipstick tube. My stomach twisted.

Friday, 12:30 p.m.

I pulled into the store’s busy parking lot and strolled inside with no idea what to expect. Even so, it was surprising to see Corrigan also making his way to High Style’s entrance. He spotted me and was even good enough to hold the door open.

He glanced at my tee shirt with its uncooperative face and extended tongue and smirked. “I see you’ve found clothes that express your true self.”

“Very funny.”

“No, it’s not. What are you doing here?” He slapped his forehead. “Oh, I know. You took a picture of that message in the lipstick.” He tsked. “And here I thought you trusted me to follow up on the note. I mean, I
am
the detective on the case.”

I hissed. “This is my case, too. I’m looking for proof of Merle’s innocence.”

“You think I’m here shopping for an adorable little kitchen set?”

My jaw dropped. “You don’t think Merle killed Coco anymore. Did Rico confess?”

“Close your mouth, Claire. Rico has an alibi for Ms. Sanchez’s murder, but we may still get him for Ms. Cruz’s. So the jury’s still out on whether or not Merle killed Ms. Sanchez.”

“Are you sure about Rico’s alibi?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. But we’re holding him until he’s either cleared or we charge him with Ms. Cruz’s death. If he’s charged, bail will be denied. Too big a flight risk. So he stays in our jail until his trial. Even if he’s found innocent he’ll be sent back to Everglades Correctional in Florida for parole violation. One way or the other he’s going to prison. You won’t have to worry about him.”

I had more questions to ask, but a sales person approached us. “How can I help you folks?”

I shook my head. “Oh, we’re not tog—”

Corrigan linked his arm through mine. “What she’s saying is, we’re not sure what we want. You know, we’re here to look around.”

The sales person plastered a smile on his face. He’d probably heard that line so often it appeared in his dreams. “Take your time. If you have any questions, my name is Thomas. I’ll be happy to help you.”

When Thomas turned away, I pulled my arm from Corrigan’s. “Thomas, I have a question. Is there someone working here named Jimmy?”

Thomas tilted his head, thinking. “You mean James Padilla? He’s one of our managers.”

“Uh, yes. Is he in?”

“It’s his day off. If you need to speak with a manager, Adam, is over there.” He pointed to a tall, well-dressed man with a bad hairpiece.

We thanked Thomas and headed over to Adam, who gave us his best I-can-sell-you-anything grin. “May I be of assistance?”

Corrigan flashed his badge. “Yeah, you can. Detective Corrigan, Cleveland Police. This is Claire. Is there someplace we can talk in private?”

The manager’s face went from ruddy to the same off-white shade as his shirt. “Of course.” He led us to a small office away from the showroom and hustled to the chair behind the office desk. He motioned toward two other chairs. “Please, have a seat. What can I do for you, detective?”

I sat down, but Corrigan responded, “I’ll stand, thanks.” He let a moment slip by, probably to build the tension. “We have reason to believe there’s a connection between this store and a recent homicide.”

Adam clasped his hands together but that didn’t mask their trembling. “Can’t imagine how the store is involved, but you have my utmost cooperation.”

I shifted in my chair, impatient for answers, not assurances. “When will your other manager be in?”

I ignored Corrigan’s long, irritated sigh.

Adam’s eyes shifted to Corrigan, who gave him a go-ahead nod. “James isn’t due back until tomorrow, but I can give you his address and phone number.” He withdrew a card from the desk drawer and scribbled on it.

I reached for it, but Corrigan was quicker. He pocketed the card and continued as if my angry glare wasn’t burning a hole in the side of his head.

“Adam, would you mind if we took a look around while we’re here?”

“Not at all. You can certainly view the showroom and even look through the warehouse in the back.”

Corrigan said, “I’ll also need to look at both your employee and sales records.”

Adam hesitated and blew out a big breath. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think that’s allowed. Those records are private.”

Corrigan paused for a breath and I jumped in. “I didn’t realize there was a special, protected relationship between the customer and the furniture store.” I leaned toward Adam and tried to sound threatening. “We can always get a search warrant.”

A scowl flitted across Corrigan’s face, but nonetheless he backed me up. “You don’t want us to have to do that. We always leave a mess.”

Adam ran his finger around the inside of his collar. “Let’s not get carried away.” A drop of sweat rolled out from under his horrendous-looking hairpiece. Before Corrigan or I could say another word, Adam had his hands on the desktop computer. “Is there someone in particular you’d like me to look up for you?”

I spoke up first. “Federico, or Rico, Carreras.”

Corrigan moved behind Adam to see the computer screen. I followed suit.

Adam’s fingers danced across the keyboard. “Nothing on Mr. Carreras.”

Corrigan said, “Try Lourdes, or Coco, Sanchez.”

It took him a few clicks later, before finding something. “Ms. Sanchez purchased a love seat and two living room chairs from us three months ago. She also purchased a sofa and two more living room chairs a month after that.” He paused and in a voice punctuated by confusion said, “Last month it was a sofa, loveseat, and living room chair.”

That was a lot of furniture. Even stranger, when Yolanda and I went to Coco’s home, the living room was bare. What did Coco do with all that furniture? Every time I looked for answers all I got were more questions.

Corrigan asked, “Is any of the furniture she bought available for us to see?”

Adam switched screens. “The display model of the first love seat she purchased is in the showroom. I can take you to it.”

I was right behind Adam, but Corrigan put his hand on my shoulder and stopped me. “If we find something that ends up in court, it’d be best if an officer discovers it.”

He had a point so I held back and let Corrigan take the lead.

The green, upholstered love seat turned out to be identical to the one in Coco’s picture. Except the one in the photo was overstuffed, not flat like this one. If the phone made the love seat look as puffed as it had, I vowed never to let anyone take a picture of me again.

After Corrigan checked out the love seat, he looked around the showroom.

Standing with my hands on my hips while Corrigan did all the hunting was as satisfying as biting into a cream-filled donut and finding no cream inside. Two people had twice the chance of finding something, but he’d made it clear he didn’t want my help so I restrained myself and gave him a wide berth.

In fact, I tagged along doing nothing while Adam watched Corrigan’s every move for fifteen minutes. Until I realized I had better things to do, like snoop around for James Padilla’s address.

Corrigan’s attention was on a displayed book case when I sidled up to him. “Ladies room. I’ll be back in a minute.” He didn’t even look up.

I snuck back into the small office and searched for Padilla’s information. To my surprise, it was in a rolodex.
People still use these?
I took a picture of the card and scurried back to wait some more with Adam.

When it looked like Corrigan’s hunt would come up empty, I decided my time would be better spent going to see James Padilla. Not wanting Corrigan to catch on to my plan, I called out to the detective, “Since you don’t need me here, I’ll be on my way.”

Corrigan finished leafing through a binder he’d found on a table. “We’re done here anyway. Thank you for your cooperation, Adam.”

Adam rewarded Corrigan with a smile as genuine as my Aunt Lena’s current hair color, Burnt Sienna #7. “I trust you won’t be back unless it’s to buy furniture. I’ll see you both to the exit.”

We’d just walked outside, me ahead of Corrigan, when he caught my arm and drew near enough for me to feel his warm breath. “Is visiting James Padilla on your way?”

My phone rang, saving me from answering the question.