Bake Me a Murder (19 page)

“Half an hour from now give you enough time?”

“Plenty. See you then.”

Sunday, 7:00 a.m.

I was
Cannoli’s
first customer of the day. When Aunt Lena saw me, she raised an eyebrow. “Two days in a row? Is this your office now?” She put up her hands. “Not that I mind. I love to see you, but…”

I kissed her on the cheek. “Brian is meeting me here in a few minutes. I wanted the hometown advantage.”

She gave a hearty laugh. “Want me to drug his coffee?”

Corrigan came through the door. “Hello, Lena. What’s so funny?” Aunt Lena’s eyes shifted to me and his followed. “Have you been telling Lena what you were up to this morning?”

The smile on my aunt’s face disappeared. “Did she do something illegal, or worse, immoral?”

Corrigan shrugged. “From the phone call she made to me, I have no idea. But knowing Claire, it was something she shouldn’t have been doing.”

Was I invisible? “Hey! Stop talking about me like I’m not here. If you give me a chance, I’ll explain.”

Corrigan said, “Okay, I’m all ears.”

“Aunt Lena, could you give us a few minutes alone?”

She bristled. “What? You can’t talk in front of me? I’m just your aunt. You go ahead. Use Cannoli’s like your private conference room.”

I blew out a breath, but Corrigan, as smooth as chocolate mousse, assured my aunt. “We don’t want to exclude you, Lena. But this is confidential police business. If you hear what we’re saying, you could be subpoenaed as a witness for the prosecution.”

“I don’t need that. If you want anything, I’ll be in the kitchen.”

When the door to the kitchen swung closed, Corrigan led me to a table. “Now explain that call.” He pulled out his ever-faithful notepad.

I told him about arriving at Julio Lopez’s house and seeing Bucanetti’s men come out carrying something. I omitted Ed’s part in it and that I had the safe’s combination. I couldn’t let him know about Tony and Merle withholding evidence. They had to be protected.

I concluded with, “I took a picture of their driver’s license plate.”

Corrigan clicked his pen. “Tell me something. How did you know where to go? Who tipped you off?”

I tried to deflect the question. “What? No lecture about putting myself at risk?” I realized after the words came out, that a small, maybe perverse, part of me missed his concern.

A tiny vein in his temple wiggled. “Answer my question, Claire.”

“After you answer mine.” My breath grew shallow and I realized how much his answer mattered to me.

“All right. I told you I’m bowing out of anything personal with you. Remember?” He rubbed the back of his neck. “You’re a PI, so you have a job to do. Just make sure you don’t interfere with my investigation. Or do something illegal, like trespass. As long as you keep the police informed, I’ll stay off your back. Fair enough?”

I felt like I was being crushed under a rock slide, but managed to croak, “Yes.”

His eyes searched mine. “Now answer my question. How’d you know where to go?”

“Long story, but here it is.” I gave him the rundown on my latest conversation with Eric then concluded with, “What better place to keep a big stash of money, if it existed, than at Padilla’s grandfather’s vacant home?” I sat back and folded my hands across my chest.

Corrigan drummed his fingers on the table and glanced out
Cannoli’s
window. I watched him and wondered if, like in old cowboy and Indian movies, when the drumming stopped, the attack would begin.

He returned his gaze to me and his fingers stilled. His voice was flat. “Okay. Let me have the plate number and the grandfather’s address.”

My eyes widened. “That’s it?” I still couldn’t believe he wasn’t going to lecture me on keeping safe. I wanted to say something clever. Instead, I handed him my phone.

“I’ll send somebody over to the house to check around. If we’re lucky, I’ll get enough evidence to make arrests for B&E.” He arched his eyebrow. “Good thing you didn’t go inside the house. That’d be trespassing.”

My breath caught in my throat. I couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not.

He stood. “Gotta go, but I appreciate the information.” He touched his index finger to his head. “Almost forgot, if Harold hasn’t told you yet, Pokov’s preliminary hearing is this coming Tuesday.”

That meant I had only the weekend to find out who really killed Coco. My mouth went as dry as Arizona in July. “I didn’t know. Thanks for telling me.”

He nodded. “Don’t mention it.”

The kitchen door swung open and Aunt Lena appeared, pushing a metal cart filled with pastries. She glanced at Corrigan. “Hey, handsome, gimme a hand. You too, Claire.”

Corrigan chuckled and rushed to help her.

I joined the two of them, wheeling the cart to the display case and removing heavy trays of goodies. One of my hands made contact with Corrigan’s. I’d read romance books where two characters touch and sparks fly. It wasn’t exactly like that. More a feeling of needing to grab him and hold on. I didn’t know if he felt the same because I was too afraid to look at him. Rather than risk resembling a lovesick teenager, I stepped away. “Aunt Lena, I’ve got to go. Sorry I can’t help more.”

Without casting his eyes my way, Corrigan mumbled, “I’ll help you with this last tray, Lena. Then I’ve got to go follow a lead.”

Aunt Lena took the final tray from Corrigan. “Nice to see you again, Brian. And thanks for the help. Claire, wait a minute before you go.”

I stifled a moan. Whatever she had to say, I was sure it wasn’t anything I wanted to hear.

As soon as Corrigan left, Aunt Lena handed me a chocolate raspberry muffin. “Eat. You get any skinnier you’re going to scare the crows off. And another thing. Don’t let that boy get away. I know a keeper when I see one. Men like him won’t be coming around so much anymore. You know, you’re not exactly fresh off the vine.”

“Thanks a bunch.” I ripped off a piece of the muffin, stuffed it in my mouth, and nearly choked. “Water.”

My aunt poured some from a pitcher and handed it to me. “If you can speak, promise me you’ll make up with Brian. He’s a good man, not to mention easy on the eyes.”

I swallowed and coughed. “I’ll think about it later. More important things to do right now.”

“Don’t be Scarlett O’Hara. When she lost Rhett she decided not to think about it until the next day. I don’t care what the sequel said. She didn’t get him back.”

I kissed her cheek. “Thanks for the muffin.”

As I walked out the front door, she yelled after me, “Pride won’t keep you warm at night.”

She wasn’t wrong. I couldn’t pretend the strong attraction between Corrigan and me didn’t exist. But that wasn’t on my agenda today. Seeing Harold was.

I blew out a deep breath once I arrived at Harold’s building. Then marched up to his office. His receptionist wasn’t there yet, so I barged into his inner office to see him deep in concentration.

He looked up. “Claire! I was going to get in touch. What did you find at Julio’s house?” His voice was cheery and hale.

Through clenched teeth, I responded. “Like you don’t know.”

The bravura dropped from his words. “Know what? What happened?”

“Bucanetti’s boys got there before I did and whatever was in the safe was gone. Now, I have to ask myself, ‘How would they have known about the house and the combination to the locks unless someone tipped them off.’ What do
you
think, Harold?”

He raised his arms like I was holding a gun against his chest. “It wasn’t me, I swear.”

I never should have trusted him. “I doubt it was Tony and it couldn’t have been Merle. That leaves you. You’re the only one working for that sleaze ball and the only other person in on this.” I drew in a breath, remembering Eric approaching me after Merle and Tony handed me their slips of paper. Had he been hiding in the lounge, eavesdropping? Even if he had, my money was still on Harold as the informant. Unless, he and Eric worked together.

I pursed my lips. “What do you know about Eric Allescio?”

Harold’s head lifted, his eyes so sharp it looked like his brain was racing to get ahead of mine. He counted on his fingers. “One, he’s the main witness implicating Merle. He claimed Coco told him she was off to see Merle right before she died.” He extended his second finger to join his first. “Two, he’s always hanging around West City Lounge and could’ve overheard our conversation about Padilla’s grandfather’s house, thought he could get something for it, and called Bucanetti.”

“Your first point is right, but would Eric know how to contact Bucanetti?”

Harold gave me a look with which I was becoming familiar. I understood, being the PI, I needed to hunt for the answers. Before I went off on this safari, I wanted to make sure Harold wasn’t feeding Bucanetti anything to hurt Merle or me.

Harold placed his hands on my shoulders, like a concerned big brother. “Claire, if what was in that house would have helped Merle, there would have been no reason for me to bring Mr. Bucanetti in on it.”

I didn’t buy his story one hundred percent, but getting nowhere, I switched gears. “Merle’s preliminary hearing is Tuesday.”

Harold sat down and scribbled something on his letterhead. He handed it to me. “Here. Read this.”

I scanned the page.

Harold spoke in his official voice. “In the event you’re at a loss as to how best to continue in this case, I’ve jotted down questions. We’ll need the answers as quickly as possible.”

I threw the page at him. “I don’t need instructions on doing my job.”

Harold shook his head and looked at me like my IQ was a few numbers shy of average. “As you said, we have only the weekend. I didn’t tip off Mr. Bucanetti and it’s unfortunate his men got to Julio’s house before you. However, you should’ve gone immediately after we gave you the information. Then we’d have whatever was in the safe. Merle might have been exonerated. Easy, breezy.”

He tsked. “Now I’m going to have to go to Mr. Bucanetti and ask him to give us whatever it was. That will not make him very happy.”

I could feel the heat rising in my face and my stomach sour. I hadn’t wanted to break into the house in the first place, but he was right. If I’d been braver I wouldn’t have needed Ed or Tony and could have been in and out with the goodies. Plus Corrigan would never be the wiser. I plopped into a chair, limp.

All the time, Harold watched me closely. “Sorry I’m somewhat of an ass right now, but for me to work my verbal magic with any success, the facts and findings have to back me up. You can provide them to me, Claire. I know you can do it.”

I blew out a breath and pushed my hair off my face. Next he’d wave pom-poms at me and break out in a cheer. Instead he told me he’d let Merle know what had happened.

Obvious manipulation aside, Harold was right. Merle’s fate was, in large part, up to me. Rising, I dusted off my hands. “I better get going.” I left Harold’s list behind.

Sunday, 8:45 a.m.

I sat in my parked car, staring out the windshield, asking myself what I’d left out, forgotten to do, or didn’t see, that could have proven Merle’s innocence. I recalled Harold had visited the witness, Trace Martinelli, who saw Coco at Merle’s apartment. I’d been too busy looking at furniture so had only read the witness’s statement and Harold’s interview notes.

It was 9:00 already and I didn’t know if Martinelli was home. It was time to find out.

Chapter Eighteen

M
erle lived in a mid-twentieth century high rise in Lakewood near an RTA bus stop. There was a small guest parking lot in front of the building. Coco must have parked there since, in his statement the witness said he was waiting for the bus when he saw Coco pull up. His responses to the police’s questions were straightforward, but maybe there was something the police and Harold missed.

I parked and scanned the lot. No other cars were present and nobody waited at the bus stop. The apartment building didn’t have a secured entry, so I walked inside and rode the elevator to the sixth floor. As the doors opened, a young guy whose dark hair pulled back in a tiny ponytail stood there. I went for it. “Excuse me. Are you Trace Martinelli?”

He adjusted the clip-on tie on his restaurant uniform. “Yeah, but if you’re with the police, I’ve already given my statement.” He stepped into the elevator, and I stayed.

He was observing me from the corner of his eye, making me so uncomfortable, I stumbled over my words. “My name is Claire DeNardo. I’m a private investigator. Just have a few questions for you.”

He widened his stance. “Look, I don’t want no trouble.”

I assured him he’d get none from me.

“Fair enough. Are you working for the cops or the killer?”

Scared he wouldn’t answer if I confessed to working for Merle, I replied, “I’m working for justice.”

He gave me a crooked smile. “Good answer. Ask away.”

I tossed him the usual questions; what time he saw Coco, had anyone approached her, and so on. His answers were consistent with his written statement, and I was feeling an increasing hopelessness. By the time we reached the lobby, I had run out of questions and stood there silent and still like a department store mannequin.

In the moments before the elevator doors opened, I fidgeted with my car keys.

He jutted his jaw. “What? You didn’t get what you wanted?” Trace studied me like he was a shark and I was chum. “How about we get some coffee when my shift is over and maybe I’ll remember something more.”

Not wanting to upset a witness and lose his cooperation, I tried to look disappointed. “Thanks, but my policy is to keep my personal life separate from cases I’m working.”

“Sure about that?” He flashed a smile but there was no warmth coming from it.

“Yes. Sorry.” I was ready to make a fast exit when I thought of one more question. “In your statement you said you didn’t talk to Coco even though she smiled at you. Why not?”

“She was standing in the parking lot waiting for something and I could see she was fine-looking. I would have made my move, but her phone rang and she answered it. My bus pulled up. Next one wasn’t scheduled to come for another half hour, so I hopped on. End of story.”