Bake Me a Murder (24 page)

While I was driving to my office, Harold called to tell me the police were holding Merle for further questioning. He didn’t think they had enough evidence to charge him with Eric’s murder without a murder weapon. He asked if I’d uncovered any further evidence. Without mentioning names, I told him about following up on a recent lead, then cut him off before he could start digging into the details.

At the top of the steps to my office, I spotted Ed leaning against my office door, twirling a toothpick in his mouth. His eager grin made me feel a bit brighter.

As soon as I shut the office door behind us, Ed began, “The guy’s apartment was clean. I mean it. Not even any dust. Of course, I only made it through his living room and kitchen.”

My hopes sank. The next thing I knew, Ed was waving his phone in my face. It was a picture of an envelope stuffed with one hundred dollar bills.

“What’s that for?”

Ed rapped it on his palm. “Exactly. While I was checking out Martinelli’s place, someone pounded on the door. I didn’t make a sound. So this person slid an envelope filled with hundreds through the crack. Looked like a payoff to me.” He flipped through his photos. “Got something even more valuable. This same guy was waiting by the elevator when I snuck around the corner and took this.”

I held up my hand. “Wait! What did you do with the envelope? If you moved it, Trace might figure someone was there. Then he’ll put two and two together and know I was in on it.” My terror alarm was ringing so loud I couldn’t hear myself think.

Ed looked at me like I had insulted his bowling ball. “Relax. I put it back right in the same spot. Now take a gander at this.”

He showed me a fuzzy picture of a man by the elevator. Only half of his face was visible, but I recognized him. It was Marco, Bucanetti’s local enforcer.

Ed glanced at the picture. “Not a great photo. Didn’t want him to know I followed him after he made the drop. He’s one of the guys we saw at Julio’s house.”

It wasn’t hard to put it together, but it didn’t make sense. Bucanetti paying Trace to kill who? Coco? Eric? Both? My hand flew to my mouth.

Ed watched me. “You thinking what I’m thinking? Bucanetti hired this guy to kill Coco, didn’t he?”

I willed myself to think calm thoughts. “We need to take this to Corrigan.”

Ed’s face contorted. “And tell him you had me break into a witness’ home?”

“You’re right. We’d be arrested and the evidence wouldn’t hold up, if it was even admissible.”

“Come on.” Ed grabbed my arm.

“Where’re we going?”

“The Owl.”

I groaned. We were in the middle of a crisis and he wanted to eat.

“A full belly helps me think.”

I was going to be sick.

The Owl was Ed’s favorite place, a greasy spoon with torn fake-leather booths and waitresses who looked like they’d been born to wear the Owl’s uniform.

We rode together in his car and were seated at Ed’s usual booth. He had a double cheeseburger with peanut butter and bacon. I had a diet soda.

While I marveled at his ability to eat at a time like this, I was struck with an idea. “Ed, what if I showed Corrigan the picture you took, but left out the part about you breaking into Trace’s place? Corrigan would recognize Marco. He’s dealt with him before. That would at least get Corrigan’s suspicions about Martinelli going.”

Ed sat back and stuck a toothpick in his mouth. “Not a bad plan. Even better, tell him I was watching the place for you.” He called for the check. “I’ll take you back to your office.” He gave me a knowing look. “You can work your magic on Corrigan.”

Ed sent me the photo before he dropped me off and I drove straight to the police station. Corrigan was in a conference and wasn’t available. On my way to his desk to wait, I spotted Harold.

The attorney was standing in the corridor by the restrooms, texting someone. As soon as he saw me, he slid his phone into his pocket.

“Hi Harold. Letting Bucanetti know Merle’s been charged with yet another murder?” The sarcasm in my voice was unmistakable.

“Claire! So good to see you. No, I was checking on a girl Merle said he’d helped fix a flat last night. She may be his alibi.”

“Do you need any help or have you found her?”

He shook his head. “I can manage it. Merle didn’t kill anybody.”

I thought of Trace. “Do you know who did?”

He tucked his chin in. “Come now, Claire. Do you really believe if I knew who did it, I wouldn’t speak up?”

I stiffened. “Right. Have you forgotten who you work for? I haven’t, so please don’t insult my intelligence.”

He bowed from the waist. “I assure you, it was not my intent.” He took a couple of steps closer and smacked his hand against his chest. “I should have told you when you asked about my affiliation with a certain New Jersey gentleman. You should know, I’m not my father.”

“Okay. So he would’ve done this differently.” Maybe we could discuss Harold’s father later. Right now I had a killer to find. “Who is Trace Martinelli?”

He looked around, then whispered, “I don’t know him personally, but I understand he freelances. Not part of any organization. Now I really must go.” He took off like he had flames at his heels.

I didn’t follow him.

Desperate, I swallowed my pride and called Alex. Harold wouldn’t help me, but Alex would. I’d do what I had to, to make him. Although earlier, I’d vowed to forget about him, the fact was, as long as his uncle, Michael Bucanetti, had his fingers in Cleveland’s pie, I’d need Alex. As his phone rang, my heart pumped a little faster. Ridiculous. Too much bad stuff between us, namely, his uncle.

“Claire! Glad you called.” Caution replaced the pleasure in his voice. “Or is this just business?”

“It’s nice to hear your voice again.” And it was. Next came my confession. I cleared my throat. “Business.”

He responded with a formal, “Of course.”

I bit the corner of my lower lip. “Alex, I’m sorry, but I need some information.” I held my breath, afraid he’d hang up.

I could hear him tapping on his desk. “Something to do with my uncle? Call me a fool, but what do you need?”

“Thank you! What do you know about Trace Martinelli?”

“Never heard of him. That’s it?”

I squirmed but pushed on. “Could you maybe, look into it?”

He huffed. “I’ll see what I can do.”

From the kiss-off tone of his voice, I didn’t expect much and shuffled off to sit and wait for Corrigan at his desk.

Twenty minutes later, with my stomach growling, I dug in my purse to see if, by chance, there was any chocolate in it. I often throw a few pieces in, in case I’m stranded or something. But it shocked me when I pulled out a two-piece box of truffles with a note wrapped around it.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Monday, 3:30 p.m.

Where did this come from?

W
ho had gotten close enough to drop something in my purse? Was I that oblivious to the actions of others, I didn’t even notice? I glanced from side to side, as if the giver was going to wave to me. I bit back a whimper and hugged myself, feeling like it was open season on Claire DeNardo. When I pulled a tissue out of my purse to wipe my damp forehead, the package slipped out and dropped to the floor. Relieved the box hadn’t exploded I picked it up, pulled the note off, and smoothed the paper out on my lap. I opened the lid. Indeed, it held two elegant truffles, probably poisonous.

My thoughts bounced in so many directions, I had to read the message twice. The writer said he knew who killed Eric and Coco and would tell me if I’d meet with him at the Capitol Theater in Gordon Square. The final line instructed me to come alone. Remembering the catastrophic result in a similar case, my body went numb and it was hard to breathe. Yet, if it would save Merle. I’d do it. He couldn’t go to prison. Not someone as good as him.

Corrigan approached me. “Claire?” I managed not to jump. One look at my face and he frowned. “What’s wrong? You look like you’ve been embalmed.”

“Just surprised.” I palmed the note and tossed it back into my purse. My next words were so smooth it seemed like they were coming from a different person. “Look.” I showed him the box. “Someone dropped this box of truffles in my purse. Maybe a secret admirer.”

“Oh? Any idea who they’re from?” Corrigan’s eyebrow arched. “Sure you didn’t buy them yourself?”

I put my hand on my hip. “Why would I do that?”

He shrugged and looked away. “To maybe make someone jealous.”

“You think I would do that?” I wanted to tar and feather the man.

He pulled out his notepad, making it impossible to see his expression. “Okay, so you have a secret admirer. But that’s not why you’re here.”

“A few things. First, you’re still holding Merle. Are you charging him for Eric’s murder?”

“He’s here. That’s all I can tell you.”

I didn’t push for more. Instead, hoping to clear Merle, I showed Corrigan the photo from Ed’s phone. “It not the greatest, but it’s unmistakably Marco, one of Bucanetti’s men. Remember, I also saw him that night at Jimmy Padilla’s grandfather’s house.”

“Let me see that.” Corrigan snatched the phone from my hand. “Where was this taken? At Martinelli’s apartment?”

“Yes, but Merle lives on the same floor and that’s why Ed was there. He also happened to see Marco slide something under Martinelli’s door, which means Martinelli is probably mixed up with that New Jersey mobster. It’s no coincidence Martinelli saw Coco at the parking lot of Merle’s apartment. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if Martinelli moved into that complex so he could find Coco.”

Corrigan stared at the ceiling for a moment. When his eyes returned to my level I could tell he wasn’t going to sing my praises.

“Did you send Ed to watch Martinelli’s apartment?”

I crossed my arms. “That’s not the point. Trace Martinelli is linked to Bucanetti, who’s linked to Coco, Padilla, maybe even Eric.”

Corrigan put on that sphinx-like face he wore so often. With my shoulders tensed nearly up to my ears, I asked, “Well?”

“I’ll check it out.” He blew out a breath and lowered his voice so much I had to strain to hear him. “Good work. Tell Ed, too.”

I almost slapped myself to see if I was awake. “Why thank you, Detective.” His acceptance of my help was like a teensy ray of light shining in this dark situation.

“Don’t let it get to your head, though. It was a dumb thing to do and it could have turned out really bad.”

With two sentences, he doused that small bit of brightness. For a second all my drive to solve this case dissolved in a mass of self-pity that he didn’t appreciate my work. I shook it off and responded. “Well, it didn’t and you have a useful bit of information.”

After Corrigan sent the photo to his phone and returned my phone, there was nothing left to say.

I stood to leave. “Thank you for your time.”

“Claire, don’t go yet.” He ran his hand through his hair, wincing when he reached the spot where he’d been hit. “I do appreciate the tips, but so far four people tied to this case have been killed. I’ve tried not to care what you do, but the truth is I do. A lot.”

That small admission made the little kid inside me jump up and down, clapping. On the outside I appeared neutral. “I’ll be fine.”

He stood and took my hand. “You’re turning me into an old man.” He gave me a weary smile. “Come on, I’ll walk you out.”

It was nice getting away from the bustle inside the police station. While we strolled to my car, I stole a glance. He looked sleep-deprived, with dark circles under his eyes and guilt about his concern for me made me wish I worked in a bank.

We were almost to my car when I stopped and tugged on Corrigan’s arm. He halted and I laid a big kiss on his lips. “Sorry you worry about me.”

He gave me a lopsided grin. “If you do that again, I promise to worry even more.”

I laughed and it felt good. I resolved to let Corrigan in on whatever I knew about this case, starting with the note. I rifled through my handbag.

“Your lipstick’s okay.”

“It’s not that.” The piece of paper was stuck on a half-unwrapped, melted chocolate kiss I’d thrown in my purse in case of a serious craving. While I was scraping the chocolate off, a uniformed cop called Corrigan’s name.

“I’ll be right back, Claire.” Corrigan hurried away. He and the other cop conferred for a moment.

When Corrigan hustled back to me, his eyebrows were lowered and he was frowning. “Gotta go. Whatever you’ve got to show me will have to wait. Rico Carreras was just taken to Fairview Hospital with multiple stab wounds. A guard killed the prisoner who did it.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

T
he attack on Rico shook me so much I had a hard time wrestling my car keys from the side pocket of my purse. I reached my car, aiming to take the weight off my quivering legs when I spotted a piece of paper folded and placed under the windshield wiper. I pulled it off, thinking it was a flyer advertising a new something-or-other. Realizing it was another note, my hands jerked, crinkling the paper and almost tearing it.

I checked my back seat, under my car, and the area around me. Nobody. Still panicked, I pressed the ‘lock’ on my key instead of the ‘unlock’. I finally got it right and collapsed onto my seat, locking the door, and reading.

The note’s author repeated the address, but this one included instructions for our meeting:
“Come alone or you’ll get nothing,”
was written in boldface.

A chill ran down my spine and back up, giving me the equivalent of an ice cream headache. I was at a loss of what to do. Rubbing my face, I weighed the pros and cons. A loaded gun and a crowded theater made it safer. Having Corrigan around but invisible could add to my security. Plus, by so doing, I’d be saving Merle. The only con was me being killed. Admittedly, a huge deterrent to doing this. But living with the guilt of having the opportunity to save Merle and not doing so, would make it a really unpleasant life.

I called Corrigan before my resolve to meet the note’s author dissolved like the small, blackened ice piles at the end of winter.