Plateful of Murder (12 page)

I imagined turning as pale as Workosky’s hotel receipt. “Great.”

He bowed and with a sweeping gesture said, “Lead the way.”

If only Ed would come to my rescue. But my mouth, acting independently from my brain, got me into this. It had to get me out.

Workosky made a sweeping gesture. “You lead, I’ll follow.”

A part of me hoped my cantankerous old car wouldn’t start.

The pharmacist laid his suitcase in my car’s trunk and climbed in the front passenger’s seat. To my relief, Ed texted me he’d tail us. A couple deep breaths to steady myself. “Fasten your seatbelt, please.” If he planned on murdering me, it might take him longer strapped in.

As soon as we got on the road and Ed pulled his car behind me, I began to grill Workosky. “You were in town just to meet with Brody Eagleton and Sean Lawrence?”

“Now what makes you think that?”

Relieved not to be facing him, I boldfaced lied. “Police informed me.” My hands begged to be released from my death grip on the steering wheel. “And how long did your dinner meeting last?”

“The police didn’t tell you?”

I was driving the car, but getting nowhere. “Would you mind telling me what you talked about?”

He shrugged. “Small talk, you know.”

Why is this so much easier on TV?
“For two hours? What was the purpose of the meeting? You could at least tell me that.”

He chuckled. “You could’ve saved yourself a trip to the airport. I don’t know. The guest of honor didn’t show up, so dinner turned out purely social. End of story.”

He looked at me like a dog would at a new rawhide chew. “Had we met earlier, we could have had dinner together instead. It would’ve been much more…pleasurable.”

When Hell freezes over and Satan makes popsicles
. Why was I irresistible to rodents like this guy? I quickly exempted Michael from that long-tailed group. It took a lot of self-control to ignore Workosky’s contemptible come-on, but there was no other choice if I wanted information. “Who was this fourth person?”

He waved my question away. “Let’s not talk about that. Tell me about yourself. Are you involved with someone?” The look on his face made me want to put more clothes on. “Actually, it’d be even better if you were. Forbidden fruit and all.” He leaned in toward me as much as the seatbelt allowed and leered, “I’ll be back in town soon. I could extend my visit another day—or night.” His eyebrow arched. “Get you a key to my hotel room.”

This guy wasn’t a killer. He was a sleaze bucket. I stuck out my arm to keep him at a distance. “Let’s get back to last night.”

“Why talk about last night when there can be future nights for us to think about?”

“There is no
us
. Never will be.”

He held up his index finger to make a point. “Never say never.”

“What was the topic supposed to be?”

He looked out the passenger door window. “Mr. Eagleton told me he had a proposition for me. That’s all I know.”

My eyes narrowed. “You came all the way out here without knowing why?” 

He tilted his head to his right. “There’s my terminal.”

I pulled up to the passenger unloading area. Keeping the car locked until he answered my question did occur to me, but in all likelihood there’d only be more disgusting leers. At least I knew another person was involved in last night’s meeting.

Once Workosky enter the airport ticketing area, I blew out a big breath and waved to Ed, who pulled up beside me. He got out of the car and leaned his head through my open window. “Everything okay, kiddo? What’s the lowdown?”

“Only that someone else was supposed to join them. It could be a he or a she.”

He rubbed his chin. “Mallorie, maybe?”

“Who knows?” I sighed loudly. “Let’s go back to the restaurant and see if Workosky told the truth about the time of day.”

Workosky’s sudden reappearance and his banging on the passenger side window jarred me. “Forgot my bag.” He grabbed his suitcase from my popped trunk and gave Ed the once-over. His upper lip curled and he spat, “She turned me down for
you
?” He sprinted back into the terminal without even a look back.

Ed snorted. “Pleasant chap.”

“I’ve met some who were worse. But not many.” Changing the subject, I said, “I’m going over to Cafe Palermo to see if Workosky’s story checks out. If it does, that could explain why Sean was as jumpy as Tara said. He was waiting for the third person to call and confirm.”

“Could be. After we finish with the restaurant, I’m heading to Luther’s office to have a look-see. Maybe spin around in the big boss’s chair.”

The trip to the restaurant was a waste. The three men, Eagleton, Workosky, and Lawrence, must not have made much of an impression at dinner. The waiter had a vague memory of the men and the bartender recalled the drink Sean ordered, an exotic mix the bartender had to look up.

After that, Ed and I split up, him to Luther’s office, and me, my apartment. Thinking about that awful phone call made me dread going home, but I needed some downtime before putting in the hours at
Cannoli’s
.

Speaking of which, I checked my messages. Michael had called, saying he’d be happy to accept my, or rather my aunt’s invitation. Mixed feelings of delight and uneasiness surprised me.

Thinking about
Cannoli’s
reminded me of my father, whom I hadn’t seen for a few days. No matter what, Dad was always the one I counted on. Try as I might, my daughtering skills weren’t always up to par, though.

Aunt Lena never said why Dad wouldn’t be helping tonight. A good daughter would have asked why, even knowing he probably just had other plans. If something was wrong with him, I assured myself Aunt Lena would be the first to know and tell me. Still, time for a father-daughter visit.

In response to my knock on his door, Dad yelled, “Come on in. It’s open.” I sighed, knowing it was time to remind him again about keeping his door locked, even when he was home. Sure, it was still the old neighborhood, but even old neighborhoods weren’t truly safe anymore.

He rose from his recliner and turned down the television. It was some documentary on artificial insemination of elephants. My dad obviously wasn’t picky about what he watched. We hugged our hellos. “Dad, you need to lock your door.”

“I know, I know. Just sometimes I forget.” He smiled. “Hey. Want some meatballs? Lena brought them over. She’s afraid I’m gonna starve.” He patted his belly. “No chance of that.”

Nothing says love better than my aunt’s meatballs and my dad sharing them with me. “Of course. You’re going to have some too, aren’t you?”

“Sure. A little pasta with it?” He headed into the kitchen with me following.

“Just a couple meatballs. A girl has to watch her figure.”

His kitchen wall phone rang, and without thinking, I answered.

At first no one spoke. Figuring it was a telemarketer who had delayed hanging up, I was ready to hang up when a raspy, chilling voice began to sing. The tune was different than the last time, but the voice, just as familiar.

“Little piggy.

Told you before, you’re a piggy.

Sticking your pig snout

Where it does not belong, you see.

Little piggy

Say it loud you’ll be dropping the case

Say it not and your life I’ll erase.

Little piggy.”

M
y hand flew to my mouth and I dropped the phone like it was a hot coal. How had the killer gotten my father’s phone number? How did he know who’d answer the call? My mind spun, at once telling me not to react, not to scare my father. The next second, nothing would do but to curl up on his lap and hide from the world.

My father spun around. He dropped the wooden spoon he’d been using and rushed over to me. “What’s wrong? Claire, who was it?”

Although autumn was hanging on keeping it somewhat warm, it felt like an icy wind had blown over me and I shivered.

He took me into his arms and gave me a Daddy hug, the kind of embrace meant to protect me from every imagined monster. If only it could do the same with this very real one. After a moment he released me. “What did they say to you?”

My eyes couldn’t meet his dark, worried ones. “Just a very nasty obscene call. One of those random things.”

“Oh, Pumpkin. I should’ve answered.”

“It’s okay, Dad.” I inhaled deeply and stepped over to the window above the sink, peering out, hoping the killer wasn’t lurking about. My stomach felt like someone had tied it up like you would a pork roast.

“What are you looking for?”

“Uh, just wanted to see if it was raining.” There wasn’t a cloud anywhere. “Dad, my appetite is gone. Do you mind if I skip the meatballs?”

He raised one bushy black-mixed-with-grey eyebrow. “That must’ve been one hell of an obscene call. Something else is going on. Is it one of your cases?” Reaching for me, he continued, “Please, for my sake, just tell whoever hired you on this latest case that you can’t stay with it. I lost your mother. It’d kill me if anything happened to you.”

Tears rimmed my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. It’d be the same for me if I lost him. Terror, along with tremendous guilt, took turns inside me. Hatred for this killer burned through me. It’d break my heart if my father came to any harm, either physically or emotionally.

It now hit home how vulnerable my father was. The man couldn’t even remember to lock his door. He needed protection, without knowing he had it. Corrigan flashed in my mind.

My task right now was making Dad believe everything would be all right. “I’ll talk to the client.”

“If it’s about money, I’ll give you whatever you need. It’s not worth it, Pumpkin.”

I hung my head, embarrassed, like when Dad caught me kissing Jimmy Sarrotti, the kid who had lived next door.

He hugged me again. “I told you before, you could move back in with me.”

The thought of my dad waiting up each time I was out late, checking out my dates horrified me. What if he wanted me to talk about my cases? “Your offer is really appreciated, Dad, but…”

“But you’d rather not live here again.” He put his hand up to stop my protests. “I get it. But know you’re always welcome.”

I kissed his cheek, realizing for the millionth time what a great guy my father was. He deserved whatever it took to protect him. A moment passed before I could seize an opportunity. “Forgot something in the car. Be right back.”

Sitting inside my car, arms pressed hard against my stomach, the tears impossible to shed in front of my father flowed. As soon as my hands stopped trembling enough to punch in his number, I called Corrigan. He picked up on the first ring.

“What’s up, Claire? You okay?”

“He called me at my father’s house.”

“Dammit. Is your father okay? Should I send someone over?”

I blew out a long breath. “He doesn’t know about the first call or that this second one threatened me again. Still, can you have someone in an unmarked car watch over him? No black-and-whites. That’d just scare him.”

The sound of shuffling papers. “Okay, I’ll get one over there ASAP. Let me have his address and phone number. We’ll trace the call too.”

My shoulders dropped and the tension dissipated. I gave him the information he needed and thanked him.

“No thanks needed. Now your father’s involved, though. It’s time to back out of the case.”

But it wasn’t. Now that the killer had my father’s phone number and probably his address, the dirt bag might go after him to get to me. I bit my lower lip hard. Fear for my father burrowed in my gut like a worm in fresh dirt.

“We’ll see.”

“Claire, you can’t—”

I pressed the button and ended the call. My father jogging toward my car sent a shock to my heart. “What is it, Dad?”

He leaned over, a tiny bit short of breath. “Phone call for you.”

Everything moved in slow motion, like when you know another car is about to hit you. “Who is it?”

“Wouldn’t give his name. Just said it was important.”

Getting out from the car, my legs felt like gummy worms. Corrigan needed to know about this current call. “Tell the guy to hang on a minute longer.”

“You think it’s that sicko again?” The sunburst lines around my dad’s eyes deepened. “Obscene callers don’t ask for someone by name. Or do they? If it is him he’s not gonna get a chance to upset you again.”

“It’s okay, Dad. It’s probably a business associate.” Every step toward the house reminded me of the last mile a death row inmate takes.

“Hello?”

“Is this Claire DeNardo?” It was my unhappy landlord. He complained about leaving me messages which went unanswered, finally resorting to calling my father’s number. “Your rent check was late and when you did submit it, you neglected to sign it.”

A deep exhale pushed the fear out of me. An unsigned check was a simple mistake. Nobody would die from it. I promised to remedy the error that same day.

After the call and my explanation, my father’s anxious face relaxed.

“Dad, you really need caller ID on this phone. We’ve talked about it before.”

He changed the subject. “Did you find what you needed? You were outside for a while.”

“Um hm.” My turn to change the subject. “You know, a meatball or two would taste good now.” I didn’t know if they’d go down okay, but it was important he not think anything happening spooked me. We were just a father and daughter spending time, eating. That’s what my family does best anyway.

My father served up the steaming meatballs, wonderful, fragrant orbs of ground veal and pork. We sat down and I cut into one, letting the steam rise. The fork was almost in my mouth when the sound of a motor running stopped it. I sprinted to the living room window, but it was only the beat up truck Mr. Samartano across the street used for business.

My dad poured more
sugo
on his meatballs. “You expecting someone?”

I acted surprised, like my actions had been perfectly normal. “No. Just wondered what that racket was.”

“Samartano has had that truck since you were in braces. You forget how loud it was?” He motioned for me to sit back down.