Plateful of Murder (21 page)

He lowered his menu. His face turned partly cloudy. Then the sun came out. “I decided to rise above it. After all, I haven’t really done anything wrong,” he lowered his eyes, “except maybe like my private detective too much.”

I forced a smile. My feelings for him had faded like a cheap hair dye. “We should order dinner.”

Instead of calling the waitress over, though, he raised his drink. “A toast. To Claire for dropping the case.”

I picked up my water glass instead my martini and took a short gulp.

Michael suppressed a smile. “Rather have water, huh? Glad I asked for refills.” He took a small sip of his drink, and watched me over his glass.

We finally ordered and he raised his drink again. “A second toast. To a happy friendship that may become more.”

All of a sudden, I got very thirsty, and lifting my water glass, drained it. Then wiped my mouth with the back of my hand like I just drank from a garden hose. My attempts to rest my chin on my hand were futile; it kept slipping off. The room seemed overly warm, and I undid the top button of my blouse.

“Claire, are you all right?”

I blinked hard to get his two heads back into one. At this rate, eating off the floor would be my only choice because that’s where I’d be laying. My body swayed in the chair. “I’m fine.”

I was anything but.

Michael spoke but I didn’t hear him. Instead, my head buzzed. The last thing I remember was imagining Michael as a fat bumble bee.

I
t was still dark when I woke up in Michael’s guestroom. My head felt like someone had dropped an anvil on it, and my mouth seemed full of fuzz. I frantically patted myself to make sure my clothes were still on. They were twisted and wrinkled, but everything was in place, except for my shoes. They were next to the bed.

Using the bedside table, I steadied myself and slipped my shoes on. Michael must have hauled me out of the restaurant before my second-shift bodyguard came. Was that a coincidence or had he cunningly figured out how to separate me from my safety net? If so, why? Visions of Ed at the bottom of my office stairs. Or, of Mallorie, lifeless at my door, compounded my fears. No harm had come to me—yet. I wrapped my arms around myself.

Corrigan must be frantic.

Calling him was impossible. My phone was no longer in my pocket. Not that telling Corrigan where I’d spent the night would be pleasant. But without my phone, it wasn’t an option. Panic began behind my eyes and the feeling spread to my stomach. Not satisfied to stay there, it coursed down my legs giving them the strength of gummy worms.

“Claire?” Michael knocked, interrupting my paranoia.

“Don’t come in. I, I’m not dressed.” My eyes darted around the room, searching for my purse. It lay open on top of a chair across the room and I groped around inside it. Although my phone was gone, he hadn’t taken my mace. The spray canister slipped out of my grasp once, but when I managed to pull it out of my purse, I tiptoed close to the door and took aim. “Come in.” With no idea what harm he meant to me, my index finger sat poised on the spray button.

Michael walked in holding a tray with soup, bread, a cup of tea, and a pink carnation in a vase. His smile vanished when he saw the mace. “What are you doing?”

My eyes never left him. “Why did you drug me?”
Great ice breaker.

The tray slanted and the glass vase knocked against the tea cup, creating a tinkling sound. “What are you talking about? How could you even think such a thing?”

I removed my finger from the button but held the mace tight, now unsure whether to feel guilty for accusing him like that or to be even more suspicious. Better to be wary than sorry. “Did you?”

Someone pounded on his front door before he got the chance to either defend himself or confess.

“Police. Open up.”

Michael’s hands tightened on the tray. Through clenched teeth he asked, “Did you call the police?”

“How could I? My phone’s gone. You should know that; you took it.” I pushed past him and fiddled with the door lock, trying to open it. I called through the door. “I’m here, just a—”

Michael, having dropped the tray on the hallway table, pulled me away from the door and with one quick turn, unlocked and opened it.

Corrigan and another cop I assumed was his partner appeared ready to pounce.

Michael, feet apart and fists clenched by his side, demanded, “Why are you here?”

“May we come in?” Without waiting for Michael’s response, Corrigan muscled past him. The detective’s eyes took in my disheveled condition and the tray. He cleared his throat and out of the corner of his mouth said, “Sure hope we weren’t interrupting your bedtime snack.”

“What? No. It’s not what you think.” My relief at seeing Corrigan morphed into outrage.

He looked up toward the ceiling. “Gather up your things, little lady, you need to come with us right now.”

Little lady? Were we in the Old West?
I’d correct him later on. The current priority was to get away from Michael.

Michael frowned and placed his hand lightly on my arm. “Why does she have to go?”

Corrigan’s voice took on a confidential tone. “She’s wanted for questioning.”

I pulled away from Michael, and in a strong-woman voice said, “Come on. You came here looking for me and here I am. Let me grab my purse and we can go.” A dozen more questions hung in the air, waiting for Michael’s explanations, but my desire to get away from him was stronger than my curiosity about being drugged.

We were inside the car, me in the backseat, Corrigan and his partner in the front. I leaned as far forward as my seatbelt would let me. “How did you know where to come get me?”

I could see the scowl on Corrigan’s face as he showed me my cell phone. “Found it in the Ladies’ room at the Shanty.”

“So that’s where it was.” I grabbed for the phone, hoping Corrigan wouldn’t ask and I wouldn’t tell him about being ‘under the influence.’ “That still doesn’t explain how—”

“Didn’t take detective work. You were last seen with Adler. Unbeknownst to your protection, you left the restaurant. That led to my conclusion you had gone somewhere with Adler, probably his home.”

We stopped at a light and he spun around, straining against his seatbelt. His voice was a low rumble. “That was a dumb stunt. You were lucky we found you before anything happened.” His neck muscles bulged.

“Like what? He’d soil my good name?” I crossed my arms. “I could’ve gotten out of there without your interference.”

He snorted and hit the gas hard. “Yeah. How? By blinding him with the tea? Or knocking him unconscious with the carnation?”

My head ached and my tongue felt like it needed a shave. “I would’ve found a way. And what have you done with my car?”
That’s right, put him on the offensive.

For the first time, the other detective spoke. “It’s at the station.”

“Thank
you
.” I emphasized the ‘you.’ Sure, that was as childish as sticking my tongue out at Corrigan, but who cared. “And just so you know, going to Michael’s wasn’t my idea. I was drugged.”

Corrigan gave a short, harsh laugh. “I’ve heard that one before.”

I wanted to smash my purse into his face. “It’s true. In fact, I want a take a blood test to prove it.”

His seen-it-all look evaporated. “Did that bastard hurt you?”

“No. But if you hadn’t come when you did…” I couldn’t finish the thought.

Corrigan released a breath. “You can get the test done at the station.”

I steeled myself for Corrigan’s next comment. When it didn’t come, I closed my eyes.

By the time my eyes opened again, we’d arrived at the police station. Corrigan parked the car. “So you know, the Adler case has moved forward.”

After donating a vial of blood to prove I’d been drugged, I found my way to Corrigan’s desk. He handed me a cup of coffee. “Sorry it’s not on a silver tray.”

“Very funny.” I took the cup. Maybe the bitter, hot brew would help get rid of the drumming in my head. “How has the case progressed?”

“Brought Eagleton in. He should be ready for questioning,” he glanced at his watch, “Right about now.”

“Are you charging him with murder? Why now?”

He pulled a chair out. “Have a seat.”

Once I sat down he followed suit. “Eagleton was always in our sights, but we didn’t have enough on him until now.”

“What changed?” Curiosity mingled with relief that the evidence pointed to Brody Eagleton.

Corrigan paused and caught his lower lip between his teeth as if deciding whether to play his whole hand. He leaned forward. “The soon-to-be-former Mrs. Eagleton.”

“His wife?” My eyes narrowed. “That’s who you left me for last night?” My face turned red, as it dawned on me I sounded like a jealous lover. “I mean what...”

Amusement danced across his face but quickly disappeared. “She found a letter from her husband to Constance, and insisted on only talking to me. The letter was a threatening one, like the ones Adler showed us. We believe Eagleton sent Constance those letters and then followed through with the threats. Incidentally, we’re going to need those letters from Adler. It’s unclear how they slipped away.”

I flinched like he’d thrown those letters at me, remembering all too clearly advising Michael to keep quiet about them.

Oblivious to my potential anxiety attack, Corrigan leaned back in his chair, hands clasped behind his head. “We were able to ascertain the suspect owns a circular saw, and we know he’s a fan of
West Side Story.
”

“Sounds like you have it all wrapped up. Why do you need me?”

“If he’s charged with murder we want you to press assault charges against him for sending you those threatening messages. He’s been a busy boy.”

“Press assault charges? Isn’t that sort of overkill?” My faux pas slipped past Corrigan. He didn’t skip a beat.

“We want to make sure he gets all that’s coming to him. He has an alibi for Mallorie’s murder, but not for Ed’s assault.” Another detective motioned to Corrigan, and he rose. “Make yourself comfortable, Claire. This could take a while.”

Instead of ‘a while,’ Corrigan should have warned me it would take until infinity. After fifteen minutes of sitting, I paced for a while. Sat down again and closed my eyes. When my head flopped down on my chest, my eyes popped open. I went in search of coffee and wandered into the break room, where I must have dozed off again. My coffee had turned cold. Corrigan had to have returned by now.

Before going back to his desk, I ducked into the ladies room and stood in front of the sink, washing my hands and looking into the mirror. One side of my face was red and lined like it’d been pressed against my arm.

My mind reviewed everything that had happened, starting with when Michael first walked into my office. I’d been sure in the beginning Eagleton had killed Constance, but now my doubts prevented me from celebrating his arrest.

I picked at a fingernail. How did Eagleton get hold of a letter Michael claims he wrote? I wanted to tell Corrigan about that, but I’d get into trouble for sure. That was withholding evidence, even if my intentions were innocent. A chill ran down my spine. Prison orange wouldn’t compliment my skin at all. My father’s heart would break like eggs. Who’d be there to help Aunt Lena at
Cannoli’s
? No, it wouldn’t do for me to tell Corrigan the truth flat out. Maybe a well-placed hint would do it.

Corrigan was already at his desk, tie loosened, hint of a pale beard, and his hair ruffled, typing furiously. He looked up. “Have a good nap?” He seemed exhausted, but satisfied. “Well, we got him. Case looks good for Eagleton murdering Constance and for the attempt on Ed. His alibi for Mallorie’s may not withstand close inspection, either.”

“Are you sure you’ve got the right guy?” My high-pitched voice betrayed all the tension I was feeling.

Corrigan’s eyebrow shot up. “You kept saying from the start it was Eagleton. Don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts.”

I hated Debate in school. If I was ahead, overwhelming sympathy for my opponent forced me to lose the argument on purpose, a habit I had to break. “It’s just that…what if Constance gave the threatening letter to Eagleton and he kept it? And, you said yourself lots of people like
West Side Story
. And practically everyone has a circular saw.” I took a deep breath. “What about my being drugged? How does that fit into Eagleton as the killer?”

Corrigan stared at me and tapped his fingers on his desk. After what seemed to be five minutes but was probably five seconds, he resumed typing, pounding hard on each key.

I cleared my throat as if to say, “I’m still here.”

“When your test results come back, I’ll personally question Adler. God knows what sick thing he may have had in mind. In the meantime, stay away from him. Finish any business with him electronically. You’re too…” He stopped and looked like he wanted to swallow his tongue.

“Too what? Short? Stupid? Undeniably gorgeous?”

“Nothing. And, as for the rest, we’ve got the right guy.” He paused then added, “Do you want to press assault charges against Eagleton now?”

“Not yet. Some family issues need handling right now.” I maintained an air of cooperation I sure didn’t feel. “As soon as possible, though.”

Corrigan sprang up. “Claire, I know you disagree with charging Eagleton, but don’t go digging on your own. Whether you believe it or not, it could still be dangerous.”

I managed a distracted smile. “Understood. But family business won’t wait. Be back before…before the rooster crows twice.”
Really?
I dashed off before he could ask me what the hell that meant.

I signed some police paperwork to get my car back. If Corrigan didn’t believe Michael had anything to do with Constance’s death, I’d have to get the evidence myself. My fingers shook trying to get the key in the ignition. There was a movie once where a goat was used as bait. I was that goat.

M
ost people when faced with unpleasantness or danger lose their appetite. On the other hand, my cravings for the most decadent foodstuffs begin just before I head into the mouth of possible destruction. Maybe my body hoped, in the case of my demise, to least have a recent, final and delightful memory.