Bake Me a Murder (12 page)

“Not yet. Nothing fits together. A piece is missing and I have to find it. As a PI, this is what I do.”
Even if it scares away any rational thoughts.

My aunt put her hands over her ears. “I don’t want to hear this. We’re withholding evidence. I can’t go to jail. I’ve seen those shows about women in prison.”

I pulled her hands away from her ears. “We’re not going to jail.” I had to think fast. “Look, it’s late. Why don’t you take me back to my car, and I’ll bring the lipstick to the police tomorrow?”

She squinted at me. “We’re here already. Give it to Brian, Claire. For my sake. It’s too dangerous for you to be running around with lipstick.”

It was clear I wasn’t going to win this argument. “Okay.” I undid my seatbelt. “Wait here. I’ll only be a minute.”

I walked into the police station but before reaching the front desk, I used a tissue to open the tube. The lipstick had been broken off and a crinkled, tiny piece of paper had been crammed inside. Still using the tissue I shook the note out.

Someone had scrawled an address on it and something that resembled, ‘Jimmy’. I looked around to make sure no eyes were on me, then pulled out my cell phone and snapped a picture of the note. Reaching the front desk, I turned the lipstick tube over to the cop on duty and asked him to make sure it got to Corrigan right away.

By the time I got back to my aunt’s car, she’d leaned back and her snores could have cracked the windows. I knocked on the passenger side window and she jerked awake.

When I climbed inside, she yawned. “You gave it to Brian?”

“I turned it in to the cop at the front desk. He’ll give it to Corrigan.”

“They didn’t make you stay after you turned in evidence?”

“No, but he wanted answers for everything except if I had a mole on my right shoulder. Then he let me go.”

Her hand flew to her full-bosomed chest. “Good riddance to that lipstick. Now I can really sleep.”

We didn’t talk much on the way back to my car, but as I was getting out, she offered her place to me for the night. “You know, in case anyone…”

I wondered if, tonight, my aunt flashed back to what had happened to her in my last big case. Guilt and sorrow fell over me, thinking how the kidnapping must now color so much of her thoughts. I leaned over and kissed her soft, chubby cheek. “Thanks, Aunt Lena, but nobody is going to hurt you or me. If you need me to sleep at your house, I will.” I hoped two things. One, nobody stood at the ready to harm her or me. Two, Aunt Lena didn’t need me to stay over.

“No, it’s okay. I hope you’re right. But I won’t say, ‘I told you so’ if you aren’t.”

“Good, because that’d be the last thing I’d want to hear. Maybe the last thing I would hear.”

Our laughter filled the car, but it had a hollow quality to it.

Aunt Lena made sure I was in my car with the engine running before she drove off, enforcing my appreciation of her.

I yawned so hard my eyes watered and decided to get a few hours’ sleep before resuming the investigation. Maybe help clear my brain a bit.

Friday, 1:00 a.m.

As soon as I walked through my apartment door, the shower beckoned. I couldn’t wait to remove any trace of Yolanda’s blood still on my skin. I removed Corrigan’s sweatshirt and threw it in the hamper. The clothes I wore when Yolanda died ended up in the trash. I didn’t need them as a reminder of Yolanda’s murder. Whether I wanted to or not, I wouldn’t forget it.

I stood under the cascading warm water until my body relaxed. Scrubbed raw and dried, I crawled into bed, reminding myself this respite was for two hours, tops. I soon drifted into a deep sleep.

Friday, 9:00 a.m.

A buzzing noise woke me up. I grabbed for my phone and knocked it off my night stand. It stopped making any sound and I almost returned to slumberland when my eye caught the red numbers on my alarm clock. That jarred me awake. I’d slept for so long the next morning was well underway. I scrambled out of bed, picked up my phone and checked for messages.

Crap!
Corrigan had called. So had Merle and Aunt Lena. I’d meant to call Merle last evening, but things got in the way.
How ridiculous
. He was the reason I was wrapped tight in all this.

I called him, an apology for leaving him in the dark ready to roll off my tongue. But my words dried up when I heard his.

“Claire, listen, I called because, well, because I’m sorry I wasn’t a hundred per cent honest with you.”

My legs felt like they’d been dipped in cement. “In what way?” I closed my eyes and waited.

“I saw Coco the day before she died.”

I didn’t want to hear this, but I asked anyway. “Did you talk to her?”

“Yeah, but it didn’t amount to much.”

“What does that mean?” I was close to shouting.

“We said hello and, I couldn’t help myself. I asked her why she’d disappeared on me. She looked around like she expected somebody to nab her or something. Then she told me to leave her alone and made me promise not tell anyone I saw her.”

My tongue felt like it was stuck to the roof of my mouth. “So it wasn’t a total surprise when she called you. Why didn’t you tell me this?” I picked up my pillow and punched it.

He hesitated. “I don’t know. Guess I was still keeping my promise to her.”

Great
. “Does Harold know? He’s the one to advise you, but I can tell you if the police or the D.A. find out you’re hiding something, it’s going to look really bad.”

“I know. I’ll tell Harold. But I wanted you to know first. Again, I’m sorry.”

I gritted my teeth. “Just get hold of Harold and tell him.”

After we hung up I held the phone against my forehead and mumbled, “He lied.” I wondered why he’d told me this now. His conscience? Really? Did he love her so much that he kept the promise even after she was dead? Or was it only that he feared the truth would come out sooner than later?

It hit me hard that Merle could be guilty. Otherwise, what happed to ‘the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?’ If he lied about not seeing Coco before she called him, what else was he withholding? The worry lines on my face deepened. This case was aging me for sure.

I threw my phone on the unmade bed and went to get some tea to help me think this through.

I still hadn’t reached any conclusion, but decided I better return a call to who’d most likely be hysterical if I didn’t. Aunt Lena.

“Claire! Thank God and all the saints. I was about to call Brian. I thought maybe that killer or some hoodlum sidekick found you first. I would’ve died if he’d murdered you.”

“I’m fine. Just overslept. Sorry that I can’t talk long. Corrigan called me a while ago and I better get back to him. I wanted you to know I’m doing well and to thank you.”

“For what? For helping my niece who’s always helping me at
Cannoli’s
? I’ll let you go talk to Brian.”

My phone went off the second Aunt Lena and I ended our call. Corrigan again. I used my bright, chipper voice. “Hello.”

“What the hell did you think you were doing dropping that lipstick at the desk and then taking off?”

I pictured him with steam coming from his nostrils and ears, like in cartoons. He wasn’t as scary that way. “Sorry. I didn’t know how long you’d be busy and I…uh, my aunt was waiting for me.”
Lame, so lame
.

“You’re pushing this too far. What I ought to do is haul you in. Keep you in jail until this case is over. How long did you have that lipstick before you turned it in?”

I frowned into the phone. “I brought it in as soon as I found it.”

“Which was?”

“Late last night.”

His voice got louder and angrier. Without thinking, I crouched as if he could reach through the phone and throttle me. “I swear, getting information from you is like plucking a chicken one feather at a time.”

“Someone dropped it in my jacket pocket.”

“Yeah, I also believe there’s a troll under the Lorain-Carnegie Bridge. Come on, Claire. Where’d you get the lipstick?”

I didn’t want to get Harold in trouble, especially since I couldn’t prove he slipped it into my pocket.

While I debated what to say, Corrigan jumped in. “Who are you protecting?”

“Nobody. I’m really not sure who did it. It might even have been Yolanda.”

His voice tightened. “You better let me know as soon as you
are
sure because that person could be working with Carreras. By the way, we found the gun we believe Ms. Cruz’s killer used. It was wiped clean and the serial number’s been filed off. On the plus side, the bullets are a perfect match to the one found in Ms. Cruz’s body.”

“So you
do
have a case against Rico.”

“We’re checking out his alibis. Even if he’s innocent of murder, he was carrying a knife and he crossed state lines. We don’t even need you to press charges against him for assault unless you want to. He’ll be going back to Florida and prison for a long time. That should make you feel better.”

In my mind’s eye, I crossed Rico off my list of threats. But I didn’t erase his name. “Yes, it does. I’d feel even better if he’s charged with both murders.”

“I get it. And I would feel better if you told me who gave you the lipstick.”

“Maybe I found it myself.” That last comment was an obvious lie and Corrigan knew it.

“When you’re ready to tell me, and it better be soon, call.”

I had no sooner hung up, worried and scared, when my phone rang again. This time it was Alex asking me to meet him at my office this morning. From the hesitant way he chose his words, I knew whatever he had to tell me belonged in the bad news category. I rubbed my face, wishing I’d stayed asleep.

Since my meeting with Alex was in thirty minutes, I ran my fingers through my hair in lieu of combing it, brushed my teeth, and threw on some fresh clothes. Since I’d slept past rush hour, it took me less than twenty minutes to get to my destination. Good thing, since Alex was pacing in the parking lot.

He smiled at me when I got out of my car, but it was more apologetic than glad-to-see-you. As usual, he looked like perfection itself, the opposite of me wearing my tee shirt of a face with its tongue sticking out. Embarrassing, but at least the shirt was clean. In fact it was the only clean piece of clothing I had left.

Alex didn’t seem to notice my appearance, instead fiddling with his tie and collar. He followed me into my office and closed the door behind him. “You better sit down, Claire.”

It worried me the way his composure had slipped. Whatever caused it could be contagious. I sat down expecting the worst.

“First let me assure you I didn’t know anything about this.”

My stomach was making its way into my throat. “About what?”

He blew out a deep, uneasy breath. “Remember that list of lawyers I gave you, with one recommendation?”

I relaxed, figuring he was going to warn me about Harold’s age. “Don’t give it another thought. I admit being shocked. Harold Goldfarb looks like he’s fifteen.”

Alex’s brows knit. “He does?” He waved his hand dismissing that. “That’s not the problem. I know I recommended him, but I just found out he’s working for my illustrious uncle, Michael Bucanetti, crime kingpin of Newark. And a lot of other places.”

Chapter Twelve

G
ood thing I was already seated or I would’ve fallen over. “That can’t be. Harold’s too young to be that unscrupulous.” That lead-in-the-pit-of-my-stomach feeling was becoming all too familiar. “Is that for sure?” I knew how he’d found out before he said anything. Carmella Bucanetti, sweet, kind wife of Mr. Evil, Michael Bucanetti.

He nodded and looked down at his shoes. “Aunt Carmella let it slip last night.” He went on, his voice low, conciliatory. “We were talking and she mentioned this kid lawyer my uncle had hired for Cleveland business. I put two and two together. Harold Goldfarb has been working for Uncle Michael for at least a year.”

My mind didn’t want to accept the hard truth. “But he must take on other clients.”

He shook his head. “Works exclusively with my uncle and his associates.”

“Then why did Harold take Merle’s case?”

“I don’t know.”

I kept my voice as even as possible. “Don’t know or don’t want to tell me?” His face was unreadable but I pushed on. “Rico Carreras dealt drugs in Florida. That’s what put him in prison. He may have been working for your uncle at the time of his arrest. Funny coincidence because in no time at all, he was paroled. Was that your uncle’s doing?”

After a beat Alex said, “Probably.”

“So your uncle has ties to Rico and to Harold, who’s defending Merle.” I rubbed my forehead for a moment and then rose on still unsteady legs. “Thanks for letting me know.”

Alex took that as his cue to leave. “If there’s anything I can do to make this up to you…”

“Just answer one more question, Alex. When you told me Harold came highly recommended, who’d you get that recommendation from?”

He exhaled and fixated again on his shoes. “Nick Cicarelli’s father.”

My eyes nearly popped from their sockets. “Your best friend’s father, who also happens to work for your uncle?” I’d met Nick on my last murder case. Nick’s father and Bucanetti went way back.

Alex shrugged. “It wasn’t the smartest thing, maybe. But I wanted to help you.”

I took in a deep breath and closed my eyes to keep from choking him. “I understand.” Not really, but I wanted him out of my office.

“I messed up. Let me fix it, Claire.”

So tempting, but I was scared Bucanetti would get more involved and make things worse. “How? By conning me into hiring an enforcer to make sure Harold does his job? Thank you, but I’ll handle it from here.” Another hint for him to leave.

“Then I’ll be going.”

I gave him a weak smile as he walked out the door. I was grateful he’d told me, but angry over what he’d done. It wasn’t the first time he’d tricked me. But it’d be the last. I chalked Alex up as being one more guy who couldn’t be trusted.

My mind spun, thinking about the best way to tell Harold I knew about his real employer. But my cowardly side, which hated confrontation, held me back, wanted me to say nothing about Bucanetti. So far, Harold had done fine by Merle and if Rico proved to be Coco’s and Yolanda’s killer, who Harold worked for would be a moot point. My fainthearted half won. I’d say nothing unless Rico was cleared of Coco’s murder.