Cupcakes and Corpses

by Carole Fowkes

  Cupcakes

  and

  Corpses

  The Terrified Detective: Book Five

  Carole Fowkes

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2018 by Carole Fowkes

  eBook conversion by Ink Lion Books

  Cover by Kathleen Baldwin

  All Rights Reserved

  No part of this book may be reproduced, downloaded, transmitted, decompiled, reverse engineered, stored in or introduced to any information storage and retrieval system, in any form, whether electronic or mechanical without the author’s written permission. Scanning, uploading or distribution of this book via the Internet or any other means without permission is prohibited.

  Please purchase only authorized electronic versions, and do not participate in, or encourage pirated electronic versions

  Chapter One

  “Claire, could you get that?” Gino, my father’s second cousin and my employer, was holding a chocolate covered doughnut in one hand and a Styrofoam cup of coffee in the other.

  I sighed to myself and picked up the phone. “Francini Private Investigation Agency. You think you’ve got a problem? Talk to us.” I swear my brain shrunk every time I had to make that announcement. Needless to say, the greeting was Gino’s idea and nothing I could say would persuade him to change it.

  He wanted things the way they had been when he left Cleveland to soak up the Miami sun and turned the agency over to me. Despite what he wanted, things weren’t the same. I now had three murder investigations under my belt and didn’t want to return to sorting mail, answering calls, and occasionally taking pictures of spouses who were where they shouldn’t have been with people they shouldn’t have been with. I wanted to be a private investigator. Sure, I’m terrified, but I’m good at it. And I helped people.

  Instead, after swearing I wouldn’t fall back into this career dead-end, here I was at 31, almost 32, eking out a living. The caller yelled for Gino so, figuring he was a bill collector or irate customer, I handed the phone over.

  My boss’ mouth was still half-full and chocolate frosting hung from his bushy gray-black mustache. “Timothy. Calm down. I’ll bet your sister is fine. Maybe she don’t want to talk to you.” Gino took a swallow of his coffee as he listened. He bounced his hand up and down as if he was playing with a basketball. “Okay, okay. I’ll send my assistant to her house. See what’s up. We’ll call you when we know something.”

  I motioned to Gino to see if we’d get paid for this. He shook his head. “Don’t worry, Timothy. It’s on the house.”

  I blew out a deep breath. I had hoped, by working both here and part time at Cannoli’s, my Aunt Lena’s bakery, I could eventually earn enough to start my own PI agency. Gino had been back for three months and so far hadn’t been able to give me the raise he promised when I agreed to stay on here. Whenever I brought up the subject of my pay increase, he would turn his pockets inside out and tell me how broke he was. If he continued to do favors for people like Timothy, I’d never be anything more than a paper-pusher.

  I zoned back as Gino was returning the phone to me. “Here, Claire. Timothy is gonna give you his sister’s address.”

  No surprise that I would be the one to check on the woman. My resentment was flashing in my eyes, so I kept my head down, grabbed the phone, and took the information.

  Tommy’s sister, Eileen, lived in Cleveland’s near West Side. It wouldn’t take me long to get there and I thought about stopping for a chocolate cupcake and a cup of tea first.

  Out of the side of his mouth, Gino muttered, “She’s probably sleeping one off. I remember when we were kids. Me and Timothy would sneak a beer from her fridge. She never knew it. That woman could drink any man under the table.”

  “So you’re saying it’s okay for me to grab something to eat on my way to her house?”

  “Yeah, sure.” He pulled out a dollar. “It’s on me.”

  In other circumstances I’d tell him to put his money away. A dollar wouldn’t even cover the tea. My pride sulked but times were hard and I took what he offered.

  Despite my stomach’s growling, I drove straight to my assignment, freebie though it was. My conscientiousness often got me nothing but aggravation. If I was a betting woman this one would too. I couldn’t help myself; the nuns at Holy Trinity elementary school taught me the sinfulness of procrastination.

  I got to Eileen’s 1930’s bungalow-style home and rang the bell several times. No answer. I followed by rapping on the door until my fist turned red. Still no answer. I stepped back and was about to return to my car when a woman’s voice stopped me.

  “Excuse me, but are you looking for Eileen O’Donnell?” With a start, I found myself staring at a mail carrier. She was a bit on the plump side with tightly curled brown hair and her uniform stretched mercilessly across her hips and chest.

  “Yes, I am. Have you seen her?”

  “How do you know Eileen?”

  “I don’t. Her brother, Timothy, asked me to check on her.”

  “It’s about time someone did.” She frowned. “No, I haven’t seen her and her mail is piling up. Eileen usually grabs her stuff before I even have a chance to close the mail slot. She hasn’t been doing that for the past three days. Neighbors haven’t seen her either.” She waited, probably expecting me to say something. When I didn’t, she continued. “I don’t ordinarily do something like this, but I was thinking to call the cops. Let them snoop around. I just hope they find out she’s okay.”

  While I didn’t know US Postal Service policy, it sounded like a plan to me. A niggling voice in my brain stopped me from immediately saying so. Maybe I needed to get involved. Make the call myself. Yet I wasn’t too excited about pursuing this. It wasn’t my case. I wasn’t getting paid as a PI anymore. Still, I felt like I had to say something. “If you’re concerned, calling the police is probably the best thing you could do.”

  She glanced down the street. “Yeah, but I still have to deliver mail to the rest of the neighborhood. I could do it when I’m done. But you could call the cops now.”

  “Or I can wait until you get back.” I didn’t relish talking to the police about a woman who may just be away from home. All Gino told me to do was to see if Eileen was home. She apparently wasn’t. End of my assignment. I refused to give a voice to my Catholic schoolgirl conscience to go above and beyond what Gino had asked.

  The mail carrier’s eyes narrowed. “I understand.” The outrage in her voice indicated anything but understanding. “Don’t get involved.” She spun her two-wheeled bag of mail and stomped away.

  Now I was ashamed, or embarrassed, or something and decided to take a look around. I began in the back of the house, opening the chain link gate. A doggy entrance had been cut out of the door. A dog the size of a Great Dane could probably fit through it.

  The blood in my veins curdled. What if a big dog was inside? What if it was hungry? What if it mistook me for a rawhide chew? I was only 5’2” and 107 pounds. I couldn’t fight it off.

  I wanted to bolt. After all, that mail carrier would finish soon and she’d call the police. No involvement on my part necessary.

  That’s when I heard it. A soulful moan that played upon the fibers of my heart. Somebody was alive inside and probably hurt. I kicked the doggy door gently with the toe of my shoe. It gave way. Estimating the size, I determined that, while it’d be a tight squeeze, I could get through. Still I hesitated. Sure, the sound could be coming from Timothy’s sister. It could also be coming from her famished and half-mad pit bull. Weren’t hungry dogs more vicious?

  Rather than being a complete coward, I stuck my head through the doggy door and look around. I didn’t see anything, but from the sound, whatever or whoever it turned out to be, was in th
e kitchen.

  I clasped my arms to my body and tried to force my shoulders through the opening. Feeling as if I were a string of licorice, I twisted my upper body to the right and then the left. With one final effort, I pushed through the doggy entryway and managed to land on my forearms. My body was half in and half out. Upon taking a deep breath, the smell something akin to rotted fruit assaulted me.

  Then I saw the body. A woman, probably Eileen, lay sprawled out on the floor. Shards of broken glass were scattered around her. From the smell and the looks of her, she’d been dead at least a few days.

  Her fuzzy, pink bathrobe was off her shoulders, exposing straps from her nightgown. The right one having slipped from her shoulder. Around her neck was a deep red velveteen ribbon tied into a big, droopy bow.

  Lying with its head on its front paws was the producer of the sorrowful noise that drew me in. The puppy looked up at me as if to say, “Do something.”

  I backed my head out of the door with the speed of a lit firecracker, grabbed my phone and called 911. Sitting back on my heels, I described the state of Eileen’s body. And how she was gift-wrapped.

  My nerves, already frayed a bit, almost unraveled with the 911 operator’s response. In a voice that sounded like an adolescent, she said, “This is my first day on my own. Let me check and see what you’re supposed to do now. Wait a minute. Are you sure she’s dead?”

  I huffed, “Yes! She’s sprawled out on the linoleum, her head at an angle no live person could achieve. She’s got a ribbon around her neck and her skin is pallid and bloated. She’s dead all right.”

  “The police will be there shortly, so I want you to get inside the house and unlock the door for them.”

  “What?” I wanted to reach through the phone and throttle the woman. “What if the killer’s still there?”

  “I’ll stay on the phone with you.” Her voice sounding like she’d solved the problem.

  Without my gun, which was back in my apartment, I was pretty defenseless. Except for my pepper spray. I pulled that out of my purse and held it tightly, just in case.

  With the 911 operator’s voice coming through my phone, I twisted and contorted until I’d squeezed all the way through the doggy door.

  Although it was June, the weather didn’t seem to know it and a cold front was keeping temperatures in the sixties. Even with a sweater on, I shivered. The temperature inside the house had to be in the forties.

  The dog, with ears like a beagle but which looked part Boxer and who-knew-what else, turned its eyes to me again. I hoped it wasn’t thinking my rear resembled a top sirloin.

  Stepping around Eileen’s body, I unlocked the front door and was set to wait. The dog’s plight got to me and I wanted to at least give it some water, but I stopped myself. Doing something that simple could contaminate the crime scene.

  Thank goodness it didn’t take long for the police to arrive. I was less than surprised when I spotted Detective Brian Corrigan stepping through the door. Sometimes it seemed like he was the only detective in the Cleveland Police Department.

  His blue eyes went from Eileen’s body to me and back again. His voice was mock-serious. “Ms. DeNardo. Why is it, whenever there’s any crime scene in the entire Cleveland Metropolitan area, there’s a good chance you’ll be involved? Do you use a Ouija board?”

  We’d had similar conversations around corpses since I first got involved in murder cases. “That’s not funny. This poor woman’s brother is a friend of Gino’s, and he was worried about her.”

  “Evidently not worried enough to visit her himself.”

  I wrapped my arms around myself. “You’ve got my statement. Can I go now?”

  He closed his notebook. “Yeah. See you soon?”

  My smile reached from ear to ear. Then quickly, I toned it down. After all, there was a dead body amongst us. “Before I go, can I give the dog some water?”

  Corrigan glanced over at the mutt. “Animal Protective League will be here soon. Go ahead, though. Poor guy’s probably dehydrated.” He called to one of the technicians for gloves and handed them to me.

  The pup gave me a grateful look as he sopped up the liquid. I scratched him behind his floppy, brown ears and cooed to him, absent-mindedly hoping somebody would take him in.

  My canine duty done, I left to go back to the office. As soon as I walked through the door, I filled Gino in. When I finished, he grabbed my hands and guided me to a chair. “Are you okay?”

  Apparently Gino had forgotten this wasn’t my first murder scene. Still I was touched that he was concerned about my well-being. “Did you already know about Eileen being dead? How did you find out?”

  He waved his hand, as if my question had no bearing on the issue. “Police scanner. I got it just the other day. What’s important is Timothy will be here in a minute. Have you thought of what you’ll say to him?”

  I had to close my gaping mouth. “Me? You’re his friend. Or the police can tell him.”

  “Hello?” Timothy stumbled into the office as if he’d been suddenly awakened after an all-night bender. “I got here as soon as I got your message.” His hair was sticking out everywhere. Gino flung one arm around Timothy and guy-hugged him. He bade him sit. Then in the wormy way I’ve seen him use during bad news times, Gino deferred to me. “This is Claire, my assistant. You’ve already talked on the phone. She’s got news for you about your sister. Go ahead, Claire.”

  Timothy’s expression reminded me of an animal with its foot caught in a trap. Already in pain and waiting only for the final assault. I glared at Gino before beginning.

  I tried to keep my voice calm, gentle. “I regret to tell you your sister has passed away. The police will be contacting you soon with details.” I didn’t have the heart to say more. How do you tell someone their sister was murdered and tied up like a birthday present?

  Timothy jumped from his chair. “How? When?”

  To my relief, and, I’ll admit, surprise, Gino took over. He placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder and sympathy poured over his facial features. “Man, I’m so sorry. She was a good lady.” He nodded toward the door and I understood he wanted me to leave. I was only too glad to give him and Timothy some privacy.

  Thirty minutes later, Gino, his arm around Timothy’s slumped shoulder joined me in the reception area. “Me and Timothy are going over to Players for a drink.”

  Timothy looked like he needed a friend even more than a drink. His eyes were red and his face, puffy.

  Gino went on. “Lock up when you’re done. See you tomorrow, Claire.”

  It was only three in the afternoon. Part of me thought of staying until five, just in case a new client came by. I almost chuckled at the absurdity of that happening. I decided to head home to get ready for my date with Corrigan. Surprisingly, Aunt Lena had given me the evening off. In the three months since her wedding, things between Corrigan and me had been heating up. My aunt wasn’t above assisting in that push.

  He and I’d come a long way from the first time we’d met over a dead body, one of my clients. One of the few benefits of no longer having my own PI business was, Corrigan and I no longer argued about my involvement in any murder case. A flash of melancholy for those former days shot through me.

  Chapter Two

  I had just put the finishing touches on my makeup when a knock at my door told me Corrigan had arrived. I took a deep breath and told him to come in.

  Instead of it being the man I planned on swooping down on, it was Ed, or should I say, Uncle Ed. He’d been the lucky and brave man who married my feisty aunt. I’d known Ed before that, though. A part-time security guard, he had also worked on an as-needed basis for me. Smart, wiry, and savvy, he was invaluable. Since I’d lost the PI business, he spent more hours helping my aunt with Cannoli’s, and from the appearance of the box he held, it looked as if he’d just come from there.

  “Shouldn’t leave your door open like that, Claire. Any crazy person could come inside.”

  “You sound lik
e Aunt Lena.” I smiled. “To what do I owe this visit?” I eyed the goodies he was holding.

  “Brian is in the parking lot, so I’ll keep it short. He’s cooling his heels until I’m done telling you what I need to.”

  My heart revved up. “Is Aunt Lena okay?”

  He gave me a crooked grin. “Better than okay. That is one fine woman. In fact, when she knew I was coming to see you, she asked me to bring you these.”

  Inside the box was a luscious-looking cupcake with reddish frosting. I tilted my head in a question.

  “Lena wants you to try it.”

  “Now?”

  “Yeah. She calls it a Strawberry dream. Tell me what you think so I can tell her. Then let’s talk about why I was coming here in the first place. It’s about that murder. The one where the sister of Gino’s pal bought it.”

  I started to ask how he knew. Then I remembered. Ed was the original ‘I-know-a-guy-who-knows-a-guy.’

  “Word travels. Anyway, I heard she worked at Smalley’s Chocolates for 20 years. The Smalley family is offering a reward to get the killer. Ten thousand dollars.”

  My eyes opened so wide, my brows must have disappeared into my hairline. “That’s a down-payment on a PI business.” I put a lid on my excitement, waiting to hear more.

  “Of course, you’ll want to hire me as your assistant when you start this new business.” He patted his slightly rounded belly. “I love Lena, but much more time at Cannoli’s and tasting her latest concoctions and I’ll lose my boyish figure for good.”

  I chortled. That was one of the reasons I didn’t want to work full-time at Cannoli’s. I couldn’t afford to indulge all day long in my aunt’s heavenly éclairs, cakes, and assorted other goodies. I swear my body’s fat cells swell just being in the vicinity of her pastry case.

  But, for the sake of experimentation, I took a bite of the cupcake, closed my eyes, and let it melt in my mouth. It was life-changing. Strawberry frosting that gave way to a chocolate chip cupcake with a strawberry filling.