Grimacing, I joked, “By the time that happens, I’ll be too hard of hearing for you to bother.”
“No. I bet Brian will—”
“No. Brian may not.” That denial made me so sad. I was shocked. “I better go. Love you, Dad.”
All the way home I thought about whether Brian would or wouldn’t. I loved him and he loved me. But sometimes I was afraid our feelings would get covered in the sludge we threw at each other pursuing our individual careers.
Finally home, I unlocked my apartment door to the sounds of Charlie’s happy grunts and whimpers. Remembering last night’s frightening experience, I nonetheless picked up his leash, along with my gun, and we headed outside. This time, though, we’d stay close by the apartment.
Chapter Eighteen
Charlie had done his business by a bush near the apartment. After giving him a few ‘good boys,’ we turned and strode up the walkway. A squirrel audaciously popped in front of Charlie and then dashed toward the field at the end of the street. My dog took off after the fluffy-tailed rodent and, in so doing, ripped the leash from my hand. I rubbed my scraped palm with my other hand and ran after the duo, calling Charlie’s name.
Upon reaching the edge of the field, I skidded to a stop. There was Charlie, munching on a patch of something. Leaning over, I grabbed onto the leash and began scolding my runaway pet. We turned in the direction of the apartment building. That’s when Charlie began growling.
There was one lonely street light and I glimpsed what I thought was someone’s shadow. My body tensed. Though my heart was pounding out a beat no drummer could keep up with, I didn’t run. My free hand on my gun, I called out, “Who’s there?”
Nothing.
I shouted again, “Who’s there?”
Charlie went from a growl to barking and straining at the leash. I whispered, “Take me to him, boy.” And let the leash go. He took off and I followed. All the way to the apartment, where Charlie stopped.
Whoever had been watching me was now gone. Along with my courage. As the adrenaline rush subsided, my legs were like melted plastic and my hands trembled so hard it was difficult to unlock my apartment door.
The previous night had been scary. Tonight was downright heart-attack producing. Last night Shadow Man stayed at a distance. Tonight he came much closer. I shivered. There wouldn’t be a tomorrow night.
When my hands stopped shaking enough, I filled Charlie’s water bowl and called Corrigan. He couldn’t accuse me of holding back this time. Of course, he didn’t pick up. Pacing, I recapped what had just happened into voicemail.
Although it was late, I knew there would be no sleep for me for a while, if at all. So a diet pop, the television remote, and Charlie all joined me on the sofa.
***
My alarm sounded off in the distance that next morning. I rubbed my eyes, slowly waking up and realizing I’d slept on the sofa. The last thing I remembered was watching an old episode of Friends. Gently sweeping Charlie off my lap, I stumbled into the bedroom and turned off the clock. That’s when I realized my phone had been ringing.
It was Corrigan. “Are you all right?”
Last night’s scare rolled over me with the force of a bowling ball hitting the pins. Upon finding my voice, I whined, “It took you long enough to check on me.” I grimaced, realizing my tone resembled that of a nagging wife’s. Feeling neglected, or plain scared?
“Sorry, but I didn’t get a chance to even check messages until just before I called you.”
The tone of his voice was so deplete of hope, I had to ask, “I’m sorry. What happened last night? Was someone else killed?”
It took him a moment to respond. “Yeah.”
My mouth felt so dry I could’ve used Charlie’s water bowl. “Where?”
“This is still hush-hush so you didn’t hear it from me. Body was found on Clifton. Near Lakewood Park.”
This time the killer hit much closer to my home. My stomach clenched as I recalled last night’s shadow. Did Charlie scare the killer away from me and toward another?
Corrigan must have thought the same thing. “I don’t want you going out alone at night. At all. The dog will just have to use papers until we put Norm Rockwell away.”
Trying to disguise the terror I was feeling, I went for humor. “So until he paints himself in a corner?”
Corrigan either didn’t get my feeble joke about Norm’s famous namesake or chose to ignore it. “We had a tail on him, but those morons lost him after the anniversary party where he was playing. They didn’t pick up his scent again until an hour and a half later.”
“The woman was killed during the time he was MIA?”
“We just have an approximate time of death. But it’s close enough to bring Rockwell in. With some luck, he’ll never see the light of day again. Still, I mean what I said about going out alone. Not until they throw the key away on the bastard.”
I grabbed at the only straw I knew. “What if it isn’t him?”
“What? It’s gotta be.” Corrigan’s patience was thinning quickly. “Why would he have disappeared just at that time? Plus, that party was a perfect location. It was at the Roman Room. He could easily have done the murder, dumped her body, and let himself be found in that amount of time.”
My tone sharper than I’d meant, I said, “Listen, I hope you’re right. The whole city hopes you’re right. And if you are, I’m really proud of you. Right now, though, I have to get ready for work.”
“My turn to apologize. I’m like a live grenade. If we have the right guy I’ll take you out to any place you want to go. Love you.”
“Me too.” I didn’t bother to think about what place to choose until there was no doubt of Norm’s guilt.
I showered, dressed and downed a Pop-Tart in twenty-five minutes. Then took Charlie outside and was in my car in another fifteen. Had I known what was waiting for me at Gino’s office, I would’ve taken some aspirins with me.
Chapter Nineteen
There was a line of people waiting to see Gino. All with so-called important cases they wanted solved. Since Gino wasn’t in, the first woman settled for me after I assured her I was also a PI. Bobbie Hathaway was her name. She was in medical scrubs and wore the sour expression of someone assigned bedpan duty.
“I’m Claire DeNardo, Private Investigator. What can the Francini Agency help you with?”
Her expression changed from sour to irate, with her face reddening and her eyes narrowing. “I want you to find out who’s stealing my lunch from the office refrigerator. I get so mad just thinking of it.”
My hands lifted off the keyboard. “Someone’s stealing your lunches and you want us to find the thief?”
“That’s what I said. You deaf?”
“No. It’s just that I’m not sure you need us for that situation.” I was trying to be diplomatic.
She harrumphed. “Well, the guy handing me this,” She showed me Gino’s business card. “Told me no problem was too small.”
This was his idea of drumming up business? I plastered a bland smile on my face. “Well then, let’s get started. When was the last time you saw your lunch?”
Our intake completed, I confessed to Ms. Hathaway that Gino himself would have to determine the fee for this job.
“That’s okay by me. Long as it’s not over $50.”
I stifled a laugh. “You’ll hear from him as soon as he returns to the office.”
The next client, a man with the misfortune to be named B.A. Dodor, sulked toward my desk. “Wanna hire this guy,” also showing me Gino’s card, “to find out who’s been writing BAD Odor all over my locker, my toolbox, everything at work.”
Rubbing my forehead to fight off a headache, I took down his information and gave him the same spiel about the fee.
Unlike Ms. Hathaway, Mr. Dodor replied, “I don’t care what it costs. I want that sonofabitch caught. I’ll take it from there.”
Gino’s voice carried from the hallway. “Excuse me.” He was evidently trying to ge
t through the waiting crowd. When he reached my desk, he stopped and I introduced Gino to Mr. Dodor. Gino shook his hand. “Nice to meet you, but would you excuse us for a second?”
“No problem. I’m done anyway. Get back to me soon. Somebody’s gonna be real sorry they messed with my name.”
To my surprise, Gino walked out to the crowd and announced, “The office is closed for break time. Please come back in an hour.”
Some woman yelled, “Offices don’t close for break time.”
A guy muttered, “Don’t expect me to come back.”
Gino closed the door on them. “They arrested Rockwell. Sounds like the case is solid. The last victim was killed during the time the cops lost him. Oh, her name was Pam Jaworsky and, guess what?” He answered before I could open my mouth. “She was fond of bingo.”
Gino was rambling on about the reward, but I was preoccupied with wanting to make two calls. The first to Corrigan to verify Gino’s information. The second to Angie to make sure she was all right.
Corrigan answered on the first ring. He sounded as elated as a school kid on a snow day. “We got him, Claire.”
“I heard. Congratulations.” My voice wasn’t exactly booming with enthusiasm, so I tried harder. “You must feel great about it.”
“Yeah. Captain’s off my back so I feel 190 pounds lighter. I’ve got paperwork to do, but how about I take you to lunch?”
“That would be wonderful.” If I couldn’t get excited about believing Norm was the Red Bow Killer, I could about seeing Corrigan his usual cocky self again.
“I’ll pick you up at your office at noon. Is Frankie & Johnny’s good for you?”
A vision of their chocolate derby pie flashed through my mind, lighting up all the circuits. “Perfect.”
My next call was to Angie. She’d find out about Norm anyway. I’d rather she got it from me first. Not that I thought she’d be devastated, but if it weren’t for her mistaking him for a good guy and agreeing to dinner, Norm might never have been caught. She deserved thanks.
Angie answered her phone and after our greetings I broke the news to her.
She responded with, “Oh dear God. I really know how to pick them. Sixteen years without a date and the first man I go out with is a serial killer.” Her voice thickened. “Didn’t they make a movie like this?”
“He seemed sweet, Angie. You couldn’t have known. And if it hadn’t been for you finding the victim’s photo, he might never have been caught.”
She sighed, “But I was so nasty to everyone at dinner…”
I chuckled, “I would have been worse in your position. If it was Aunt Lena instead of you, imagine how unpleasant she would have been.”
This got her laughing. “Good point.” She paused then asked, “I was going to bingo tonight at Corey’s Bingo Center. Since it’s your night off from Cannoli’s, would you like to come with me? It’s more fun going with somebody.”
My nose wrinkled, but I owed her. “Sure. I can meet you there. What time?”
We were saying our goodbyes when Gino stepped out of his office and opened the door to the hallway. “The crowd’s building again.”
I groaned and got up to escort the first of these new clients to my desk.
It was a long morning, but finally noon rolled around. Corrigan showed up right on time. Since Gino had already left for lunch, I locked up.
For the first time since the Red Bow murders began, Corrigan looked refreshed. His grin was infectious and I responded in kind. Too bad I didn’t have dimples like his.
After he kissed me hello I said, “You look happier than I’ve seen you in a while. I was getting worried about you.”
He opened the car door for me. “Appreciate the concern. It’s just that it’s taken so long to get this killer locked up.”
“I hope he turns out to be the right guy.” Wrong thing to say.
The vein in Corrigan’s temple throbbed. “He’s the right guy, all right.” Counting on his fingers, he said, “One, a neighbor of Joanna Whitechapel, or Desiree, claims she saw him hanging around the victim’s home. Two, the guy slipped out just in time to kill the latest victim, Pam Jaworsky. And three, no alibis for any of the murders. Yeah, we got the right guy.”
Rather than continue with an argument guaranteed to irritate him, I switched topics and described some of Gino’s new cases. It was a successful ploy. By the time we arrived at the restaurant, we were both loosened up and were having a good time.
For lunch I had a diet pop and the chocolate derby pie, oozing with chocolate and walnuts. He had a reuben sandwich with fries and a chocolate shake. I promised myself I’d have a granola bar for dinner to balance out the calories in the pie. With a flash of jealousy, I realized he’d probably have a full dinner and not put on an ounce. That uncharitable feeling was swiftly replaced with sympathy. The poor guy had probably existed on coffee, stale pastries, and takeout Chinese for the past week or so.
I reached out and gently cradled his cheek in my hand. He turned his face slightly and kissed my palm. My insides melted like the wax of a lit candle. But nothing could come of the sparks that flew between us. At least not now, since we both had to get back to work. He must have been thinking the same thing, because a slow, regretful smile spread across his face.
On the way back to my office, I let it slip that I was going to play bingo that night with Angie. Corrigan chortled, “Careful, you play enough of that and it could be a gateway to other types of gambling. Shooting craps in a smoky backroom, poker with a bunch of sweaty t-shirted men—”
“I don’t know. I thought cockfights might be more my style.”
He looked about to say something. Then must have thought better of it. Instead he grew serious. “Be careful. I mean, we’ve got the Red Bow Killer, but you never know if there’s some wacko copycat.”
I patted his shoulder. “Angie and I will be fine.” The truth was, I didn’t fear a copycat killer but the real deal. A nagging suspicion kept popping into my head that arresting Norm wasn’t the end of the story. Rather than tell Corrigan that, though, I kept it to myself and continued keeping the peace. Why get him angry or frustrated or whatever emotion my doubt would produce?
Corrigan walked me to the door of Francini’s Agency. An older, dark-haired man, a walking stick in his hand, turned toward Corrigan and me. “Are either of you Private Investigator Francini?”
Corrigan murmured, “Thank God, no.”
I shot him a censoring look and then answered, “Sorry, Mr. Francini isn’t in yet. I’m his assistant. Can I help you?”
I said my farewells to Corrigan, then invited the fellow into the office and offered him a chair.
The gentleman interlaced his fingers and stretched them as if he was going to play a keyboard. He cleared his throat. “My name is Joseph Griselli.”
When he didn’t continue, I leaned toward him, “And how can the Francini Agency help you?” I was sure he wanted Gino to do something like finding his lost pet parakeet.
He opened and closed his mouth twice, as if the words sat on the tip of his tongue but refused to take the final leap out. My foot began tapping as if keeping the beat of an unheard tune.
With a deep breath, he finally began, “I’ve come here from Pittsburgh.”
That caught my attention. I asked the next question, but my gut already knew the answer. “You were living there a decade ago when those twelve women were murdered?”
When he nodded, the hairs on my arms rose. “And that’s why you’re here?”
He ran his fingers through his sparse gray hair. “After I went to Eileen’s funeral, I met up with a mutual acquaintance who recommended you.”
He stared beyond me. “Eileen and me were an item ten years back. At least until she found someone else, a musician. It was hard, but I settled for being her friend. She disappeared right after the guy accused of those murders hanged himself.”
“Did you ever meet her boyfriend?”
“No. She kept him under wraps.
I don’t know. Maybe she was embarrassed, or the guy was the jealous type.”
Poised at the edge of my seat, I asked, “Did she at least tell you his name?”
He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Just called him ‘Music Man’ all the time because he played in some two-bit rock band. But she did let it slip that he wasn’t originally from Pittsburgh. Came from Ohio.”
My mouth felt so dry cacti could’ve grown in it. “Was it Steubenville, Ohio?”
“Might’ve been. But by the time Eileen started seeing him he already lived in Pittsburgh. She told me one time about how, when he was moving here, some of his furniture slid down the hill.”
I bit the corner of my lower lip and wondered if Norm Rockwell had resided in Pittsburgh yet had somehow stayed under the radar.
“What is it you want from our agency?”
“The person who murdered Eileen.” He tapped the end of his cane on the floor. “I’d lay money this ‘Music Man’ and her killer are the same guy.”
“After ten years? Why now? You think it took him this long to find her?”
“It did me.”
Gino chose that time to return. He practically ignored me and stuck his hand out to Griselli. “I’m Gino Francini, owner of this agency. How can I help you?”
Griselli nodded to me and I repeated his story.
For once, Gino didn’t interrupt. When I was done he shook his head and murmured, “I’ll be damned.”
Since Gino didn’t ask any questions, I wondered aloud if Timothy, whom I assumed Griselli meant by a mutual friend, was surprised when Griselli introduced himself.
“Didn’t talk to the guy. I went to pay my respects to Eileen.” Griselli’s shoulders drooped a bit. “She was a real special lady.”
Pursuing the question of what Timothy knew, I asked, “Do you think she would have told her brother about you?”
Griselli clasped his hands together. “Eileen and me knew each other a long time ago, but even then she was secretive, kept things to herself.”
“Mr. Griselli, you are aware Norm Rockwell has already been arrested and charged with Eileen’s murder. Aren’t you?”
Cupcakes and Corpses Page 14