Ed shuffled his feet, bringing me back to the real world. “Sorry I didn’t make it here in time. Friggin’ potholes.” Ed whispered. “Cut Corrigan some slack. It’ll be easier on all concerned. The guy’s nuts about you. I’m taking off. Call me if you need me.” He waved at Corrigan and left.
Nuts about me? I wasn’t sure that was true. Even if it was, romance was out of the question. I frowned, feeling the need to re-establish the previous borders of Corrigan’s and my relationship, at least until Merle was cleared. “I’ll go with you, Detective, although I’m not sure if I trust you not to use handcuffs on me.”
By Corrigan’s scowl, I realized I’d said the wrong thing. Previous borders re-established.
Corrigan’s hands squeezed his steering wheel. I wondered if he was imagining it was my neck. I cleared my throat. “Want to talk about it?” Judging by the steel glare I got, he didn’t.
Inside the station, he had a lively conversation with another cop. Then he led me into the same interrogation room I’d used to look at mug shots. “Wait right here.” He took off, leaving me alone and wondering what I was supposed to do.
I was about to stomp out of the room when Corrigan reappeared holding a blue sweatshirt. “Here. Take off your shirt and put this on.” I cocked my head to one side, confused. He explained, “You don’t want to wear a top covered in blood, do you?”
“Of course not.” I snatched the sweatshirt and waited for him to leave. When he didn’t move, I lifted an eyebrow. “Are you planning on standing here while I change?”
He gave me a devilish smile. “Only if you insist.”
I tossed back my hair. “In your dreams.”
His face as solemn as a funeral director’s he murmured, “Yes, you are.”
For a moment I stood there, trance-like, aware of how close he stood to me. I rocked back on my heels. “Whew! It’s warm in here. I’ll go change in the ladies’ room. Be back in five minutes.” I rushed out the door like someone with a grenade had just pulled the pin.
In the restroom my trembling fingers fumbled with the buttons on my blouse. I caught myself wondering if Corrigan would do any better.
When I returned to the interrogation room, Corrigan had taken off his jacket and was sitting backwards on the chair across from what I supposed was my seat. I began rubbing my hands together so fast they could have burst into flames.
“Relax, Claire. Like I said, you’re here so I can keep an eye on you. Keep you safe. Understand, there’s no way of knowing if Ms. Cruz’s killer will come after you.”
My hands dropped back into my lap. “I’m supposed to stay here until you catch him, him, being Rico?”
The cop Corrigan had spoken with earlier, opened the door. “Mr. Goldfarb here to represent Ms. DeNardo.” Harold stuck his head out from behind the cop.
“Harold! How did you know I was here?” Thank God I didn’t need him. He might drive a beat-up Ford but unless a fairy godmother deposited money in my account, I couldn’t afford him.
Corrigan didn’t even glance up. “Ms. DeNardo isn’t being charged with anything.”
With the flexibility of an acrobat, Harold wiggled his way past the cop at the door. “I’m here to make sure she doesn’t say anything that could be construed as an admission of guilt as accessory to a crime.”
I wondered at the smoothness with which he said that line. Had he used it countless times before? No opportunity to dwell on the thought.
Like a knight rescuing a damsel Harold took my hand. “Come on, Claire. Let’s get out of here.”
Corrigan stood and addressed Harold. “I don’t think you understand the situation.”
Outside the open door of the interrogation room someone handed the escorting cop a message. He read it and without a word, turned it over to Corrigan who read it and suppressed a satisfied grin. He addressed Harold, “I need to talk to Ms. DeNardo for one minute. Alone. She’s free to go after that.”
I cocked my head. “It’s okay, Harold.”
He nodded. “I’ll be right outside.” The door closed behind him.
Corrigan waved the note around. “This is notification that Rico Carreras is in custody. No gun on him, but it’ll turn up. His fingerprints are all over that house. Could be, he’s Yolanda Cruz’s killer.”
“And Coco’s?”
“Maybe. We’ll question him.”
“Good.” The tension receded a bit. “Can I go now?” I’d been out of the loop with Merle for too long, and we needed to catch up.
That’s when I remembered my car was back at Cannoli’s.
Corrigan tapped the note against the palm of his hand. “I’d take you back to Cannoli’s, but I’m going to be tied up for a while. I’ll call you a cab.”
To my surprise, a speck of sadness floated into my heart. Rather than figure out where the feeling had come from, I swept it away. “That’s okay. I’ll call my aunt and see if she can come get me. Cannoli’s is just closing up”
I opened the interrogation room door and almost collided with Harold, who was ending a call. He put his phone away and smiled like he’d gotten away with the golden goose. He whispered, “I’ve got an appointment with Dr. Jonathan Williams first thing tomorrow morning. He’s a dirt specialist.”
“So is my neighbor’s two-year-old grandson.” The light clicked on in my dim head. “Oh! About the dirt found on Coco matching Merle’s clothes.”
He flashed such a mischievous smile, I half-expected him to shout, “Only kidding.” Instead, he continued. “Absolutely. I believe that dirt could be from anywhere. Or maybe from two areas.” He showed me a pill container filled with soil. “Like from Ms. Sanchez’s front yard.”
My eyebrows shot up. “How did you get that? We just found out where she lived.”
“I have my ways.” He used a bad German Nazi accent, reminding me once more how young he was.
“That’s good.” I checked the time, hoping it wasn’t too late to call my aunt. “Excuse me. I have to call my aunt for a ride back to my car.”
“Never mind calling her. I can take you.” Thoughts of his beaten, rust-bucket made me hesitate. He must have read my mind. Or my expression. “Relax. I’ve got the good wheels today.”
What’s his definition of ‘good’? I agreed to be his passenger.
He opened the door for me like a gentleman. I slid into a late model BMW. Probably his dad’s. “Here, I’ll lay your jacket down in the back seat.”
Once on the road, I asked him how he knew I was at the police station.
“Let’s just say I have contacts in the right places.”
I looked at his smooth, beardless face, Who? Your school crossing guard?
Without waiting for any reply from me, he switched topics. “Is there anything between you and Detective Corrigan, that is, besides a murder case?”
Assuming his question had to do with more than Merle I answered, “We went out a few times.” A wave of my hand dismissed anything further. “It didn’t work.” I forced a smile.
Harold kept his eyes on the road. “Good, because once Merle’s free, I want to take you out to dinner.”
To Chucky Cheese? I was old enough to be his babysitter. I coughed to buy time for a calm response. “Harold, I’m flattered, but,” I got an inspiration. “I broke my rule about not dating anyone who could be involved in any of my cases when I went out with Detective Corrigan. It gets too awkward and doesn’t end well. I hope you understand.”
“I do. It’s a good rule, for the most part. But it doesn’t pertain to us. We wouldn’t be looking to have a great love affair.”
I shifted in my seat. “What do you mean?”
“Claire, you’re very hot, and I like my women older, but when I settle down it’ll be with someone closer to my own age. For the sake of future offspring, you know?”
I didn’t know whether to be insulted or relieved I wasn’t in his target age range. Either way, Harold as a lover didn’t exactly send flames shooting from my loins.
W
ith an exaggerated nod, I said. “I get it. But I’m still sticking to my rule.”
He shrugged. “Okay. However, if you change your mind, you know how to find me.”
A few uncomfortable minutes later, we pulled up to Cannoli’s. I pointed out the window. “There’s my car.”
When he hit the brakes, I unclasped my seatbelt and grabbed my jacket. “Thanks, Harold. Good luck with the dirt doctor.” I jumped from his car, threw my jacket over my shoulder and slid into my car. So he’d leave, I even turned the motor on and waved.
As soon as Harold drove away, I turned off the ignition and sneaked inside Cannoli’s. Why I felt compelled to be so secretive, I didn’t know. Harold and I were, to my knowledge, on the same team. Chalking it up to the day’s happenings, I dismissed my unease.
Aunt Lena was cleaning up when she heard me come in. “Did Brian catch up with you? I called him as soon as you left.”
I gave her a bear hug. “Yes. Thanks.”
She looked me up and down. “That’s not your sweatshirt.”
Looking down as if I’d forgotten what top I was wearing, I said, “No. It’s Brian’s. He gave it to me so I wouldn’t have to wear—um—I spilled tea all over myself.” I didn’t want to alarm Aunt Lena by telling her yet another woman had died. “Any cream puffs left?” So many calories, but after today I deserved one.
“In the fridge. Bring them out here and you can explain better while I mop.”
Lost in plotting what to omit in my explanation, I opened the refrigerator door. When my jacket, still over my shoulder, hit against the steel of the refrigerator something made a clinking noise. I let the door close by itself and checked through my jacket. Nothing in the left pocket, but my fingers touched something deep inside the right one. A lipstick tube. I shrieked and the memory of discovering Yolanda’s corpse flooded back.
My aunt heard me and plowed through the kitchen’s swinging door, holding the broom as if it were a weapon. “Are you all right?”
“Lipstick.” I grabbed a napkin and wrapped the tube in it.
Aunt Lena lowered the broom. “What is it? The wrong color?”
My stomach began a roller coaster ride. “No. It’s evidence.” Had Yolanda found it and dropped it in my pocket before she died? Or had Harold discovered it when he visited Coco’s house for the dirt? I wanted to let Corrigan know but got his voicemail. I didn’t want to leave a message. He was probably still questioning Rico.
My mind raced. “I’m taking this to the police.”
I must have had a crazed look in my eyes because my aunt said, “You’re not in any condition. I’ll drive you.”
“You don’t have to.” My resistance was no match, though, for her iron will and handy broom.
All the way to the station I replayed my interactions with Yolanda and then with Harold. The boy lawyer seemed the more likely of the two. But why give it to me instead of the police? He must have known better than anyone the penalty for withholding evidence.
I still hadn’t come up with a realistic answer when we pulled up outside the police station.
Aunt Lena parked the car and looked at me while I ruminated. “Well? Aren’t we going in?”
Chapter Eleven
My mind hashed out the best tack for me to take. Turning the lipstick tube, or evidence, over to Corrigan was the smartest and right thing to do. It’d be a whole lot less frightening for me. I frowned. What was wrong with me? I wasn’t acting like a private investigator at all.
My aunt was still waiting for an answer. “Not yet.”
“Claire. You’re not thinking of hunting the man who killed Merle’s dancer girlfriend yourself, are you?”
“Coco’s real murderer, Rico, has been taken into custody.”
“That’s a relief.” She gave me a light slap on my forearm. “Why didn’t you tell me? Merle’s free then?”
“No. The police still think Merle killed Coco. This is about Yolanda’s murder.” My aunt’s eyes opened wide. I pressed my lips together, wishing I could retract my words. Scaring my aunt wouldn’t help anything.
“That woman you were talking to? She’s dead now too? That’s horrible.” She shuddered. “You’re right in turning this over to the police.” Her face paled. “Oh no. You’re not going to, are you?”
“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?
Bake Me a Murder Page 9