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
Good 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.
Next thing to deal with was the issue of Merle’s lie. I hoped he’d tell Harold, assuming Harold remained Merle’s attorney. That brought me back to Bucanetti. Was he a bit player in this drama or the director and producer? It felt like a maze and no matter which way I turned in it I ran into a dead end.
Pushing aside the uneasy feeling still bouncing around in my head regarding Harold’s affiliation and Merle’s latest confession, I went to work. I had to figure out whose address I’d discovered inside the lipstick tube. Best place to start was my computer.
After an hour of research I learned the address belonged to a furniture store on Brookpark Road in Cleveland. Maybe this Jimmy person worked there. I wondered if Corrigan had already been to the store. Then my appearance would be the store owner’s second visitor with questions about a murder. In the highly unlikely case Corrigan missed something I decided to go anyway.
First, I placed another call to Merle, wondering if I should tell him about Yolanda.
Merle picked up right away. “Thanks for calling back again, Claire. I was worried you might not. I heard they arrested Rico Carreras for killing Coco’s friend.”
“Yes. I forgot to tell you. Did you know Yolanda?”
“No. Harold asked me the same thing. Claire? I hope you don’t drop me as a client because of what I told you. I shouldn’t have lied, but…I’m just real sorry.”
He sounded as pathetic as a dog left outside in the rain. “I’m not dropping your case. Don’t worry about that. How are you holding up, Merle?” It sounded inane but I needed to know he wasn’t going to skip town, or do anything dumb like that.
“I…uh, don’t know. Can’t sleep. Can’t eat. Do you think the cops will be able to find out if Carreras killed Coco? If that guy goes free, I swear, before they put me away, I’ll kill him.”
“Merle. No. Don’t say that. I’ll make sure there’s enough evidence against Carreras. In fact, I have a question for you.” I gave him the address from the lipstick tube. “It’s a furniture store now, High Style Furniture. Know anything about it?”
“Yeah. Before it became a furniture store, it was a beer joint. Lots of low lives. Some of the guys I saw in the homeless shelter where I volunteer hung out there. Ed would probably know more about it. He used to go in his hell-raising days. Not that I was a choirboy, but my cousin got around, if you know what I mean.”
Picturing Ed in full-on bad boy gear made me grin. The grin faded when I recalled my next task. “Okay. Have you heard from Harold?” I didn’t want to share Alex’s revelation until I talked to Harold myself.
“He called about the soil doc. He wants me to bring over any work clothes I haven’t washed yet.”
“Anything else?”
“No. I was hoping you’d have more news for me.”
“Not yet. I’m going to call Ed and then check out that furniture place. If it turns out to be something, I’ll let you know.”
I was about to do that when a call from my father came in. I winced, remembering I hadn’t talked to him for a few days. My aunt had probably given my poor dad an earful. “Hi Dad. How are you?”
“Doing great. Your aunt’s been going on about that case you’re working. Doesn’t completely make sense, but then I only half listen to her. Figured I could get the whole picture from you. How about you come over for dinner tomorrow night? Say, 7:00? We could talk then. Plus, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.”
Oh God! It had to be that neighbor Aunt Lena had gone on about. I kept my tone lighthearted, teasing, “Is it a woman?”
Dad chuckled. “Let me guess. Lena’s been bending your ear about Suzy, and I doubt it’s with compliments.”
To my surprise, I felt a little pang of sadness inside me for my late mother’s sake. But my dad deserved happiness. “I’d love to meet her.”
“Why don’t you ask Brian to come? That way it’s an even number.”
When did an even number matter to my father? Maybe Dad was hoping for a neutral party. “I’ll let you know later if he can make it.” I wasn’t sure whether to ask Corrigan or not, but I had the rest of the day to decide. In between trying to find evidence showing Merle’s innocence. In fact, I didn’t have the time for a leisurely dinner, but woman doesn’t live by investigation alone.
After a few more minutes of small talk, Ed beeped in. I ended the conversation with my dad promising to get back to him by this evening.
Ed asked, “Hey, kiddo. What’s shaking?”
“I had called you about High Style Furniture. Merle said you might know something about the place.”
“I don’t know a lot about it now, but legend had it you could get anything you wanted in the backroom—girls, drugs, gambling. Irate citizens finally got the city to shut it down. Now it’s a furniture store, but I hear tell if you know the right people, you can still get a deal on something more exciting than a sofa and loveseat.”
“What about some guy named Jimmy? Is he one of the right people?”
“I know about five Jimmy’s. What’s his last name? And why the interest in High Style Furniture?”
I brought Ed up-to-date in Yolanda’s murder case, ending with the note in the lipstick tube. When I finished, I asked him if he had any interest in looking at furniture. I held my breath hoping he’d agree to go. As a rule, living and dining room pieces are some of the few things that don’t fill me with terror. But this did.
My fear grew when Ed told me he was after several other customers at Tire Haven and had no idea when he’d get done.
I assured him I didn’t mind going alone.
In truth that sick feeling you get when you’ve eaten two corn dogs and a funnel cake and then go on the roller coaster came over me. I chastised myself for my terror. What could happen in a furniture store with other people there? Except maybe me buying a lamp I couldn’t afford.
On my way to High Style Furniture, I wondered if I should call Corrigan to tell him my destination. Then I remembered he didn’t know I had the information from the lipstick tube. My stomach twisted.
Friday, 12:30 p.m.
I pulled into the store’s busy parking lot and strolled inside with no idea what to expect. Even so, it was surprising to see Corrigan also making his way to High Style’s entrance. He spotted me and was even good enough to hold the door open.
He glanced at my tee shirt with its uncooperative face and extended tongue and smirked. “I see you’ve found clothes that express your true self.”
“Very funny.”
“No, it’s not. What are you doing here?” He slapped his forehead. “Oh, I know. You took a picture of that message in the lipstick.” He tsked. “And here I thought you trusted me to follow up on the note. I mean, I am the detective on the case.”
I hissed. “This is my case, too. I’m looking for proof of Merle’s innocence.”
“You think I’m here shopping for an adorable little kitchen set?”
My jaw dropped. “You don’t think Merle killed Coco anymore. Did Rico confess?”
“Close your mouth, Claire. Rico has an alibi for Ms. Sanchez’s murder, but we may still get him for Ms. Cruz’s. So the jury’s still out on whether or not Merle killed Ms. Sanchez.”
“Are you sure about Rico’s alibi?”
“Yeah, I’m sure. But we’re holding him until he’s either cleared or we charge him with Ms. Cruz’s death. If he
’s charged, bail will be denied. Too big a flight risk. So he stays in our jail until his trial. Even if he’s found innocent he’ll be sent back to Everglades Correctional in Florida for parole violation. One way or the other he’s going to prison. You won’t have to worry about him.”
I had more questions to ask, but a sales person approached us. “How can I help you folks?”
I shook my head. “Oh, we’re not tog—”
Corrigan linked his arm through mine. “What she’s saying is, we’re not sure what we want. You know, we’re here to look around.”
The sales person plastered a smile on his face. He’d probably heard that line so often it appeared in his dreams. “Take your time. If you have any questions, my name is Thomas. I’ll be happy to help you.”
When Thomas turned away, I pulled my arm from Corrigan’s. “Thomas, I have a question. Is there someone working here named Jimmy?”
Thomas tilted his head, thinking. “You mean James Padilla? He’s one of our managers.”
“Uh, yes. Is he in?”
“It’s his day off. If you need to speak with a manager, Adam, is over there.” He pointed to a tall, well-dressed man with a bad hairpiece.
We thanked Thomas and headed over to Adam, who gave us his best I-can-sell-you-anything grin. “May I be of assistance?”
Corrigan flashed his badge. “Yeah, you can. Detective Corrigan, Cleveland Police. This is Claire. Is there someplace we can talk in private?”
The manager’s face went from ruddy to the same off-white shade as his shirt. “Of course.” He led us to a small office away from the showroom and hustled to the chair behind the office desk. He motioned toward two other chairs. “Please, have a seat. What can I do for you, detective?”
I sat down, but Corrigan responded, “I’ll stand, thanks.” He let a moment slip by, probably to build the tension. “We have reason to believe there’s a connection between this store and a recent homicide.”
Adam clasped his hands together but that didn’t mask their trembling. “Can’t imagine how the store is involved, but you have my utmost cooperation.”
Bake Me a Murder Page 10