Bake Me a Murder

by Carole Fowkes

  I shifted in my chair, impatient for answers, not assurances. “When will your other manager be in?”

  I ignored Corrigan’s long, irritated sigh.

  Adam’s eyes shifted to Corrigan, who gave him a go-ahead nod. “James isn’t due back until tomorrow, but I can give you his address and phone number.” He withdrew a card from the desk drawer and scribbled on it.

  I reached for it, but Corrigan was quicker. He pocketed the card and continued as if my angry glare wasn’t burning a hole in the side of his head.

  “Adam, would you mind if we took a look around while we’re here?”

  “Not at all. You can certainly view the showroom and even look through the warehouse in the back.”

  Corrigan said, “I’ll also need to look at both your employee and sales records.”

  Adam hesitated and blew out a big breath. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think that’s allowed. Those records are private.”

  Corrigan paused for a breath and I jumped in. “I didn’t realize there was a special, protected relationship between the customer and the furniture store.” I leaned toward Adam and tried to sound threatening. “We can always get a search warrant.”

  A scowl flitted across Corrigan’s face, but nonetheless he backed me up. “You don’t want us to have to do that. We always leave a mess.”

  Adam ran his finger around the inside of his collar. “Let’s not get carried away.” A drop of sweat rolled out from under his horrendous-looking hairpiece. Before Corrigan or I could say another word, Adam had his hands on the desktop computer. “Is there someone in particular you’d like me to look up for you?”

  I spoke up first. “Federico, or Rico, Carreras.”

  Corrigan moved behind Adam to see the computer screen. I followed suit.

  Adam’s fingers danced across the keyboard. “Nothing on Mr. Carreras.”

  Corrigan said, “Try Lourdes, or Coco, Sanchez.”

  It took him a few clicks later, before finding something. “Ms. Sanchez purchased a love seat and two living room chairs from us three months ago. She also purchased a sofa and two more living room chairs a month after that.” He paused and in a voice punctuated by confusion said, “Last month it was a sofa, loveseat, and living room chair.”

  That was a lot of furniture. Even stranger, when Yolanda and I went to Coco’s home, the living room was bare. What did Coco do with all that furniture? Every time I looked for answers all I got were more questions.

  Corrigan asked, “Is any of the furniture she bought available for us to see?”

  Adam switched screens. “The display model of the first love seat she purchased is in the showroom. I can take you to it.”

  I was right behind Adam, but Corrigan put his hand on my shoulder and stopped me. “If we find something that ends up in court, it’d be best if an officer discovers it.”

  He had a point so I held back and let Corrigan take the lead.

  The green, upholstered love seat turned out to be identical to the one in Coco’s picture. Except the one in the photo was overstuffed, not flat like this one. If the phone made the love seat look as puffed as it had, I vowed never to let anyone take a picture of me again.

  After Corrigan checked out the love seat, he looked around the showroom.

  Standing with my hands on my hips while Corrigan did all the hunting was as satisfying as biting into a cream-filled donut and finding no cream inside. Two people had twice the chance of finding something, but he’d made it clear he didn’t want my help so I restrained myself and gave him a wide berth.

  In fact, I tagged along doing nothing while Adam watched Corrigan’s every move for fifteen minutes. Until I realized I had better things to do, like snoop around for James Padilla’s address.

  Corrigan’s attention was on a displayed book case when I sidled up to him. “Ladies room. I’ll be back in a minute.” He didn’t even look up.

  I snuck back into the small office and searched for Padilla’s information. To my surprise, it was in a rolodex. People still use these? I took a picture of the card and scurried back to wait some more with Adam.

  When it looked like Corrigan’s hunt would come up empty, I decided my time would be better spent going to see James Padilla. Not wanting Corrigan to catch on to my plan, I called out to the detective, “Since you don’t need me here, I’ll be on my way.”

  Corrigan finished leafing through a binder he’d found on a table. “We’re done here anyway. Thank you for your cooperation, Adam.”

  Adam rewarded Corrigan with a smile as genuine as my Aunt Lena’s current hair color, Burnt Sienna #7. “I trust you won’t be back unless it’s to buy furniture. I’ll see you both to the exit.”

  We’d just walked outside, me ahead of Corrigan, when he caught my arm and drew near enough for me to feel his warm breath. “Is visiting James Padilla on your way?”

  My phone rang, saving me from answering the question.

  The call was from Ed. “Sorry, kiddo. I can’t make it. My Uncle Charlie, Merle’s dad, just called. He’s got it in his head to get another lawyer for Merle. Somebody from his bowling league. I know who he’s talking about and the guy’s a blockhead. I’m going over to talk some sense into my uncle to drop it before he convinces Merle. Will you be all right?”

  “Corrigan’s here so, yes.” And no. I thought about Harold’s connection to Bucanetti. “You’re sure this other attorney wouldn’t be a better fit for Merle?” If Merle switched lawyers there’d be no need for me to confront Harold.

  “Nah, Harold looks like he’s too young to grow hair on his chest, but he knows his stuff.”

  “You’re right.” Too bad. I should have told Ed about Bucanetti then, but I still thought speaking with Harold first was the way to go. “I’ll be in touch.”

  Corrigan waited, arms folded across his chest. He hadn’t forgotten his question. “So is he?”

  Opening my deep brown eyes as wide as possible, I tried to look innocent. “I don’t know where he is. You took the card with his address.”

  That little tendon in Corrigan’s forehead started dancing. “Claire. I’m not an idiot. You didn’t go to the ladies room.”

  “Oh, all right. Yes I am. Maybe. But I’ve got something else to take care of first.”

  “Your answer should’ve been, no.” Corrigan rubbed his forehead. “Can’t you just stay out of the way? If James Padilla is involved somehow and you spook him, we may never get to the bottom of this.”

  “Are you insinuating I’m incompetent or that I’m intimidating?”

  His fists started to curl then he smiled. “You’re adorable.”

  My heart started singing, but the tune was sappy. I didn’t want to hear it. “Sweet talker.”

  He gave me a mischievous half-smile. “I meant it. But right now you have to stay out of this. Understand?”

  I hate arguing, although it seemed that was all I did with Corrigan. We’d taken one step forward and two back so often it was like we had our own polka. “Okay.” Under my breath I added, “For now.” I changed the subject. “Are you going to come back here with a search warrant?”

  “It depends on what I get from James Padilla.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “I’ll be on my way.”

  “Stay out of trouble, Claire.”

  “Of course. You too.” We retreated to our own cars.

  Corrigan turned right and I went left. Misgivings about allowing Corrigan to have first dibs on James Padilla buzzed in my head like gnats circling fresh fruit. Too bad, but it couldn’t be helped. I sighed and dialed Harold’s number.

  “Harold Goldfarb here. Hello, Claire. Are you calling about Rico Carreras’s confession?”

  I pressed my phone closer to my ear. Maybe I’d heard him wrong. “What?”

  “He confessed to Yolanda Cruz’s murder. Claimed it was an accident. That she drew the gun, they struggled and it went off.”

  I was speechless.

  “Claire? Are you still there?”

  “Wa
it. I have to pull my car over.” I did my version of parallel parking. “Unbelievable! How do you know? When did that happen?” My thoughts ping ponged. Did Corrigan know and not tell me? Did one of Bucanetti’s goons threaten to break Rico’s fingers? I massaged my temples.

  “About ten minutes ago. I heard it from a very reliable source.”

  Say it now. “Michael Bucanetti?” My heart skipped a beat or two waiting for Harold’s response.

  His voice was calm. “Who told you?”

  “Doesn’t matter. At least you’re not lying about it. What’s your boss’s interest in Merle? Or was it Coco?”

  His voice deepened. “Let’s talk about this face-to-face. You name the place.”

  Earlier, I had wanted to talk in person, but now that prospect scared me. No telling what he could talk me into. Before, I’d looked at Harold as a godsend. Now I realized he was sent by Bucanetti, the devil incarnate. I’d have to keep my guard up no matter what he said. Great. His arguing skills against my less-than-stellar ones. I’d have zero chance in person. I hiked up my proverbial big-girl pants and held steady. “We can do it over the phone. Now, why did Bucanetti want you to defend Merle? Or did he?”

  “Claire, if you want an explanation, I insist we do this in person.”

  I slumped in my seat. At least I could pick somewhere safe. My stomach growled, reminding me I hadn’t eaten today. “How about Cannoli’s? It’s a pastry shop at—”

  “I’m familiar with the establishment. I’ve indulged in their tiramisu once or twice.”

  “I’ll meet you there at two.” Cursing under my breath, I floored it over to Cannoli’s.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Friday, 1:30 p.m.

  Harold had already arrived.

  Angie, my aunt’s longtime friend, was working the counter when we came in. She waved. “Claire, long time, no see. Who’s your little friend?”

  Harold pulled himself up to his full height. “I’m Harold Goldfarb, attorney-at-law.”

  Angie smiled and clasped her hands together. “That’s nice. What can I get you?”

  We ordered and took our plates to the table farthest from the counter and Angie’s ears. I took a sip of tea and began. “Why did Bucanetti want you to defend Merle?”

  “I’m seldom privy to Mr. Bucanetti’s reasoning. However, I do want to ease your mind. It is not only in Merle’s best interest, but also in mine, for me to be the most outstanding attorney possible. Therefore, you have no cause to be concerned about the quality of Merle’s representation.”

  Maybe not, but I still wondered why the gangster put Harold on the case. “Maybe Bucanetti didn’t say why he wanted you to be Merle’s lawyer, but you’re too bright not to have some idea. Does it have anything to do with Rico Carreras?”

  “In my humble opinion, it’s more about Coco Sanchez.”

  My body tensed. “Explain.”

  He dug his fork into the chocolate panna cotta he’d ordered.

  “They had, shall I say, a history.”

  I dropped my zeppole, a deep fried ricotta dough ball, back onto my plate.

  “Were they lovers?”

  He shrugged and took a bite of his dessert. After he ooh’d over it and swallowed, he said,

  “He met her while on he was vacationing in Florida. That’s all I know.”

  Could this case get any more complicated?

  “Okay, so if it looked like Merle killed her, why would Bucanetti want you to defend him?” I leaned over and whispered, “Unless he knows, or thinks he knows, Coco’s real killer.”

  “As I just said, I’m not privy to Mr. Bucanetti’s reasoning. It’s much healthier that way.” He wiped his mouth and pushed his dish away.

  I forgot all about my zeppoles, a first for me.

  “Okay, so what do you know about Rico Carreras’s confession?”

  “Only what I told you. He confessed, but claimed he shot Yolanda Cruz by accident.”

  I doubted it was accidental, but other issues needed my attention more. “One more question. Do you know anything about the guy from the furniture store, James Padilla? Or, for that matter, Yolanda’s relationship with Rico?”

  “That’s two questions. But no. Should I?”

  I sighed. It would’ve been too good to be true if he had. “I’m not sure.” My head throbbed like someone was using it as a drum.

  Harold scooted his chair closer. “Claire, you must understand, I will defend Merle to the best of my ability. That’s saying quite a bit. And not just because Mr. Bucanetti wants me to get Merle acquitted. I’m confident of my client’s innocence.”

  I fixed my eyes on his, hoping to fathom the truth. “Call me a sucker, but I believe you.” I took a deep breath and added, “I also believe that’s why you took the tube of lipstick and dropped it in my pocket. How you got your hands on it is beyond me.”

  For once, Harold didn’t have a comeback on speed dial. But he had a good recovery. “I wondered how long it would take you to determine the lipstick came from me.”

  “You should have turned it in to the police. You could’ve gotten me in big trouble.”

  His response was dripping with smugness. “But I didn’t, and neither did you.”

  “Did Bucanetti tell you about the lipstick? How long did you have it before you deposited it into my pocket?”

  “I picked it up the day before you and Ms. Cruz showed up at the house. That’s all you need to know.”

  Before I could drill him with more questions, Aunt Lena was making her way over to us. I stifled a groan.

  “Claire! And you must be Harold, Merle’s lawyer. I’m Lena Antonucci, Claire’s aunt. I own this place.”

  “It’s an honor to make your acquaintance, Ms. Antonucci. And my compliments to your exquisite panna cotta.”

  Unbelievable.

  Aunt Lena giggled. “Thank you, Harold.” She glanced at my uneaten zeppoles. “How are you ever going to get womanly curves if you don’t eat? I’ll get you a doggy bag for those. And some extra dipping chocolate.”

  She was back in less than a minute. “Here. Enjoy them. It was nice meeting you, Harold. Take care of Merle, both of you.”

  Outside Cannoli’s Harold chuckled and said, “If I had an aunt with a place like this, I’d be twenty pounds heavier.” His face grew serious. “I’m going to meet with Merle in about an hour. Rest assured. I’ll defend him with everything I’ve got.”

  After my meeting with Harold ended and I’d returned to my car, I considered calling Corrigan to tell him about the Harold-Bucanetti connection. With the click of my seatbelt, a different idea popped in my head. The card with James Padilla’s address sat on my dashboard. He didn’t live too far from Cannoli’s. I started on my way, wishing my car had flashing lights and a siren.

  Friday, 2:00 p.m.

  I arrived at Padilla’s house, the last one on a street backing up to an apartment complex. I knew it. Corrigan’s car sat empty across from Padilla’s driveway. That niggling feeling I’d had on my way morphed into a full-on dread. I dashed to the front door and pounded on it. Without waiting for an answer I jiggled the doorknob. It turned with no effort.

  Corrigan stood in the hallway, gun drawn. His shirt jacket was torn and blood trickled from the left side of his head.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Without thinking I rushed to support him. My knees wobbled while my heart bounced into my throat. “Are you hurt?”

  He holstered his gun, then used his tie to wipe a drop of blood running down his neck. “Just got the shit kicked out of me. What are you doing here? I could have shot you.”

  “But you didn’t. Do you want me to call 911?” That got me a look like I’d asked him if he was scared of the dark. “Then let me take you to one of those ambulatory care centers. You may need stitches.”

  “Yeah, okay. Soon as the police get here.”

  “At least sit down before you keel over. What happened? Where’s Padilla?”

  Corrigan staggered to the closest chair.
“Gone. He wasn’t going to let me in. He changed his mind fast and was like the perfect host. Even offered me water and asked me to come into the kitchen. I should have known it was a trap. Somebody grabbed me from behind and when I tried to take a swing, somebody conked me on the head. When I came to, Padilla was gone and you were here.” He muttered to himself, “Should’ve brought backup.”

  Sirens sounded and cops soon swarmed the house and the neighborhood looking for clues as to Padilla’s whereabouts. After Corrigan gave his statement, I drove him to an urgent care center a block away for a couple of stitches.

  After the doctor gave Corrigan his discharge instructions, we returned to his car. “Are you sure you can drive?”

  “Yeah, I’m good as new.” Before he got out of my car, he cupped my chin. “Thanks, Claire. I’m glad you were the first person I saw after I woke up.”

  That warm, marshmallow feeling spread through me. “Me too. Although seeing Padilla would’ve been even better.” That’s right, spoil the moment.

  He pulled his hand away. That’s when his phone rang.

  While he talked on the phone, I tried to figure out how to back step. Let’s face it. I sucked at romance.

  His call ended and his face was stone.

  “They found Padilla’s body in a dumpster near his house.”

  I put my face in my hands to block out the horror. Three people dead. The murders had to be related, but what was the common string tying them together?

  Corrigan gently pulled my hands away. “You don’t want to hear this again, but drop this case. It’s getting uglier. Three murders and who knows what else.”

  I leaned my head back against the headrest. “It’d be great if dropping the case was an option, but I’m in so deep with promises, it’s impossible.”

  “Add one more promise then. Before you do anything the least bit risky you call me. Better yet, don’t do anything risky.”

  “I promise to call you.” My question tumbled out. “Why didn’t you tell me Rico confessed to killing Yolanda?”