Bake Me a Murder

by Carole Fowkes

  He snorted. “Funny way to show it.” Then paused so long I didn’t know if he expected me to respond. At last he said, “Okay, do what you want. But don’t expect me to concern myself with you more than I would any other civilian involved in a murder case. I can’t let myself care about a woman who may get herself killed because she doesn’t listen to me when I’m trying to help her.”

  My eyes narrowed as if that’d assist me in focusing on what he meant. “I don’t understand.”

  His voice grew husky, even sad. “That’s just it, Claire. You don’t.”

  “Brian, I—” I wanted to reach through the phone and clutch his arm. Make him see reasons for what I did.

  “I appreciate your tip, ma’am. Any other information you believe pertinent?”

  “No.” Until that moment, I hadn’t realized how much I counted on Corrigan having my back. Yet how many things had I done behind his? So afraid he’d hurt me like my ex-fiancé, Justin, I never gave a thought to the possibility I could wound him. Something valuable was slipping through my fingers. I tried to take a deep breath, but the room didn’t have enough air.

  “I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt—”

  “Skip it. We checked out the numbers too. Dead end, just like you got. We’ll look at them again and see if anything pans out.”

  “Okay. Um, are you still coming with me to my dad’s tomorrow?” I held my breath, hoping for a yes.

  “I think it’s best if I bow out.” His tone was flat, resigned.

  “Well, then, uh.” My eyes grew moist. “I better go.” I ended the call before my voice broke.

  I felt like I’d been left in a free fall. Bravado became my parachute. Rationalization became my landing pad. A cop and a PI can’t have a romantic relationship. Doomed to fail. Keeping it on a professional level is the best way to avoid heartache. Romance for me equals trouble.

  Despite it all, the disappointment and sense of loss weighed me down. I sunk into a chair, wishing I was four again and my only problem was deciding what type of frosting I wanted on my birthday cake. My chin quivered and loneliness rippled through me. I felt like a chocolate Easter bunny, solid to the eye, but hollow inside.

  Twenty minutes later, my phone rang, startling me. Although I didn’t feel like it, since it was Merle, I had to take the call.

  “Claire, I know it’s late, but we need to meet here at West City Lounge. Harold’s on his way. Can you get down here now?”

  “What is it?”

  His voice dropped to a whisper. “Rather not discuss it over the phone.”

  My brain went into high gear and I set my earlier misery on the sideline. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

  I headed out the door, revisiting what Corrigan had said. He was right. I can’t drop this case, and he and I will keep butting heads. My heart scolded me for being a fool and letting him slip away.

  Saturday, 12:30 a.m.

  I parked on the street near West Side Lounge. For the first time, Eric wasn’t loitering outside. Maybe the late hour and the drizzle that had begun ten minutes earlier chased him indoors.

  Upon entering the lounge, it took my eyes a moment to adjust to the dimness made worse by the absence of any sunlight coming through the two small windows. Merle and Harold were sitting at the bar, huddled with Tony, Coco’s brother.

  Before approaching them, I looked around the empty bar. “Hi, guys. What’s going on?”

  Harold spoke first. “The three of us pooled our information and arrived at an intriguing conclusion. But we need your expertise.”

  “Okay. Tell me about it.” Caution was definitely in order here.

  “I believe each of us should present our own contribution. Tony, would you mind going first?”

  Tony removed a letter from an envelope. “Here. Read this.” He handed the letter to me.

  I unfolded the page and read it out loud. “13828 West 29th Street.” Coco had signed her name at the bottom of the paper along with a note to contact Merle Pokov. “Whose address is this?”

  “In a minute.” Harold nodded to Merle, who handed me another piece of paper from his envelope.

  “321625 and 443013.” Again, Coco had signed her name but this time had given instruction to contact Tony. “I don’t understand.”

  Harold answered. “These are each clues. Coco must have known she was in danger. So she sent these to Merle and her brother as either a backup plan or because she wanted to get back at Rico. We may never know. We can assume, though, in addition to the lipstick note, she wanted us to use these tidbits. You see, the address is for Julio Lopez, Jimmy Padilla’s maternal grandfather. The poor man now resides in a nursing home and it just so happens; Jimmy was taking care of the elderly gentleman’s house.” He half-smiled. “Who knows what treasure of information awaits us there.”

  I turned to Merle. “When did you get her letter?”

  “It was postmarked a couple days ago, but I didn’t look at my mail until today.”

  Tony said, “My mail’s mostly bills so I don’t pick it up right away. I guess mine came a day or two ago too. Wish I would’ve seen it sooner.” He looked down at his envelope, smoothing it, almost caressing it. “If I’d been a better brother I would’ve protected her. She must’ve been scared shitless to do this.”

  Merle placed his hand on Tony’s shoulder in silent commiseration.

  Harold tsked. “No regrets allowed. Everyone did the best they could with what they knew. Agreed?” Before anyone could agree or protest, he went on. “Now we have to discover the meaning of what Coco sent. Claire, that’s your task.”

  I clasped my hands behind my back. “Wouldn’t it be better if we let the police know about the grandfather’s house?”

  Harold responded. “Yes, and we will, once you’ve figured out if it’ll help Merle’s case. No sense making the prosecution’s job easier. Needless to say, Claire, any information discussed here should be held in confidence.”

  “Of course.” I tamped down on any excitement. I didn’t want to get too hopeful that these clues would lead me to the much needed break in this case. What if, instead, they made the state’s case against Merle even stronger? Could Coco have been setting Merle and Tony up?

  My shaky legs weren’t doing much of a job supporting me. I leaned against the bar. “Harold, you took the reins here. Why can’t you go to the house? Make it seem legal.”

  Harold pursed his lips and shook his head. “Claire. I could be disbarred. Who would defend Merle then? And Merle can’t go. It’d be like admitting guilt.”

  One short straw left. “Tony? What about you?”

  All eyes turned to Coco’s brother. “I’ll go with you. I can’t leave here until three but—”

  Harold waved his hand. “Out of the question. You wouldn’t get there until four. That’s when paperboys deliver, people are up and getting ready to go to work. No, that’s too late.”

  This was like when I was a kid and Tommy Costantini tried to get me to lift money from my mom’s purse so he and I could go to the movies. As cute as he was, I was always taught to do the right thing so I stayed home while he and Jenny Baglieto saw a movie together. In this current case, what I was being asked to do seemed less wrong, but a lot more dangerous than my mom catching me. Also, what if we found something we wished we hadn’t? “Still not buying why I should take the risk.”

  Harold smoothed his shirt. “Because, Claire, you’re the only one left.”

  Maybe I wasn’t the only one feeling queasy about what we might find. “Merle, are you sure you want to risk getting in deeper?”

  He sounded resigned to this plan, a man forced by circumstances to make an unsavory choice. “What could be deeper than being charged with a murder I didn’t commit?”

  My unsettled feeling didn’t dissipate. One last half-hearted attempt. “You really should take this to the cops instead of having me do it.”

  The three men looked at me and I knew what they were thinking. I was a private investigator and ri
ght now, Merle’s PI. Still, I didn’t agree. Tony pulled out a bat from behind the bar. “I’m in if you are, Claire. I’ll call Marlene. She fills in for me sometimes. A real night owl.”

  “Okay, I’ll do it.” I checked the time. It was almost 1:00 am. Probably the best time to break in, but I’d need Ed for his B&E experience.

  As soon as Harold and Merle departed, Tony called his replacement, Marlene. I waited until his conversation with her ended.

  “Marlene says she’ll come in at two. You can wait here or we can meet up at the grandfather’s house.”

  I didn’t want to wait there. I needed to call Ed, so I agreed to meet Tony at Julio’s home. Before I left, I needed some answers. “Tony, can I ask you something?”

  “Soon as I get these guys something.” He tilted his head toward two men weaving their way toward the bar.

  When his customers took a table in the back, he said to me, “Shoot. What do you want to know?”

  “About Coco. What was she like?” I also wanted to ask how she could get mixed up with Bucanetti, but I doubted Tony knew.

  He shrugged. “A sweet kid. Maybe a little too innocent. She thought everyone had more good than bad in them. Then she started working at that club and met Carreras.” His mouth puckered like he was going to spit. “I should’ve gone down to Florida and dragged her out of that place.”

  I had to refocus him. “Did Coco come to Cleveland because you were here?”

  “Sort of. Yeah. I think she also wanted to get away from Tampa. Not the city, her life. Then we had a fight and she never came around again.”

  “Was it about Rico?”

  He poured himself some water and drank it. “Him and how she was living.” He looked down at the bar and shook his head.

  “Before you argued, did she mention a man named Michael Bucanetti? He lives in New Jersey but he must have been in Tampa about the time Coco lived there.”

  “Not that I recall. Why? Who is he?”

  “Nobody, if she didn’t talk about him. Okay, thanks.” I changed the subject and pulled out my phone before Tony could ask me any questions I couldn’t answer. “I’m going outside to call Ed, my assistant. He’ll come with us.”

  Tony opened his mouth to object, but I wasn’t going to budge on this. One more person made it safer. “He’s Merle’s cousin and can be trusted. Besides, I’m betting he has tools to help us get inside the house.” Before leaving I still patted my pocket to make sure my gun was there.

  I was headed toward my car to make the call, when Eric hollered to me.

  “Hey, Claire. Got a minute?”

  My brain was on overload and my nerves needed decompression, but I dug deep inside and found some patience. “Sure. What’s going on?”

  He scratched his unshaven cheek and I noticed the dirt under his fingernails. His hands themselves were none too clean. “Just wondering if that guy the cops busted for Coco’s murder is still, you know, going to court.”

  I envisioned tiny, aggressive germs, each with pointed teeth, gnawing on Eric’s skin and attempting the leap to attack me. Fighting the urge to shrink back from him, “For now, but the investigation is still going on.” Recalling how Eric withheld Coco’s phone, I asked, “Is there something you haven’t told the police?”

  “No, nothing.”

  “Okay, then I—”

  “Do you think Jimmy Padilla got killed because of Coco?” He glanced around, then lowered his voice. “I mean, Jimmy and Coco were both connected to that crime boss in New Jersey. Plus the Jersey guy and Coco had a thing going…”

  I squinted at Eric, as if that’d allow me to peer inside his brain. I whispered while the two guys from the bar walked by. “How did you know about Michael Bucanetti?”

  He stuck his hands under his armpits and pulled his elbows in close. “Didn’t you tell me?” He followed up in a flash with, “Maybe Coco did.”

  My brain screamed he knew more than he let on. “She must have told you a lot. How long did you say the two of you talked?” My heart was beating double time.

  One of those loud-on-purpose cars sped by and the driver yelled, “Hey mama!”

  Eric’s eyes followed the vehicle down the street. “We had a smoke together. Fifteen, twenty minutes. Maybe a little longer.” He rubbed his throat. “Real thirsty. I gotta go.”

  Not before I get the truth out of you. “Before you do, have you told the police about knowing Padilla? It could be important.” A big semi rolled by, making it almost impossible for conversation.

  A look of annoyance shot across his face and just as quickly disappeared. Was the emotion for me and my question, or for the truck? He shrugged like it was no big deal, but his eyes were wary. “Sure, I’ll let them know.” He turned and walked toward the lounge.

  I took a step to follow him, but even with my gun, a dark uneasiness crept through me and I halted. Even if I was being neurotic Eric no longer seemed to be just a guy down on his luck.

  I could’ve dwelled on that puzzle all night, but other business needed attention. Switching gears, I called Ed, apologizing for the late hour.

  “No problem. I just got in from bowling. My team won, so we celebrated. What do you need?”

  An image of Ed in a loud bowling shirt tumbled across my mind. I gave him the rundown on the Julio house. He agreed to meet me at there at 2:00 that morning and promised to bring along any tools we might need.

  Regardless of the time of night, it seemed best to let Corrigan in on this latest conversation with Eric, but upon pulling out my phone, I thought better of it. If, in the course of the conversation, Corrigan were to question me about my immediate plans, I couldn’t tell him I’d be breaking into Julio Lopez’s house. He’d throw me in jail just for thinking about it.

  The best thing for me was a cup of coffee at Stern’s Donuts. A little out of the way, but the place made their coffee so strong it didn’t need a cup to stand and that’s what I needed.

  Sunday, 1:40 a.m.

  All the way to the donut shop, Eric’s words kept popping into my mind. I turned on the radio to drown them out, but finally gave up and turned off the music. That’s when it hit me. Eric was a silent partner in the furniture deal. I almost ran into the other lane. The driver I would’ve hit laid on his horn and my heart ricocheted in my chest.

  Once my breathing returned to normal, I scoffed at that theory. If Eric had been, he sure hadn’t spent the money on clothes and grooming.

  The black sludge known as Stern’s coffee wasn’t doing a very good job of keeping me awake. When Tony called me to tell me, Marlene, his fill-in wasn’t there yet, I was dreaming about being locked away in a cage with nothing to eat but some cereal named Captain Corrigan.

  I hoped this break-in would go without a hitch, and whatever we needed to find wasn’t in the basement or attic. I was scared of both places, having seen too many shows where the unsuspecting heroine is killed any variety of ways by some demented demon. I wondered what had happened to Mrs. Julio Lopez.

  I drove past Julio’s house and parked a block away per our plan. No Ed or Tony yet, so I waited. A streetlight provided enough illumination for me to study the home’s exterior. It was a two-story brick, with one of those big porches people used to sit on while visiting with their neighbors. Except now it didn’t look like there were many neighbors. The house across the street was clearly abandoned, with boarded up windows. Great place for a villain to hide or druggies to hang out. On one side of Julio’s house was a field strewn with empty cans, bottles, and I didn’t want to know what else. The other side was a house similar to Julio’s but with a newer coat of paint. I hoped the people who owned it were sound sleepers.

  Ed pulled up about five minutes later and tapped on my window. I unlocked the car and he slid into the passenger seat. “Hey kiddo. You sure you want to do this? Corrigan’s only a call away.” He sighed. “I’d give my right arm for Merle, but…”

  “I promised I’d do this, but if you don’t want to be involved, I understand.
Tony should be here soon. He and I can do this.” My stomach bounced like it was at the end of a bungee cord.” Could you leave me with your tools, though?”

  “Told you I was in, so I’m in. As a matter of fact, if Tony isn’t here in ten minutes, we better start. We don’t want the neighbors awake. Just remember, in case anyone is watching, act like you belong here.”

  Ed checked his watch for the twentieth time. Ten minutes had passed and still no Tony. I caught myself tapping my foot and peering out through the windshield, then the side window, even checking the rearview mirror in case he pulled up behind us. When my phone rang and it was Tony, my heart sank.

  His voice was clipped. “Marlene never showed and I got three customers who just came in. I can’t leave. Give me another fifteen minutes and I’ll get rid of these clowns. I’ll be there. I swear.”

  I sat with my hands between my knees and rocked a bit back and forth, filling Ed in on the delay.

  Instead of rushing the house and not waiting for Tony, Ed turned philosophical. “We’ll get inside when the time is right.”

  Twenty minutes later I decided the time was right. Any longer and my nerves would have eaten their way through my skin.

  Ed asked, “You’re sure no Tony, no problem?”

  This whole idea was a problem. Tiny hammers pounded inside my head, and I was wound so tight my abdomen could have been used for a trampoline. “Let’s leave.”

  Ed scanned the area as he pulled his breaking-and-entering tools out from inside his jacket. Without a word, he slipped on gloves and handed me a pair. “I don’t want to come back here again. Let’s do this.”

  Every fiber of me screamed, “I don’t want to do this.” If I asked Ed to, he’d search the house himself, but I didn’t want him hurt. I was about to tell him my thoughts when, staring toward Julio’s house, I spotted Marco, Bucanetti’s man, and another large guy bounding down the porch steps. At the same time they reached the bottom one, a black car skidded to a stop in front of the house and Marco and his partner scrambled inside. Before it sped off, I’d grabbed my phone and took a picture of the license plate, blurry though it turned out to be.