Bake Me a Murder

by Carole Fowkes

  Brian joined in. “That’d be a first, Claire.”

  I gave them both a look of scorn to cover my embarrassment and stomped into the kitchen.

  Suzy’s head was in the oven, checking on the meat.

  I cleared my throat. “I came in to help.”

  She closed the oven door and turned around. “If you want, but you don’t need to. If you’d rather talk while I’m working, that’s fine too.”

  I chuckled. “Did my dad tell you about my less-than-stellar cooking skills?”

  It was her turn to laugh. “Cooking takes practice. I don’t bother with it if it’s only me, either.”

  I was beginning to warm to her, but reminded myself even killers could be charming and personable. “I understand you’re new to the area. Where’d you live before?”

  She tossed the salad. “An apartment in Willowick. Far East side. When the place across the street here became available, I jumped at it. My friends live on this side of town. Plus I rented a chair in Lakewood. I’m a hair stylist. So I’m set.”

  A mean voice inside me whispered, “Now all she needs is a man to use.”

  Oblivious to my nasty thoughts, she continued. “Everyone’s been so nice. Your father is a sweetheart, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

  “He’s a good man.” I couldn’t resist adding, “So devoted to my mother’s memory.” I didn’t get the response I expected.

  Suzy’s nod was accompanied by a solemn look. “Your mom sounds like she was a wonderful woman. A girl would be foolish to think she could replace your mother. On the other hand, your father has lots of good years left in him. It’d be great if he could find someone who cares about him to enjoy them with, don’t you think?” Without skipping a beat she handed me two dishes. “Would you mind taking the salads out to everyone, Claire?”

  “No problem.” If I took Suzy at her word, my dad would be fine. But one thing being a PI had taught me was to never believe a person’s words until their actions matched. Heading into the dining room with a plate in each hand, I sent up a prayer of protection for my father’s heart.

  Corrigan and my dad were deep in conversation about football. I set the salads down. “Dinner is served.” All I got in way of response were grunts.

  That is, until Suzy appeared with the other salad dishes. My father jumped up, took the plates from her and set them down. Then he pulled a chair out for her.

  Corrigan watched, oblivious to my glare. I yanked out my own chair and plopped down.

  Suzy murmured a gracious thanks to my dad. “What were you guys talking about?”

  My dad shoved a too-big piece of lettuce in his mouth. “Football.”

  Suzy’s face lit up. “College or pro? My brother’s kid went to Ohio State. Played his freshman and sophomore year.”

  My dad put his fork down and his face glowed with admiration. “No kidding! What position?”

  I’m not a football fan and talking about it is as enjoyable for me as having my eyebrows waxed. I was ready to steer the conversation to another topic, any topic. Until my dad asked, “Claire, what was that kid’s name… the one from your class who went to OSU on a football scholarship?” He snapped his fingers. “Allescio. That was it. Got into some trouble his second year.”

  I stopped mid-chew and noticed Corrigan put his fork down. “Eric Allescio?” I tried to recall but couldn’t. “What happened? Why didn’t I hear about it?”

  Dad wiped his mouth. “The kid roughed up some girl who didn’t want his attention. I forgot all of it. You were at Kent at the time and all lovey-dovey with that Justin creep. Never did like that kid.”

  My face grew hot with embarrassment even though I was more interested in Eric’s past than in dredging up my former love life.

  Corrigan leaned in. “Did the story reach the papers? Was he arrested?”

  Dad shrugged. “Maybe it made the Columbus papers. Not here, though. I don’t think the girl pressed charges. But people talked. In fact, his parents moved to Pittsburgh to get away from gossip.”

  I leaned forward, half off my chair. “Do you remember anything else about it?”

  My father raised one of his bushy eyebrows. “Why?”

  “I did go to school with him, Dad.” I stood up and began clearing the salad plates, hoping nobody would notice my shaking hands. “Is the main course ready, Suzy?” My mind whirled, adding Eric’s history to the stack of evidence already making him a strong suspect in Coco’s murderer. That the final call Coco received was from a Pittsburgh area code made more sense now.

  Corrigan’s thoughts appeared to be traveling the same path as mine.

  “Claire, I’ll help you carry the dishes to the sink.” He whisked the plate from under my father’s fork.

  “Hey!” My dad protested. “I’m not done yet.”

  “Sorry.” Corrigan slid the salad back. “I was making room for the main course.”

  Suzy’s brows knit. “I’ve never seen people so anxious to help.”

  I gave her the village idiot’s version of a smile. I felt like one too, but nonetheless followed Corrigan into the kitchen.

  He’d put the dishes on the counter and was already on his phone, asking for a background check on Eric Allescio.

  I grabbed his arm and when he turned to me, I mouthed, “I want to know too.”

  Suzy walked in as Corrigan ended his call. She filled and then handed me a dish of vegetables to place on the table. She turned to Corrigan and, with a demure smile, asked. “As long as you’re in here, Brian, could I ask you about a parking ticket I got?”

  I snorted and left the room to talk to my guileless father. After I placed the vegetables on the table, my dad motioned for me to sit down. “Isn’t she great? I’ll tell you, she makes the other women in this city look like brown wrapping paper.”

  I managed a weak smile. “Yes, Dad, she is.” I didn’t say it rolling my eyes or with any sarcasm. “Just be careful. You haven’t known her long.” As soon as those words poured out, I wanted to wash my mouth out with soap. Who was I to give advice on matters of the heart?

  He gave me a smile tinged with melancholy and took my hand. “Your mom was my first love. Nobody will ever replace her. But…”

  I finished his sentence. “But it’s lonely.” My eyes grew moist.

  He pulled me to him and gave me a daddy hug. Neither of us said anything. We didn’t need to.

  Suzy walked in with Corrigan, who was carrying the main dish, while my dad and I were still embracing. Her voice rose. “Awww! How sweet! I want a picture.” She scrambled off to get her phone while Corrigan concentrated on getting the meat on the table without dropping it.

  She took a quick picture and we began to eat. The braciole was fork-tender and delicious. Dinner proceeded well almost until we’d each cleaned our plate. That’s when Suzy asked if I’d like her to ‘do something’ with my hair.

  I took my time swallowing a bite of bread and tried to hold my insecurity mixed with extreme irritation in check. Had the wine loosened her tongue? It was one thing when Aunt Lena said something. Very different when Suzy said it.

  I must not have been very successful in masking my displeasure because Corrigan jumped in. “I like Claire’s hair the way she wears it.”

  I threw him a look of gratitude.

  My dad tilted his head as if considering the matter. “You know, I like my daughter’s hair the way it is, too.”

  Unable to stick my tongue out at Suzy, I acted as if I had no feelings one way or the other. “Thanks, but I guess for now, this is okay.” Acting magnanimous, I added, “Maybe sometime in the future.”

  Suzy’s face turned red as an autumn leaf. “I didn’t mean your hair looked bad. I just thought I could pretty it up. You know, for a special occasion.” She stared at her plate and moved the food around with her fork.

  Guilt set in. I hate making anyone, except a bad guy feel awful, even if it’s their own fault. To remedy the situation I touched Suzy’s arm. “It’s okay. I understand.
I’m just not one who takes any interest in how I look.” That’s not true. “No, what I mean is, when I have some time it’d be nice to have you style my hair.” I glanced at her bouffant and imagined her fixing me up to look like a brunette Dolly Parton.

  Corrigan’s phone rang, and I was thankful for the interruption. He glanced at the caller ID, nodded toward me, and excused himself from the room. I jumped from my chair and followed.

  The caller shouted like he was in a wind tunnel, making it easy for me to hear every word he said. Eric had, indeed, assaulted a co-ed with his bare hands. The incident had been brought up before the OSU College Board who, in those days, handled any misbehavior on campus. Hoping to avoid a scandal regarding one of their star football players, the issue was dropped without ever being brought to the Columbus, Ohio, police. Eric was, however, quietly dismissed from the team and the university.

  My breathing turned shallow and I felt lightheaded. Corrigan would arrest Eric for sure now. Although he didn’t appear as convinced as me, when he got off the phone, I forged ahead. “You’ll arrest him now?”

  He rubbed his jaw. “Not yet. Just because he almost choked another girl over ten years ago, doesn’t mean we can accuse him of Coco Sanchez’s murder. Remember too, he didn’t kill that one.” He pulled out his notepad and flipped through it. “We’d already checked out that last call Coco got, but the phone belonged to some woman named Linda Mastro. But now, knowing his parents moved to Pittsburgh, we’ll contact her again.”

  I could have jumped out of my skin. “Maybe his folks got divorced and the mother took back her maiden name. Or never changed her name when they got married.”

  Before I could say anything, Corrigan admitted, “He is looking more and more like a person of interest, but we need further evidence and a motive. If and when we get that, I’ll go after him myself. But—”

  My dad entered the room. “Anything wrong?”

  Corrigan and I responded in unison. “No.”

  Corrigan added, “Just some police business.” He slipped his notepad inside his pocket.

  My dad’s eyes slid from Corrigan to me. “It’s time for dessert.”

  We returned to our chairs while my father joined Suzy in the kitchen. Whispering and laughing like two teens on a first date, I figured they’d be a while and was about to bring up Eric again. Good thing I didn’t. Suzy marched in the room and in an official voice, said, “Drum roll, please.”

  Corrigan obliged by beating his hands on the table. My dad presented his Baked Alaska, its flame whooshing high, then dying amidst our exclamations. The dessert’s flame couldn’t compare to the glow on Dad’s face as he put his arm around Suzy’s shoulder. Her just-as-warm smile back at him pushed, for a short time, Eric out of my head.

  Soon I began to fidget and looked away from the couple. Interrupting their tender moment, I said, “Break it up, you two. We should eat this before it all melts.” The instant the words came out of my mouth I regretted them. All of a sudden I didn’t want any dessert. It’d never get past the knot in my stomach. Why did I do that? Dad deserved happiness. I couldn’t deny him of that. I twisted my hair around my finger, thinking.

  Since Mom had died, it’d been just Dad and me. Now that was over. It was clear he still loved Mom, but just as obvious, he had moved on. I wasn’t jealous. It was more like what I imagined parents feel when their child goes away to college. Sort of happy, but wishing it weren’t so. Yet there was more to it. My chest ached because I wanted to do like my dad; move past my heartache and ready myself for another relationship. I didn’t have a clue how, or if I was even capable of it. My breath caught in my throat and I hiccupped.

  My dad laughed and handed me a slice of dessert.

  Suzy smiled at me. “I hear it cures hiccups.”

  I doubted it could help me. But I grinned back. “I hope so.” My love of sweets must have untied my stomach and brought back my appetite. The Baked Alaska was delicious.

  After the spectacular dessert, in a role reversal, Suzy and I relaxed at the table while the guys cleaned up. If I’d had visions of grilling her on her intentions with my father, I’d have been disappointed. As soon as we were alone, she took my hands in hers and asked about Corrigan and me.

  I sat stiffly and denied there was anything to tell.

  “You may say that, but there’s enough electricity between you two to turn on all the lights.”

  I waved her comment away. “It’s only that annoying static kind.”

  “If you say so, Claire.” The look on her face screamed she didn’t buy it.

  The evening came to an early end when Corrigan and my dad returned to the dining room. Still standing, Corrigan said, “This was great and it was a pleasure meeting you, Suzy. But I’ve got some more hours to put in and Claire looks like she could use some shut-eye.”

  I yawned for full effect but didn’t feel the least bit tired. Corrigan perhaps didn’t realize it, but I was also going to put more hours in. Only one day left until Merle’s preliminary hearing. My stomach tightened at the thought.

  After kisses and hugs, Corrigan and I climbed into his car and were off. I was silent all the way to my place, thoughts of finding proof on Eric battling with my emotions about Dad and Suzy.

  Corrigan pulled into my apartment’s lot right under the light, shut the car off, and studied me. “You’re too quiet.” He twisted his mouth from side to side. “Planning to get into trouble again by going after Eric alone?”

  He was joking, but I knew he wanted me to open up. All I wanted was to put up a shield to guard my feelings. “Just tired.” My voice wobbled and if he believed me, he wasn’t much of a detective.

  “Yeah, and I’m Paul Bunyan.” His voice turned tender, coaxing. “Was it seeing Frank with a woman not your mom?”

  A sarcastic response sprung to my lips. I held it back, remembering his father had died, leaving Corrigan’s mom a youngish widow. I wondered if his mom was dating again. Instead of asking, I shrugged and looked out the car window. “I don’t know. Maybe. It was so different.”

  “Yeah. When my mom went on a date for the first time, it was weird.”

  I unfastened my seatbelt and opened the car door. “Walk me to my apartment and we’ll talk about something else. Like going after Eric.”

  Corrigan resembled a panther waiting to leap at me. “I’ll walk you to your apartment all right and you’re staying there until I dig deep enough for more evidence. That is, if it exists.”

  “It exists all right.” I tilted my head in my version of a coquette. “I thought what I did was no longer any of your concern.”

  Corrigan’s face was deadpan. “It isn’t, but I don’t want to have another murder to solve.”

  That wasn’t what I wanted to hear. “If Eric isn’t a killer, why would you have to worry about him killing me?”

  Corrigan’s composure vanished and he grabbed my arm. “Claire, listen to me. Maybe Allescio is the killer. Maybe he isn’t. But nobody stays alive for long taking foolish chances.” I extracted my arm from his grip. Undeterred, Corrigan said, “Come on, I’ll walk you to your apartment.”

  He waited until I unlocked my door and stepped inside. “I’ll call you as soon as I know something.”

  I stood there, arms folded across my chest. He laughed, but there wasn’t much humor in it.

  I crinkled my nose. “What?”

  “You don’t like it when I care what you do. But you like it even less when I don’t.”

  I squeezed my lips together tight. He was right. What did I want?

  His eyes searched mine, looking, no doubt, for some clue. When I couldn’t give him one, he grunted and walked away.

  I closed the door behind him, wishing I could rewind that last scene and have it end differently. But then, what about the scene after that, and all the later ones? I walked to the cupboard for some solid chocolate to curl up with. It’d help me think better.

  Sunday, 10:30 p.m.

  I rolled off the couch and woke my
self up. Yawning, I glanced at the time. Too late to do much investigating, so I went to brush my teeth and go to bed. I’d laid my head down when my phone rang.

  “Claire? It’s Eric. You gotta help me.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  His voice quivered. “Somebody’s after me.”

  Chapter Twenty

  My heart raced like a thoroughbred at the Derby. “How do you know?”

  “Some guy was waiting outside for me. He wanted to kill me. I got away, just barely.”

  Was this legit or something Eric made up to throw the suspicion off himself? “Did you go to the police?”

  “I can’t.” He moaned.

  “Why not?” I held my breath, wondering if he’d confess to something, like murdering Coco.

  “The guy he’s working for. He’s probably got the police in his back pocket. You’re the only one who’s been decent to me. I know I haven’t always told you the truth, but you stood by me with the cops. I can’t pay you, but can we at least talk? In person?”

  Alarms went off in my head. What if he insisted we meet in a dark alley? Stalling, as I calculated the risk, I asked, “Who’s this guy you’re talking about?”

  “Please, Claire. I’m begging you.” He sounded close to hysteria. “I’ll even tell you who’s behind this. But you gotta help. I got nobody else.”

  I pushed my hair back with a trembling hand, feeling like I was diving into a shark tank. “Can you meet me at Chunky’s Grill in half an hour?” Chunky’s was a popular, long-standing restaurant. Plenty of people around for safety.

  “Not any sooner?” When I didn’t respond, he stuttered, “O-okay. I’ll be there. Thanks, Claire. I owe you big time.”

  My first impulse was to call Corrigan, but he’d have a lot of questions I wouldn’t be able to answer, like, why Eric called me instead of the police. So I did the next best thing. I contacted Ed, hoping he wasn’t in a bowling tournament.

  “Hey, Kiddo.” Ed yelled to someone. “It’s Claire.”

  Music played in the background. “Can you hear me?” I sucked in a breath. He was probably with my aunt.