Bake Me a Murder (15 page)

Corrigan snorted. “Is that your idea of an invitation? Don’t answer that. Yeah, what time should I pick you up?”

“Are you sure?”

“I’ll be fine. What time?”

Despite all that was going on, I felt a shiver of excitement. “6:30 is good.”

He grinned. “Then it’s settled. Anything else before I get out of your car?”

I smiled back, realizing how good it’d be to forget all this Rico, Bucanetti, and Merle business for a few hours and spend some time socializing with Corrigan. I felt a seed of excitement in my stomach as he got in his car and drove off.

That glow lasted less than a minute. Tony, Coco’s brother, texted me, asking to meet him at the West City Lounge. It’d be great if he had a piece of the Coco murder puzzle to give me.

Chapter Fifteen

W
hen I pulled into the lounge’s parking lot, it was surprising not to see Eric hanging around. But when I opened the lounge door, there he sat on a stool at the bar. He and Tony were talking in low voices. Tony’s pinched face told me it wasn’t a friendly chat.

I cleared my throat as loud as I could without rupturing something. “Hi Eric, Tony.”

Tony nodded slightly, glared at Eric and turned his back to us both. He busied himself straightening bottles.

Now what?
“Tony? Did you text—”

Eric cut me off. “No, it was from me. Tony let me use his phone.” From the tension in Tony’s back he wasn’t happy about it.

I tilted my head to the side. “Why?”

Eric glanced around, finally landing on the only other customers, two elderly men sitting at a table staring at their drinks. “Let’s have a seat.” He led me to a booth and plopped down on its torn fake leather bench.

I dusted the seat off with my hand before sitting. “Do you have more to tell me about Coco’s murder?”

He caught me checking out his wounds from Rico’s knife and put his affected arm behind his back. He rubbed his mouth with his other hand. “Could you buy me a drink first? Take my mind off the pain.”

He smelled like he’d already had enough to numb his whole body. “Maybe after you tell me what’s going on.”

“The lady in the picture you showed me is dead. And Jimmie Padilla is too.” He waved his hand. “Don’t ask how I know. But I do. I’m scared.”

Join the club.
“Scared of whom?”

“Rico Carreras. He’s involved in all this.”

Not only a different puzzle, a different game. “Rico’s in jail. He confessed to killing Yolanda, the woman in the photograph. He didn’t kill Padilla.” I squinted at him. “You knew Jimmy Padilla?”

“He used to hang around here before he got hooked up.”

“With who?”

“I gotta have a drink now.”

I pulled out all I had and laid the crinkled bills and change on the table. “What can you get with $4.22?”

He scooped the money into his hand and closed his fingers around it. “I’ll find out.” He hustled to the bar and after a brief discussion, Tony handed him half a glass of beer.

Eric downed it in one gulp, used the back of his hand to wipe his mouth and returned to the table. “To hear Jimmy tell it, he was doing some big jobs for some high rollers. Lots of money involved. About four months ago, he stopped coming around. Then one day Jimmy shows up in an expensive suit.” Eric let loose with a bitter, humorless laugh. “Said he was going places.” His lip curled. “Not like the rest of us.”

I could almost feel a chill from Eric’s anger. “Did Jimmy ever say anything about Rico Carreras or Coco Sanchez?”

Eric’s shoulders dropped. “Not by name. But these high rollers were in Florida. Coco came from Florida. So did Rico. Could be Jimmy was talking about them.”

My brain lit up. Padilla, Rico and Coco all knew each other. Bucanetti and Coco had some sort of relationship. Rico worked for Bucanetti at one time. Either Padilla did too, or Rico brought him in and the two of them freelanced. It still didn’t make sense to me why Eric was concerned for his own safety.

Eric’s cough interrupted my thought process. “Hey, I need a smoke. Before I go, though, what about taking care of me?” His eyes narrowed while he waited for my answer.

“You’re saying you need protection, but why?”

He groaned and his eyes shifted. “Yeah, Carreras is in jail, but he wasn’t doing business alone.”

I pursed my lips. “Who else is there? Eric, what do you know you’re not telling me?”

He shrugged. “Can’t give you any names.” He sucked on his lower lip and played with his unlit cigarette. “But I do know it’s all about the furniture.”

I slapped my palms on the table. “What about it?”

“Can you guarantee I won’t get blown away?”

“The police could do a better job of protecting you than me.”

“No cops.”

“Detective Corrigan would make sure you stayed safe.” I tapped my fingernails on the table thinking. “Okay. I’ll ask Ed, my associate, if you can hide out at his place for a few days. Now what’s this about?”

“Besides murder? Drugs. Lots of money involved.”

“Drugs and furniture? What do they—” My head jerked like I’d been slapped. “The drugs are packed inside the furniture and get transported that way.” That explained why High Style’s display furniture looked so much flatter than in the photos, and why Coco bought so much furniture. I went cold realizing how dangerous this knowledge was.

“Yeah.”

Dreading what I’d hear, I nevertheless had to press Eric for more information. My mouth was so dry the words seemed to stick together. “The boss?”
Bucanetti?

“I don’t know.”

“Okay.” I bit my lip, debating whether or not to push him on who was his informant. I decided to go for it. “Who filled you in on this?”

Eric avoided my eyes. “Can’t tell you. It’d put you in too much danger.”

Deciding maybe it wasn’t in my best interest to pursue that answer, I switched gears. “Are you involved?”

He snorted. “Hell, no.” He spread his arms. “Do I look like I’m making a fortune?”

“Eric, you have to go to the police with this or you can be charged as an accessory.”

His face contorted with terror. “I can’t and if you do, I’m a dead man.”

My brain spun and landed on a decision. I’d go to Corrigan and leave Eric’s name out of it. Tell him I discovered the information. That way Eric could, in all likelihood, stay safe. My first priority was, and should be, to Merle and proving his innocence. “I’ll do my best to keep you safe. Go have your cigarette and I’ll talk to Ed.”

This whole thing with Eric staying with Ed had to be spun like it was helping Merle. Otherwise I’d had to find a way to reimburse Ed for his trouble. That was an impossible dream.

When Eric returned, I gave him Ed’s address and the rules. Eric fidgeted only when I told him he couldn’t smoke inside the home. “Won’t be easy, but I can live with it.”

It would’ve been a lot easier if I hadn’t agreed to keep Eric’s name out of what could be a big chunk of why Coco died. But the deal was done. No use dwelling on it.

Despite my decision, on the drive to my office, my mind drifted back to my conversation with Eric. There was more to his involvement than he was letting on. Besides being the last person to see Coco alive, he knew about Rico and Padilla selling drugs, probably supplied by Bucanetti. What else wasn’t he telling me? It seemed like everyone had something they kept from me.

Feeling like the kid who still can’t understand fractions, I realized my frustration was, in part, due to being famished. I needed to eat before I called Corrigan. Otherwise my mouth would spill everything while my brain disengaged and conjured visions of zeppoles drenched in chocolate.

As soon as I got back to my office I dug into my food fantasy, the leftover zeppoles, dipping them in the chocolate sauce my aunt insisted I bring home.

Licking my fingers, I diagramed everything I knew about Coco’s murder and did the same regarding Yolanda’s. Next came the lines where connections existed. I drummed my fingers on my desk, thinking.
Rico played a part in each scenario. The confessed killer in one. The other’s lover and later stalker. In Tampa he’d been dealing drugs. Had he been doing the same here but with a different partner? Could I talk with Corrigan without implicating Eric? Almost impossible, but I had to try.

My call went into the detective’s voice mail and I left a message for him to call me back. Although my reprieve was sure to be temporary, I released a deep sigh. Inspired to put this delay to good use, I dialed Harold’s number.

The lawyer answered on the first ring. “Hello, Claire. I’m on my way to get the soil results. Care to join me? Or, do you wish to keep away from me since I
am
an employee of a certain New Jersey gentleman?”

I wrinkled my nose, but kept my voice pleasant. “How long will that take?”

“Approximately fifteen minutes.”

“Could we meet after that? At your office?”

“You’ve piqued my curiosity. Is this about our previous conversation or about the soil comparison?”

I answered, “Neither. I can’t explain over the phone. How about it?”

He hesitated. “Very well.”

I took down his address. Judging by the location of his office, Bucanetti had to be paying Harold a very generous salary.

After we hung up, a flash of panic hit, like there’d been some sedatives in those zeppoles and it just wore off.
What if giving Eric’s information to Harold backfired? What if he tells Bucanetti, and Eric and I wind up with matching cement shoes?

Lightheaded, I took a few deep breaths and reassured myself this was the right thing to do. Still, a faint-hearted internal voice whispered, “Corrigan could protect you.” I ordered it to shut up, grabbed my car keys, and headed to Harold’s office.

Chapter Sixteen

Friday, 5:30 p.m.

T
he lobby inside Harold’s building could have passed for a pricey restaurant with its two enormous chandeliers and original, expensive drawings on the walls. The carpet was plush enough to walk on it comfortably without shoes. I signed in and took the elevator up to the eighth floor. The massive door to his office had other names listed along with his, but upon going inside, Harold was the only person there.

He must have just gotten in, since his hands were still covered with dirt. He beamed at me. “The dirt under Coco’s nails matched the soil in her front yard. So even though it also matched the stuff on Merle’s clothes, it doesn’t mean anything. She could have been working in her yard. Highly unlikely from what I’ve learned of the woman, but I could still argue the point.”

One bit of good news, but it didn’t lift my current feeling of doom. “Good.”

“Forgive me. I’ve forgotten my manners. Please sit down, Claire. I’ll only be a minute. Need to wash my hands.”

I sat on an overstuffed chair, but popped back up, recalling Rico’s drug-filled furniture. I paced, waiting for the attorney’s return.

When Harold came back he gave me a curious look. “I’ve told you my good news, but you didn’t seem that happy about it. Is that because of what you came here to discuss?

I took a deep breath and exhaled as if ready to do a soliloquy from
Hamlet
. “Rico sold drugs in Tampa. One of my sources says Coco was also involved. Do you think they were doing the same thing in Cleveland?”

Harold pursed his lips. “You assume I’m privy to more than I am.”

I interlaced my fingers and squeezed tight. “Okay. You don’t know. But if you were to guess, what would your answer be?”

Harold chuckled. “Claire, you amuse me. All right, let’s play your game. Just remember this is conjecture on my part and not in any way binding.”

I wanted to slap the lawyer out of him. My mind raced in a futile attempt to outwit him into spilling what he knew.

Harold stood straight and deepened his voice. “In my experience, people don’t change their ways unless they change their companions. So I would say, yes.”

“Have you ever been to High Style Furniture on Lorain Avenue?”

“I don’t believe I have. Why?”

My lips thinned as I fought to hold on to my patience. “I wondered if you knew Jimmy Padilla.”

Recognition flickered across his face. Then a male version of a Mona Lisa smile appeared. “Are we talking about Rico and Coco or that furniture place?”

My heart began to pick up its pace. “You know who Padilla is, don’t you?”

“If I did, what would it matter?”

I suppressed a ‘gottcha’ smile. Like a dog, I didn’t want to let go of the bone. “Bucanetti knew Rico and Jimmy were working together here in Cleveland, didn’t he?”

Harold placed a brotherly hand on my shoulder. “Claire, some free advice. Stick with looking for evidence clearing Merle of Coco’s murder. Proof I could use to defend him.” He turned toward the office door. “Now I really must go. I’ll walk you out.”

I stood my ground, but when Harold opened his door I had no choice but to leave. At least, despite his refusal for information, he did provide me with a clue. He, and so, Bucanetti, were aware of Jimmy Padilla’s role.

I sat in my car putting this information together with information previously known and tried to make the pieces fit into Coco’s murder case. Rico and Jimmy were moving drugs in furniture Coco bought. But were they working for Bucanetti or freelancing? Or both?

Surprised I hadn’t heard from Corrigan, my next stop was the police station to visit him. I was concerned and wanted to make sure the poor guy didn’t
have a concussion. A scene of me in a cute nurse’s outfit caring for him shimmied through my mind, but I turned that stage dark. Now was not the time for fantasies.

Besides, Merle was calling me.

“Claire, did you hear? The dirt doesn’t matter. Great, huh? And Rico Carreras was arrested. Do you think they figured maybe he killed Coco?”

“Wonderful news about the dirt. I’m not sure about pinning Coco’s murder on Rico. A lot will depend on if the police can poke holes in his alibi. By the way, back when you and Coco were seeing each other, did she ever talk about Rico?”

“Not that I recall.”