Bake Me a Murder (22 page)

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 myself 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

M
y 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.

“Just a sec.” The music faded. “Better now. What’s up?”

“Never mind, Ed. Sounds like you’re busy.”

“Lena and me are out dancing. You should see her. She sure can shake ’em down.”

I pushed any visuals of what that meant from my mind. “Like I said, forget it.”

“If this is about Merle, it’s top priority.”

I explained the whole situation in as few words as possible.

“Chunky’s, huh? Be there in twenty.”

“Don’t bring—” I was going to ask him not to bring my aunt, but he’d hung up.

Sunday, 10:55 p.m.

Nursing a Chunky’s diet soda, I drummed on the table, felt for my gun under my jacket, and glanced out the window. Ed arrived at last and I stood so he’d see me when he came through the door. My stomach dropped when I realized my aunt had tagged along.

Aunt Lena squeezed between the tables and got to where I sat first. “Don’t be mad at Ed. It’s not his fault. I insisted.”

I slumped into my seat. “Why?”

Ed pulled up a chair. “She says she can help.”

Glaring at her, I asked, “How are you going to do that?”

My aunt reached into her massive handbag to reveal a heavy marble rolling pin. “Deadly as a knife.” She spoke from the side of her mouth.

I slapped my hand over my eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding.” Removing my hand, I pleaded. “Ed, talk some sense into her, I’m begging you.”

Ed raised his hands like a victim in a robbery. “After I told her what was happening, she insisted. No sense trying to change her mind.”

Aunt Lena lowered her voice. “After that Bucanetti trouble, I practiced swinging this as a weapon. Best part is, I don’t need a license for it.”

I rubbed my face and growled. “Fine. Just don’t take it upon yourself to do anything unless I give the go-ahead. Okay?”

Flush with excitement, she smiled. “Okay.”

My stomach was churning by 11:10 and I dialed the number Eric had given me. No answer.

A high-pitched sound, like someone terrified, penetrated the room and a number of customers rushed to the door. My heart made its way into my throat.

“Aunt Lena, wait here.” I felt clammy as Ed and I shoved our way through the restaurant entrance and outside. There in the parking lot, two young women stood, holding each other, next to an old, rusted out Chevy with its driver’s door open. Eric hung out of the car, his throat a red ribbon of blood.

Chapter Twenty-One

Sunday, 11:40 p.m.

T
he police arrived and questioned everyone in the restaurant, including Ed, Aunt Lena, and me. Nobody had seen a thing. The investigation expanded to anyone who may have been driving past Chunky’s or had been here earlier.

My aunt sat in silence. Despite Ed’s arms around her, she remained as pale as the napkins on the tables. I was concerned Eric’s murder had brought up memories of Joey Corozza, her former boyfriend killed at
Cannoli’s
. I squeezed her icy hand and she rewarded me with a weak smile.

I hung my head, my mind running in a circle of guilt and regret. Beside it being my fault Aunt Lena was probably reliving her previous trauma, Eric had died because I’d been too scared to meet him sooner. If I’d gotten to him earlier, he’d still be alive. Yolanda first. Now Eric. I was just too late.

Then Corrigan showed up. Although the crime hadn’t taken place in his jurisdiction, he’d been called in. Upon approaching our trio, he scratched his temple. “Ed, Lena. I’m sorry you both had to be here. Claire, seems like any time you’re meeting with someone, they’re murdered.”

I crinkled my nose, although his observation
did
seem accurate. “Not funny, Detective.”

His jaw tightened. “No. It isn’t. Ed, if you and Lena have already given your statements, you can both go.”

Ed threw me a look saying he’d stay if I needed him, but I shook my head. This was my mess.

Before they left, my aunt handed me her rolling pin. “Take it, Claire. You never know if you’ll need it.” She tilted her chin toward Eric’s body. “Like that poor man…” Ed, with a gentle hand, led her away.

Once they were gone, Corrigan yanked one of the chairs from the table with so much force it teetered. “Now you tell me what the hell was going on before Allescio died.”

We talked until all the other customers had gone and both Eric and his car had been removed.

Over time, Corrigan’s expression softened. “Forget what I said. It wasn’t your fault, Claire. Eric was into something he couldn’t handle.”

I wished I could believe him.

When we finally left Chunky’s, Corrigan offered to take me for some coffee, and I accepted. What I wanted more was someone to hold me and remind me that, although I was surrounded by death, I was still alive.

Corrigan didn’t want me to drive, but I insisted, so we rode in separate cars to The Clock, a popular all-night diner that pulled in people not only from Cleveland but from suburbs such as Lakewood, Rocky River, Fairview Park and North Olmsted.

Once we were seated, Corrigan lightly touched my arm. “Do you want tea or coffee?”

“Tea.” I glanced around at the clientele. Most were subdued, minding their own business, except for a young woman at the table across from us. Her clingy, super-short dress and spiked heels made it difficult, but she rose from her chair and wobbled a bit while she hurled insults at her companion, a fashionably dressed man about her age.

What were they doing in a place like this?

The guy hissed, “Sit down. You’re drunk.”

“No I’m not.” She hiccupped.

“Yeah, you are. How else do you explain why you acted like a $2 whore at that bar?”

Her voice rose. “You can’t talk to me like that.” She threw her glass of water at him, drenching his suit. In an instant the guy, oblivious to his surroundings, popped out of his chair and grabbed her arm, twisting it behind her.

Corrigan got in the guy’s face and flashed his badge. “Police. Let her go.”

The guy snarled, but dropped the woman’s arm and pushed her away so hard she stumbled into the table, crashing to the ground.

I helped her up, but she didn’t acknowledge me. Instead, she jutted her chin out toward the guy. “Satisfied?”

He combed his thick hair back with his fingers, and sneered. “You ain’t satisfied me for a long time.”

She tried, without success, to pull away from me and go after the man. “My brother’ll kill you. I swear. You wait.”

Corrigan, his hand on the man’s shoulder to restrain him, addressed the woman. “Do you want to press charges for assault?”

She squinted at her companion and twisted her mouth. “Nah, I can handle it.” Her eyes settled on Corrigan. “But I need a ride home.”

“We’ll arrange that.” Corrigan’s face was as expressive as a portrait of George Washington but there was no mistaking his alpha dog tone. “Okay, Mr. Big Shot. What’s your real name?”

The guy drew his head back and I thought he was going to spit at Corrigan. Instead he spat out his words. “I ain’t saying.”

“It’s Ethan DeBlancio.” The woman said it as if she was cursing.

Corrigan smiled. “Okay, Mr. DeBlancio, you’re lucky the young lady doesn’t want you arrested. Are you going to behave?”

Ethan was silent until Corrigan squeezed the man’s shoulder harder. “Well?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Corrigan released him. “Get out of my sight. And don’t bother the lady again.”

Ethan straightened his shirt and adjusted his jacket’s lapels. “I’m leaving.” But when he got to the restaurant door, he turned his head, and as if Corrigan had never said anything, yelled, “I’ll make you sorry, bitch.” He dashed through the door with Corrigan after him.

My hand fell from the girl, at a loss what to do next. I was still reeling from Eric’s death and now this. I collapsed into the nearest chair and the woman did the same.