Plateful of Murder (16 page)

He winced as he stretched out. “A massage?” he asked, with a mischievous smile.

“No. I was thinking more along the lines of Advil.”

Through a yawn he said, “Careful, you know what we do to drug pushers. And call me Brian.”

I held out two capsules. “Well, Brian, do you want some milk to wash them down?”

While he swallowed and grimaced, my phone rang. I reached for it and, once I realized who the caller was, hoped Corrigan would keep quiet. Michael didn’t need to know the detective and I were together so early in the morning.

“Hi, Michael.” My effort to keep my voice normal failed. Even to me it sounded strained.

Corrigan’s eyebrows shot up, and he made it obvious he planned on eavesdropping.

“Claire. Sorry for calling so early, but what did you find out?”

My mind went blank. With everything that had gone on last night, there had been no time to prepare what to say. So I stalled. “Why don’t we talk about it tonight?” Before he could object, I added, “I was just on my way out for an 8:00 appointment. Then another at 10:00. After that, there’s …verifying the tip about your sister’s case.” I crinkled my nose. My lies left me with a bad taste. Corrigan hearing them made it worse.

Michael sighed. “Okay. You’ll still be here tonight at 8:00?” He sounded peeved, but it couldn’t be helped. He’d be over it once I explained it all away with more fabricated excuses.

Withholding information to a client, especially Michael, was inexcusable, but I had to get my head around what happened to Ed and why. Once accomplished, of course, I’d tell him. Afterwards, he might not even be as anxious to get me to drop the case.

Corrigan’s eyes found mine. He had a wide open grin on his face. “My, how easy stretching the truth comes to you.”

I blushed like the first time I got fitted for a bra. “It’s only to protect him from…from…”

Any previous merriment dropped from Corrigan’s face. “From knowing everything about the case?” His eyebrows knitted. “You don’t completely trust him either, do you?”

I looked away
.
“That’s not true. Hey, I better put some decent clothes on so you can take me back to my car.” I spun away before he could say another word.

We filled his car with small talk. When he pulled into the office parking lot, he asked me again if I’d be okay. “Um hmm. Thanks.”

“Whatever you’re planning to do today, don’t. That is, don’t do anything risky. Or stupid. And keep your phone on and close to you.”

My eyebrows shot up. “Stupid?” although, as a matter of fact, most of my actions concerning this case fell into that category.

He waved my question away. “You know what I mean.”

I took on a country bumpkin accent. “Aw shucks, Sheriff, I reckon I kin manage not to stand behind a kickin’ mule.”

His lips twitched, almost into a smile, but he turned it into a scowl. “Okay, okay. I’ll call you later.”

After he dropped me off, my first stop was danger-free enough to please even Corrigan. It was
Cannoli’s
, to ask Aunt Lena if she would check in with my dad. A twinge of guilt plucked at me. I should’ve done that after the last call, but with everything else going on, it got pushed to the back of my mind. But talking to my aunt could fix that. Tell her he mentioned he didn’t see her enough. He’d kill me for that, but I’d rather he get annoyed than something happen to him.

Despite it being early,
Cannoli’s
hopped with customers. Before I could do more than kiss Aunt Lena’s cheek, she handed me an apron and asked me to take the counter for a few minutes until her sometime counter help, all-the-time friend, Angie, arrived. “She was supposed to be here already. Hope her car didn’t break down again.”

“Okay, but there’s something —”

She pinched my cheeks and in a voice you’d use to address a puppy said, “You’re such a good kid.” We heard the back door open and my aunt tilted her head. “That’s probably Angie. Hold your thought.” She dashed off to the kitchen.

While I waited, a customer bought a dozen chocolate chunk biscotti. I reached for one for myself, but the phone rang. And rang. Since my aunt didn’t answer it, I did.

Heavy breaths, like the caller had been running. Then he began to sing, the tune again different.

“Last night, last night

You saw what I will do.

You’re digging way too deep piggy. Oh,

Next time there may not be a warning

And what then will become of you?”

T
he call ended, but it took a minute for my arm to move and drop the phone from my ear. Another minute for me to think straight. Struggling for a breath, my eyes scanned the room full of women. He could see me, observe my actions, but the reverse wasn’t true. My hand grabbed at my throat and it struck me how this monster had invaded my life and now that of my family’s. I wanted to whisk myself and my family away someplace else, but capturing this guy was the only way we’d ever be safe.

Turning my back to the customers, I called Corrigan to have a breakdown, but it went into his voicemail. I didn’t leave a message, though because Angie came right up to me, tying her apron around her waist. “Go on, Sweetie. I got this.” So intent on taking care of the next customer, she didn’t notice my state.

“Thanks.” If this were an ordinary day, I would’ve gone into the kitchen for goodbyes. This time was different. My aunt would have picked up on my traumatized state in less time than it takes a flea to jump on a dog.

I started toward my car to drive to the police station, but stopped halfway there.
That song.
Again it was a familiar one, but placing it proved impossible for me. Would knowing the names of the songs make it easier to identify the killer? I headed to my office to play some tunes.

Playing song after song in my office yielded nothing, but I’d return to the task after a visit to the hospital. Even if they didn’t let me see Ed, I needed to be there for him.

All the way there I checked my rearview mirror to see if someone was following me. Eventually my grip loosened on the steering wheel. No one on the road seemed the least bit interested in my comings and goings.

People around the hospital entrance were greeted by my stomach’s growls so I dashed into the coffee shop and grabbed a muffin. It tasted like chocolate-scented Styrofoam. At least it’d keep my belly from announcing its presence to everyone.

I finished the muffin and stepped out of the elevator on Ed’s floor. The last bite stuck in my throat, but it stopped bothering me when I spotted Corrigan.

The detective was pounding one fist into the palm of his other hand. He leaned into a young cop, who looked like he’d rather be anywhere but in front of Corrigan.

The infraction must have been serious, judging from Corrigan’s reaction. Something to do with Ed? Had Ed died? I froze. Being confronted with bad news can do that to me. Before I could thaw, the detective spotted me.

“Claire.” The other cop slinked away. “I was going to call you. Ed regained consciousness for a little bit.” He clenched his fists. “He slipped back though.” His voice rose, “Officer Johnson notified me too late.”

Without thinking, I clutched Corrigan’s arm. “Did Ed say anything?”

“Nurse said he tried, but couldn’t get any words out.”

I templed my hands over my nose and mouth. Tears filled my eyes. Corrigan lowered his voice and between gritted teeth said, “I’ll catch the bastard, I promise.”

I sniffed, “But that won’t help Ed now.”

Corrigan stared at me for a second and chewed on his lower lip. “Come on.” He took my elbow.

I stood cemented to the floor. “Where to?”

“Cafeteria. You look like you could use a cup of something.”

The muffin left a lump in my throat. Maybe some tea would wash it down, but I didn’t want to miss out if Ed regained consciousness. Corrigan must have read my mind. “Everyone on this floor now knows if there’s any change in Ed’s status, they better get hold of me immediately.”

We rode down the elevator side by side. It’s funny how everyone stares straight ahead when they’re riding up or down. But I rebelled and leaned against the wall to check the people getting on and off. Could any of them be the killer, biding their time, waiting to finish Ed off if he did regain consciousness? I shook my head slightly to dislodge that thought. Seeing killers everywhere would render me useless. Not that I’d done any sort of bang-up job so far.

I sighed so loudly, Corrigan and an elderly woman using a walker turned toward me. The woman asked me in a thick Polish accent, “You okay, young lady?”

“Oh yes. Just thinking.”

She looked at me through eyes filmy with cataracts and smiled. “I wish for you the thoughts are of joy, not sadness.” Her face dropped and her jowls trembled. I wanted to reach out to her, to say something comforting. But the elevator dinged and the doors opened. She set her walker over the gap and turned and pointed her finger first at me and then at Corrigan. “Be good to each other. Too soon life is over.”

The door closed. Corrigan cleared his throat and played with his tie. I took his actions to mean he thought being linked with me romantically would be worse than getting caught on video mooning the Pope.“There are worse things, you know,” I snapped.

He looked straight ahead. “Worse than what?”

“Being, you know, with me.” My pride pushed the point.

The corners of his mouth curved upwards. “It’s crossed my mind.”

The elevator bounced to a stop and the doors opened. I dropped my hands on my hips. “So I’ve got to guard myself against more than just the killer.”

He chuckled.

Together at the cafeteria table, I wrapped my hands around the hot cup of tea and looked down into the liquid. “I got another call this morning at my aunt’s restaurant.”

He slammed his cup down and the coffee sloshed onto the table.“When were you—never mind. Tell me about it.”

I did my best with the description. “He sang it again. Different tune, just as familiar though.” My voice trembled.

“Could you recall the song?”

“Not without hearing it again.” Not sure, even then. That’s me, about as useful as a fork with a bowl of soup.

I rested my chin in my hand, my eyes closed, trying to get the tune from my memory down to my mouth. I opened my eyes and shook my head. “Nothing.”

“Maybe it’ll come back to you. We’ll trace the call, although he probably used another disposable phone. Guy must have a dozen. But right now all we’ve got is a bunch of leads that don’t go anywhere. Eagleton is still a person of interest, but we still don’t have enough to arrest him.” He tapped his spoon against the saucer. “Ed’s the best chance we’ve got.”

I pushed back my chair. “Speaking of Ed, I’m going back. I want to be there if he wakes up.”

But there was no change and after waiting around for another hour, I decided more good would come from my office work. I reassured myself that things just seemed beyond my fingertips, but if I worked hard enough, the killer’s identity would come to me. With luck he’d be captured before he got to me. That feeling of someone walking on my grave overcame me again.

In the hospital parking lot, a teenage girl walked behind me, singing, and paying little attention to her surroundings. I halted so abruptly she almost crashed into me. “What are you singing?”

She pulled out one of her ear buds and, her voice dripped with you-are-an-idiot sarcasm. “OhMyGod, you’re like the last person on earth to not know
West Side Story.
It’s old, but so good. I’m playing Maria at school. They just did it at the Playhouse a month or so ago.” Looking up and shaking her head, she put her ear buds back in and walked away, singing.

My first reaction was to run back and tell Corrigan, but I changed my mind. After all, this was still my case.

Back in my office, the soundtrack to
West Side Story
played on my computer. Sure enough, three of the songs had been used by the killer,
Maria, Tonight
and
America
. Despite the words being very different, listening to the tunes again made my heart race. I’d heard enough.

The guy liked musicals, or he liked that one. How to use this information, though. It wasn’t like I could ask Eagleton or Sean or anyone if they happened to enjoy
West Side Story
.

The teenager claimed the Playhouse had done it recently. A quick search of its season offerings revealed
West Side Story
had played only one night. If luck was with me, they kept a record of who had attended.

I called the Playhouse box office and a woman answered. “Hello,” I began in my most professional voice. “This is Claire DeNardo, investigator. I’m looking for some information on a recent crime.”

The woman’s voice rose. “We aren’t in some trouble are we? And who did you say you were with?”

Having been told more than once my voice sounded like a child over the phone, and not wanting this woman to think this was a prank call, I spoke in a low tone. “I’m working with the police, and we need the list of those who purchased tickets for
West Side Story
.” I squeezed my eyes closed and held my breath.

“Sorry, but that information isn’t readily available.” She didn’t sound sorry at all. “Perhaps if you come in person with the police, we can get it for you.”

So much for using my official voice.

Today had zipped by and I realized if I didn’t hurry, Michael would be having dinner without me. My stomach, elated it was getting some attention, growled its appreciation. It’d been upset since that dried-out muffin incident this morning.

I threw on some makeup while driving to his house, knowing there’d be delicious food and great company. After the last couple of days, this dinner would be like uncovering a piece of chocolate in a kale salad.

I waited for Michael to come to the door, still unsure what to tell him regarding last night, only knowing to keep Ed out of it. If Michael knew what’d happened to Ed, for sure he’d fire me from the case. This evening was not going to include an argument with Michael.