Plateful of Murder (18 page)

I pulled into the apartment’s parking spot, kept the motor running and scanned the area. No one about. My hand clutching my can of mace, I raced into the building and up the stairs to my apartment, threw open the door, flicked on the light and looked around. Nothing had been disturbed and nobody was lurking about. I locked and deadbolted the door behind me.

Although exhausted, I felt stinky, like fear had an odor that had settled on me. My shoulders also ached. A hot shower would take care of both the smell and the soreness. I undressed and stepped into the best thing to happen to me all day. For what had to be thirty luxurious minutes, the pulsating water cascaded down me, relaxing me. All good things come to an end and my shower did too. Hating to do so, I turned the water off and stepped onto the bath rug.

While rubbing my skin dry, my ears picked up a noise, and the hairs on my neck stood. After a moment of silence, I decided it was just the furnace readying itself to kick on. It was October, and in Cleveland, that meant one day warm, the next below freezing. In case it wasn’t the furnace, I grabbed the only thing I could think of, the toilet bowl brush. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt, but it’d definitely gross out any intruder.

First room to check was my bedroom. No one there. I grabbed the mace can from my purse and again checked each room, finding nobody. I collapsed onto the sofa and felt the knot in my stomach loosen. Tomorrow morning and my trip to the gun store couldn’t come fast enough.

But the morning did. My phone rang insistently, risking instant death by being thrown across the room. It was 7:00 a.m. A sleepy, yawning, “Hello?”

“Claire? It’s Michael. Can I see you this morning?” He sounded breathless, like he just ran away from someone.

I sat up. “What happened?”

“Can we talk about it in person?”

“Sure. Do you want me to come over?”

“No!” He paused and inhaled deeply. “Your office would be better.”

I studied my phone like it had answers to the puzzle of what was going on. “How about at 8:30?”

“Thanks.” He ended the call before I could ascertain if he was all right.

I threw on my clothes and gobbled up a cold Pop Tart and water to stop the churning in my stomach. My office wasn’t far, but with rush hour traffic it’d take me a while to get there. Flinging a sweater over my shoulder, I headed out, licking the sweetness of the breakfast pastry off my lips.

So preoccupied with Michael’s call, I didn’t notice something stuck under my windshield wiper until I was already in my car. It was a CD. The parking lot was deserted except for the Romeo who lived in the apartment beneath me and was always with a different woman.

“Excuse me,” I shouted. “Did you see anyone around my car this morning?”

He strolled over, looked me up and down, and arched his eyebrow. “No, I didn’t.” He half smiled. “Or do you want me to say I did?”

I stifled a groan, realizing his assumption I was trying to strike up a conversation. “No, really. You didn’t see anyone?”

Once he understood the message that nobody was hitting on him, he shook his head and returned to his own car.

My first impulse was to grab the CD, but realizing it might have been evidence, used a tissue from my purse to inspect it. Nothing on the label. Had the murderer left it? Had he been lurking around during the night? Would I be keeping that Pop Tart down? Rather than risk removing some evidence by playing the CD, I laid the offensive thing carefully on my car seat and called Corrigan.

From the thickness in his voice, he must have just woken up. “Yeah.”

“It’s Claire.” I tried to keep any hysteria out of my voice. “Someone left an unmarked CD on my windshield.”

“Did you see anyone?”

“No, it was here when I came down. There’s no label on it or anything.”

“Bring it into the station and we’ll take a look. Whatever you do, don’t play it.”

I bit my lip, wanting to scream at him for assuming my stupidity or naivety. But allowing my ego to assert itself wasn’t a wise trade for Corrigan’s protection. “I’ll be there in about twenty minutes.”

“Good. And Claire? I’m glad you called me.”

“Me too.”

In a rush and disconcerted over the CD, I accidentally ran a red light on my way to the station and collected my share of dirty looks and irate horns. Ordinarily, I would sheepishly mouth “Sorry” and truly mean it. But none of my energy could be spared right now. Keeping myself together long enough to turn over the CD was using it up.

Arriving in one piece, I saw Corrigan heading up the steps to go into the station. Without a word, I handed the CD over to him. He slipped it into an evidence bag. “It’s a shame you’re going through this, but—”

“You don’t have to say it. If I had dropped the case in the beginning, none of this would be happening.” I sounded like a snotty schoolgirl, but wasn’t in the mood for nice. Not now.

He blew out a breath and pointedly finished. “I was going to say, this may help us catch the killer.”

I blinked hard. “Huh?” That’s me, one snappy comeback after another.

He tilted his head toward the door. “Let’s go inside so we can talk.”

He motioned to a chair by his desk. “Have a seat. Coffee? Or tea?”

“Neither thanks. What did you mean?” The hairs on my neck stood up and it wasn’t because of the station’s chilly air.

Corrigan took his time replying. It was obvious to me how much he relished holding my attention, my anticipation of his next words. “Two things.” He sipped his coffee. “First, if what I think is on the CD, we’ll be able to have our voice experts decipher whether or not the guy is old or young.” He stared pointedly at me. “Or if he has an accent, things like that.”

I exhaled through clenched teeth. “Or a stutter? Don’t you think I’d have noticed things like that?”

He shrugged. “People usually lose their stutter when they sing.”

“Okay, but as far as an accent goes, even if I was scared
witless
, I wouldn’t have missed that. And you’re including Michael in the list of suspects, but he’s innocent.”
Isn’t he?

Corrigan displayed his straight white teeth in a tolerant smile. “Just saying. It’s good for the police to hear it.” Before I could respond, he held up two fingers. “Reason number two is that this guy’s been to your place. In all likelihood, he’ll return, either to up your fears or make good on his threats. But we’ll be there to catch him.” He sat back in his chair looking like he’d scooped up the last piece of pie.

“You’re planning a stakeout at my apartment?”

“Something like that.” He templed his fingers. “Haven’t worked out all the details yet. But it’ll be set before you go home.”

I pressed my lips together, not feeling one bit safer. “But what if the guy decides to kill me in some restaurant? Or in the Ladies’ room at the hospital while I’m visiting Ed?” Maybe I sounded whiny, but fear did that to me.

“I can’t assign a body guard to you, but…” he swiveled his chair toward me and placed his elbows on his thighs. “It’d be no problem for me to spend a little more time, you know, guarding you.”

In another world, I would’ve tilted my head in a flirty way, pressed my hand against his chest and in a sultry, breathless voice murmured, “You can guard this body anytime.”

But we were sitting in a Cleveland police station and someone wanted me eliminated. My tears threatened to burst forth. “Having you watch over me is fine, except for the times you won’t be able to. What then?”

He leaned toward me and took my hand, probably hoping I wouldn’t start to blubber. “We’ll make sure you’re never alone.” His phone went off and once he’d glanced at it, dropped my hand. “Wait right here.” Rising from his chair, he disappeared down a hallway.

He’d been gone about five minutes when I remembered my promise to meet Michael. It was getting late. I tapped my foot, checked the time, and checked it again ten seconds later. Corrigan still hadn’t come back so I scribbled a note, apologizing for not waiting. No explanation why. Just a simple note stating he could reach me at my office. No time for another lecture about Michael.

I dashed up the stairs to my office, worried about being tardy for our appointment. Michael was nowhere to be seen. As late as I was, he may have arrived, waited a bit, and left. Hoping he’d come back, I unlocked the office door and locked it behind me. No sense in tempting fate.

I waited ten minutes. Then punched in Michael’s number, ready to apologize for not being here. He didn’t pick up, though. “It’s Claire. Sorry I missed you. Ran into something messy, but I’m at my office now. Call me back, okay?”

My cell rang almost as soon as I’d left the message. It was Corrigan, rather than Michael. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? You ask for my help. Then you run out?”

“Sorry. I was late for a meeting.” I squeaked.

“With Adler?” he demanded.

“He said he had something to tell me and needed to do it in person.” I scrunched up my face, anticipating Corrigan’s lecture.

“I bet he does.” He heaved a sigh. “You shouldn’t be alone with him.”

Was he jealous or just wanting to make my life harder? My ego went for jealousy. “It’s just a client meeting. All business.”

He harrumphed. “Yeah, like last night. I’m on my way there.” He ended the call.

Despite my irritation and worry over Michael, I smiled. Two guys had never been interested in me at the same time. That is, except for in third grade when Bucky Minetta and Lenny Schiavone noticed I was really good on the monkey bars.

My thoughts were interrupted by a knock at my door. Corrigan couldn’t have gotten here that fast. “Claire, it’s Michael.”

Stepping through the doorway, he threw his arms around me. Instinctively, I pulled back and spotted his pained expression. “Michael, what’s wrong?”

His face was so contorted he barely resembled the man I’d known.
But how well did I really know him?
Hesitantly, I repeated my question.

He swallowed hard and relaxed his facial muscles. “Corrigan came to see me last night.”

A frosty uneasiness settled on me. “And?” It felt like I had swallowed straight pins. Ulcer, anyone?

Michael looked off toward my computer. “Wasn’t a social call.”

I blew out a breath. “Have a seat.” I led him to the chair by my desk. “What exactly did he say?”

Michael sat on the edge. “He thinks I had something to do with my sister’s death.” He rubbed his face. “I can’t believe it. I want them to find her killer too.” He stared into my eyes, “You don’t think I had anything to do with Constance’s death, do you?” His voice soft, pleading.

“Of course not. That’s crazy. ”It was important to assure him, and myself. “Why does he think that? Did he say?”

Michael shook his head.

“Did he actually accuse you?” My pulse throbbed in my temples.
Did Corrigan have more on Michael than he’d let on?

He cast his eyes down on the floor and murmured. “Not exactly.”

I released a sigh and covered his hand with mine. “Michael, in Detective Corrigan’s cynical mind, everyone is a suspect. Don’t let him get to you. You already have enough to deal with.”

Sitting there in a heavy silence, I couldn’t help but wonder if he’d seen Corrigan and me talking last night. Best way to find out was to stick my toe in the water and see if anything bit me. “By the way, when did he visit you?” To my own ears, the strain in my voice made it sound like I’d been the one who committed a crime.

Michael didn’t skip a beat. “A bit after you left.” He half-smiled. “Glad you weren’t around to hear that.”

Making a clicking noise like a kid caught with a stolen gumball in my mouth, I nodded. “That means two of us are glad.”

“Hate to interrupt all this gladness.” It was Corrigan, barging through my office door like a fireman into a burning building.

T
here was no misinterpreting the scowl on my face upon realizing I’d left my office door open, allowing every Tom, Dick and Corrigan inside.

Michael jumped to his feet. “I’ve told you everything.”

Corrigan pulled up to his full 6’0” height. “Don’t sweat it. This visit is for Miss DeNardo, but as long as you’re here, where were you last night after 11:00?”

Michael flinched. “This is unbelievable. Are you accusing me of something else?”

Corrigan’s voice turned steely. “Answer the question.”

“Home. In bed. Alone.” His color rose and he exhaled loudly.

As if it couldn’t get worse, my father, with no advanced warning, chose that time to stick his head in.

“Dad?” I sounded like somebody was squeezing my throat.

His eyes moved from Michael to Corrigan and finally rested on me. “Bad time, Pumpkin?”

Corrigan, in a sweeping motion, answered for me. “Not at all, Mr. DeNardo. Come right in.”

I shot the detective a look that cursed him and all his male heirs. “Yeah, it’s fine, Dad. What’s up?”

My father smiled crookedly. “I wanted to surprise you. Take you to lunch.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s a little early but I figured, what the heck. You’re busy, though.” He turned to leave, stopped and swung around. He squinted at Corrigan. “Do I know you?”

I held my breath and hoped Corrigan wouldn’t divulge that my father had been under surveillance, courtesy of the Cleveland Police. He didn’t blink. “Just figured you were Claire’s father. The resemblance is amazing.”

My fair skin and dark brown with reddish highlights hair are very different from my dad’s olive complexion and black hair now mixed with grey. His Roman nose compared to my upturned one. In short, we look nothing alike. I didn’t think for a second my dad bought Corrigan’s explanation, but he’d no doubt been taught to be polite to policemen. “Yeah, I guess so.” He paused, then squinted at me, “Do you need a hand with anything, honey?”

A quick scan of everyone’s face didn’t remove my unease. Michael looked down, but not before I spotted his scowl. Corrigan wore an expression like a choirboy with a slingshot in his back pocket. And my dad looked eager to help me, even if he wasn’t sure how.

There was a way, though. Break up the trio of Corrigan, Michael and me by leaving with my dad. Afterwards, I’d regroup with Michael to talk with him alone, and check in with Corrigan later about protection. “Dad, if you’ll give me just a few minutes, it’d be great to have lunch with you.” My grin could compete with any smile a clown chose to paint on. I was proud of my plan until Corrigan pasted his own on top of mine.