Plateful of Murder (24 page)

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“Does it?”

“No.”

He shrugged. “Then I guess it wasn’t. It was just to let you know this stuff isn’t easy.”

There was no fitting response to that and we continued down the road in silence. Every so often, Corrigan would look like he wanted to spout wise advice, but each time, stopped himself. That was fine with me. I had a hole inside that no words could fill.

Eventually it dawned on me where we were headed. “Did something happen with Ed?”
Please, please let him be alive.

The corners of the detective’s mouth turned up. “He’s awake and talking.”

My hands came together and my throat produced joyous sounds. Not words exactly, more like happy sighs. At last, something good. Fidgeting like a kid in a brand new Sunday suit, I barely waited until Corrigan turned off the car’s engine before popping open my car door. Inside the hospital, I took two steps at a time until arriving on the second floor and Ed’s room.

His eyes were closed. Hoping he hadn’t lost consciousness again, I tiptoed up to him and whispered, “Ed?”

His face broke into a wide grin and he opened his eyes. “Hey.” He sounded like he’d scratched his throat with tree bark.

I leaned over and brushed his stubbly cheek with my lips. “So good to see you, you know…”

“Back among the living?” He snorted but it turned into a rough cough. He took a sip of water. “Corrigan arrest Adler yet? He killed his sister over a phony formula that never would’ve worked.”

A heavy weight descended on me again and I bit my lower lip. “Michael’s dead.”

Ed shifted in his bed. “No kidding? How?”

Corrigan chose that minute to come into Ed’s room. “Claire figured him for the killer.”

In a solemn voice, I recounted what happened.

Ed licked his lips. “That’s tough, but better him than you, kiddo.”

A nurse bustled into Ed room. “Mr. Horwath needs to rest. You’ll have to come back another day.”

I squeezed Ed’s hand. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

Corrigan chimed in, “That’ll make two of us.”

Ed nodded. “Before you go, after my rehab or whatever they’re gonna do with me, I want to take on another job. Ya know, you and me, Claire. We make a helluva team.”

I stood motionless. Both of us had barely gotten away with our lives. True, we did survive. But what if that was just beginner’s luck? Did I want to tempt fate? Could I deal with more death, not to mention being scared more often than not?

Both guys waited for my response. Not wanting to say the wrong thing, I hesitated, twisting my mouth from side to side. Then shrugged.
So I’d be scared. Balloons scare me too and I still go to birthday parties. Of course a balloon probably couldn’t kill me. But now I had a gun and sort of knew how to use it. Besides, my desire to see justice done would certainly be met. Why not give it a try?

“If you’re sure you want to do it, that’d be great, Ed. We’ll have to discuss money later.”

He smirked. “Yeah, maybe we do it on the layaway plan.”

Corrigan scowled. “If you two are staying in business together, I better keep an eye on you.”

But he was clearly looking at me.

Recipes…

Aunt Lena’s Meatballs and
Sugo
(Sauce)

Sugo

1 clove of garlic, minced

1 12 oz can tomato paste

3 C of water

½ tsp salt

¼ tsp pepper

1 tsp dried basil or 2 tsp fresh basil

1 tsp dried oregano or 2 tsp fresh oregano

Pinch of granulated sugar (optional)

Add enough olive oil to cover the bottom of your pan. Add all other ingredients and simmer for 1-2 hours. Stir occasionally.

Meatballs

1 lb lean ground beef

½ tsp salt

1-2 tsp fresh parsley or a pinch if using dried parsley

1 egg

3 Tbsp Romano cheese

¼ C breadcrumbs (add cold water to make this into ½ C breadcrumbs)

Add all ingredients together and mix. To shape mixture into balls, keep hands wet. Pan fry meatballs at medium heat until browned on all sides, about 5 minutes if they’re the size of golf balls. Add meatballs to sugo to heat through.

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If you enjoyed this first book in the Terrified Detective cozy mystery series, make sure you check out Book Two which is available now.

Killer Cannoli

Chapter One

“Sorry, Claire, but he doesn’t look like a ‘Larry’ to me.” My father folded the dish towel and set it on the blue and yellow Formica countertop he and my late mother had installed. His bushy black-and-grey eyebrows knitted together.

I shrugged. “Maybe it’s a nickname.” I slouched on one of my dad’s checkered kitchen chairs in his circa 1970’s kitchen and loosened my belt. I regretted the extra helping of hot, crusty bread I’d had. Not for the first time I wished I’d inherited my dad’s eat-it-all, never-gain-weight metabolism instead of my mother’s walk-by-food, gain-five-pounds one. At 5’2” sixteen ounces made the difference between comfortably wearing my jeans and having those red wrinkle lines on my hips from the material digging in. Now that I was 31, it was harder to keep at 107 pounds.

I pulled my thoughts back to my dad’s concerns. “Anyway, is that why you don’t like him?”

“Part of it. He’s hiding something and that makes him no good for your Aunt Lena.” He pointed his index finger to make his point. “Someone should warn her.” Staring right into my eyes he said, “Claire, honey…”

I leaned back and threw up my hands. “Oh no. Not me.” Aunt Lena, my late mother’s sister, ran one of the best Cleveland area Italian eat-in bakeries,
Cannoli’s
, and a better person you’ll never meet. She had a temper, though and when she got mad, junkyard dogs are less intimidating than she is. But then, what if my dad was right and this guy, Larry, was up to no good? As a private investigator, was I responsible for my relatives’ poor choices in dating? I didn’t want to be, but Dad’s insistence that Larry was bad news told me I was. Just thinking about my Aunt Lena’s wrath at my interference made me cringe.

I put my arms around my dad’s neck. “I’ll run a background check. If it looks like your hunch is good, I’ll do some investigating. If he’s an undesirable, then I’ll break it to Aunt Lena, over the phone, where she can’t get to me.”

“Isn’t there more you could do?” My father’s face lit up. “Maybe you could get that detective to help.”

I acted like I didn’t know who he meant. “Which detective?”

My dad looked at me like I’d claimed to be Swedish. “You know. The one who took us to lunch. He helped you on that other case.”

I wrinkled my nose. “Oh. Him.” Of course Dad meant Brian Corrigan. That good-looking, blonde, blue-eyed unmentionable man who had flirted with me. That same detective who, after the Adler murder case, said he’d call and never did. Now I’d rather eat mushy pasta than ask him for help. “I’m sure he’s busy, Dad. I don’t want to bother him.”
Choke him, yeah. Bother him, no.

I don’t know if my dad figured it out, but he didn’t pursue the subject. “Okay. Check his background. But you have to see him too.” His face hardened, like when Johnny Zysinsky threw a rock and broke our front window. “Don’t be like your aunt and get taken in by Larry, or whatever his real name is.”

“Don’t worry. I can get a look at him and still keep my distance.” I planned to check out Larry from behind the counter at
Cannoli’s
. Safer that way.

I left my father’s house shortly afterwards, carrying a covered dish of manicotti he’d made especially for me. The smells of melted mozzarella and ricotta cheese mixing with tomatoes, basil and oregano filled my car. Ordinarily, that’d soothe me, like soft music calms dental patients. Not this time. Being the uncourageous person I am, paying attention to my gut feelings is the best way to keep myself out of conflict and danger. This time it screamed to avoid Larry. But I couldn’t do that. My duty to watch out for my family drowned out the noise.

Hoping I’d be too busy to go to
Cannoli’s
for a talk with my Aunt Lena just yet, I checked my voicemails. Not one message. I stuck out my lower lip and blew a breath into my bangs. Still wanting to delay this unpleasant business, I decided to stop at my office anyway and put the pasta in my small fridge. Maybe when I arrived, there’d be some frantic soon-to-be client waiting there to see me, pacing and checking the time over and over. Or one waving a fat check around, of course, begging me to find his lover who’d disappeared the previous week. I snorted.

I started my car and imagined a scenario in which Larry was actually some big-time gambler wanted by the Mob and beautiful women everywhere. The idea entertained me, thinking about my aunt with someone like that. It also prevented me from worrying about the reason for my visit to Aunt Lena’s bakery.

She was in
Cannoli’s
kitchen when I got there. Instead of being covered in flour and banishing her coarse black hair back into her hairnet, she was putting on lipstick. The color could best be described as ‘sure-I’m-older-but-still-sexy’ red. More surprising, she had on a new dress with tiny beads. It was black and had probably been advertised as ‘suitable for dates or funerals.’

Before I could manage a greeting, she grabbed my wrist and whispered, “Larry’s here.” Her face showed all the excitement of a game show winner. She dabbed at her lips. “How do I look?”

I took in her abundant cleavage, overgenerous waistline, and dimpled arms and kissed her cheek. “The man doesn’t stand a chance.”

She blushed and giggled like a girl might the first time she’s kissed. My heart melted as I realized this warrior of a woman who held down a business and kept us all, including my widowed father, in line could have a tender side.

I turned away so she wouldn’t see my face cloud with worry. If this guy hurt her, I’d make sure he incurred some injury himself. I chuckled when I realized that if he did do Aunt Lena wrong, he’d probably end up with a dent in his head from her rolling pin.

She hesitated at the door leading to the pastry counter and tables and pulled herself up straight, breasts out, stomach in as much as possible. She whispered. “Wish me luck.”

I crossed my fingers for luck. “Knock him dead.” Hoping I could catch some of their conversation, I threw on an apron and followed her to the pastry area.

Aunt Lena’s friend and part-time employee, Angie, was already there. She nodded her hello to me and out of the side of her mouth added, “You here to see your aunt in action?”

“Yes. No.…” I didn’t want to tell her I was spying for my dad’s benefit. “I want to talk to this guy. My aunt hadn’t been on the dating scene since she met my Uncle Tommy in the 1960’s and he passed away over ten years ago.”

“If you want my opinion, Lena could do better.” Angie tilted her head toward the back table. My aunt had just joined a man who was already seated.

I had to stop myself from wincing. Larry was not an attractive man. In fact with his pale coloring, long, pointed nose and tiny eyes, he looked like a white laboratory rat. I wondered how fast he could run through a maze. My nose curled up as I watched him nibble on a croissant. It was more than his looks that set my neck hairs at attention though. It was the incongruity. His pants shouted ‘cheap polyester’ and his shirt, a flowered leftover from the disco era, was unbuttoned to where it shouldn’t have been. His shoes looked one step away from the trash bin. But he wore two pinkie rings with diamonds bigger than the ones in my late mother’s wedding ring.

“Angie, you’ve met him. What do you think?” I whispered.

“His hair and skin are so pale he looks like he died about the same time as Lena’s Tommy. And those clothes. Let’s just say he doesn’t follow fashion trends.”

I stifled a laugh as two customers approached the counter and I stepped up to wait on them but my phone vibrated.

Angie waved me away. “Go on, it might be one of your clients. I’ll handle this.”

I gave her a grateful smile and hoped she was right. But it wasn’t a client.