Plateful of Murder (7 page)

He held his hand out. “Money first. I figure you brought more than yesterday.”

I nervously fingered the zipper on my purse. “Not exactly. Couldn’t we do this on the layaway plan?”

He removed the toothpick from his mouth. “You didn’t think I was serious.”

“Why not? Layaway means I pay you a small advance, you know, to show good faith.” He didn’t object yet. “Once the case is solved, you’d get the rest of your money…” My voice got smaller as his frown grew bigger.

“What kinda idiot do you take me for?”

“No kind. I just can’t afford to pay you today. Or tomorrow.” Convinced he’d tell me to go away, I opened my car door.

He shut it before I could get in, threw down the toothpick and leaned against my car. “I’ll do it. My ole ma always told me to give to charity.” He rubbed his face hard. “And kiddo, you’re the neediest case I ever seen.”

I inwardly cringed and handed Ed my last wrinkled and tattered ten dollar bill.

He unfolded it and smoothed it out, like he held a treasure map. He then stuck it in his back pocket. “Two days before she died, John Luther dropped the late Ms. Adler off at work. From the looks of them, they weren’t just carpooling.” 

“You’d think they would’ve been more discreet.”

He shrugged. “It was too early for most folks to be here.” His eyes shifted. “But guess who
did
see them?” He winked, but it looked more like a twitch.

“Besides you?”

He shook his head like I was hopeless. “Yeah, besides me.” He paused for effect. “Eagleton. He pulled up at the same time as when the lovebirds were saying goodbye. Him and that pretty boy who works for him, Sean something. They rode in one car too.” He chortled. “Don’t think they spent the night together like Luther and Constance, though.”

Sean wasn’t important. “How did Eagleton react?”

“Stared at them like he wanted to rip off Luther’s manhood. Didn’t move until his flunky tugged at him.” Ed examined his knuckles. “Just as well. I’d have hated to bust up a fight.”

Sure, like a prisoner would hate to beat up a guard. “Anything else?”

He scowled. “Ain’t that enough? The guy killed her, sure as hell.”

“Maybe. But there’s still not enough here to arrest him. My job is to remedy that.”

“With my help.”

“Of course.”

Tucking that bit of information into my memory, I returned to my office in time to pick up a call from my apartment’s landlord. He not-so-nicely asked when he could expect my rent check. Thank heaven Gino had the office rent paid up for the entire five-year lease. But that didn’t help me with my living arrangements. Talk about a miserable existence. The wood floors in the claustrophobic office creaked like an arthritic man doing deep knee bends and the walls hadn’t seen fresh paint since the Clinton administration. The first one. The building didn’t have an elevator or a security guard. This place had the charm of a bus terminal.

My chin in my hands, I concluded keeping my living quarters meant working on more than the Adler case. As much as I wanted to solve Constance’s murder, it wouldn’t provide me with enough money to satisfy my landlord.

Once, one of my cousins scared the pants off me by claiming without money, I’d be forced to roam the streets in torn underwear. Sometimes, late at night, when my sad financial state keeps me awake, I crawl out of bed and ransack my lingerie drawer to make sure none of my underwear is ripped. Afterwards, my adult self reminds me my family would take me in and then I’m able to fall asleep. But that fear, lurks, waiting for me. 

I went through my open cases, not that there were many. Advertising could help build the business, but besides having no money for it, the very idea of putting myself on display made my stomach knot up. Lots of people want to be noticed. Not me though. I prefer staying in the background, shrinking away, which makes catching people doing what they shouldn’t be doing pretty easy. It doesn’t help my income though. If I planned to sleep on something other than the top of my desk, that is.

My tense shoulders ached, but I forced myself to lay all my cases on my desk and found one with the possibility of a quick payoff. Jezebel Jackson wanted to know where her fiancé, Dwayne, went every Tuesday and Thursday night. She’d resorted to hiring me after she’d gotten no satisfactory answers from him. Tomorrow was Thursday. Track him down, and I’d earn the rest of my desperately needed fee.

I stretched and rolled my neck to ease the stress.

Dwayne’s photo, the names and addresses of his associates, and all the rest of his information lay in front of me. My camera and I were ready to go.

I took my time getting to my apartment, hoping to miss my landlord. He’d be after me again soon enough. I hated to do it, but asking my father to cover me until Jezebel’s final payment seemed like my only option.

Lying in bed that night, I memorized Dwayne’s face and that of his friends. Jezebel claimed Dwayne left work about 6:00 in the evening, went back home, then headed who-knows-where. I sort of hoped it wasn’t to some other girl. Jezebel was such a sweet woman. Of course, that’s no protection against a cheating lover.

That last thought somehow spun me back to Michael. After he popped into my head, concentrating on Dwayne and Jezebel any longer was impossible. Finally, in frustration, I put the photos away and closed my eyes. I dreamed Eagleton chased me with a butcher knife and Corrigan helped him.

The next morning I ran some errands, the last of which was stopping at my dad’s. I tried to put it off as long as possible, but knew there was no way asking him for a loan could be avoided. That man’s middle name should be Generosity, but I hated to hit him up for money even though it’d only be until Jezebel received my report on Dwayne.

I stepped into my dad’s house, feeling like a locust chomping away at all he had. We sat at his kitchen table, and he offered me a hazelnut cherry biscotti and coffee. I automatically said yes, but took just one sip of the hot liquid and merely played with the cookie. It’d be like sawdust in my sand-dry mouth. Staring down at the biscotti like it would do the begging for me, I began. “Dad, I hate to ask, but—”

“You need some money.”

I avoided his eyes. “You knew?”

“Figured. How much business you got? Three, maybe four cases? That won’t even keep the lights on.” His eyes conveyed nothing but concern. “How much do you need?”

I hopped up and threw my arms around his neck. “Enough for this month’s rent. I’ll pay you back, honest, and by the end of the week.”

Dad snorted softly and pulled out his checkbook from his back pocket. He waved his pen at me. “You know, you could always move in with me. Got enough room, that’s for sure.”

“I love you, Dad, but I’ve got to make it on my own.”

He nodded and it wasn’t clear whether he was disappointed or relieved. He wrote out a check for my rent and then some. “Don’t worry about paying it back.” He handed it to me. “But promise me you’ll consider working for your Aunt Lena instead of this, this…” he struggled for the word, “
Che cosa
? This adventure.” He covered my hand with his big, calloused one. “Don’t keep me worrying about you, Pumpkin.”

I plastered on a Mona Lisa smile, hoping he’d never know how much I worried about me too. “I’ll think about it. Promise.” Merely the thought of working at
Cannoli’s
made me want to shriek, imagining myself wiping powdered sugar from the triple chins I’d no doubt acquire. That is, after my aunt married me off to some guy who had more black hair on his back than on his head and a five-o’clock shadow right after he shaved. But I appreciated my father’s concern, and adored him for it.

I kissed his cheek and assured him, “I’ll be extra careful, Dad.”

Leaving my father’s house, I drove to the bank and deposited his loan. Then, even blew some bucks on a few groceries.
Ah, the good life!
Once home, I post-dated a check for my rent while shoveling some cereal into my mouth.

By the time I brushed my teeth, my stomach began churning. I didn’t relish spying on Wayne any more than reporting my findings to Jezebel, convinced it would break her heart for sure. In that moment of weakness, working at
Cannoli’s
didn’t sound half-bad.

Michael called and rescued me from any further despairing thoughts.

“Is something wrong?”
Please, please be okay.

“I’m fine and cooking veal piccata, but there’s too much here for one person. Would you like to come over?”

Visions of delicate veal, drenched in lemon, parsley, and capers waltzed about in my head. My stomach suddenly grumbled at being fed cereal when a feast was so close. But there was Dwayne and Jezebel. I wanted to weep. “It sounds delicious, but I have other business to attend to.” My taste buds practically stood up and begged for the veal. Who was I to ignore their basic needs? “On second thought…”

“Yes?” He sounded hopeful.

I released a loud breath. If Gino knew, he would have my license for this. “I have a stakeout tonight. You could come along…”

“And bring the veal?”

I chuckled, happy he caught my drift. “That’d be great. But you should know what you’re in for. I spend the evening taking pictures from far away. It’s safe, but boring.”

He chuckled. “A safe, boring evening sounds great. How soon can you get here?”

We agreed on a time, but on my drive over, guilt over my selfish gluttony replaced my food lust. I didn’t know what Dwayne was up to, but it could turn ugly. If Michael got hurt, it’d be my fault. This had to be one of the dumbest things I’d ever done. Michael was a client, a really sweet, adorable one who cooked like a male Julia Child.

I shook my head hard. Gino warned me about letting my heart overrule my head. He didn’t say anything about my stomach, though. I fully intended to reverse my rash decision when I got to Michael’s home.

Michael was already outside with what looked like a picnic basket when I pulled up. His look of excitement was so cute I couldn’t change my mind and disappoint him. Okay, maybe that was just an excuse, but either way, I now had company.

Once we parked close to Dwayne’s apartment building, I explained my assignment and recited Gino’s advice, “Be close enough to spot him, but far enough so’s the pigeon don’t notice you.”

Michael half smiled and nodded. “Got it.”

My stomach felt weighed down, as if each Cheerio I’d eaten earlier had swelled to the size and weight of a marble. Even the scent of glorious veal piccata didn’t whet my appetite.

Dwayne finally got into his car and as soon as he pulled away from his apartment, we followed at a discreet distance. Luckily traffic was light and he went the speed limit, making it easy to track him. Michael knew enough to stay silent. I blew out a breath as Dwayne’s car pulled up to a row of buildings: one, a convenience store, another, a cleaners, and at the end, a bar that looked like a neighborhood joint where no one knows your name.

I cruised by and observed as Dwayne got out and started toward the bar. Some guy opened the tavern’s door, lit a cigarette and watched Dwayne walk past. A lump sat firmly in my throat. This part of the job scared the knickers off of me.

Dwayne continued his trek behind the front building and disappeared. I parked and jumped out of my car, but before I could tell him to stay put, Michael was next to me. We trailed Dwayne and I snapped a photo of him entering a building with red awnings. When he opened the door, lively Latin music blared.

Michael, his eyes wide, whispered, “Do we follow him?”

Staying out of the range of flying fists, just close enough for the camera to get the goods, was my way. But in this case, the blinds were drawn, allowing no way of peering inside. I waited too long to decide, and a stranger approached us from behind. He opened the door and his voice boomed like a carnival barker, “Go on in, folks. We don’t bite. I’m Randall Jones, owner of this place.” When we didn’t move, he smiled. “Cold feet, huh?”

I came out of my haze. “No, no. We were just…walking by.”

He let loose with a hearty laugh. “That’s what they all say.” He hustled us inside and casually blocked the door, making a quick escape difficult. Trapped in the foyer, the music’s beat vibrated in my skull. I’d never been this close to the mark, and we only had until the music stopped for good to get any low down on Dwayne.

Before I could throw a plan together, the music abruptly ended. Then, “Well if it ain’t Miss $17.95.” It was Ed, the lean-and-mean security guard, without his uniform.

E
d sidled up to me and chuckled. “Didn’t take you for a salsa dancer.” He leaned in and his stale-cigarette breath made my nose curl. Spotting my camera, his mouth twisted. “Or are you working a case?” He tilted his chin in Michael’s direction. “You’re her brother. Constance’s, I mean.”

The man who’d rushed us in interjected. “Well since you seem to know each other, we’re all set.” He bustled toward an office in the back.

Michael recovered quicker than me and stuck out his hand to shake Ed’s. “Michael Adler. We’re just here to dance.” Although they shook hands, they reminded me of boxers before their match, each eyeing the other for weaknesses. Ed didn’t believe Michael, and Michael didn’t trust anyone from Triton.

I spotted Dwayne out of the corner of my eye, standing next to a girl who looked familiar. I didn’t want to investigate him now. My frightened psyche sought only to slink back to the car and stuff my face with the veal. I squelched that impulse and addressed Ed, “If you don’t mind, we’d like to talk to the instructor.”

Ed smirked. “You’re looking at him.” He bowed low.

My face must have resembled one of those Edvard Munch’s portraits of screaming people because Ed followed up with, “Do it part time. With Mallorie.” He waved to the overly made-up young woman next to Dwayne. “Hey Mal, come on over.”

He whispered to me, “Lose the camera.”

This was beyond awful. Next Dwayne would tell me he’d been waiting for me. I slipped the camera into my pocket and hoped no one would notice the bulge. When Mallorie sashayed over, I realized why she looked familiar. She had worked for Constance, her final hire.