Murder and Mozzarella

by Carole Fowkes

  “What’s up, kiddo? Don’t tell me we already have a client?”

  “Better than that. We have two. Well, sort of.” I explained the situation to him and what I needed from him.

  “Helluva doozy for a first case. I think you’re right. I’ll dig up everything I can about Parker. If he’s a sleazebag like stepmom thinks, people I know will know about him.”

  “Great. Get back to me as soon as you can.”

  “Will do.”

  When I got off the phone, I looked around for Charlie, who was already asleep in the kitchen. That left me free to pursue my goal, learning all I could about John Vanderson.

  An hour later, I stretched out and rolled my shoulders back, feeling like I had enough information on J. T. Vanderson to make my decision as to which assignment to accept. It wasn’t his. John Thomas Vanderson may weald a lot of power, but I wouldn’t trust him to walk Charlie.

  His childhood sounded like something out of a Charles Dickens novel. An only child, he’d been left an orphan, a very wealthy orphan who was raised by a maiden aunt. Private schools and later, Harvard for a business degree. Established and, for a time, ran a venture capital firm that had connections to a number of less-than-savory characters. Left that business, went to law school and currently headed an international real estate investment firm. Married twice. Multiple accusations of infidelity. First wife divorced him for ‘mental cruelty’ and he got custody of Parker. No scandals of any sort since his second marriage.

  I’m sure he’d like to keep it that way.

  Hearing the soft footfalls of my dog, I looked away from the computer screen and shook my head. I’d forgotten to latch Charlie’s crate. He’d gotten out and into the pizza box that was in the trash. Stringy cheese hung from his mouth, looking like white drool. Ugh!

  Hoping I was more irresistible than the pizza, I called him over. To my relief, he abandoned the stained and greasy box and scampered toward me. Standing up so I wouldn’t get tomato stains on me, I wiped his mouth. “Time to take you home, Charlie.”

  Afterwards, I planned to stop by Parker Vanderson’s apartment. Maybe I’d luck out and he’d be there just chatting with Trish. I chortled. No paycheck of mine was ever earned that easily.

  Chapter Three

  As soon as we got home, I took Charlie for a walk, all the while planning how I’d approach Parker, assuming I encountered him at home. That plan went out the window when Ed called.

  “Been asking around about Parker Vanderson.” He paused. “According to his former college roommate, that’s one messed up rich kid. This guy says Parker used to get drunk and pick fights with the biggest guy in the place. Needless to say, he was a frequent visitor to the Emergency Room. Also went through a number of girlfriends. The endings were never pleasant. Some accused him of stealing money from them. Doesn’t make sense. Daddy is worth millions and he’s ripping off his minimum wage girlfriends.”

  “Sounds like a real charmer. Anything recent? Friends? Hangouts?”

  “I’m on my way to meet with our boy wonder’s latest landlord, who lives off premises.”

  “I was planning to stop at Parker’s apartment on the off chance he’s there. Call me after you finish and we’ll meet up outside his place.”

  “Aye-aye, Captain.”

  ***

  Parker’s apartment was a near west side Cleveland version of mine. Okay, his had a fancy awning and murals on the wall instead of a tired old corkboard near the mailboxes. Oh, and his place had a security guard.

  I signed in. “I’m here to see Parker Vanderson.” As the sign on the wall requested, I showed him my driver’s license.

  The burly guard looked at my signature. “Don’t forget to sign out when you leave.” He buzzed me through.

  Parker’s apartment was on the third floor, the furthest from the elevator. I knocked on his door, but there was no answer. No surprise there. Just for curiosity’s sake, I tried the knob. It turned, but I couldn’t open the door. Something was blocking it.

  After scanning the hallway to make sure nobody was around, I placed my shoulder against the door and heaved. It budged an inch. Had the guy barricaded himself inside?

  I took a chance. “Parker, I’m Claire DeNardo. Just here to make sure you’re okay. Can you open the door?”

  Again, no answer. I pulled my gun out and put my whole right side against the door, pushing with all my 107 pounds of strength. The door slowly gave way and I was able to spot what was blocking the door.

  Parker’s dead body.

  Chapter Four

  I leaned against the wall and waited a moment for my heart to drop from my throat. Then I called 911 to report Parker’s death. Blessedly, it wasn’t long before I heard sirens and soon the EMT’s, along with two uniformed cops, appeared.

  The officers threw their combined weight against the door to force it open just enough to squeeze inside the apartment. By the time they’d secured the scene and made sure I wasn’t going anywhere, a detective with stunningly good-looks arrived and also slipped inside the apartment. Less than a minute later she returned to the hall to join me. At that point I was better able to observe the woman.

  Her thick mane of ebony-colored hair was tied back, giving the onlooker an unobstructed view of flawless skin. Although she wore a plain business suit, anyone could tell she had a figure other women would envy and men would want to…you know.

  She flashed her badge. “I’m Detective Tilka. Officer Brown tells me you’re the one who found the body?” I nodded. “I’ll need your full name.”

  A weary male voice interrupted. “It’s Claire DeNardo.” I spun around and was face-to-face with my fiancé, Detective Corrigan. He cleared his throat. “I’ll take over the questioning, Abby.”

  Detective Tilka, or Abby, her face unreadable, murmured something about talking to the apartment’s security guard.

  Corrigan grabbed me by the elbow and hauled me down the hall, past the hearing of others. The scowl on his face told me exactly how he felt seeing me at Parker’s apartment. Under his breath he muttered, “Why is it so many people who hire you end up dead? Maybe you should be in the funeral business.”

  I shook my arm free. “For your information, he wasn’t my client. His stepmother was. She hired me to look for him, and like a good PI, I found him. He just happened to be dead.”

  He harrumphed but didn’t respond. Instead he pulled out his notepad. “Let’s start with the name and address of the victim’s mother. We’ll go from there.”

  It was easy supplying Corrigan with her contact information. The whys of the case were a different story. I’d given my word and my conscience wouldn’t let me betray that. At least not until I figured out how much I could say without anyone getting hurt or blowing my case. I skirted around Trish’s disappearance, telling him only that Parker hadn’t responded to any texts, emails, or calls from his stepmother, thus her concern.

  Seemingly satisfied with my abbreviated explanation, he moved on. “So what happened when you arrived here?”

  He took my statement and we wrapped it up just as Parker’s body was being taken away. Corrigan excused himself and disappeared to confer with the medical examiner.

  When he returned I decided it was my turn to ask questions about the murder. But first, there was something I had to know. “So is Abby your new partner?” I silently congratulated myself on keeping my voice neutral.

  The vein in Corrigan’s temple danced. “Yeah.”

  That was it. He made no effort to explain further, so I continued. “What happened to John Shaw, your old partner?”

  “Retired.”

  If all I was going to get were one word answers, I needed to rephrase my questions. “What’s it like working with her?”

  He shrugged. “Okay.” He switched the subject faster than a man switches TV channels. “You know that since you’ve found your client’s son, your part in this investigation is finished.” He said this as a statement, not a question.

  My jaw dropp
ed but I closed my mouth quickly. I hated to look like a Neanderthal when Corrigan was constantly being reminded a la Abby, what gorgeous really looks like. “My part is finished? After all the crimes I’ve solved you’re just…dismissing me? No, if my client wants me involved, I’ll stay involved and maybe even find the killer.” Realizing how childish I sounded, I stopped short of sticking my tongue out and saying, “So there.”

  “I never could get you to see it my way. But I wish you’d just be handling lost pet cases.”

  “I can handle myself.”

  “Yeah? Well, the M.E. is estimating the victim has only been dead a few hours. Had you arrived here any earlier,” a pained look crossed his face. “You might have been victim number two.”

  I had to admit, that scenario made me feel as if I walked into a freezer naked. “But I didn’t, so I wasn’t.” I silently thanked God for that.

  “I don’t have time to argue with you now.” Then, as if giving himself time to calm down, he made a show of closing his notepad. Once it was in his pocket, he gave me a twisted smile. “We’re done here, but as they always say, don’t leave town.”

  Batting my eyelashes at him, I responded, “With you here, never.”

  Any flirtatiousness existing in that moment was spoiled when Abby approached. “Security guard swears nobody’s been here to see the victim except,” she nodded toward me, “this witness.”

  I stood as tall as 5’2” can stand. “Claire, Claire DeNardo. Remember? Also known as Detective Corrigan’s fiancée.”

  She glanced over to Corrigan and pressed her lips together tightly. “Congratulations. Both of you.” She took a breath. “Anyway, the sign-in book corroborates the guard’s story. He says, though, if he’s doing rounds, somebody could come in and not sign the book. But there’s a camera in the lobby. We can take a look and see if there’s anything of interest on it.”

  I raised my index finger. “Speaking of interest, how do you like working with Br—”

  Corrigan cut me off. “Do we know if any neighbors heard or saw anything suspicious?”

  Detective Tilka’s nicely-shaped eyebrows rose in a question, but she left it. “Officers Clark and Davis are on it.”

  Corrigan buttoned his coat against the cold November wind. “Hate this part, but we should notify the family right away. Before they hear it on the news.” Still ignoring me, he addressed his partner. “Meet you at the car. I’ll be there in a second, okay?”

  She gave a brief nod to him and then to me, pulled her collar up around her neck, and departed.

  The stress lines around his mouth dissolved. “We’re still on for dinner tonight, right?”

  “Right. At seven.”

  He lightly cupped my cheek with his hand. “I better get going.”

  I gave him my most adorable smile. “Yes, mustn’t keep the pretty lady waiting.”

  Corrigan growled softly and walked away, shaking his head.

  Suddenly feeling petty, I wished it was possible to erase those words. I promised myself not to even mention his partner during dinner.

  Anyway, I had other things to think about. Such as, once Corrigan notified her and her husband of Parker’s death, would Mrs. Vanderson want out of our contract? I wouldn’t blame her. She may want the cops to look for Trish. But until she did I was still on the case.

  Having been dismissed from the crime scene, I made my way through the growing throng of reporters toward my car. That’s when Ed called. “Hey, kiddo. Just heard about Parker Vanderson.”

  I twisted my mouth. “News travels fast.”

  “Yeah, his landlord and me were wrapping up our little talk about the victim when he got the lowdown. He heard that some lady found the body. Take it the lady was you.”

  “Did you have any doubts?” Sarcasm snuck into my words.

  He chuckled. “You okay?”

  Not that he could see me, but I brushed his question off with a wave of my hand. “Yes.” Then asked mine. “Did you learn anything about Parker from the landlord?”

  “Not much we didn’t already know. The kid’s old man got him the place and more often than not, the rent checks came from the senior Vanderson. Landlord owns that building and a few others. Met John V. a few years ago and agreed to lease the apartment to him. That’s all he could, or would, tell me.” He paused. “You think the missus will cancel with you once she finds out about her stepson? Turn it over to the cops?”

  “I don’t know. But until I hear otherwise, we continue the investigation. In fact, I’m on my way over to Trish Vanderson’s apartment to find out what I can about the girl. Maybe talk to the neighbors.” I wondered if Corrigan and his partner, Miss America, would be there too.

  It took me twenty minutes to get to Trish Vanderson’s apartment. Unlike her stepbrother, she lived on the east side. Chagrin Falls, to be exact. Her apartment building, with its fancy awning and columns looked pretty impressive. The same corporation that owned the high-rent buildings on Cleveland’s Gold Coast held this place, and it was a class act all the way. The place even had a doorman. Probably to keep out the riff-raff like me.

  Approaching the man standing there in his Victorian-style uniform, I tried to look haughty, hoping he hadn’t seen my car. “Excuse me.” I read his name tag. “Bob, I’m here to see Trish Vanderson.”

  He scowled at me as my dog’s hairs floated from my jacket.

  “Who did you say you were?”

  “A friend. Actually, a friend of Ms. Vanderson’s mother, Marlene Vanderson.”

  He harrumphed. “Is Ms. Vanderson expecting you?”

  I hadn’t realized this doorman was also a gatekeeper. “Mrs. Vanderson asked me to look in on her.”

  “Identification please.”

  I showed him my driver’s license. I also had a library card, but I didn’t think that would impress him. My PI license might have spooked the guy so I also kept that one to myself.

  He studied my picture and then handed the ID back to me. “Sorry, but she’s not here. Hasn’t been for the last few days.”

  “Then why did you ask——Are you sure?” I just had to get past him so I could talk to Trish’s neighbors, maybe even find a way to get inside the girl’s apartment.

  “Course I’m sure. It’s my business to know what goes on here.” Doubt shadowed his face for a brief instance. “But, hey, if you insist, I’ll ring her residence.” He picked up the receiver.

  Hmm. I lived in an apartment. Trish had a residence. “Thank you.”

  “Yes, Bob?” A young woman’s voice responded over the speaker phone.

  Bob’s face turned red. “A Ms. DeNardo here to see you. Says she’s a friend of Mrs. Vanderson.” He immediately turned off the speaker so I couldn’t hear Trish’s side of the conversation, but as soon as he hung up, he sheepishly held the front door open for me.

  Since who knew when I’d need this doorman’s assistance again, I stopped myself from commenting on his so-called omniscience. “Appreciate your help, Bob.”

  The apartment lobby was as grand as I’d expected, including the crystal chandeliers and the fancy artwork, which was probably worth more than my life.

  Trish’s apartment, aka residence, was on the top floor. Actually, it was the top floor. As soon as I got off the elevator, she greeted me with an exhausted and wary frown. “Ms. DeNardo? You’re a friend of my mother’s? Is she all right?”

  “She’s fine.” I showed her my PI license. “I’m a private investigator your mother hired to find you. She hasn’t been able to reach you and so she’s been worried.”

  Trish ran fine-boned fingers through her hair and tsk’d. “I love my mother, but she can be such a worrier. Collin, and I took a short trip to St. Tropez. We both needed to unwind. It was so last-minute, I didn’t tell anyone.” She sighed, “I’ll call my mother right now.”

  “Um. There’s something you need to know before you do that.”

  The tone of my voice made her freeze, phone in hand. “What? What is it?”

&nbs
p; No use stalling. “The police are probably talking to your mother and stepfather right now.” I took a deep breath. “Your stepbrother, Parker, is dead.”

  Trish let loose with a strangled cry. I stepped toward her to offer some support but halted when a young man bounded from inside Trish’s apartment and caught her in his arms.

  The tall, slender, fair-haired guy looked like he belonged in a Ralph Lauren commercial. Oblivious to anything but Trish, he cradled her head against his shoulder and murmured words of comfort.

  It took only a moment for Trish to collect herself. She delicately patted her eyes with model boy’s proffered handkerchief. In a wobbly voice, she quickly introduced me to Collin Slater.

  Addressing her boyfriend, she said, “My mother hired Ms. DeNardo to find me. Instead, she found that Parker is…is dead.” She held the hanky over her mouth to stifle a sob.

  Collin glared at me as if I’d been the one who killed Parker. “Why are you here instead of the police? Were you hoping to get the scoop before them? Solve the crime and gain the glory? Isn’t that how you people work?”

  “Collin, stop! Ms. DeNardo was right in telling me. I admit, it’s a shock. But it shouldn’t be. Parker always lived on the edge.” Trish pulled away from Collin’s protective arms. “When did it happen?”

  “A few hours before I found him, so probably sometime early this morning.”

  Trish turned even paler than she’d been and I worried she’d pass out. “My poor stepdad! Does he know yet? Is my mother with him? He shouldn’t be alone.” This girl seemed too tender-hearted to be a killer.

  Out of the side of his mouth, Collin murmured, “The old boy is probably prostrated with grief. That piece-of-crap, Parker, was the only thing he cared about. That and how he presented himself to the world.”

  “Collin, that’s not entirely fair.” Trish’s protest was half-hearted at best. She turned to me, once more composed. “Ms. DeNardo, thank you for coming here, but if you don’t mind, I’d like to go to my mother now.”