Murder and Mozzarella

by Carole Fowkes

  Corrigan’s eyes traveled from my head to my feet. “Looking good.” He nuzzled my neck. “We should start with dessert.”

  My hormones liked the idea, but since I hadn’t eaten since the pizza at my office, my stomach disagreed. I gently pulled away. “Hmm. But good things come to those who wait.”

  He sighed. “Okay, let’s go.” He helped me on with my coat. “Just a warning, though. There may not be enough time to get to dessert, but I’m going to try like hell to make the time.”

  I gave him a sly smile. “I’m counting on you to do that.” I was also counting on pumping him over dinner for any information on the Vanderson case.

  Our conversation in the car was light and pleasant and it continued through ordering our drinks, a chocolate martini for me and coffee for Corrigan. He explained, “I’m still on the job.”

  To hide my disappointment at perhaps not having him all evening, I teased, “So that’s why you wanted dessert first.”

  His devilish grin told me how right I was.

  Unfortunately for both our appetites, his phone went off even before we placed our food order. Corrigan excused himself and with his phone to his ear, headed toward a quieter spot.

  When he returned, the look on his face told me there’d be no dinner.

  “Sorry, Claire. A witness came forward in the Vanderson case. I’ll take you home. Or you can stay and have dinner and a cab ride home on me.”

  First, I wondered if I could get my chocolate martini in a to-go cup. Then I wondered what his witness knew. “Dinner wouldn’t be fun without you.” While that was true, I’d also have more time to pump him for information if he drove me home.

  Corrigan motioned to the waiter for our check and while we waited, I dug. “So-o-o, what did this witness claim to see?”

  Drumming his fingers on the table as he waited for our server, Corrigan was lost in his own thoughts. “Huh?”

  “Your witness? What’s the scoop?” I played the guilt card. “Come on! You’re cancelling dinner. The better part of valor would at least be to give me a morsel.”

  He handed his credit card to the server and waited until the young man was out of earshot. “What the hell. You’ll know soon enough.” He leaned close enough to kiss me. “This witness claims he saw Trish Vanderson run out of her brother’s apartment around the time of the victim’s death.”

  My chocolate martini forgotten, I focused on the implications of the witness’s statement. Mrs. Vanderson would no doubt want me to step up my investigation to solve Parker’s murder. With some effort, I thrust the thought of Trish being the real killer from my mind. No benefit to thinking that way.

  “Are you ready to go?” Corrigan put his credit card back in his wallet and pushed back his chair. As he was helping me on with my coat, I could smell his spicy cologne. I smiled seductively and whispered, “I bet you really want to let me in on what killed Parker.”

  He harrumphed, “Don’t tell me. You’ve been hired to find the killer so Trish Vanderson doesn’t get sent away for murdering her stepbrother.”

  My hesitation must have tipped him off. “I knew it.” He looked at me and shook his head. “You’re backing the wrong horse, Claire.”

  I stuck my chin out. “She’s innocent.”

  “Yeah, and so was Lizzie Borden.”

  “It was never proven—”

  He held the restaurant door open for me. “Okay. But once we find the murder weapon—the one Ms. Vanderson used—we’ll have an open-and-shut case.”

  My ears perked up the way Charlie’s do when he hears the refrigerator door open. I forced myself not to rise to his comment about Trish. Instead I asked, “So what was the weapon?”

  He didn’t respond until we were both seated in his car. “That isn’t clear yet.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means we’ll know more once we have the autopsy results.” From the touch of frustration in his voice, it wasn’t worthwhile to press him.

  The rest of the way home, my thoughts bounced between finding a way to prove Trish’s innocence while pushing away any concern that perhaps my instincts on her were wrong and she was capable of murder.

  Corrigan walked me to my door but seemed lost in his own thoughts, giving me only a short kiss. “Sorry again about dinner. I owe you.”

  I managed a knowing smile. “And I plan on collecting in full.”

  Once he was gone, I absentmindedly played a bit with Charlie, trying to formulate a plan. Nothing came up and I realized it was probably because my brain was working on zero energy. I’d had nothing to eat since the pizza at my grand opening. The two containers of yogurt and the slightly shriveled apple in my refrigerator didn’t exactly appeal. Nor did scrounging in my freezer. Instead, I speed-dialed my favorite Chinese restaurant for an order of General Tso’s chicken.

  While waiting for its delivery, I called Ed to update him on the day’s events. Maybe by talking it over, inspiration would strike.

  “Hey, boss. What’s shaking?”

  “For starters, please don’t call me ‘boss.’ I’m still just ‘Claire’ okay?”

  He chuckled. “Sure, but what does Charlie want me to call him?”

  I couldn’t help but grin at that. “I’ll ask him later.”

  Then, getting back to business, I gave Ed the rundown on the Vanderson case, including the situation with John Vanderson, ending with, “Now our job is to prove that Trish is innocent.”

  He released a deep breath. “Ya know I’m in, but are you sure we’re working for the right customer?”

  I bit the inside of my lip. “Absolutely sure.” With a wistfulness reserved for my aunt’s cream cheese, chocolate chip banana bread, I thought about how I was kissing John Vanderson’s handsome fee goodbye. Banishing the thought, I continued. “I need the name of the witness claiming to have seen Trish leaving Parker’s apartment.”

  “No problemo. I’m on it.” He hesitated. “If there’s nothing else, I gotta go. Lena’s waiting for me. We’re gonna skip the light fantastic.”

  “You’re what?”

  “Dancing. Ya know, boogying.”

  I glanced at the time and sighed. It was 9:00 on a Wednesday night. “Okay, you kids have a good time.”

  Calories be damned, I scarfed down the entire serving of General Tso’s chicken, with a bit of help from Charlie. Who knew he had such an international palate?

  Both of us sated, I dug into the information I’d found on Trish’s boyfriend, Collin Slater. Not that there was anything suspicious about him, but I had to start somewhere.

  Turned out, he wasn’t raised among the elite, as Trish had been. In fact, he was the only son of a mechanic and a librarian. No silver spoon in his mouth. Yet his education was strictly Ivy League and he’d made his money in the tech business. Semi-retired at the age of 25, seven years younger than me!

  Before I could delve any further into the Boy Wonder, though, my phone rang. Corrigan.

  “Hey Claire. Call it my conscience for skipping out on dinner, but I’m giving you a heads up. We’ve just arrested Trish Vanderson.”

  “Did you find more evidence?”

  “That’s all I can say. I’ve got to go.”

  “Wait.” But he’d already hung up.

  I stood and stretched, hoping to shake off my frustration. When that didn’t help, I headed out, the police station being my destination.

  The officer at the front desk informed me that Detective Corrigan wasn’t available, but Detective Tilka would see me. Oh, what a pleasure! “That’d be fine.”

  Abby met me at the front desk, still looking gorgeous. Her hair was no longer pulled back and her lipstick had worn off. Still, replace her suit, put a pair of wings on her and she could be a model for women’s sexy lingerie.

  “Can I help you, Claire?”

  “I’m here to find out what’s happening with Trish Vanderson.”

  She gave me the party line. “I’m not at liberty to go into details.”

  �
��Did you find the murder weapon?”

  She pursed her lips. “Yes. But that’s all I can say just yet.”

  This was like trying to swim through jello. I was getting nowhere. Best for me to wait and talk to Corrigan. I gave her a pained smile. “Thank you. You’ve been so helpful.”

  She gave me a curt nod and was about ready to leave when I stopped her with my next question. “Is it challenging working with Detective Corrigan?”

  A knowing look flashed across her face. “No, not at all. But then we go way back.”

  My heart kicked against my chest. “How far back and in what way?”

  “When I worked Vice, he and I had a ‘thing’.”

  The pounding in my breast stopped and I forgot everything else around me. “But now you’re just partners, right?”

  A flinty look appeared in her eyes for just a moment, and then she smiled coldly, “Of course. After all, he’s engaged to you. Now I need to get back to work.”

  Without waiting for me to respond, she walked away. Walked. More like her hips swayed the way a sailboat does on a gentle sea.

  I wanted to cram a whole pepperoni pizza into her perfect face.

  Muttering under my breath, I took my leave and had just walked outside the station when Mrs. Vanderson stepped in front of me. No doubt she was there to see her daughter.

  I took a deep breath. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Vanderson. My partner and I were trying to get information from the cops, but they’re stonewalling us. It’s vital I speak with your daughter’s lawyer as soon as possible.”

  She held her head high. “My daughter has the best criminal attorney in town. He’ll no doubt give you the information he has to reassure you of Trish’s innocence. I’ll have him contact you.” Her voice turned to steel. “While I’m aware that very little time has passed since this unfortunate incident, I want results. I want you to find the real killer. Sooner than later.”

  Unfortunate incident? A murdered stepson? “Yes, of course. I’ll…” I stopped. My client brushed past me as if I were a trash can and stepped into the police station. I rubbed the furrow between my brows, wishing to rub out the feeling of being less than adequate. Much less.

  I had taken one step in my car’s direction when I heard, “Claire DeNardo! Well, I’ll be wrapped in bacon and set to sizzle!”

  Bounding out of the station was a man I’d hoped never to encounter again. It was Harold Goldfarb, attorney-at-law, one of the most devious creatures I’ve ever come across. Despite looking too young to have a driver’s license with his curly red hair carefully parted on the side and nary a facial hair, I had learned during a previous case not to totally trust him. His homey expression of surprise at seeing me at the station didn’t fool me.

  My voice neutral, I returned the greeting. “Hello, Harold.”

  His button nose in his baby-face crinkled as he grinned at me. “Are you by any chance Mrs. Vanderson’s private investigator?”

  It was obvious he already knew the answer. I gave it to him anyway. “Yes, and, don’t tell me. You’re Trish’s attorney.” Was he the only lawyer in town? Or just the seediest?

  “As a matter of fact, I am. Ignoring my better judgment, I left my client and came out here because Mrs. V. requested a moment to talk with her daughter sans lawyer.”

  He must have noticed the smelling-rotted-meat look on my face because he put his hands up in supplication. “Come on, Claire. No sense in us being anything but friendly. We’re both here to help Trish.”

  It was obvious my investigation was going nowhere. I needed his help. Still, my next words fought against passing my lips. “You’re right. Now, what can you tell me about the case?”

  “First, there’s a witness who states he saw Trish leave the victim’s apartment at the time of death.” He waved as if that claim was merely an annoying bug. “But the potentially damning evidence is the murder weapon. The police say Trish’s prints are on it.”

  A punch in the stomach would’ve knocked less air out of me. “Were hers the only prints? By the way, what was the murder weapon?”

  “What allegedly killed Parker Vanderson was a blow to the head with a snow globe depicting Chicago. He was hit so hard the globe cracked and those glittery specs leaked out. According to the police, Trish’s prints are all over the base as well as the glass ball.”

  I felt as if I’d booked a one-way ticket on the Titanic. “Sounds to me like pretty damning evidence.”

  Even at this late hour there was a spark in Harold’s eyes, no doubt reflecting the furious spinning of his brain. “No evidence is irrefutable. She’s innocent.” He pointed his index finger into the air. “And we’ll prove it.”

  I didn’t miss the ‘we’ in his grandstanding. I’d sooner choke down pickled fish heads than work with Harold again. But knowing my choices were limited to none, I smiled sweetly. “I agree. Now if you’ll let me in on anything else you know about the case the cops have, I can—”

  Corrigan stepped out through the station door. “Work your magic?”

  I didn’t want to argue with Corrigan in front of Harold, so I closed my mouth.

  The detective’s face was half hidden in the shadows, and I was unable to make out his expression. He continued, “Ms. Vanderson’s arraignment will be tomorrow morning at nine.” Presumably he was addressing Harold.

  Harold grinned. “Thank you, Detective.” He tipped an imaginary hat to me. “Excuse me, Claire. I must return to my client and her mother.” He disappeared into the building.

  Corrigan watched the bony, shrimp-sized man leave and stepped toward me. “Why don’t you go home, Claire? It’s late.”

  Maybe I was more tired than I thought because, although his tone was gentle, it did nothing to assuage my emotions of betrayal. Suddenly, all thoughts bubbled up in me and I was ready to pounce on my fiancé and rip the truth from him about his past and current relationship with Abby.

  A cold wind blew right through me and I used it to chill my fury. I told myself I was a professional and would, at least outside the police station, act that way. “One question first.” I swallowed hard, struggling to keep my very unprofessional thoughts out of my mouth. “Where was the weapon found?”

  The look of relief on his face told me he knew Abby had spilled the truth about the two of them to me. He seemed almost happy I was asking about the case. “It was in the trash at Ms. Vanderson’s apartment.”

  “Okay. Thanks. I’ll go now.” I tucked that bit of information into my brain and took a step to leave, but couldn’t do it. “Why didn’t you tell me you and Abby had a ‘thing?’

  His chest slumped. “Because it’s history.”

  I dug my nails into my palms. “So it didn’t matter? That’s what you’re saying?”

  He looked right at me. “Yeah.”

  “What about her, though? Is she still interested?”

  He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter.”

  As if it were a loose string on a sweater, I kept tugging on it. “How could you say that?”

  His eyes scanned the area. No doubt he didn’t want anyone to overhear our conversation. “Claire, please, can we talk about this later? I have to get back inside.”

  Another cold breeze, this one stronger than the previous one, made me shiver. “Okay. Sure. Whatever.”

  He gave me a peck on the cheek and into the station he went, leaving me alone with my worries and my thus-far unsolvable case.

  All the way home, whenever I’d put my mind to Trish’s arrest, it would return to Corrigan and Abby.

  Brian and Abby.

  I frowned. The names flowed so well together. By the time I arrived home, even Charlie’s wagging tail and doggy smiles couldn’t improve my mood.

  Sleep would be impossible so after a quick spin outside for Charlie, he and I settled on my sofa to watch a bit of television.

  Chapter Six

  As has been the case so many times since becoming a PI, I awoke in the morning to find myself still on the sofa with my dog sleeping c
lose by.

  I stretched and checked my messages half-expecting, half-hoping Corrigan had called. But no. Was he just avoiding an uncomfortable conversation about Abby? Jealousy stabbed me as I thought of him talking it over with that woman and maybe even finding consolation in her arms.

  With a fierce shake of my head, I knocked that idea from my mind.

  The television was still on and to keep my brain from returning to unwelcome thoughts, I raised the volume to hear the remainder of the newscast. With a furrowed brow to indicate her seriousness, a blonde reporter stated, “Trish Vanderson, accused of murdering her stepbrother, Parker Vanderson, is now out on bail.”

  I shouldn’t have been surprised, but I was. My client’s daughter had been released in only slightly more time than it takes Charlie to clean out his doggy dish.

  After a quick shower and even quicker dog outing, I called Mrs. Vanderson. I needed to speak with Trish again as soon as possible and didn’t believe after being released, she’d gone home. Too many reporters.

  Trish’s mother picked up her phone right away and it turned out I’d been correct. Trish was keeping as low a profile as possible. She’d refused to take refuge with her mother, instead choosing to stay with Collin.

  The boyfriend’s address in hand, I called Ed to see if he’d gotten anything on the witness. No answer, so I left a message.

  On my way to Collin’s place, I decided to swing by Cannoli’s to see if Ed happened to be there. And, if I’m being honest, it was also to pick up a chocolate cherry cupcake. Aunt Lena’s were the best.

  I didn’t see Ed’s car in the parking lot, but maybe he’d come in with my aunt. The aroma of cakes, cookies, cannoli’s and cupcakes lured me in, my mouth almost watering.

  Aunt Lena was in the kitchen, her apron covered in flour and dabs of pink frosting. “So you here to see me or Ed?”

  I kissed her flushed cheek. “I always want to see you, but if Ed’s here…”

  She harrumphed and then lifted her chin toward the door and presumably out to the counter. “He’s helping me load the pastry case. Go talk to him if you need to. Then come back here. I’ve got a customer for you.”