Murder and Mozzarella

by Carole Fowkes

  Bad enough the ranger had found me. Even worse was that we ran into Abby almost immediately. Before the ranger could even ask her about me, Abby placed her hands on her hips and hissed, “What is she doing here?”

  Enough was enough. I raised my chin and spoke in my most commanding voice, “The victim was my client’s—”

  She held up her hand. “Yeah, yeah. We know.” She looked at the ranger. “But she doesn’t belong here and she needs to go. Now.”

  The ranger holstered his gun and without my consent, protested for me. “Look, I brought her over here and if she’s who she claims to be, maybe she’s got something to add to your investigation.”

  “What do you mean if I am?” I glanced sideways at the brown-uniformed man. He was younger than I had previously thought, maybe 35. And better looking, with full lips, a strong jaw, and a straight, regal nose.

  Maybe if she wasn’t so hot for my fiancé, Abby would hit on that.

  As if for the first time, Abby looked at the ranger. Her voice was cooler than the breeze blowing through my cotton jacket. “She’s a PI. Is everyone satisfied now?” Without waiting for an answer, she took my arm as if we were sorority sisters. “Come on, Claire. To make sure you’re not in the way, I’ll walk you over to your car.”

  I pulled away from her. She was a spider whose web was so pretty you could forget her sting. “Thanks, but I’ll stick around and talk to Detective Corrigan.” Facing his anger would be better than being dismissed so easily by his perhaps-no-so-past love interest.

  She backed away from me as if I was on fire. “Of course. I’m sure he’ll be delighted to see you.”

  The crime scene wasn’t so spread out that Corrigan could miss me. I looked around. “Where is Detective Corrigan? He was here a minute ago.”

  “And I’m back now.” The annoyance in his voice hit me hard. “Claire, you shouldn’t be here.”

  That was it. No snarky comment. He was either really angry or really tired.

  The ranger, who’d been watching this scene unfold, spoke up. “Detective, it’s my doing. I insisted she enter the crime scene.”

  Corrigan’s eyebrow rose. “Aren’t you the one who found the body?”

  “Yes, I’m Ranger Sutton.”

  Flipping through his trusty notepad, Corrigan seemed to forget about me for a moment. “Wondered where you’d wandered off to. I know you’ve given your statement to Detective Tilka, but I’d like to ask you a few more questions.” He glanced up at me. “Alone.”

  I knew it’d be like pushing a boulder up a mountain if I insisted on staying. But because I wanted to question the ranger on my own, I dove in using what feminine charm I could muster. “Going back to my car alone in the dark isn’t a very good idea.” I poured on so much honey the ranger would surely stick to me. “Ranger Sutton, can you escort me? I’ll wait for you to finish here.”

  Perhaps I’d gone a bit too far. Corrigan motioned to a nearby uniformed cop. “Escort Ms. DeNardo back to her car and make sure she drives off.”

  Thus ended my visit to the crime scene and my opportunity to question Ranger Sutton. At least for the time being.

  Driving away from the park, my fantasy of solving the two murders, having Trish exonerated, and getting Abby dismissed from the police force somehow, was interrupted by my phone. I moaned upon seeing the caller. It was Mrs. Vanderson.

  Her imperious voice sounded on the edge of cracking. She gave me an address and then said, “Meet me there as quickly as you can.”

  I glanced at the time. “I can be there in twenty minutes.”

  Chapter Eleven

  When I arrived at the address my client had given me, mine was the only car around. The house was dark and looked deserted. Wondering if I’d gotten the street number wrong, I nonetheless left my car and walked up to the front door. First I made sure my gun was within easy reach.

  Before I could even ring the bell, Mrs. Vanderson cracked open the door. “You’re late.”

  Rather than argue over the two minutes, I slipped inside and found myself in a dimly lit foyer. “Is Trish here?”

  She turned and started down the long, dark hallway with me following behind. “I didn’t want to risk any reporter or other lowlife snooping around here.” We entered a room toward the back of the house and Mrs. Vanderson flicked on a light. The space held a massive mahogany desk and chair. On an overstuffed loveseat next to a credenza was Trish.

  I stifled a gasp at the way she looked. Slumped rather than sitting, her short hair was sticking up at odd angles. Her sweater hung from her shoulders and next to her pale face, her deep rose lipstick looked as if it’d been applied by a circus clown.

  After greeting her, I made my way over to the loveseat and sat. Trish glanced at me with glassy eyes, making me pretty sure she was still drugged.

  Mrs. Vanderson squatted by her Raggedy Ann-like daughter. In a voice tender enough to lull a butterfly she said, “Trish, honey, Claire’s here to help. You have to talk to her.”

  “Isn’t that right, Claire?” Mrs. Vanderson’s butter tone disappeared, replaced by the now familiar steeliness.

  I nodded. “Trish, first off, I’m very sorry for your loss.” I waited a moment then began the questioning. “Tell me everything you can from the time I left Collin’s house.”

  Trish stared at her hands. “A few minutes after, I heard Collin talking with my stepfather, trying, I suppose, to keep him away from me, but my merciless stepfather bulldozes everyone. The two came into the bedroom, Collin trailing behind that monster.” She glanced up at her mother. “Sorry. He is. And I think you know it.”

  She dropped her head and stared at her hands. “He said some terrible things to me, accusing me of killing Parker, of resenting my stepbrother.” She tsk’d. “I loved Parker, but he was a lying druggie. How could I be jealous of that?”

  With a resigned sigh, she added, “Anyway, he ended by saying he’d see me in jail for the rest of my life if it was the last thing he did.” She choked back a sob. “Then he stormed out of the bedroom and I guess out of the house. At least I heard the front door slam.”

  “What happened then?”

  Mrs. Vanderson perched on the edge of the desk wringing her hands as if they were dish rags.

  “Collin came back in the room and convinced me to take another pill. I was really upset, but it still worked pretty fast.” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hands. “When I woke up, my mother was in the bedroom, telling me Collin was dead.” Her voice broke and a sob escaped.

  Mrs. Vanderson moved quickly and had her daughter in a comforting embrace faster than I could repeat my condolences.

  Their mother-daughter hug touched the spot in my heart where my late mother rested, and I had to turn my head away to collect myself before I could continue. My own emotions back under control, I went on. “So Collin was alive when your stepfather left. Did he seem ill or injured?”

  Trish shook her head. “In the state I was in…”

  “Oh for heaven’s sake, my daughter was heavily medicated. She wouldn’t have noticed any difference.”

  “Mrs. Vanderson, I have to ask these questions. Except for the murderer, your daughter was most likely the last person to see Collin alive. The police will grill her with a lot more enthusiasm.”

  With a nod, Mrs. Vanderson broke away from her daughter to reach for her phone and punch in a number. “Hello, Harold.”

  I wondered how many more questions I’d be able to ask before their attorney arrived. “Trish, do you remember anything else after your stepfather left?”

  She drew her knees into her chest and hugged them. “I wish to God I did!”

  There was a knock at the door and my attention momentarily drifted. Mrs. Vanderson went to greet the visitor. It was Harold, Trish’s attorney.

  The man must have teleported here.

  “Thank you for coming so quickly, Harold.”

  For once, I was happy to see the lawyer. It was only a matter of time before the cops came
to question Trish. Already being charged with Parker’s murder, then being the last to see Collin alive yet remembering nothing, she’d need all the help she could get.

  While Harold spoke with Trish, Mrs. Vanderson escorted me into another room. The furrows between her brows deepened. “I realize my daughter’s situation looks precarious, but she’s innocent. A mother knows.”

  It was on the tip of my tongue to tell her Trish’s situation was no longer precarious, it was downright hopeless. But the desperate attempt to protect her child seemed to age the woman. The lines that formed parentheses around her mouth went deeper and while she’d had circles under her eyes, now they were as dark as the sky before a storm.

  Her desperation and motherly devotion gripped my soul so this was no longer just about my fee, but about love. As much as I joke about my family, they’re my heart and without them, it’d surely stop beating. Once again, my emotions threatened to roll over me. I took a moment to check them.

  Then, I realized I still had to tell Mrs. Vanderson about Parker’s claim since it would add to the case against Trish. Hesitantly, I spilled it. “I don’t know if Trish said anything, but before Parker died, he told her that Collin was having an affair with a woman named Jennifer Nelson.” I omitted the part about John, aka J.T.

  She exhaled slowly and stared over my shoulder at the wall. “Trish told me everything. That includes what Parker said about John.”

  A bolt of sympathy passed through me. This woman was drowning and I had to find her a lifeline. “I have a lead on the woman who was possibly involved with Collin as well as with Mr. Vanderson. I’m going to check that out right now.”

  Harold, who moved as silently as death, appeared in the room’s doorway. “An excellent idea, Claire.”

  He turned to Mrs. Vanderson. “Trish is resting now. I’ve coached her how to answer the police when they question her about her late fiancé. Nonetheless, please notify me the moment they arrive. Unfortunately, I’ve got to get back to a client unfairly facing extortion charges. Claire and I can leave you with your daughter.”

  I suppressed a grimace. Harold’s company only meant increased aggravation on my part. He had his hand on the door and was set to escort me out, but I wasn’t ready to leave just yet. “One more question first. Does your husband ever go by J.T.?”

  Her face tightened, and I didn’t expect an answer, but she surprised me. “I believe an old friend from his college days called him that. Mark Fenton. I don’t know the man well. In fact, we only met once.” One eyebrow rose. “Why?”

  I described what I’d heard while lurking outside Collin’s home.

  Her lips thinned. “I didn’t realize Collin and my husband had more than a formal acquaintance. John never seemed interested in Trish’s social life.”

  There had to be more to this story. “How did Trish meet Collin?”

  She shrugged, as if the subject annoyed her. “It was at a party. According to my daughter, she and Collin hit it off immediately. They had rather a whirlwind romance. Still, I was taken aback when she told me they’d gotten engaged to be married.” She must have read my thoughts, because she held her hand up to stop me. “You’ve asked Trish enough questions for now, especially about a colleague of John’s, whom she hardly knows. Trish is exhausted.”

  I relented for the time being and was already adding up the list of the people I needed to interview. Jennifer Nelson, Mark Fenton, and now the party thrower. The sooner I got to them, the faster I could find a way through this maze. I needed the third person’s name, though. “Do you know who threw the party?”

  Mrs. Vanderson closed her eyes for a moment, as if dredging up a memory. When she opened them, she responded with one word. “Mark.”

  At least that made one less person to have to question, since John’s college pal and the party thrower were one in the same. My mind spun. “You said you’d only met Mark once. But Trish knew him well enough to be invited to a party? Did your husband escort her?”

  “No. John was out of town, but insisted someone in the family attend. Obviously, Parker wasn’t the best person to represent us. I had a previous engagement, so it fell to Trish.”

  “Did your daughter give you any details about the evening she and Collin met?”

  She dismissed the question with a wave of her hand. “Just the usual claptrap. Their eyes met across the room, and so on.”

  “I see.” The typical love struck rendition of meeting the Right One. At least I didn’t turn my eyes toward the ceiling.

  Mrs. Vanderson seized my wrist. “Trish is innocent. Find the killer. I want them to pay for my daughter’s misery.”

  I pulled away from her grasp, ignoring the red marks on my skin. “I’ll do everything in my power to bring whoever’s guilty to justice.”

  “Bravo!” Harold lightly clapped his hands. “Your best efforts will certainly be needed.” He moved from the room’s entranceway to the loveseat. He bowed stiffly at the waist with his arm out and bent at the elbow. “Shall I escort you to your vehicle?”

  On the way to my car, Harold pumped me for information, and I returned the favor. He clearly got greater benefit from our conversation, since I learned nothing new.

  I called Ed as soon as I was back on the road.

  His voice was thick with sleep and he yawned through his response. “Hey kiddo. Yeah, I heard all about it. The fiancé’s murder made the late news.”

  I grimaced. That meant as soon as they could track her down, the cops would start the questioning. The reporters, no doubt, would be close behind. “Yeah, it won’t be long before the circus starts. Listen, Ed, I need you to track down a woman named Jennifer Nelson.” I provided him with all the particulars about her.

  After he agreed to the task, we ended the call. It was past two in the morning but all the questions like bumper cars, bounced around in my head. I decided to do some research at home before even contemplating bed.

  Charlie greeted me with a sleepy wag and a half-hearted attempt to go outside. When I picked up the leash, though, he refused, circled his bed and lay down again.

  Just as well. I opened my laptop and began my search for John Vanderson’s college friend, Mark Fenton. It wasn’t difficult to locate him among the university alumni. I found his current address, the name and address of the business he owned, and other personal information with minimal effort. Most likely getting in to see him would require more of a struggle.

  Sure I would be up to the challenge of interviewing Fenton after four or five hours of sleep, I called it a night. With a deep yawn, I climbed into bed.

  ***

  When I arrived at the office later that morning to pick up some papers, I was still groggy. Before I could head out, Ed stopped by with two luscious-looking cake squares oozing with raspberries and topped with chocolate frosting. Those beauties banished the cobwebs from my brain.

  He took a bite from his pastry and smiled. “Found Jennifer Nelson for you and she’s a looker.”

  He handed me a photo done like one of those professional glamour shots. No doubt about it. She was pretty. No, that wasn’t the correct word. She was one of those women whose sleek, sophisticated appearance put her more into the ‘beautiful’ category. High cheekbones, green cat-like eyes and a thick mane of carefully loose auburn hair completed her allure.

  Next, Ed gave me the facts about her. Aged twenty-six, she lived alone in a condo near downtown Cleveland and, interestingly enough she worked as a business analyst manager for Fenton Analytics.

  My mind made the probable connections while I tapped her photo against my palm. Was John Vanderson having an affair with his friend’s employee? What about Mark Fenton’s party? How did Trish’s fiancé fit into this messy equation?

  “Ed, what are you doing this morning?”

  “Awaiting your command.”

  I returned the smile. “How about the two of us visit Fenton Analytics?”

  The area around his eyes crinkled as he gave me a jaunty grin. “Always wanted to l
earn what those fancy words meant. Like, what the hell’s an analytic? You sure don’t eat it or smoke it.”

  I shook my head. “Come on, I’ll drive.”

  We almost made it out of my parking lot when Corrigan called. “DeNardo…”

  My neck stiffened as I prepared to get strongly chastised. Trying to head it off at the pass, I sweetly responded, “Hi, Brian. Love to talk, but I’m on my way to a meeting.”

  He huffed into the phone. “Yeah. And the meeting is with me. Thirty minutes from now, at Lake Coffee, on Detroit in Rocky River.”

  “But—”

  He interrupted. “No buts. This is serious, Claire.”

  Through gritted teeth, I agreed, then disconnected the call. Turning the car around, I explained, “Corrigan’s demanding a face-to-face with me at ten and it’s not to give me flowers. So, do you think you could snoop at Fenton Analytics alone?”

  He snorted, “Does a fox like chicken?”

  “Okay. We need to know the link between Mark Fenton, Jennifer, and Collin. Also, look into any possible tie-in with Parker Vanderson.”

  “Nobody’s secrets are safe.”

  “You get ‘em, Ed.” I pulled up alongside his car. “As soon as I’m through being raked over the coals by my fiancé, I’ll call. Maybe even join you.”

  He gave me a brief nod and exited my vehicle. I took my time driving to Lake Coffee. Only a fool rushes toward their execution.

  Chapter Twelve

  Though I was five minutes early, Corrigan was already waiting for me. I could tell by how tightly he gripped his coffee cup that this wasn’t going to be a romantic interlude.

  I chose my neutral, businesslike expression rather than a wide-eyed innocent face, but on reflection, maybe the latter would’ve worked better. “Good morning, Brian.”

  He grunted. “Want some tea?”

  “No thank you.” I sat up so straight the nuns at Incarnation would be proud.

  He set his coffee on the table hard enough for the liquid to slosh almost over the sides. “I told you not to follow me last night.”