Murder and Mozzarella

by Carole Fowkes

  “You’re welcome.” I didn’t think it was necessary to mention Charlie had originally found it. My mind was on Corrigan’s partner. I couldn’t resist asking, “Did you talk to Abby?”

  “About what?” He sounded genuinely puzzled.

  “About us. She was not exactly friendly, but not mean, either. I thought maybe you—”

  “Asked her to talk nice to you because you’re my fiancé?” He blew out a deep breath. “Claire, she’s my partner. It stops there. In case you haven’t noticed, we have two high-profile murders to solve. Not much time to discuss our personal lives. So I don’t know why she’s acting the way she is, but it’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

  “I suppose…” Another call was coming in. A number I didn’t recognize. “This might be important. I’ll talk to you later, Brian. Love you.”

  There had to be more to Abby’s change in attitude. But I’d figure it out later. “DeNardo and Son. How can I help you?”

  A two-packs-of-cigarettes-a-day male voice asked, “This Claire? Used to work for Gino Francini?”

  A warning bell sounded in my head, making me want to deny my own identity. But then again, maybe this wasn’t one of Gino’s unemployed, deadbeat friends. “That’s me.”

  “Great. Name is Sam Bartola. I’m a buddy of Gino’s. He said to call you if I had a problem. And I got one. Mind if I drop in to your office today?” He lowered his voice. “This problem. It requires some kid gloves.”

  I closed my eyes, wishing I’d let the call go to voicemail. Too late now.

  Business was business, though. “Sure.” We settled on a four o’clock appointment, which gave me time to research Brandi.

  And what I found out about Brandi Carpenter was that she’d been Parker’s last girlfriend. She worked in Cleveland Heights at a bar called Night Shade, and I planned to look her up after my meeting with Sam.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Sam arrived right at his appointment time. Good sign. He stood about 5’7” and had a slight belly, but not a bad physique for a man who looked to be in his mid-sixties. His hair was slicked back, a mix of gray and black and except for a heavy six o’clock shadow, had no facial hair.

  “Mr. Bartola, I’m Claire.” Motioning to a nearby chair, I asked, “What can I do for you?”

  As he sat he flashed a grin, showing tobacco-stained teeth. “Gino didn’t tell me you were so pretty.”

  “Thank you. Now, tell me about the problem.” I mentally crossed my fingers, hoping it wasn’t something I had to take care of here and now.

  He scratched the back of his head, then began his story. “It’s about my salami.”

  I pulled back, wondering if that was a euphemism for some body part. If so, when the Vanderson case was finished, I’d go to Miami and personally kill Gino.

  Clearing my throat and fearing that I’d step even deeper into it, I asked, “Can you give me some details?”

  “See, every day I go meet some of my friends. Tuesdays and Saturdays we play dominoes. We’re all long-time compadres. You know? I bring a sangwich with me. Salami. Big slices.” He used his thumb and index finger to demonstrate the thickness. “One day I go into the refrigerator for my lunch. Sangwich is unwrapped. Bread is still there. But no salami. One of the guys is stealing my meat.” He softly slapped his forehead. “Marone! Ya see now why it’s so delicate. I don’t wanna accuse the wrong guy. Ya know, these are my pals. So I want to hire you to find out who’s taking my salami. And how he’s doing it. Alls you gotta do is pretend you’re my niece or something and figure it out. The guys won’t get mad if you’re the one to rat out the thief.”

  “Couldn’t you just keep the sandwich close to you until it’s time to eat?”

  “Nah. The guys would ask why. The thief would get suspicious, and I want to catch him red-handed. That’s where you come in.”

  “Well, I suppose I can help you with this—”

  “Excellent!” He pulled out a roll of five dollar bills, licked his thumb and started peeling the bills off. “You take cash?”

  “First, we’ll agree to a price. Then you sign a contract and pay half up front. The rest is due once the case is closed.”

  With a brief nod he picked up a pen that was lying on my desk. “Okay. How about…fifty now and another fifty bucks later?”

  I coughed to cover my surprise. That amount wouldn’t cover my mileage and time. I softened. How hard could this job be? Plus, from Sam’s clothes, it didn’t look like he had a load of money to spare.

  “Sure. That’ll work.”

  Before he signed the contract, I explained that, since it was already Thursday, I wouldn’t be able to start the job until next Tuesday.

  He shrugged. “Hey, if I know you’ll get the guy next week, I’m okay.” He scribbled his name at the bottom of the agreement and was soon on his way.

  That left me alone with the task of reaching out to Brandi. With some luck, she’d be working the evening shift at Night Shade.

  It was already dark outside and the bar’s dimly lit sign made it difficult to find. Inside the place was even darker. Maybe that was the point. With its leather booths in secluded nooks, it resembled a movie set where a man would rendezvous with someone who wasn’t his wife.

  I had to walk right up to the bar to see who was working behind it. The bartender was scrawny rather than fashionably thin. She had blonde hair bleached so badly it looked ready to break off. Although her stomach and rear were flat, had she been a bit shorter, she could have used her enormous breasts to wipe down the counter.

  I cleared my throat loudly and addressed the bartender and the two men hunched over their drinks. “Excuse me. I’m looking for Brandi Carpenter.”

  One of the men tilted his head toward the woman behind the bar.

  She spoke up. “That’s me. If you’re a reporter or a cop, I got nothing to say.”

  I smiled. “I’m neither. My name is Claire DeNardo. I work for Parker’s family.” It was close enough to the truth.

  She hissed, “Like I told the cops, the last time I saw Parker was a week before he died. That’s it. End of story.” She poured two scotches and handed them off to a tall, fortyish-looking waiter. “Booth three, Bill.”

  It was clear she wasn’t going to talk to me, but maybe for a tip, Bill could tell me something.

  I sat in the smallest of the booths and waved the waiter down.

  “What can I get you, Miss?”

  From the corner of my eye, I could see Brandi, arms folded, watching me. “How about a chocolate martini?”

  Bill fought the smirk that was threatening to spread across his face. “We don’t have that.”

  “How about a Diet Coke?”

  As he shuffled away he mumbled, “Coulda had that at McDonalds.”

  When he brought it back, along with my check, I laid down my only twenty dollar bill along with a note asking to talk to him about Brandi.

  He leaned over to pick up my twenty and whispered, “Parking lot. Fifteen minutes.”

  My soda tasted like syrup poured over ice, and I finally gave up on it after ten minutes. Heading out the door, I knew this was a big gamble, not only hoping the waiter would show but that he’d know something. If he had other ideas, my gun was my courage. I just hoped it wouldn’t be necessary.

  Bill sauntered out right on time. He motioned for me to move to the side of the building. Hand on my gun, I followed him. He stopped and lit a cigarette, offering one to me.

  “No thanks. Don’t smoke. I do have some questions about Brandi, though. Maybe you have some answers?”

  He turned his head and exhaled the cigarette smoke from the corner of his mouth. “Depends on what it is. If it’s about that loser, Parker, I know some things.”

  The smell of the cigarette assaulted my nose. “Could you tell me?”

  “It’ll cost you.”

  “How much?” I squeaked.

  “What’dya got?”

  I opened my purse, dug out two quarters and a penny, and h
anded them to the guy. “I already gave you my only twenty. That was it.”

  I thought he was going to throw the change back at me. Instead, he laughed ill-humoredly. “Hell, why not? Brandi don’t know a good guy when he’s staring her in the face.” He cleared his throat. “Parker, that bastard, used to come in here a couple times a week and sweet-talk Brandi out of money. One day she tells him she seen his father with his hands all over some hottie who wasn’t his wife. Parker loses it for a minute, then gets calm. The guy was a psycho, I swear.”

  Bill put out his cigarette. “Anyway, he convinces Brandi to take pictures if his father comes in again. I tried to talk Brandi out of doing it, but she wouldn’t listen. Then sure enough, the guy and his babe come in. She even got a picture of the babe with another guy. After Parker gets the pictures, he stops coming around.”

  The waiter looks triumphant. “Turns out I was right. Brandi shouldn’t have done it.”

  I was about to ask him if the cops had the pictures when a tank-sized guy came around the corner. “Bill, get your ass back inside. Customers are waiting.”

  It took no time at all before Bill disappeared through the door of Night Shade.

  The bouncer eyed me, not in a pleasant way. “You keep away from Brandi and that piece of scum waiter.” Without waiting for my response, which would’ve probably been a mousy ‘okay’, he followed Bill into the building.

  Too late, I found my voice. “Wait!” By that time it was only me and the smoldering cigarette. I needed to see those photos, but it was obvious Brandi wasn’t about to show them to me. I didn’t have any more money to persuade her to turn them over. But I knew someone who could get them. Corrigan. Just as I pulled my phone out to let him know, a call was coming in. Ranger Sutton.

  Curious as to what the guy wanted, I answered. “Hello, Ranger Sutton.”

  “Please. Call me Roger.”

  Ranger Roger. Poor guy. “Okay, Roger. What can I do for you?”

  “Meet me for coffee.” Before I could get a syllable of protest out, he continued, “I found something you might be interested in.”

  I was about to explain that if it had to do with Collin’s death, he should take it to Corrigan. But quickly I realized if he did, I’d never see what was in Roger’s possession. “I’m a tea drinker myself.”

  My conscience didn’t even have a chance to ping me before he said, “I’ve already taken it to the police, so we’re not doing anything to interfere with the case. I just figured the cops wouldn’t be letting you in on the information.”

  The needle on my Catholic guilt-o-meter went down to zero. Besides, I still had his gloves. “Okay, where and when?”

  “Have you had dinner yet?”

  “No, but I thought this was just going to be coffee and tea?”

  “If we’re both hungry doesn’t it make sense for us to consume food along with our coffee and tea?”

  Chewing on my lower lip, I agreed. Then I imagined Corrigan chewing me out for doing this. But I certainly needed a break on the Parker case. Opting for a casual, open place, I suggested Allissa’s. Besides, their food was delicious.

  Rush hour was over so it’d only take me about twenty minutes to get there. I took a backward glance at Night Shade, promising myself that I’d call Corrigan about the photos as soon as I finished with the Ranger.

  Maybe I should have called him on my way to Allissa’s, but fearful I’d spill the beans about my dinner companion, I decided to wait.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Ranger Roger looked even better in civilian clothes. With his chiseled jaw and all-around good looks, only a blind woman wouldn’t do a double-take. The tautness of his muscles in that tailored shirt even gave me ideas. In fact, the man’s physique could set off most women’s lusty impulses. Including Brandi’s? Maybe I could get him to seduce her for the photos…

  The wheels in my head started spinning so hard smoke could have blown from my ears.

  Before going off with any wild ideas, I had to think it through. After I found out what he had offered to tell me if I’d meet him for dinner. A glance down at my purse reminded me I still had his gloves. Pulling them out, I extended my hand. “Before I forget again, here. Thanks for letting me use them.”

  He nodded and his hand overlapped mine as he took hold of the gloves. Just then, I glanced over and there at the entranceway was none other than Abby and Corrigan. Corrigan, in cop fashion, was casually scanning the dining area while Abby was checking out the dessert counter. His glance morphed into a glare when he spotted Roger and me sitting together.

  I abruptly slid my hand from under Roger’s and froze. Roger, sensing something wrong, instantly looked over his shoulder. In a flash, Corrigan was heading over to our table.

  Since I didn’t have a cloak of invisibility, I went full steam ahead and waved to him. Abby shadowed Corrigan and somehow managed to make it to our table the same time as her partner. She was the first to speak. “Well, well. This is a pleasant surprise. Claire and the Ranger. Sounds like the name of a romance novel.”

  “I was just returning Roger’s gloves.” I bit my tongue for making things worse.

  The waitress chose that unfortunate moment to ask us if we had any questions about the menu.

  Corrigan pulled out one of the two empty chairs at our table and pointed to my menu. “Yes, can we get two more of those?”

  I’d lost my appetite, but two could play at this game. “By all means, join us.”

  Roger shrugged. “I’m not sure you—”

  Ignoring my dinner companion, my fiancé turned his attention to me. “So, tell me. How did you end up with Ranger Sutton’s gloves?”

  Determined not to be caught in Corrigan’s blue-eyed stare, I raised the oversized bill of fare and mumbled my explanation into the list of entrees. My strategy might have worked except for Abby, who appeared to be the only one enjoying herself.

  She gently pushed down on my arms and teased, “Claire, we can’t hear you if you’re going to bury your face.”

  Roger spoke up. “Claire’s only having dinner with me because I told her I had some information about the murder investigation.” His intentions were good, but he wasn’t making this any better.

  Desperate to turn this situation around, I began, “We ran into each other when I went back to the park, because I’d been walking Charlie there and he, Charlie, lost something. It was cold so, Roger lent me a pair of gloves and I was just returning them.”

  Abby asked, “Who’s Charlie?” When I explained my pet’s role in all this, she smirked, “So, it was your dog who found the evidence.”

  Corrigan held up his hand. If he’d had a whistle, I’m sure he would’ve used it. “The shoe wasn’t really dropped where you claimed it was? Charlie picked it up somewhere else and you just guessed where?”

  Nice Abby was gone and her evil twin was back with a vengeance. “Maybe we should question the dog.”

  Corrigan’s eyebrows shot up. “Claire, do you realize you and/or your dog may have contaminated evidence?”

  Although I was quite ready to explain, Roger slid his chair closer to mine and came to my defense. “She didn’t know anything about the shoe until I told her earlier today.”

  The waitress returned with two more menus, but Corrigan waved her away with a short jerk of his hand. His next words came through gritted teeth. “Okay, Claire, so once you knew, why didn’t you give Abby the whole story?”

  I closed my eyes, telling myself to take the high road and leave sarcasm behind. “You’re right. I should have done a better job of explaining how I came to find the shoe and that I ‘estimated’ its original location. But you have the shoe, you have my best guess as to where Charlie found the thing, so what difference does it make?”

  “Tampering with evidence. Withholding the whole truth.” Abby pronounced each word with precision and something akin to glee.

  Without thinking, I responded, “Well, technically, Charlie tampered with the evidence.” From the side of my
mouth, I added, “But you can’t arrest him. Can you?” That probably wasn’t the best response, but I refused to allow her to put me on the defensive.

  Corrigan sat back in his chair, arms folded. “No, but he doesn’t know any better. You do. And you know if you hadn’t been snooping in the park, we may have found the shoe sooner. And, we may have learned the exact spot where Collin was killed.”

  Clenching my hands in my lap kept me from throwing my napkin at my dear fiancé. “Look, I was working on another case totally unrelated to Collin’s. I am allowed to do that, you know.” This wasn’t an argument I wanted to continue in front of an audience. “Brian, let’s go look at the desserts.” At least if he was going to pick me apart, I could gaze at something pleasant.

  At first it appeared as if he’d refuse, but he must have noted the just-this-side-of-telling-him-off tone of my voice, because he pushed back his chair. To Roger and Abby he said, “If you’ll excuse us.” Then added, “Come on, Claire, let’s go stare at the cakes.”

  As soon as we got to the counter I leaned into him and hissed, “If you value this relationship, you’ll only start a conversation like the one we’re having now, in private.” I allowed myself a moment to fume, then added, “I didn’t know the shoe was Collin’s until today, or I would’ve immediately grabbed it away from Charlie, backtracked to where he’d found the thing, and notified you right away.”

  Corrigan looked past me and toward the table where Roger and Abby remained, waiting. I could swear he growled under his breath.

  The light bulb went on, finally. “This isn’t about the shoe, is it? It’s about seeing me with Roger.” The only sign that perhaps I hit the target was the muscle in his jaw flexing. “Brian, I—”

  The girl behind the counter cleared her throat. “Can I get you something?”

  I longed to grab the chocolate cheesecake and make a run for it, but that was out of the question. For now. “No thanks. We’re just admiring the view.”

  Corrigan took my arm and, pulling me toward the restaurant’s entrance, away from the dessert case. “We’re charging Trish Vanderson with Collin Slater’s murder.”