Murder and Mozzarella

by Carole Fowkes

  Wiping the vestiges of filling from the corners of my mouth, I praised my aunt’s baking, thanked her, and, since it was already two-thirty, departed.

  Armed with the name of the witness, my plan was to locate and interview her. At least that’s what I thought I’d do. But in my world, plans usually go awry. Especially in this case. I was on my way to the home of Darcy Mills when Ed called.

  “Hey kiddo. There’s been a slight snag in the plan.”

  My grip on the steering wheel tightened. Significantly. “What is it?”

  “The guy who runs the cleaning company wants his partner to come along with us to do the actual cleaning.” He snorted. “But I think it’s really to make sure we don’t steal anything.”

  I didn’t like it, but felt backed in a corner. “Whatever. As long as he doesn’t get in the way. He can meet us there.”

  Ed sucked in a breath. “That’s the thing. The guy, name is Miguel, won’t do it unless he talks to us ahead of time.”

  “Oh, Dear Lord! You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “Sorry. I tried everything to get out of that, but neither guy’ll budge. Can you swing by The Clock Café in Avon Lake in about…thirty minutes?”

  Once I was sure a snarky comment wasn’t going to escape past my lips, I agreed. Thirty minutes. It would take me almost that amount of time to get there. In fact, this little side trip would cost at least an hour. That didn’t leave me enough time afterwards to visit Darcy, since she lived on the other side of town and I had to get home for Corrigan and dinner.

  Making a U-turn, I headed to the far southwest Cleveland suburb of Avon Lake. Why did this Miguel have to meet us before the job, anyway?

  I got my answer as soon as I met the guy. Short, with a barrel-chest and thin legs, he swaggered into the café as if calling all the shots was second-nature to him.

  After our introductions, he handed Ed and me shirts that were mustard and tan plaid with the Express Clean logo on them: Two elves, one with a broom and the other a dust pan. Cute. “You need to wear these so the security guard don’t get suspicious.”

  I held the shirt against me. “Yellow and beige aren’t exactly my colors.”

  Ed agreed. “Hell, these ain’t anybody’s colors.”

  Miguel looked bored. “Hey, just wear ‘em. And I’ll be keeping an eye on you two so’s you don’t do nothing to cause any problems.”

  Smiling sweetly while thinking of how I’d like to cause this guy some real problems, I said, “Except that we’re snooping, we won’t do anything wrong. Will we, Ed?”

  Ed made an ‘x’ across his chest. “Cross my heart and hope to die. Are we done now?”

  “One more thing. Neither of youse guys gets outta there without me making sure nothing leaves there that oughtn’t. Got it?”

  When we finally allowed Miguel to be king of the hill, we were able to adjourn our little meeting. If I pushed it, I’d have just enough time to make it home and make myself presentable to Corrigan. But it’d be close.

  Time wise, I wasn’t far from wrong. Traffic being what it was late afternoon, I’d barely brushed my teeth and applied some lipstick when Corrigan was knocking at my door.

  After a lingering hello kiss, he asked if I was hungry.

  Joking, I responded with, “Am I ever not hungry?” But after another kiss, my appetite turned to other things. That is, until Charlie managed to worm between us. Corrigan chuckled, budged Charlie from his cozy spot, and was ready to start again. Realizing how little time we had, I forced myself to tamp down the heat. “Umm, this is nice but you promised dinner.” I created a little distance between our bodies.

  His half-closed eyes popped open. “You’re right. Besides, you’ve got some explaining to do.” Despite his comment, he zoomed in for another deep kiss. At this rate we wouldn’t eat at all.

  In fact, it was already almost seven by the time we made it to the restaurant, giving me less than an hour to eat, dismiss Corrigan, and get over to Fenton’s office.

  Feigning concern over his schedule, I pointed to the hour on my phone. “Look at the time, Brian! We better order and eat fast so you can get back to work.”

  He gave me a look that told me the amorous detour we took was worth it. Waving the waitress over, we placed our orders. Then he began, “When were you going to tell me your client visited Jennifer Nelson this morning?”

  I opened my mouth to explain, but he stopped me. “Uh uh. We have a witness that puts her at the house, but you need to work with me, Claire.”

  Maybe I was tired or frustrated, but I snapped back, “Work with you? You and that…that Sports-Illustrated-Model who you claim means nothing to you? You two thwart me at every turn.”

  “Thwart you? And leave Abby out of this.” The tendons in his neck popped out. “Don’t forget, I’m the police. Here to protect you. But you make that close to impossible. I warned you that there’re powerful people in this case that can hurt you.”

  “What’s that got to do with me telling you what my client said?”

  “Everything and nothing.” He grabbed my hand. “Look, I just want to keep you from any harm.”

  “Then tell me what’s going on in the case. You keep saying there’re some untouchable people involved. Who? Mark Fenton? Why?”

  Like a lid on Tupperware, Corrigan shut tight. The discussion would have been interrupted anyway, since the waitress brought our food.

  As soon as she set everything down, Corrigan asked for the check, and we ate with silent speed.

  Needless to say, I made it home ten minutes before eight. By way of goodnight, Corrigan gave me a tepid kiss, mumbled that he’d see me soon, and trudged down the apartment hall. Every inch of me wanted to run after him and make it better. How could I, though? This case was tearing apart more than just the Vandersons. The sooner the killer was caught, the better for my relationship with my fiancé.

  Changing into my cleaning outfit, I pushed Corrigan and our relationship into the back of my head. With a bit of luck and expertise, tonight I could uncover the secrets behind this case and why Fenton was so untouchable.

  Chapter Eighteen

  By the time I arrived at the parking lot for Mark Fenton’s office, Ed and Miguel were leaning against the cleaning business’s van. Miguel was chain-smoking and chomping on a piece of gum. “You took your sweet time.”

  If this guy hadn’t been such a jerk, and I hadn’t already felt trounced upon, I’d have apologized. Instead, he got, “I’m here now. Let’s go.” Even the smell of cigarette smoke on Miguel added to my level of annoyance, and I wished we could ride in separate elevators.

  Carrying rubber gloves, I led the way out of the lift. Miguel, carrying a small vacuum, and Ed followed.

  The glass doors to the office entrance slid open with Miguel’s card key, and we filed into the reception area. Before venturing farther, I stuck my neck out to look around the corner and down to the end of the hallway where Fenton’s office was. A light coming from under his door had me whipping around and putting my index finger to my lips, wordlessly ordering the rest of my crew to keep silent. Their eyes followed my finger pointing to the light seeping from under Fenton’s door. Ed gave a brief nod, but Miguel took a step back toward the entrance, ready to bolt. Ed quickly latched on to the other man’s arm to prevent Miguel from doing anything rash.

  Good thing, because just then, we heard footsteps heading from the elevator towards us. Chances were good it was somebody who would recognize Ed or me and know we weren’t really the cleaning crew. With a quick nod Ed, still holding onto Miguel, sped down the hallway and disappeared into a small office closest to the reception area. I knew Ed meant for me to follow, but two is company and three’s a crowd.

  So, despite feeling at that moment as if my legs were made of string cheese, I was able to duck into a supply room diagonal from Ed’s hiding place.

  With the door to this glorified closet shut, it didn’t take long for the air to vanish. Risking my safety for a breath of oxygen, I f
inally cracked the door just wide enough to spy the back of a woman letting herself into Fenton’s office and closing the door behind her. I couldn’t be positive, but it looked like Darcy Mills, who had talked to the police at Jennifer Nelson’s house.

  Just as I was about to make a break from my supply closet prison, a loud noise, like books slamming down, came from the office where Ed and Miguel had fled. Sweat instantly pimpled my forehead. Backing up into the closet, I heard sets of footsteps dash past. In the second it took for me to exhale, they stopped.

  My mouth went dry. If Fenton went snooping and discovered me there, no matter the logo on my shirt, he’d have me arrested for trespassing. Even if it were possible to escape, I couldn’t leave Ed behind. But then, Mark Fenton had been in a meeting when Ed came here. Could Ed pass as a cleaning man?

  The answer came when I heard Ed in the hallway loudly explain to Fenton and his female visitor that, while dusting a cabinet, he’d knocked over a stack of notebooks, which in turn, broke some glass. My hand shaking, I cracked the closet door open once again, allowing me to hear Ed ask Mark to step into the small office to assess any damage. Fenton started to decline, but Ed’s voice turned more politely insistent, saying it was necessary for any insurance claims. To my amazement, Fenton agreed and they all disappeared into the small office.

  The hallway was now clear so, I seized my chance to do what I’d come here for. Creeping toward Fenton’s office, my brain screamed at my body to turn around and run away. But I told myself I’d survived in worse situations and that got me to Fenton’s door. It had been left ajar and I eased it open. Trusting Ed to keep Fenton occupied for some time, I rounded the massive desk. The soft hum of his computer beckoned me and I responded.

  The screen had gone blank, but with the press of one key, a table consisting of three columns appeared. The first one contained women’s names. Next were dollar amounts, and the last column was filled in with various initials. Knowing Fenton could be back any moment, I grabbed my phone from my pocket and took pictures of the screen. I could only hope my hands didn’t tremble so much that the photos would be unreadable.

  I had just snapped the second photo when I heard Fenton and Darcy talking and, from the sound of their voices, they were heading back to his office. Panicked, my eyes darted around the room like a rabbit cornered by a hunter. Under the desk? No. Behind the blinds? Gotta be kidding. Think.

  Just as the office door opened I crouched and stuffed myself between a file cabinet and a credenza. Immediately my body cried out for mercy.

  As soon as they were back in the office, Mark spoke up. “You know what you have to do.”

  Darcy purred, “Sure. But here, with the cleaning guys around?”

  There was a tinge of irritation in his voice. “Stop it, Darcy. Here it’s business.”

  She released an exaggerated sigh. I imagined she then pouted prettily. “But you know what they say about all work and no play.”

  At that point two more loud crashes came from somewhere down the hallway.

  “Oh, for God’s sake! What are those morons doing now? Come on. Meeting’s over.”

  After a moment, I peeked over the top of the credenza. The room was empty. Quickly unfolding myself, I made it to the office door, and scanned the hallway. Clear. I snuck back into the relative comfort and safety of the supply closet and wondered if I’d be spending the rest of the night there.

  A single pair of footsteps passed by and then I heard Fenton’s door shut firmly. So far, this evening felt like a French farce, with men and women slipping into various rooms, hoping to be undetected. Just like one of those, there’d even been a suggestion of sex. My only wish would be that, unlike in the farce, the actors wouldn’t be exposed.

  In the midst of plotting how I could escape, I heard a soft rap on my door. My heart’s pounding reached my ears. Then, in the softest of whispers I heard, “Claire, you in there?” I slowly opened the door to see Ed’s smiling face. With blood trickling from his lower lip.

  I pointed to my own lip as if to ask, “What happened to you?”

  He dabbed at the blood with the back of his hand and mouthed, “Later.”

  Together we hustled out of the reception area and finally outside the building.

  The cleaning business’s van was nowhere in sight. “Where’s Miguel?” I pointed to his split lip. “And explain that.”

  He dabbed his mouth again, this time with the tissue I handed him. “Miguel thought he could double cross us and make a buck. That weasel was gonna rat us out, so I had to persuade him not to.”

  “That was the second crash I heard?”

  Ed snorted. “Yeah, well, Miguel didn’t see it my way at first. But then I convinced him it was in everyone’s best interest for him to make like the wind and blow.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Doing my job. Maybe it was all for nothing, though. I didn’t find anything that would help the case.”

  I shrugged. “Got something, but I don’t know what it means.” I scanned the almost empty parking lot, wondering if Fenton or Miguel, or someone else was lurking about. “Meet me at my office and I’ll show you. Plus, we’ll hunt for any information out there that can help us figure out Darcy’s part in all this.”

  We made to the office in record time. It didn’t take long to download the pictures onto my office computer. As I feared, they were blurry, but we could still make out the words and most of the dollar figures. The hard part was figuring out what it meant and what Mark Fenton had to do with it all.

  Peering at my screen, I murmured, “My first guess is, he’s blackmailing whoever these initials stand for.”

  Ed scratched his head. “If he is, it’s because he managed to catch them in compromising positions.” He pointed to the list of women. “Get a load of this name! Blanche DuBois? Or this one. Becky Sharp! You gotta be kidding me. Jane Eyre?”

  “Names of fictional characters.” Twisting my mouth from side to side, I stared hard at the names, as if the letters would rearrange themselves into the answers. “Maybe the initials are their real names.”

  Before Ed could respond, his watch beeped. “Sorry, kiddo, but that means I’ve gotta hightail it outta here and get to my security job. Night shift.” He grimaced.

  “Oh, you mean you’re going to the job that actually pays you?” I gave him a wry smile.

  Grabbing his jacket he said, “Just you wait. It won’t be long before DeNardo and Son hit it big.”

  With a smile and a nod, I acted as if I believed him.

  After locking the door behind Ed, I took a seat at my computer, determined to figure out what that list meant. I couldn’t take it to Corrigan for help. At this point, he’d probably lock me up and tell me it was for my own good. No, this was my puzzle to solve.

  At least that was the last thought I remember because the next thing I knew, the vibration of my cell phone woke me. It was six in the morning.

  In a voice blurred from sleep, I answered with, “Claire here.”

  It was Harold. Apparently, the man never sleeps. “Mrs. Vanderson has been arrested for the murder of Jennifer Nelson.”

  That woke me up and I sat up in my chair. “Are you her lawyer too?”

  “Yes, I am. As such, there must be a better job of keeping me abreast of new information. Ergo, we need to confer in person ASAP.”

  Since I was still wearing that stupid Express Clean shirt, I bargained for time to change clothes. Nobody, even Harold, needed to know about my foray into Fenton’s office. I glanced at the time. “Give me an hour, and I can meet you—”

  He interrupted, “At Mountain Top Coffee. On W.150th. Goodbye.” He was gone before I could take a breath.

  “Damn, damn, double-damn!” I rubbed my face hard, thinking at that point, nothing worse could happen.

  ***

  After first taking Charlie outside, then brushing my teeth and changing clothes, I left my apartment to meet Harold. I only made it half-way to my car when a red Mercedes-Benz whose p
rice tag clearly made it out of place in my apartment parking lot pulled up.

  When I hesitated to draw near, the driver’s side window descended, revealing Harold. “Claire, it’s me.”

  “What happened to meeting at the coffee shop?”

  “As it turned out, people in the media followed me there, so I came here. Get in. We’re going for a ride.”

  The car’s motor practically purred, and I ran my hand over the soft leather seat. “This is a big step up from the car you drove first time we met. That one was…”

  He grinned and shrugged. “A junker? What can I say? A lot of people need a good defender.” His voice turned serious. “We both know Mrs. Vanderson didn’t kill Jennifer Nelson. Proving that will be hard, so I’m giving you a bit of information that could backfire on both of us. Handle this with care.”

  “I’m all ears.” But I wondered if I’d be all nerves after he told me whatever the news was.

  “Rumor has it that the late Ms. Nelson was—how to put it— in the trade? That would make John Vanderson a regular customer.”

  My eyes could’ve popped out of their sockets, like in cartoons. John Vanderson was getting slimier by the minute. “Wait. What? They weren’t lovers, I mean, in love?”

  He smirked. “Figuratively, the man is made of money. The only way Jennifer Nelson would have loved him is if he was actually made of the stuff.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “Ask me no secrets, I’ll tell you no lies.”

  I pressed my lips together, holding back my annoyance that he’d gone Rumpelstiltskin on me. “You told me this so that I could find out if she had another, um, client who didn’t like sharing. That’d definitely make your job defending Mrs. Vanderson a lot easier.”

  Chuckling, he pulled back into my parking lot. “I always knew you were more than just a pretty little thing. You’ve also got a good head on your shoulders.”

  “Thanks, I think.” I opened the car door. “And thanks for the information.”

  “Mrs. Vanderson will be out on bail, but I want her cleared of the charge. Don’t let any dust settle on you, Claire.”