Murder and Mozzarella

by Carole Fowkes

  There were a whole slew of motives to kill Parker. Except for his father, it didn’t seem like the guy had a friend in the world. He’d burned his bridges with his girlfriend, Brandi. My thoughts moved on to Collin. He’d been mixed up with Jennifer, but they’d also been longtime friends. Was John Vanderson Collin’s friend or rival? What part, if any, did Collin have in Fenton’s business and was he killed because of that? Solving these murders was like spinning a roulette wheel. Each time I spun I got a different answer.

  With one hour left before I had to head home, I concluded that by trying to solve all three murders, plus discover what Fenton was up to, had jumbled my mind. For the time being, I’d work only on the case for which Mrs. Vanderson hired me. Parker’s murder. That decision must have relaxed some of my synapses, because a sensible idea popped into my head.

  My first step was to retrieve the address of Jake, the doorman at Trish’s apartment. According to his statement, his shift began at seven in the evening, so with luck, he was still at home. Leaving my office immediately, I had just enough time to question him before dinner with Corrigan.

  Being a Saturday, traffic was light so, I made it to Jake’s place in twenty minutes. The guy was in his backyard taking out the trash.

  He spotted me getting out of my car. “Hey, you’re the lady who asked me about Ms. Vanderson. The private detective.”

  “Good memory, Jake. Can I ask you just a few more questions?”

  “Sure, but make it snappy. Gotta get ready for work.”

  “You told me you were coming from the bathroom when Trish Vanderson left.”

  “Yeah, what of it?”

  “Did you see anyone else leave or come back late that night?”

  He cleared his throat. “No. I told the cops that already. Saw Ms. Vanderson leave around five and come back around a quarter after six.”

  There was no delicate way to ask the next question, so I forged ahead. “How many times did you go to the bathroom that night?”

  He squinted at me. “Okay, maybe I went more than once. So sue me.”

  “How long were you in there when you went?”

  He hit his forehead with the palm of his hand. “Jesus! I didn’t use a stop watch!”

  “Somebody else could’ve come and gone while you were occupied, right?”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  “Thank you, Jake.”

  For the first time with this case, I felt as if there was some light in the tunnel. Maybe Trish wasn’t the only one to visit Parker, although why Collin would was unclear.

  Tomorrow I’d interview the witness who saw Trish leave her step-brother’s apartment. Maybe there was a crack there as well.

  But tonight, I was going to enjoy Corrigan’s company. Boy, was I going to enjoy it.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Corrigan’s timing was perfect and the man looked just as perfect. His dark-lashed blue eyes perhaps didn’t sparkle as brightly as I’ve seen, but the way they looked at me declared he was just as happy to see me as I him.

  That floating-on-air feeling lasted through dinner and, despite indulging in a not-so-light piece of dark chocolate cake filled with a rich chocolate ganache that resulted in my belly extending outward, the feeling didn’t stop when we got back to my apartment. We began with one kiss, which led to another, leading to the removal of at least our top layers of clothing.

  As seemed to be the case lately, his phone went off right at the good part. He excused himself and took the call in the kitchen, while I cooled down in the other room. Every second he was gone, my temper rose. That is, until I noticed his trusty notepad no longer in his pocket but on the stand, begging to be picked up and read.

  The conversation Corrigan was having on the phone continued and with each second, my will to resist his notes slipped away. I didn’t want to give into temptation, though. Our relationship was too valuable to me and, even though we butted heads over cases, at least we didn’t steal information from each other. No way did I want to set that precedent. Still, it was good his phone call ended when it did and he was on his way back to me. Idle hands are the devil’s playthings, and all that rot.

  “So where did we leave off?” The roguish smile on his face told me he remembered exactly where.

  Later, the combination of wine and a dinner of sautéed shrimp bathed in a wine-butter sauce over linguine, plus the extra work hours he’d been putting in took their toll and he dozed.

  It wasn’t long, though, before Corrigan’s phone went off for the second time this evening. I glanced at the number before nudging him and handing him his phone. It was Abby. Of course. And he had to leave. Of course.

  “Claire, I’m sorry, but I’ve got to get back. Please don’t pout.”

  Further justification for my anger. “I don’t pout.” An opportunity. “But if you’re feeling guilty about leaving me, I’ll forgive you if you give me Darcy Mills’s phone number.”

  One eyebrow rose. “So you could harass her?”

  I was all wide-eyed innocence. “Definitely not. But if you really don’t trust your fiancé to handle something with discretion, then go. I’ll see you when I see you.”

  “Love you.” He gave me a quick kiss.

  As soon as he was out the door, my phone went off. Harold was on the other end. “Forget the questions. My client refuses to talk to any reporter.”

  “Thanks for trying, but did you listen to my latest message? The guy was bluffing.”

  “It’s getting so you just can’t trust anyone.”

  After that, Harold tried picking my brain for any new developments in the case. When I assured him there was nothing we could prove, we ended the call. Too frustrated to sleep, I turned on the television. Thirsty, I went to the kitchen for some water. There on the counter was the scratchpad I often used to jot down any brilliant theories that came to me. Or grocery items. Corrigan, having left his notepad behind, must have written on my scratchpad because I could see the imprint of the numbers he’d written down. The man had a heavy hand and it wasn’t too difficult to decipher the numbers. I just needed to learn whose number it was.

  Glass of water and piece of paper in hand, I returned to the sofa. Charlie immediately whimpered, wanting to join me. Not exactly the cuddling partner I’d expected for the evening.

  ***

  Charlie’s doggy breath on my face woke me. While we got outside so he could do what he needed to, it began snowing, the wet, heavy stuff. I hunched over against the wind, hoping this wouldn’t be a November blizzard. Winters were long enough in Cleveland without there being an early start. With a final shiver, we headed back to the warmth of my apartment where I got ready for church.

  I’d like to say I hung on every word of the priest’s homily, but the truth was, I spent that time imagining whose number Corrigan had jotted down and wondering if that reporter would eventually come up with some real evidence so he could have the interview with Trish.

  As soon as the nine o’clock Mass was over, I called the number, keeping my fingers crossed that I’d interpreted his indentations on the paper correctly. It rang a number of times when finally a thick-with-sleep voice answered.

  Despite the slight slurring of words, I recognized the voice. It belonged to Darcy. “Ms. Mills, I work with Detectives Corrigan and Tilka.” Not so much a lie. We worked together. Just not very well.

  She dropped the drowsy tone and switched to angry. “God, you people…”

  Before she could hang up, I talked fast. “We have just a few more questions. Just before her murder, did—”

  “Damn it! I’ve been up all night. I need my sleep!”

  I decided to up the stakes. “We could do this at the police station.”

  Cursing under her breath, she said, “I gotta take the Rapid later, so if you wanna talk, meet me at the West 150th Rapid Transit station. Noon.”

  “That’ll work.” I needn’t have replied. She’d already hung up.

  Noon. That gave me enough time to swing by Park
er’s apartment building to see his friendly neighbor, Bradley, the guy who’d put Trish at Parker’s place the night of his murder. That was, if it wouldn’t be impossible to get past the security guard. No doubt after the murder he’d be on high alert.

  To my surprise, the man recognized me and had no problem allowing me to pass through to the elevator.

  If only my good fortune would hold and I’d find Bradley at home. I knocked on his door and my luck seemed to have held. He answered. It didn’t look as if he’d showered since the last time we’d talked. The same shirt, too. The odor of an illegal substance assaulted my nose.

  “Yeah? What do you want now?”

  Wondering if I could hold my breath so as not to get high on the polluted air, I asked, “Can I come in?”

  For a moment I was sure he’d refuse, but he swung the door open. “Make it quick.”

  I stepped inside and had to step over a cardboard container with Chinese lettering as well as a bowl of soggy Cheerios. “You’ve stated you saw Trish Vanderson leave Parker’s apartment.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “Yeah, what of it?”

  “Did you see anybody else in the hallway that evening, either before or after Ms. Vanderson?”

  “I already told the cops what I saw. Hey, you want a drink?” He turned and picked up an open bottle of beer.

  “No, thank you.”

  He shrugged, then put the bottle to his lips, tilted his head back and guzzled until the bottle was empty. He then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Don’t you ever party?”

  That thought made me slightly ill, but I gave him a flirtatious smile. “Sometimes.”

  He grinned. His teeth were something that would give a dentist nightmares.

  “Sure you don’t want a beer?”

  It was a strain keeping that smile on my face. “Not while I’m working. And I’d like you to think if there was anything…”

  “Okay. There was some guy who came up the elevator after the chick. He walked past Parker’s door, then turned around and went down the stairs next to the elevator.”

  “I’m curious. How did you happen to see these people?”

  “I was going to take my trash out, but I was in my BVD’s, you know? When I heard the elevator, I ducked back into my apartment and kept the door open just enough to see her go into Parker’s place. I tried a second time to take out my garbage, but the elevator opened again and the guy I just told you about got out, but just hung around until he went down the stairs. Finally, I was able to throw the crap out and just got back to my apartment when the girl comes busting out of Parker’s.”

  He released a beer burp. “I stopped watching and went to bed.”

  “Did you tell the police about the man you saw?”

  He shook his head. “I started to, but the cop, she didn’t think it was important, so what the hell?”

  I dug my nails into my palms, wishing it was Abby’s neck. “What did this man look like?”

  He huffed. “I don’t know…thin, tall, light hair.”

  Collin? I tensed a bit. “How was he dressed?”

  “He had an overcoat on. Dark. Gray, I think. Look, I didn’t pay that much attention.” He put the beer bottle up to his lips. Then he must have remembered he’d already drained it. “That’s all I know. Okay?”

  Realizing I’d get nothing else from him, I left, thankful to be breathing the relatively fresh air outside his apartment.

  The elevator door was closing when I reached it, but a woman who was probably my aunt’s age held it open for me.

  After slipping inside the small space, I smiled and thanked her.

  “You’re welcome.” After inspecting me, she said, “You don’t look like someone who’d be friends with that, um, young man.” She apparently had the same bluntness as my aunt, too.

  “No, I was just asking him some questions.” Then it occurred to me. Perhaps she’d seen something the night of Parker’s murder, but somehow the cops had missed her when they canvassed the apartments. “Do you live here?”

  “Oh, goodness no! I was looking in on my cousin. She’s been in this place for two years, but we’re in the process of getting her into the assisted living place where I work. I visit a few times a week, usually at night, which is fine with her. She’s a night owl. I’m a nurse and I work 12-hour shifts, so that’s the only time I can come.”

  Taking a chance, but expecting nothing, I asked, “Were you visiting her the night Parker Vanderson was killed?”

  She clucked. “So horrible! That day I came later than usual. It was really early morning. Anyway, I didn’t see the woman they arrested. I didn’t see anybody. Oh, except there was a fine-looking, gray-haired gentleman in a black leather coat, getting off the elevator on the first floor as I was getting on, but that’s it.”

  My heart started racing. Could that gentleman have been John Vanderson visiting his son? “Did you tell the police?”

  She shivered, as if somebody had dropped a snake on her. “No. The man could’ve come from any floor. So, no need to get involved. I mean, I really didn’t see anything…”

  The elevator door opened and she practically dashed out.

  “Wait!” But she kept on going and didn’t look back. I probably could have caught up with her. And then do what? Drag her down to the police station? So I did the next best thing. I followed her to the parking lot and copied down her license plate number. Then I called Corrigan.

  Relief flooded through me when he answered. This was too important to leave in a voice message. “I have information about Parker’s murder. Please listen to all of it before you say anything, okay?”

  His sigh was full of resignation. “Give it to me.”

  I began with Bradley’s description of the guy in the gray overcoat and wrapped up with, “I believe the man the lady saw coming out of the elevator was John Vanderson.”

  “Claire…As far as the guy in the gray overcoat, I’ll talk to Abby first. Get her take on it.”

  I started a slow burn. “You don’t trust my judgment?”

  “It’s not that. She’s my partner. I have to trust her. You should know that.” Putting an end to that topic, he added, “Give me the woman’s plate number. I’ll have a talk with her once we have an ID.”

  A small victory, but I’d take it. “I appreciate that.”

  “Good, because there’s something I need to tell you.”

  “What is it?”

  In one quick exhale he said, “I asked Abby what she was doing for Thanksgiving.”

  “And?” I just knew a chunk of my enjoyment for next week’s holiday was about to break off.

  “She doesn’t have any family here. Or friends. She’d be alone.” He cleared his throat. “So I told her that I’d have to clear it with your father and Suzy, but I was sure they’d be okay with her having Thanksgiving with us.”

  “Wait. What? No.”

  “You wouldn’t want anyone to be alone for Thanksgiving, would you? And I think, once you get to know Abby better, you two might be friends.”

  I didn’t want to be friends with Abby. Right then, I wanted her to be alone on a rock in the middle of Lake Erie. I blew out a breath so hard it ruffled my bangs. “Fine. But you tell my dad. And if he says it’s okay, I’m going to ask someone else, so we have an even number.” Actually, we’d have an even number if only Abby came, but who cared at that point?

  “Who?”

  “Ranger Roger. He could be, you know, like Abby’s date.” I didn’t even know if he would want to come. Or had other plans. But I was seeing red.

  “Claire!”

  “Oops. Gotta go!” Sure, it was beyond childish, but my outrage at his blindness to Abby’s motives toward him outweighed my bad behavior. Besides, I really had reached my destination. Afterwards, my plan was to see if Collin had owned a dark gray overcoat. I had no doubt about John Vanderson’s black leather one. I’d still have to check that out too.

  I stood alone in the shelter at the Ra
pid Transit Station. Darcy was nowhere in sight. The snow kept falling, and although the shelter broke the wind, it was so cold I had to stomp my feet to keep any feeling in them. At last she approached, bundled up so completely, she had to identify herself.

  Through her straight white chattering teeth she said, “What do you want?”

  That’s when I noticed the scarf she wore tucked into her coat. It was purple and blue with women’s faces in a motif that clearly looked art deco. To hide my shock, I dropped my face into my hands and coughed. Recovered from the surprise, I said, “That’s a pretty scarf. Where did you get it?”

  Her hand automatically went to her throat. “Jennifer gave it to me the day before she died.”

  Not wanting to spook her, I kept my voice neutral. “The colors are gorgeous. Did she say why she didn’t want it anymore?”

  It was clear from Darcy’s expression that she thought I was an idiot. “No. And I’m not here to talk fashion. You said you have a question.”

  It took me a few seconds to collect my thoughts. “Before you found Jennifer dead, was she upset about anything?”

  She shivered and I wondered how she’d survive the Cleveland winter in that skirt that was so short her thigh-high, spike-heeled boots didn’t reach up to the hem. “I already told the cops. No.”

  Pursuing that line would get me nowhere. “How did you know Jennifer?”

  I smelled coffee mixed with tobacco when she released an irritated breath. “We worked together. She was a freshman in college, and I was stuck in this dead-end job serving booze to guys that were trying to drink their way out of their lives.”

  “Is that when you met Collin Slater?”

  “Yeah. He was always hanging around Jen. Talking big ideas. He finally hit it big with Trish Vanderson.” Darcy laughed a brittle laugh. “Too bad she offed him.” She bit the corner of her lower lip. “Doesn’t matter what anybody thought. He wasn’t screwing Jennifer. At least he hadn’t been for years.”

  “You believe Trish killed him?”

  Rubbing her hands together for warmth, she replied, “Course she did.”