Murder and Mozzarella

by Carole Fowkes

  I switched topics since this wasn’t getting me anywhere. “When did John Vanderson come onto the scene?”

  She scanned the area quickly, as if afraid. “No more questions. Okay?”

  “Don’t you want justice for your friend?”

  Blowing into her cupped hands she answered, “Look. I liked Jennifer, I really did. But I gotta take care of myself too. My train’s coming.” She moved closer to the platform.

  With little time left, I risked it. “John Vanderson was Jennifer’s client and Mark Fenton was her pimp.”

  For a moment Darcy didn’t move. Then she turned back around and pointed a polished, long-nailed finger at me. “You’re wrong. And if you ever say something like that again, Mark will make sure it’s the last time.”

  I swallowed hard, envisioning my own demise. But a tiny, brave voice inside me spoke up. “Jennifer was spotted snooping around near Collin’s body. She killed him, didn’t she?”

  Darcy stiffened. “No, she didn’t.”

  “But she knew who did.”

  Darcy stepped back as if I’d struck her. My comment had hit home.

  “Darcy, if you know something—”

  “I don’t know anything and that’s the way I want it. Now leave me alone.” With that she stepped through the open doors of the train.

  Believing I’d gotten all I could from her, I didn’t follow. Instead, not knowing if Trish and her mother had been released on bail, I called Harold. I’d find out if Collin owned that gray overcoat quickly. There was no way I would wait to hear about it from Abby.

  Of course the call went to Harold’s voicemail, so I hung up and gave Mrs. Vanderson’s private phone number a ring. I was thrilled she answered, but she wasn’t exactly happy to hear from me. Not that I blamed her. Anger disguised as sarcasm filled her words. “Claire DeNardo! Finally. Are you calling to tell me that you’ve found Parker’s killer?” Her voice rose. “Or Jennifer Nelson’s? Or, let me see, Collin’s murderer?”

  Before I could say anything, she raged on, “I imagine the answer is no. You’ve gotten nowhere! No wonder you’re in that pathetic little office. Just a poor excuse for a private detective, and I was foolish enough to hire you.”

  Her comments stung, but I didn’t defend myself. She was right. Since she’d hired me, she and her daughter both had been charged with murder. I had done nothing right. Fears that this case was beyond my abilities resurfaced. With all the willpower I possessed I pushed them down. “Mrs. Vanderson, I’m sorry about all that’s happened, but I believe I’ve uncovered some new evidence and I’m in the process of checking it out right now. Please, just a bit more patience. I know it’s hard…”

  She sniffed. “You have no idea.”

  “Could you tell me if your husband has a black leather coat? And Collin, did he wear a dark gray overcoat?”

  There was a pause. Then, “That’s what you’re looking at? Tell me. What does that have to do with anything?”

  After I explained my conversations with Bradley as well as the elevator woman, Mrs. Vanderson relented. “I don’t know about Collin. John doesn’t have a leather coat. He has a jacket, though.”

  The elevator lady could easily have mistaken one for the other. I suppressed the urge to shout out loud, “It was John!” and do a happy dance. I kept my voice low and serious. “I’ll need to ask Trish about the gray overcoat.”

  “You don’t go near her. I’ll ask her and get back to you. After I do, what are you going to do with that information?”

  The truth was, I didn’t know yet, so I gave her a vague, “I’m sure the police will want to know. Thank you, Mrs. Vanderson.” I ended the call before she could question me in depth. All I knew was that if John went to see Parker the night his son was murdered, he was a witness. Or a suspect.

  My next move was to call Corrigan. When he didn’t answer, though I hated to do so, I left a voice message saying that Mrs. Vanderson confirmed her husband owned a leather jacket.

  As I ended that call, another one came in. It was Suzy. “Claire? Sorry to bother you. I hope you’re not too busy.”

  I swallowed my impatience to get on with the case. “No. What’s up?”

  “Brian called to ask if he could bring another woman, his partner, for Thanksgiving. He said he cleared it with you, so I said yes.”

  He didn’t waste any time. “No. I mean yes. He did ask me first. It’s okay. I mean, it’s not, but…”

  She was all sympathy. “Do you want me to call him back and tell him no?”

  “Thanks, but no. Hey, if it’s okay with you and Dad, I’d like to bring a guest too. A friend. His name is Roger.”

  Her voice held a warning. “Claire…”

  “Brian and Abby have both met him. He’s a nice guy.”

  “I wonder if Brian thinks so.” She tsk’d. “All right. Counting my sister, it’ll be Thanksgiving dinner for nine. I’ll tell your dad.”

  “Thanks, Suzy. Talk to you later.”

  While I continued to wait for Mrs. Vanderson to call back, I located Ranger Roger’s phone number and called him, almost wishing he wouldn’t answer. Was I asking for trouble?

  But he did. “Great to hear from you, Claire!” He teased, “Is this call business or pleasure?”

  “Pleasure.” The words didn’t want to come out easily. “Are you, um, well, busy, uh, Thanksgiving?”

  He answered slowly, choosing his words carefully. “My family is all back in Illinois, so I planned to spend the day with another ranger and his family. Why?”

  I sighed deeply and having placed one foot in the hole, dropped the other down. “My family does a really wonderful Thanksgiving dinner and would you like to come?”

  “That sounds great, but won’t your fiancé mind? Or isn’t he going to be there?”

  “Oh, he’ll be there all right. He already knows I’m asking you. He’s bringing his partner, Abby. You already met at the scene of Collin Slater’s murder. You might hit it off better this time since the only dead body is the turkey’s.” I quickly moved along. “You’ll love my family!” I went on to give him the address and time, declining his offer to bring anything to the dinner.

  When the call ended I wondered if this Thanksgiving would feature, along with a turkey, some fireworks.

  ***

  Still no call from Mrs.Vanderson. Not knowing how long it’d take her to get back to me about Collin’s coat made me uneasy. What if Trish didn’t know or wouldn’t answer? Or what if Mrs. Vanderson, thinking I was an imbecile, didn’t ask her? These what-ifs filled my brain until I decided to facilitate things and visit Collin’s house.

  On the way there, I kidded myself that maybe Trish was hiding out at her late fiancé’s home, and we could talk.

  Of course, when I arrived, she wasn’t there and the house was locked up tight. I had no idea how to get inside. The idea of breaking in wasn’t a wise one without Ed as my cohort and mastermind.

  As I stepped off the front porch ready to give up, the burly, combative neighbor I’d run into previously confronted me.

  “You again?” he snarled. “As part of the neighborhood watch here, I wanna watch you leave.

  My fight or flight instinct kicked in, and I definitely leaned toward flight. Then a vision of Trish in prison for life because of my cowardice flashed before me. Standing my ground, I squeaked, “I’m working to uncover some new evidence that can help find your neighbor, Collin’s, killer.”

  He snarled. “Yeah, and I’m Brad Pitt.”

  Before I could stop myself, I quipped, “I’d ask for your autograph but I’m busy trying to solve a crime.”

  He laughed. “You? Come on! I know you’re not a cop, so you must be one of those private eyes.” He threw up his hands as if being arrested. “Ooh, like I’m scared of such a skinny little thing.”

  He then made a great show of curling his monstrous hands into fists. “You need to get out of here now.”

  Under ordinary circumstances I’d be thrilled to be called skinny, bu
t not at that moment. Unfortunately, he was a lot bigger and probably tougher than me. So I used the one tool I’d been taught since a child in Catholic school. Guilt.

  I looked up at him through my eyelashes. “You know, I hate to admit it, but you’re right that I shouldn’t be creeping around this house. But I’ve been hired to find out who killed Collin by his fiancé’s mother. She’s a fine woman who loves her daughter and is worried about her. Both mother and daughter need closure and need to find who killed Collin.”

  He curled his upper lip. “If I’m not mistaken, his fiancée is the one they think killed him.”

  I had to try harder. “It’s not true. There’s still a murderer out there. In fact, the killing could’ve been random. What if the killer is still hanging around here, waiting for another victim? Are there women living in this neighborhood? Single women, widows? The cops do a good job, but they’ve got other murders to solve. What if I or we, can get the monster off the street and keep families here safer?”

  He crossed his arms and nodded slightly. “Lady, you’re full of it.” He shook his head. “but, you sure are persistent. Okay, I won’t run you off. Just don’t go busting into that house.”

  “I won’t. And thank you for not chasing me off. Hey, maybe you can answer a question. Did you ever see Collin in a dark gray overcoat?”

  “I don’t know what that has to do with the price of rice in China, but what the hell. My wife maybe has seen him in the coat. I’ll get her out here. She’s probably been watching from the front window anyway.”

  I followed him to his house across the street, a bungalow similar though smaller than Collin’s. Just as the guy predicted, his wife was sitting by the front window, looking out. He motioned for her to join us.

  “This here is my wife, Margaret. Oh, and I’m Don.”

  Sticking out my hand, I replied, “Claire. Nice to meet you Margaret.”

  She smiled and we shook hands. “You too.” She looked questioningly at her husband.

  “Claire here’s a private eye. She’s trying to help find who killed Collin Slater. I figured you’re always staring out that window, you musta seen something.”

  “Did you talk to the police, Margaret?”

  “They asked, but I was visiting my sister the day he died, so I couldn’t tell them anything.” She tsk’d, “Such a shame. Good-looking boy like that.”

  “Yes, a shame. I understand you saw him other times. Do you remember if he wore a gray overcoat?”

  She rubbed her chin. “Hmm. Yeah. He did. In fact, I saw him in one a couple weeks ago. It had just started getting cold. He was with that woman who also got killed.”

  “Jennifer Nelson?”

  “Yeah. She was over there a lot for a while. Never cared for her. She was like a cat.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She moved sorta like water, you know, she flowed.”

  “Gracefully?”

  “More like, slinky. I didn’t trust her. Maybe it was that red hair. Never trusted redheads.”

  Don snorted, “That’s because my first girlfriend was a redhead.”

  Meeting Margaret was like finding the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. “Did you ever see an older man, silver-haired, medium height, leather coat, with Collin?”

  She put her hand up to her cheek. “My goodness! You must think all I do is watch my neighbors.”

  Don clucked, “Well, don’t you?”

  Daggers from her eyes shot at her husband. “I did see a guy like that once or twice. Most of the time, especially lately, Collin was with that girl they arrested for his murder. She seemed like such a nice girl, too. Neighborly-like.”

  “Let’s go back to Collin and Jennifer. Were they openly affectionate?”

  “You mean like sleeping together? No. I don’t think so. She never spent the night.”

  I’d heard enough. “Thank you, Margaret. And Don. You’ve both been really helpful.”

  All the way back to my office, I rearranged the puzzle, fitting these new pieces in. Collin and John Vanderson were both at Parker’s apartment the time of Parker’s death. One of them was the killer. My money was on Collin. Had Vanderson then killed Collin in revenge?

  Since dead men tell no tales, I’d have to question Vanderson to get an answer to that question. I shivered, and not from the cold.

  While I was plotting how to go about it, my phone rang. It was Mrs. Vanderson, who confirmed what I had just learned about the outerwear for John and Collin.

  After that conversation, I called Corrigan to see what he’d learned about the night of Parker’s death.

  Corrigan answered on the second ring. “We talked to Parker’s neighbor again and got the rest of the story. We’re on our way to Collin’s home to see if we can find that coat and check it for any evidence.”

  Thank God I wasn’t still hanging around there. “What about the elevator lady?”

  “We ran her plates and got her address. We’ll be questioning her later.” There was a pause, then, “Claire, I know I’m not exactly encouraging to you sometimes.”

  “Sometimes?”

  “Yeah, well…thanks.”

  It was a good thing he couldn’t see my satisfied grin. “Will the case against Trish be reopened?”

  “Depends on what we find. Hey, I’ve got to go, but mind if I swing by later tonight? Around nine? I’ll even bring a pizza.”

  “If it’s a sausage pizza from Maroni’s, you have a deal.”

  The rest of the day, I spun my wheels, getting nowhere. At least I had delicious pizza to look forward to. And an even more delicious man.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  I got home with time to spare. Charlie and I took a long walk in the snow and played fetch. Only his idea of fetch was to retrieve the ball and lay down with it.

  It wasn’t long after my shower that Corrigan came knocking on my door, the aroma of hot pizza wafting in with him. After a suitable greeting, we made our way to the kitchen and between kisses, took a slice each.

  After scolding Corrigan for slipping some cheese to Charlie, and then me doing the same, I savored every bite of the anise flavored sausage and gooey mozzarella. We devoured one piece each then stopped for a refill of wine.

  That’s when he broke the bad news. “We questioned the lady in the elevator. Name is Ethel Means. Anyway, she claims you misunderstood her.” He made air quotes around misunderstood. “She says she didn’t see anyone and was glad because she’s too busy to be caught up in a murder trial.”

  The pizza suddenly tasted like the box it came in. “I could go see her. Remind her of what she told me…” Mentally kicking myself for not recording what Ethel had said, I tried to salvage the Vanderson’s freedom and my career and forged ahead. “What about Collin’s murder? That woman Ranger Roger saw. She wore a scarf that Darcy Mills had on and when I met with Darcy, she claimed Jennifer had given it to her right before she died.”

  Corrigan carefully laid his pizza slice down on his plate. That telltale angry vein of his started throbbing. “When exactly were you going to give me that little tidbit?”

  In all honesty, I’d meant to tell him right away. Other leads got in the way. Maybe I was wrong but in that instant I was tired of apologizing. I blurted out, “I was busy solving crimes!”

  His face turned as red as the pizza sauce. “Sorry, I can’t imagine what that’s like!”

  I took a deep breath and told myself not to get defensive. It didn’t work. “I wasn’t purposely hiding that information!”

  He held up his hands. “Okay, okay. You didn’t do it on purpose. Now, tell me about this scarf.”

  Still pouting, I recounted my conversation with Darcy and at the end, concluded that Jennifer could have killed Collin.

  Corrigan chomped on his pizza in silence. Then he wiped his mouth and in measured words, asked, “What was her motive?”

  “I don’t know that yet.”

  “That’s because she didn’t have one. She and Collin had been busines
s associates and according to everyone we spoke with, the best of friends for a long time.”

  “Business associates? Jennifer worked for Mark Fenton in more ways than one. Collin didn’t.” Then a light flicked on. “Collin was in on the prostitution ring?” That light grew brighter. “John Vanderson is Collin’s killer! Jennifer was just involved somehow and that got her killed!”

  “Straws.”

  “You want a straw?”

  He wiped his mouth. “You’re grabbing at them. Here’s the way it went down. Trish killed Parker. Collin was a witness so she had to kill him too. Maybe Jennifer Nelson knew something she shouldn’t have in connection with Collin’s death. Trish was in jail so her mother did her dirty work for her.” he snapped his fingers. “No more Jennifer. And you need to forget about any prostitution ring.”

  “What? Why?” My appetite was gone. “No!”

  “No, what?”

  “The prostitution ring is the cause of these murders. Parker had pictures of Jennifer with Collin and Vanderson. Parker tried to get money to squelch them. He’s dead. Jennifer was a hooker and Collin maybe started out as her pimp, until Mark Fenton took over.”

  His face was unreadable. “Leave Fenton out of this. He’s got nothing to do with the murders.”

  I leaned over the table. “How can you be so sure? I haven’t heard anything about his alibis. Why is he being so protected? Is he like a mole?”

  Corrigan slapped his hands against his thighs. “You win. I’ll tell you. But this can’t get out and you have to swear you’ll quit any harassing of or snooping on Fenton.”

  “I swear.”

  “Two words. State’s evidence.”

  My mouth dropped open. “Against who?”

  “Let’s just say, it’s somebody you’ve butted heads with before. And barely came out safe.”

  The mozzarella I’d just eaten curdled in my stomach. “Michael Bucanetti.” Corrigan was right. Bucanetti was a mobster, a major one, I’d worked against on several cases. “He’s the head, not Fenton?”

  Corrigan nodded. “The guy has his fingers in lots of things, and in this case, a prostitution ring that services some very high-up clients.”