Murder and Mozzarella

by Carole Fowkes

  “Like Councilman Johnson?”

  “Small potatoes. More like judges, plus county and state officials. Bucanetti is able to exert influence using his girls. He’s also privy to information he should never have access to. Now, let’s drop it. And remember—”

  “Yeah, okay. I know.” I made a motion as if zipping my lips.

  We both attempted to finish the pizza and move on to enjoying each other’s company, but I was too distracted. Just hearing Bucanetti’s name made me want to hide under my bed with a whole tray of brownies for comfort.

  We called it an early night and he left before midnight. Not that I’d sleep well.

  I took Charlie outside for one last nature’s call. Then I went to bed, tired and irritable but unable to sleep. I kept coming back to John Vanderson. I needed to prove he was at Parker’s apartment the night of Parker’s murder.

  ***

  I must have finally fallen asleep because the morning began with my phone ringing. It was my aunt. Monday was the one day she closed Cannoli’s, so I couldn’t understand why she was calling at six in the morning. Don’t people sleep in on their day off?

  “Claire, your father’s worried. Why are you bringing another man to Thanksgiving and why is Brian bringing another woman? You’re not doing one of those swinger things, are you?”

  “Yuck! No!” Rubbing the last of sleep from my face, I said, “Brian’s bringing his partner. She doesn’t have any family in the area. Same with Roger, the guy I’m bringing.”

  “Okay. I just want to be sure you’re not trading one of my chocolate éclairs for a pre-packaged toaster pop.”

  “Huh?”

  “Brian is the best you can get.”

  “Oh, I’m not worthy of anyone better?”

  She clucked. “That’s not what I meant. He’s a really good man and they don’t come along that often, especially now since you’re not getting any younger.”

  Leave it to my aunt to offer advice and insult me simultaneously. “Brian and I are fine.”

  My stomach growled reminding me I’d only had one piece of pizza yesterday. It also reminded me that I needed a sandwich for my job with Sam Bartola. I’d act as his niece but also bring my own temptation for the salami thief. “While I have you on the phone, I have a job tomorrow and I need a mouth-watering salami sandwich as bait.”

  “What are you trying to catch? An animal?”

  “A sandwich thief.”

  “So you want me to make it for you?”

  My voice growing girlish again, “Yes, please.”

  “What else you want on the sandwich besides salami?”

  “Surprise me. I know you’ll make it so appetizing, the robber won’t be able to resist.”

  She harrumphed. “I’ll never understand why you take the cases you do.”

  “Because I need to pay the rent.” I softened my tone. “Plus I felt sorry for the client. Could I pick it up tomorrow morning at ten?”

  “Sure. I hope you catch the fox or whatever you’re hunting with it.”

  “A man.”

  I was wide awake by the time that conversation ended. Now, Charlie was about to take up a bit more of my day walking and feeding him. That was fine since it’d give me some time to think more about John Vanderson and how to go about questioning him without causing myself bodily or mental harm. I needed evidence, preferably the irrefutable kind.

  Ethel, the elevator lady, was my best bet. The previous night, I’d thought it’d be a waste of time to talk with her again. In the light of day and not having other choices, I changed my mind.

  Once I got to my office it was easy locating the assisted living place where she worked. Lucky for me it was only twenty minutes away.

  Grabbing my purse to leave the office, I heard a knock on my door and a woman’s too-pleasant-to-be-real voice. “Hello?”

  Hoping this visitor could be a badly needed client, I made my way to the office front entrance. “Can I help you?”

  A slender young woman in a form fitting business suit smiled at me with teeth in a brilliant shade only a laser could have produced. “Yes, my name is Bethany. Are you Claire DeNardo?”

  When I nodded, she pulled out a business card and handed it to me. “I’m here to meet your advertising needs.”

  A salesperson. Hiding my disappointment, I returned her smile. “Sorry, Bethany, but I don’t have any advertising needs right now.”

  “Are you sure about that? You’re a new company and people need to know about you and what you can do for them. I’d be thrilled to put together a proposal for you on how to get and keep potential customers talking about DeNardo and Son. If you and your son just give me five minutes of your time, I can—”

  I held up my hand. “Bethany, I have no money for this. None. I’m sorry, but it’s impossible.”

  She was not to be deterred. “Hmm. We can certainly start with a shoestring budget.”

  “You don’t understand. I can’t even afford shoestrings.”

  She glanced around at my shabby furnishings. “Oh. I see.” Still, she pointed to her contact information on the card she’d given me. “Well, if you change your mind, please feel free to contact me. And I hope it’s all right for me to check in with you every so often.”

  Arguing with her would be futile. “Fine. Thank you for coming.” I ushered her out the door. Then I waited five minutes and headed out to talk with Ethel Means.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  It wasn’t difficult slipping past the receptionist at the assisted living facility. Getting the chance to question Ethel Means was more challenging. In fact, it took a whopper of a fib claiming I was searching for a place to send my dad. That got me the opportunity to talk with Ethel, who was the Assistant Director of Nursing. When I was introduced to her, she looked at me as if trying to place my face.

  It wasn’t until she and I were seated at the table in a small room designed for family meetings that she recalled where we’d met. “You’re that girl in the elevator!” She popped up and I knew she was ready to bolt out the closed door.

  Having been smart enough to sit closest to the door, I had an advantage and blocked her exit. “You’re going to want to hear what I have to say.”

  She hesitated and it was my time to bluff. “My phone was recording when you and I were talking. I have everything you said here.” I showed her my phone, hoping she wouldn’t ask to hear the non-existent recording. “I haven’t taken it to the cops yet and if you cooperate, they may not hear it at all.”

  Her jaw tightened and I imagined she wanted to stick a thermometer in my eye. “I have nothing to say to you.”

  I had to raise the stakes. “You said you don’t want to get involved, but this man has already killed at least one person. If word gets out that I’ve got this recording, what’s to stop him from coming after you to tie up the loose end?”

  She stiffened. “Why are you doing this to me?”

  “It’s nothing personal. I’m a private investigator and my client has been charged with murdering Parker Vanderson, a crime she didn’t commit. Now, I’ll make it easy for you. I’m going to show you pictures of three men. You tell me if one of them is the guy you saw getting off the elevator at the time of Parker’s murder.”

  “You’ll leave me alone if I do? And destroy that recording?”

  “Agreed.” Easy since there was no recording.

  Her eyes hardened. “In front of me.”

  “Sure.” I wondered how I’d get through this con job. “After you look at the pictures.”

  I pulled out three photos and laid them down. One was of my father, one was of Ed, and the final one was a shot of John Vanderson.

  She glanced quickly at the pictures. “None of them.”

  “Look again.” My hands were clasped tightly in my lap so as not to shove Vanderson’s picture in her face.

  Her chin quivered. “This could mean my job. I was supposed to be here, but I snuck out. My cousin needed me!”

  Even knowing s
he did the wrong thing, I had to fight the sympathy rising in me. “Nobody will know about the recording. You have my word. But please, check out each picture closely.”

  She nodded and eyed each photo carefully while I held my breath.

  “He’s the man I saw getting off the elevator on the first floor.” She pointed to John Vanderson.

  In my mind, I was jumping up and down with excitement. Outwardly I hoped I was a model of restraint. “Thank you.”

  A loudspeaker paged Ethel.

  “I have to answer that.” She leaned toward me. “But before I go, I want to watch you delete our conversation.”

  I went through the motions as if to delete the call. “All done.”

  “Let me see your phone.” She snatched it from my hand. Of course she saw no record of the conversation.

  Without another word, she left me alone in the room. Well, not exactly alone. I had my guilt to keep me company.

  Finding my own way out of the facility was harder than entering. It seemed as if everybody who worked there asked if they could be of assistance. By the time I got back to the reception area, I rolled out my standard reply, “You’ve all been so helpful. I’ll get back to Ethel if I have any further questions.”

  As soon as I returned to my car, I called Corrigan to tell him about Ethel identifying Vanderson. Of course, it went to his voicemail. Not wanting to leave what I’d just found out in a message, I simply asked him to call me back right away.

  Next on my list was a visit to the woman who was Vanderson’s alibi for the time of Jennifer’s murder. If Vanderson had lied regarding his whereabouts when his own dear son was killed, what was to stop him from doing the same when Jennifer’s life was snuffed out?

  The problem was I didn’t know the woman’s name. Not that a simple thing like that could stop me. I returned to my office to look again at Mark Fenton’s list. Maybe I could decipher which woman John Vanderson had hired to provide him with an alibi. If that didn’t work, I’d use my feminine wiles to get it from Corrigan. I chuckled to myself at that one.

  It turned out I didn’t need to take either of those actions. Waiting for me outside my office was Ethan Clarke, star reporter and liar extraordinaire. He spotted me before I even reached my door.

  He bounced up and down like Charlie does when I mention a walk. “Claire! I have information you’ll want. Trust me.”

  “Trust you? We’ve been through that before, remember?” I tried to push past him and into my office, but his next words held me back.

  “I have the name of the woman who was John Vanderson’s alibi.”

  That stopped me cold. “For Jennifer Nelson’s murder?”

  With a smile that reached from ear to ear, he nodded. “Can we talk about that interview with Trish again?”

  Having already been burned by this guy I was skeptical, but allowed him to come into my outer office. Without being asked, he plopped into a chair as if he belonged there.

  I remained standing. “Before anything, I want proof that you have the information.”

  “She’s a friend, or should I say a co-worker of Darcy Mills. By the way, Darcy is also known to her customers as Hester Prynne, as in The Scarlet Letter.” The look on his face was so irritatingly smug I wanted to throw my computer mouse at him.

  Restraining myself because of the potential value of his information, I said, “Okay. I’ll call Trish’s attorney again. But I swear, if you’re lying…”

  All cockiness dropped from his manner. “I’m not. On my grandma’s grave.”

  Not wanting him to hear my conversation with Harold, I went into my office and closed the door before I put in the call. Unlike Corrigan, Harold was available. After explaining the situation, Harold advised, “Get the woman’s name first. Then the boy reporter can talk to Trish. But he can only ask questions I’ve approved.”

  Relieved I’d actually be able to move ahead on this case, I returned to the outer area.

  The sureness in his voice returned. “I took the liberty of emailing my interview questions to you so you can forward them.”

  “Eager, aren’t you?” I scanned my email and sent the questions on to Harold. Then, “While he’s looking it over, I want the alibi’s name and contact information.”

  He gave me a confident grin. “Just the name until after the interview.”

  I had to clasp my hands behind my back not to choke the guy. “Fine. What’s her name?”

  “Would you believe, Candi Sweet?” He chuckled.

  My upper lip curled in distain. “Is that her real name?”

  “Maybe, maybe not. I’ll tell you after my interview with Trish.”

  The Sweet girl had to be part of the prostitution ring and my bet was, Vanderson had paid her well to lie for him. Now I just needed to find her, but I couldn’t very well do that while that reporter sat watching me.

  Fifteen minutes later, Harold called back saying Trish would do the interview. The attorney put Trish on the phone and I handed Ethan mine.

  Because of Harold frequently interrupting Trish’s responses, the interview took over an hour. When the call finally ended, Ethan’s grin was wider than a slice of cantaloupe. He stood to leave. “Candi Sweet is her real name. If she has an alias, I don’t know about it. You can probably find her at Nails by Design on Shaker Boulevard. Adios.” With that, he disappeared from my office, and with any luck, from my life.

  It was getting late, but I didn’t want to wait until tomorrow. I high tailed it to my car and drove to where I hoped to find Ms. Sweet.

  The girl at the front counter at Nails by Design pointed Candi out. “She just finished up with a client but if you want to talk to her, make it quick. She’s got another appointment in ten minutes.”

  Candi was, just like the other women Vanderson kept company with, absolutely gorgeous, if a bit overly made-up. She had shoulder-length blonde hair and from what I could see, a figure that looked like it’d been photo-shopped.

  I made my way over to her, wondering why she worked here if she was being well-paid by John Vanderson. Or other men.

  After introducing myself, I asked her to recount that night with John Vanderson.

  She tapped her long fingernails on the table, but kept a neutral expression. “Cops were just here. Again. Asking the same questions. What is it with you people?”

  She blew out a breath. “John flew me to Youngstown. He has the best condo there. Anyway, we had dinner and, um, afterwards, I got sleepy real fast and went to bed. It was around eleven. He said he had indigestion, so he stayed up, but when I woke up during the night, he was lying next to me, asleep.”

  Desperate, I asked, “How long would you say it was between when you first fell asleep and then woke up during the night?”

  “I don’t know. It was still dark, so it couldn’t have been too long, but he was asleep when I woke up that once and still asleep when I got up in the morning. That was about seven-thirty. Satisfied?”

  This wasn’t the way I wanted the interview to go. “You know, if you’re lying—”

  “God! You sound like that cop. He was hot, but what a…never mind. I’m telling the truth. I wasn’t real awake in the middle of the night, but I know John was in bed.”

  I was ready to walk away when I thought of something. “Did he snore?”

  “What? No, he didn’t.” Her eyes narrowed. “He usually does. But what of it?”

  “This may sound crazy, but are you sure it was him when you woke up that first time?”

  She huffed, “Who else could it have been?”

  “Did you say anything to him when you woke up that first time?”

  She looked at me as if I was a moron. “Duh. I was half-asleep. There was a lump next to me and it was John. End of story.” She looked over my shoulder. “My client’s here.” She plastered a smile on her face and said, “Hello, Jenny. Nice to see you again.” I was dismissed.

  It had taken me almost an hour to reach her salon to talk to her for ten minutes. But in that ten m
inutes, I became convinced Vanderson had slipped out while Candi was asleep and made it back by the time she woke up. Maybe he even drugged her to knock her out. The ‘lump’ she said was next to her could’ve been a stack of pillows.

  Corrigan must have had doubts too since he’d been to visit Vanderson’s alibi again. Knowing that he was having second thoughts encouraged me. I swung by the police station to talk with him.

  When the desk cop told me Corrigan wasn’t there, I didn’t wait around in case Abby was. Much as I wanted to know what they had recently learned when questioning Candi, I didn’t have the stomach. Bad enough I’d see her at Thanksgiving. Besides, I was ravenous and I am not the most patient person when my belly is growling. Except for a chocolate chip cookie I’d stashed in my purse, I hadn’t eaten all day.

  Deciding I’d call Corrigan once I’d eaten, I returned to my car and counted my money. My spirits sunk. Not even enough for a fast food burger. I headed home to leftover pizza and most likely, a very hungry dog that also needed a walk.

  ***

  One whiff of the cheesy sausage pizza and Charlie refused his dog food. So we ate the pizza cold while I debated my next steps.

  There was a knock at my door just as I swallowed the last bit of crust.

  “Claire, it’s Brian.”

  After our less than perfect last date, I flew to the door to let him in. To my disappointment and then irritation, Abby was with him.

  The way Corrigan’s eyes darted back and forth from Abby to me, it was obvious he knew this was dangerous. Still he forged ahead.

  “I heard you came by the station. I also know you talked to the woman who is Vanderson’s alibi. Goes without saying you shouldn’t have been there, but…what did you learn?”

  Though the words were like pulling teeth, I invited both of them inside. Charlie growled softly when Abby leaned over to pet him. Smart dog.

  I recapped what my interview with Candi Sweet had revealed, even sharing my theory about Vanderson perhaps drugging the woman. Then I told him how Ethel identified Vanderson as the man coming out of the elevator the night of Parker’s death.

  When I finished, it was Abby who broke the silence. “Good work, Claire.”