Plateful of Murder

by Carole Fowkes

  Ed was in the same spot as the first time we’d talked, leaning against the building, puffing on a cigarette. I bit into the last of my chocolate pieces and debated how to approach him, scratching off, “Don’t you know cigarettes can kill you? Speaking of killing…”

  I took a deep breath and vowed not to let this guy unnerve me. My knees didn’t get the message because they wobbled. Terrified of falling at Ed’s feet, I stopped a bit short.

  I tried to sound casual. “Hey, Ed! You remember me, don’t you?”

  He glanced over at me with heavy-lidded eyes. “Sure, I remember you.” He took a deep drag on his cigarette. “What d’ya want?”

  I hesitated, as if he might bite me. “To ask you a few questions.”

  “Yeah?” He lifted his hand to eye level and stared at the cigarette’s burning ashes. “First, it was the cops buzzing around and now it’s you.”

  I pasted a smile on my face, but dropped it. Charming is not the word to describe me when I’m nervous. Empathy might work better. “Must be hard to do your job with cops asking questions all the time.”

  He snorted. “That ain’t the problem.” He picked a bit of tobacco from his tongue. “Problem is, no one’s asking the right people the right questions.”

  I took a baby step toward him. “Enlighten me.”

  He took a final drag on his cigarette and crushed the butt with his shoe. “Gotta go. Shift’s starting.”

  I piped up with something clever to delay him. “Wait.”

  He leaned back against the building. “Don’t wanna stay a security guard forever, you know.” His eyes ran up and down me. “Looks like you’re doing all right.”

  What was he getting at? He couldn’t possibly want to work for me. The pancakes in my stomach flipped, but if it could help Michael in any way, it would be best to play along. I raised an eyebrow and kept my voice level. “Are you looking for a job?”

  He smiled, showing his tobacco-stained teeth. “You offering?”

  My mouth went dry, but instead of screaming, “Are you nuts?” I managed to keep calm. “Depends. What’ve you got?”

  He stared off toward Triton’s brick and glass entrance. “Maybe I seen more than I told.”

  In movies, the PI slams the would-be stoolie against the wall and threatens him with injury if he doesn’t cough up information. I just rubbed my forehead. “So you’re holding out and letting a murderer run loose?”

  He chewed on a cuticle. “Didn’t say that.” He folded his hands across his somewhat concave stomach. “All I’m saying is, I might could help you, under the right circumstances.”

  “Look, my business can’t even afford me.” Hiring him sure wasn’t in my best interest, but if he knew more, I had to get it from him. “Maybe we can, you know, make an arrangement.”

  He gave me a crooked smile and rubbed his thumb against the tips of his fingers. “How about a green Benjamin?”

  I jerked hard enough to make my neck hurt. “Fifty dollars?” It felt like my blood had been suddenly drained from me. “All I have is…” I pulled out my wallet. “Four Washingtons.” How pathetic was that, waving those crumpled dollar bills in front of him.

  He wasn’t insulted enough not to snatch them and stuff them in his pocket.

  I narrowed my eyes and talked out of the side of my mouth, like I’d seen in old movies. “Now, spill it.”

  He let out a short, harsh laugh. “Can’t believe I’m giving you anything for four measly bucks.” He rubbed his chin. “All right. You look like one of them honest girls. I can tell the good ones from the bitches. So we’ll consider this a down payment. You know, information on the layaway plan.”

  I nodded like one of those bobble heads. “Agreed.” And wondered if it was possible to borrow money from my father.

  Ed scanned the area, leaned closer and in a low voice said, “Eagleton wasn’t the only hound on her trail.” He paused. “John Luther, Eagleton’s boss, was sniffing around her too.”

  My eyebrows shot up. Constance’s list included the initials “JL” but no checkmark after them. “Was she interested?”

  He snorted. “Her kind always goes after the power, and no one has more at Triton than Luther. His daddy started this company and he steps down the end of this year.” Ed glanced at his watch. “Nothing like having a new woman when Sonny Boy takes over the throne.” He took a few lazy steps toward Triton’s entrance. Then he turned back around. “That’s it for the $4. You want more, you gotta dish out more.”

  He walked off and raised his hand in a way I chose to interpret as a goodbye.

  Undeterred, I shouted, “I’ll be back.” Sure he could no longer see me, I jammed my wallet back into my purse, slung the bag over my shoulder and stomped off. Some PI I was. Couldn’t even afford an informant.

  It didn’t take long for my outlook to brighten though. Now I had John Luther’s name and could check him out, even though Brody Eagleton continued to have my vote for Constance’s killer. That led me to thinking. I was already at Triton so popping in on my favorite person of interest again seemed like a good idea. Remembering his bad temper and possible history of abuse, I reached in my purse for my pepper spray, ignored my racing pulse, and marched into Triton Pharmaceuticals.

  Chapter Five

  The receptionist politely reminded me, to enter the hallowed Triton halls, my visit had to be registered and an employee had to accompany me. Corporate privacy and all. I just as politely signed in and asked to be escorted to Brody Eagleton’s office. I took a seat in the lobby, flipping through the pharmaceutical magazines they laid out to bore people as they waited. I guess there’s a reason they never made a TV series about a pharmacist.

  After forty-six minutes, I had checked my voicemail three times, filed a jagged fingernail, and debated asking for the restroom’s location, when a man in a lab coat strode toward me. “Are you Miss DeNardo?”

  I’m good at remembering faces and was pretty sure this was the guy who had been in Eagleton’s office. I stood and nodded.

  “Sean Lawrence, Drug Research Director. I work for Mr. Eagleton. Come with me, please.”

  Having a second crack at the hot-headed executive encouraged me until the memory of his temper came back. I glanced at Sean, who was about thirty and, despite that loose-fitting lab coat, looked to be in good shape. Maybe he’d intervene if his boss took a swing at me.

  Unaware of my worries about obliteration by his boss, Sean said, “Mr. Eagleton is willing to see you, but he’s very busy.” He halted and looked straight at me. “Please understand, he’s under a lot of stress. Don’t make it worse.”

  For him or me? My fears hid behind a smiling mask. “I’m all about cooperation.”

  He gave me a quizzical look and said nothing. Once we turned down a long, empty hallway his tone turned conversational. “You’re the first female private investigator I’ve met.” He smiled. “Actually, the only private investigator I’ve ever met.”

  “You’ve probably never had any cause to see one.”

  He let out a warm chuckle. “I manage to stay on the straight and narrow.”

  After a maze of hallways, we finally arrived at Eagleton’s office. Sean announced my presence and gave me a look that had ‘good luck’ written all over it. He closed the office door behind him.

  I quickly shifted my focus to Battleship Eagleton, expecting all guns loaded, but he looked a lot more composed than during our last visit. Since he hadn’t been arrested, he must have come up with a foolproof alibi.

  I cleared my throat. “Thank you for seeing me, Mr. Eagleton. I just need clarification on some information.”

  He looked at me like I was a lemon he had to suck on. “I agreed to see you to clear the air. Once I do that, you’ll leave me alone?”

  That was as likely as a rabbit using birth control. “May I sit down?” I was scared he’d hear my knees knocking.

  “You won’t be here long enough for that.”

  I shifted my weight from one foot to the other,
wishing I hadn’t worn heels today. “Earlier, you denied ever being involved with Constance.” He stiffened. “But now you’ve as good as admitted it.” I pressed my point hard. “Tell me, how angry were you when Constance told you she was ending the affair?”

  He leaned back in his chair and waved his hand. “Actually, I was relieved. She was proving to be too high-maintenance for me.”

  “In other words you didn’t mind she was leaving you for another, more successful man.”

  He templed his hands. “If that comment was meant to provoke me, it’s not working. It was obvious how she planned to climb the corporate ladder.” He smirked like he’d just told a nun a dirty joke. “Her body was her biggest asset and sex her most utilized skill set.”

  That wasn’t the reaction I’d expected. So far, he’d kept his responses cool, with well-rehearsed lines. Still, I’d have felt a lot safer holding one of those riot shields in front of me. “So you’re implying that when you were arguing with her right before she was killed, it wasn’t about being dumped?”

  The vein in his temple kept time with my racing heart. “That’s ridiculous. Of course it wasn’t.”

  “Then what was it about?”

  “Strictly business, like I told the police. She missed an important filing deadline for a new drug. Her delay could end up costing Triton millions.”

  “Since she worked for you, did you get in trouble?”

  “What are you driving at?”

  “First she drops you. Then she makes you look bad. You must’ve been furious.”

  He stood up, and his voice was a low rumble. “You’ve asked enough questions.”

  I wanted answers and my words rushed out. “It wouldn’t be the first time you hit a woman, would it?”

  He charged at me, his eyes slits, fists clenched. “Who the hell do you think you are? I ought to—”

  A loud knock on the door interrupted and a voice sounding like dry leaves on fire came through. “There a problem in there?” Ed cracked open the door and stuck his head in.

  Eagleton ran his finger inside his shirt collar and cleared his throat. “No, Ed. No problem. I was just about to escort Miss DeNardo out.”

  My shoulders lowered, and my feet finally unglued themselves from the floor. My eyes never left Eagleton. “Since you’re here, Ed, you can walk me out instead.”

  My now-favorite guard nodded. “Sure thing.”

  Ed waited until we were outside the building to scowl. “Didn’t peg you for a tough broad, but I figured you for a smarter one. If you don’t watch yourself, you could be the next corpse.”

  I exhaled loudly, trying to blow off some tension. “There were plenty of people in the office, and I would’ve screamed.”

  “Didn’t you notice? It’s quittin’ time. That office was as deserted as a club with an eighty-year-old stripper.”

  He was right. I’d been foolish, taken an unnecessary risk. “Thank you.”

  He waved my thanks away. “Hate to see a little thing like you get hurt.” He gave a short nod and half-smiled. “Besides, I’m protecting my investment.”

  My eyebrows disappeared into my hairline. “Investment?”

  “Yeah. You know, you pay me, I offer information and,” he shrugged. “Protection.”

  I put my hands on my hips. “Wait a minute. I didn’t ask you to barge in there.”

  He snorted and his nostrils flared. He needed his nose hairs trimmed. “Yeah, you’d rather have been dead meat.”

  I held up my hand. “Of course not.”

  He looped his thumbs through his belt, and his tone turned philosophical. “Look you need me, you know, to feed you info and protect you in tight spots. So what if you can’t afford me right now? What’s this case gonna pay you? Ten, fifteen grand? I can wait.”

  I almost laughed out loud. My cases never paid anything like that. Ten thousand or so described my total income for the year. As far as Ed went, there was another concern. He had ‘drifter’ written all over him. Not exactly the type to have to depend on.

  “Think about it. But don’t take too long.” His granite expression softened slightly. “Hate to see someone nice like you get hurt.” He pulled a toothpick from his pocket and lodged it in his mouth. “Gotta go.” He sauntered off like a weary sheriff going to collect the town drunk.

  I stood there, trying to think up a snappy response that never came. My phone rang, saving me from my humiliating silence.

  “Claire?”

  My stress eased just a bit when I heard the familiar voice. “Michael. What’s going on?”

  “Just left the lawyer’s. She advised me—”

  “Stop. Let’s have this conversation at my office. How soon can you get there?” Maybe nobody was listening in on our conversation, but why take unnecessary chances. Maybe that should’ve been another of Gino’s rules. “It pays to be paranoid.”

  By the time I got to my office, Michael was already there, pacing back and forth and wringing his hands. My brain buzzed, formulating an argument in case his lawyer wanted him to confess how he’d written those letters to Constance. He was too good of a guy to be put behind bars. Besides, maybe the only thing I wanted to see him behind was an oven, making me dinner.

  “Stop it.” I scolded myself. “He’s a client, not your personal chef.” Anyway, Gino probably had another rule about liking a client’s cooking too much.

  “Claire.” Michael’s face lit up like he was holding a winning lottery ticket.

  “Let’s go inside.” I was so on edge I dropped the key and hit my head on the doorknob trying to pick it up. Smooth, real smooth. Thankfully I managed to unlock the door without giving myself a concussion.

  As soon as the door closed behind us, I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, “What’d she tell you to do?”

  “Keep it under my hat. She said to let the police discover it on their own.”

  I tilted my head, confused. “She wants the cops to figure it out?”

  “No. She thinks it’ll probably be a non-issue.”

  “Your lawyer actually thinks they’ll just—” I tapped my forehead with the palm of my hand. “Forget about the letters?”

  He shrugged. “She thinks I could become the primary suspect if they found out the truth now. I found my sister’s body, remember?”

  “Of course I remember,” Snapping at him wasn’t helping the situation, but I didn’t have a good feeling about this. “What did you do with the letters?”

  “She told me not to destroy them. So I put them in a bag of frozen lima beans.”

  I bit my lower lip. “Okay. We’ll consider that problem on ice for now.”

  He smirked at my lame joke and we both took a seat, me behind my desk and him in the client chair to keep a professional distance between us. I described my encounter with Eagleton and filled him in about Luther’s interest in Constance. Ed’s help, I kept to myself, though. Clients should always believe their PI can handle the case without outside help. A PI has to keep her professional pride, not to mention her business.

  When I finished, Michael slumped in his chair with his hand shading his eyes. “Constance couldn’t have realized how dangerous her lifestyle was. If she had, she’d never…”

  Good thing the desk was too big to reach over. I twitched, wanting to give him a thoroughly unbusinesslike hug, but settled for saying, “No matter how she lived, she didn’t deserve to be murdered.”

  He nodded, but didn’t look up.

  In a bravado voice, I assured him, “We’ll find the killer. They always make a mistake.” I wanted to rewind and take those words back into my mouth. In the movies and on TV, killers make revealing errors, but how often did that happen in real life? I don’t think he believed me anyway since he sat there, eyes still covered.

  The awkward silence was broken by my cell phone chiming the Tarantella. “I better take this.”

  “Claire, honey, it’s your Auntie Lena. How are you?”

  I shut my eyes. The woman had the worst timing
. “Fine. What’s up?” I could picture her, covered with flour, her hairnet fighting to keep her curly hair from breaking sanitary rules.

  “Need some help again. Your father was supposed to come in at four, but he’s complaining about his lumbago.”

  Interrupting this case to serve pastries wasn’t a great idea, but I hated shirking my responsibilities to the family my decision came quickly. “Okay, be there right away, but somebody’s coming with me.”

  “A boyfriend? Is he Italian?” She was probably already pulling out the recipe for my wedding cake.

  “No, on both counts.”

  “It’s not that hoodlum you’re protecting.”

  “No again. A friend.” I wove a story. “We’ve been talking and it turns out, he likes to cook and would love to talk to you about pastries.” I held my breath, waiting for either Michael or my aunt to protest.

  Michael lifted his head and listened to my end of the conversation.

  “Okay, bring him along.” She sighed. “Are you sure there’s nothing between you two?”

  “No. Not possible.” At least not now.

  “He thinks he’s too good for you?”

  “No, that’s not it.” Before she could ask more questions, I ended her inquiry with, “See you soon.”

  Next up was convincing Michael it was good therapy. “We’re going to my Aunt Lena’s bakery. She’s like you, loves to bake. It’ll get your mind off Constance for a bit.” I could hear Gino scolding me, “Never, never introduce a client to your family.” He was probably turning over on his beach blanket about now.

  As soon as we pulled around the back of Cannoli’s, my sensible inner voice niggled at me that maybe this wasn’t such a hot idea. I ignored it. Out loud, I assured a reluctant Michael, “You’ll like my Aunt Lena. Besides being a wonderful baker, she’s got such a good heart.”