Plateful of Murder

by Carole Fowkes

“Of course not. You’ve been working so hard. Before you go though, let me give you a massage. It’ll relax you.”

  Ordinarily, I’d give my lifetime membership to Dates4U for a great massage. But right now it wouldn’t pay to get relaxed and do something I’d regret later on. So, with much reluctance I declined.

  He walked me to the door and placed his arms around my waist, pulling me in to him. “Next time, please stay.”

  His request was sweet, but it didn’t do anything for me. Probably just too wrung out. Still, I responded with a weak smile.

  Lost in thought and yawning, I pulled out of the driveway, blind to the parked car and the driver inside it, watching me.

  Chapter Fifteen

  About five hundred feet from Michael’s driveway, Corrigan sat in his car, window down. He waved for me to pull up next to him. I cursed under my breath then worried he’d figured out what I’d just muttered about his heritage.

  Taking to heart the saying about the best defense, I rolled my window down. “Why are you following me?”

  Instead of responding to my question, he leaned over, opened the passenger’s side door for me and growled, “Get in.”

  He must have observed Michael and me in a less-than-professional stance. Panic spread through my brain and sped up my heart. In all probability, my face took on the expression of someone who’d bitten into an apple and seen half a worm. My fingers felt fat and clumsy as I turned off the ignition and opened my door. The light from a streetlamp brightened the interior a bit, but it was still night.

  Corrigan didn’t even look at me when I slid into his car. Not that it would’ve mattered. God knows why, but he had on sunglasses, making it impossible to read his eyes. “Tailing you wasn’t my intention. I wanted to see Adler, but saw a whole lot more.” He gritted his teeth. “Why didn’t you tell me this case had gotten more personal?”

  “Wasn’t your business.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. If it affects the case, it’s my business.” He raised his shades and his eyes flashed. “You don’t listen. Anyone could be the killer.”

  “So, be suspicious of everyone?” I smiled sweetly. “That would mean I shouldn’t even trust you.” Could I get jail time for mouthing off to a cop?

  “That’s not what I meant and don’t try to skate out of this.” The muscles in his jaw tensed. “No detective, private or police should get involved with…” His voice trailed off and he blinked. “That is, don’t get your feelings tangled…” He glanced away and in a gruff voice concluded, “Don’t go liking Adler too much.”

  “He’s a great guy.” Crossing my arms, I asked, “Now, why were you following me?”

  He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel. “Once again, this visit was to see Adler. But after what I’ve observed, it might be smart to follow you. Make sure you don’t get into trouble.”

  “And I should be grateful for that?”

  By way of an answer, he let out a soft snort. “By the way, I checked on who saw West Side Story.” He wore a satisfied grin. “Eagleton and his wife.”

  My eyebrows rose and my mouth formed an ‘O’. “Best news I’ve had in a while.”

  “It may be something, maybe not. We’ll just have to see.”

  His lack of enthusiasm, real or feigned, frustrated me. “It’s more than you had. Can’t you at least bring him in for more questioning?”

  “Are you trying to tell me how to run this investigation?” By the measured tone of his question, I must have treaded on his ego.

  “No, of course not. Only…” My voice rose until it disappeared and I scooted just a bit closer to the door.

  “I know. We both want this case solved, but getting ahead of ourselves won’t help.”

  “You’re including me?” Had I finally gotten through to him?

  He grumbled, “A slip of the tongue. Don’t think I’ve changed my mind about wanting you off this case.”

  I chewed my upper lip for a moment, thinking. “What about putting Eagleton in an audio lineup. You know, I listen to five guys, each singing a threat.”

  He shook his head. “Wouldn’t do any good. Even a rookie public defender could point out you’ve already heard Eagleton talk. He’d claim prejudice.” Corrigan cleared his throat. “Anyway, you’d be wise to keep your client as just that. A client.” His lip curled as he added, “It’s hard to keep professional prospective if your body’s draped all over him.”

  Even if he was right about Michael, it wasn’t necessary for Corrigan to follow me everywhere, jutting his nose into my doings. I had Aunt Lena for that.

  Holding one hand at my heart, the other hand up like a school guard’s, my voice turned solemn. “This shall serve as my pledge to use extreme caution when choosing with whom to associate.” I lowered my hands. “Now can you stop following me? Oh, that’s right. You weren’t.”

  He leaned back in his seat. “That’s right. You just happened to be here, which was an added bonus.”

  My heart started to do a flip “Really?” I almost gushed how good it was to see him too, until he smirked.

  “Saved me some time. I could interview him again and keep an eye on you.”

  My girlish ego shriveled. “So pleased to make your job more convenient.”

  His expression softened. “Have to admit though. The best part is seeing you.”

  My insides turned as mushy as the ricotta inside a cannoli. “Yeah.” Lame, but it was all I could manage to say. We sat there for a moment with me feeling as awkward as the first time I ate in public with my mouth full of braces.

  He cleared his throat and murmured, “Better get on to business. Don’t want Adler to notice us talking here together.” I nodded and reached for the door handle, but he placed a firm hand on my arm. “Be careful. We don’t know who we’re dealing with.”

  That comment was a great flame of passion douser. “I’m not stupid.”

  His mouth curved into a smile, showing that cute dimple of his. “No, but you’re innocent.”

  Next came my oh-so-snappy comeback. “That’s what you think.” Pushing open the door, I stomped back to my car, got in and floored it. It was in reverse, though. Slamming on the brakes, I didn’t dare glance over at Corrigan, imagining him laughing.

  I stewed at the traffic light a block from Michael’s home, tapping my fingers against the steering wheel. Corrigan had no right to be charming one minute then all business the next.

  When the light turned green, my thoughts of him switched off. A more urgent issue arose: where to lay my head down and sleep. Returning to my apartment without a scout checking for any unwanted visitors didn’t appeal. My office was more a crime scene than a safe harbor. Couldn’t crash at my dad’s without the worry of bringing more danger to him. Aunt Lena was out. Too many questions.

  Sucking it up, I chose the place with the least ramifications for my family and headed home. Corrigan’s suggestion I buy a gun rang in my head as something to do first thing in the morning. If I lived that long.

  I pulled into the apartment’s parking spot, kept the motor running and scanned the area. No one about. My hand clutching my can of mace, I raced into the building and up the stairs to my apartment, threw open the door, flicked on the light and looked around. Nothing had been disturbed and nobody was lurking about. I locked and deadbolted the door behind me.

  Although exhausted, I felt stinky, like fear had an odor that had settled on me. My shoulders also ached. A hot shower would take care of both the smell and the soreness. I undressed and stepped into the best thing to happen to me all day. For what had to be thirty luxurious minutes, the pulsating water cascaded down me, relaxing me. All good things come to an end and my shower did too. Hating to do so, I turned the water off and stepped onto the bath rug.

  While rubbing my skin dry, my ears picked up a noise, and the hairs on my neck stood. After a moment of silence, I decided it was just the furnace readying itself to kick on. It was October, and in Cleveland, that meant one day warm, the n
ext below freezing. In case it wasn’t the furnace, I grabbed the only thing I could think of, the toilet bowl brush. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt, but it’d definitely gross out any intruder.

  First room to check was my bedroom. No one there. I grabbed the mace can from my purse and again checked each room, finding nobody. I collapsed onto the sofa and felt the knot in my stomach loosen. Tomorrow morning and my trip to the gun store couldn’t come fast enough.

  But the morning did. My phone rang insistently, risking instant death by being thrown across the room. It was 7:00 a.m. A sleepy, yawning, “Hello?”

  “Claire? It’s Michael. Can I see you this morning?” He sounded breathless, like he just ran away from someone.

  I sat up. “What happened?”

  “Can we talk about it in person?”

  “Sure. Do you want me to come over?”

  “No!” He paused and inhaled deeply. “Your office would be better.”

  I studied my phone like it had answers to the puzzle of what was going on. “How about at 8:30?”

  “Thanks.” He ended the call before I could ascertain if he was all right.

  I threw on my clothes and gobbled up a cold Pop Tart and water to stop the churning in my stomach. My office wasn’t far, but with rush hour traffic it’d take me a while to get there. Flinging a sweater over my shoulder, I headed out, licking the sweetness of the breakfast pastry off my lips.

  So preoccupied with Michael’s call, I didn’t notice something stuck under my windshield wiper until I was already in my car. It was a CD. The parking lot was deserted except for the Romeo who lived in the apartment beneath me and was always with a different woman.

  “Excuse me,” I shouted. “Did you see anyone around my car this morning?”

  He strolled over, looked me up and down, and arched his eyebrow. “No, I didn’t.” He half smiled. “Or do you want me to say I did?”

  I stifled a groan, realizing his assumption I was trying to strike up a conversation. “No, really. You didn’t see anyone?”

  Once he understood the message that nobody was hitting on him, he shook his head and returned to his own car.

  My first impulse was to grab the CD, but realizing it might have been evidence, used a tissue from my purse to inspect it. Nothing on the label. Had the murderer left it? Had he been lurking around during the night? Would I be keeping that Pop Tart down? Rather than risk removing some evidence by playing the CD, I laid the offensive thing carefully on my car seat and called Corrigan.

  From the thickness in his voice, he must have just woken up. “Yeah.”

  “It’s Claire.” I tried to keep any hysteria out of my voice. “Someone left an unmarked CD on my windshield.”

  “Did you see anyone?”

  “No, it was here when I came down. There’s no label on it or anything.”

  “Bring it into the station and we’ll take a look. Whatever you do, don’t play it.”

  I bit my lip, wanting to scream at him for assuming my stupidity or naivety. But allowing my ego to assert itself wasn’t a wise trade for Corrigan’s protection. “I’ll be there in about twenty minutes.”

  “Good. And Claire? I’m glad you called me.”

  “Me too.”

  In a rush and disconcerted over the CD, I accidentally ran a red light on my way to the station and collected my share of dirty looks and irate horns. Ordinarily, I would sheepishly mouth “Sorry” and truly mean it. But none of my energy could be spared right now. Keeping myself together long enough to turn over the CD was using it up.

  Arriving in one piece, I saw Corrigan heading up the steps to go into the station. Without a word, I handed the CD over to him. He slipped it into an evidence bag. “It’s a shame you’re going through this, but—”

  “You don’t have to say it. If I had dropped the case in the beginning, none of this would be happening.” I sounded like a snotty schoolgirl, but wasn’t in the mood for nice. Not now.

  He blew out a breath and pointedly finished. “I was going to say, this may help us catch the killer.”

  I blinked hard. “Huh?” That’s me, one snappy comeback after another.

  He tilted his head toward the door. “Let’s go inside so we can talk.”

  He motioned to a chair by his desk. “Have a seat. Coffee? Or tea?”

  “Neither thanks. What did you mean?” The hairs on my neck stood up and it wasn’t because of the station’s chilly air.

  Corrigan took his time replying. It was obvious to me how much he relished holding my attention, my anticipation of his next words. “Two things.” He sipped his coffee. “First, if what I think is on the CD, we’ll be able to have our voice experts decipher whether or not the guy is old or young.” He stared pointedly at me. “Or if he has an accent, things like that.”

  I exhaled through clenched teeth. “Or a stutter? Don’t you think I’d have noticed things like that?”

  He shrugged. “People usually lose their stutter when they sing.”

  “Okay, but as far as an accent goes, even if I was scared witless, I wouldn’t have missed that. And you’re including Michael in the list of suspects, but he’s innocent.” Isn’t he?

  Corrigan displayed his straight white teeth in a tolerant smile. “Just saying. It’s good for the police to hear it.” Before I could respond, he held up two fingers. “Reason number two is that this guy’s been to your place. In all likelihood, he’ll return, either to up your fears or make good on his threats. But we’ll be there to catch him.” He sat back in his chair looking like he’d scooped up the last piece of pie.

  “You’re planning a stakeout at my apartment?”

  “Something like that.” He templed his fingers. “Haven’t worked out all the details yet. But it’ll be set before you go home.”

  I pressed my lips together, not feeling one bit safer. “But what if the guy decides to kill me in some restaurant? Or in the Ladies’ room at the hospital while I’m visiting Ed?” Maybe I sounded whiny, but fear did that to me.

  “I can’t assign a body guard to you, but…” he swiveled his chair toward me and placed his elbows on his thighs. “It’d be no problem for me to spend a little more time, you know, guarding you.”

  In another world, I would’ve tilted my head in a flirty way, pressed my hand against his chest and in a sultry, breathless voice murmured, “You can guard this body anytime.”

  But we were sitting in a Cleveland police station and someone wanted me eliminated. My tears threatened to burst forth. “Having you watch over me is fine, except for the times you won’t be able to. What then?”

  He leaned toward me and took my hand, probably hoping I wouldn’t start to blubber. “We’ll make sure you’re never alone.” His phone went off and once he’d glanced at it, dropped my hand. “Wait right here.” Rising from his chair, he disappeared down a hallway.

  He’d been gone about five minutes when I remembered my promise to meet Michael. It was getting late. I tapped my foot, checked the time, and checked it again ten seconds later. Corrigan still hadn’t come back so I scribbled a note, apologizing for not waiting. No explanation why. Just a simple note stating he could reach me at my office. No time for another lecture about Michael.

  I dashed up the stairs to my office, worried about being tardy for our appointment. Michael was nowhere to be seen. As late as I was, he may have arrived, waited a bit, and left. Hoping he’d come back, I unlocked the office door and locked it behind me. No sense in tempting fate.

  I waited ten minutes. Then punched in Michael’s number, ready to apologize for not being here. He didn’t pick up, though. “It’s Claire. Sorry I missed you. Ran into something messy, but I’m at my office now. Call me back, okay?”

  My cell rang almost as soon as I’d left the message. It was Corrigan, rather than Michael. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? You ask for my help. Then you run out?”

  “Sorry. I was late for a meeting.” I squeaked.

  “With Adler?” he demanded.


  “He said he had something to tell me and needed to do it in person.” I scrunched up my face, anticipating Corrigan’s lecture.

  “I bet he does.” He heaved a sigh. “You shouldn’t be alone with him.”

  Was he jealous or just wanting to make my life harder? My ego went for jealousy. “It’s just a client meeting. All business.”

  He harrumphed. “Yeah, like last night. I’m on my way there.” He ended the call.

  Despite my irritation and worry over Michael, I smiled. Two guys had never been interested in me at the same time. That is, except for in third grade when Bucky Minetta and Lenny Schiavone noticed I was really good on the monkey bars.

  My thoughts were interrupted by a knock at my door. Corrigan couldn’t have gotten here that fast. “Claire, it’s Michael.”

  Stepping through the doorway, he threw his arms around me. Instinctively, I pulled back and spotted his pained expression. “Michael, what’s wrong?”

  His face was so contorted he barely resembled the man I’d known. But how well did I really know him? Hesitantly, I repeated my question.

  He swallowed hard and relaxed his facial muscles. “Corrigan came to see me last night.”

  A frosty uneasiness settled on me. “And?” It felt like I had swallowed straight pins. Ulcer, anyone?

  Michael looked off toward my computer. “Wasn’t a social call.”

  I blew out a breath. “Have a seat.” I led him to the chair by my desk. “What exactly did he say?”

  Michael sat on the edge. “He thinks I had something to do with my sister’s death.” He rubbed his face. “I can’t believe it. I want them to find her killer too.” He stared into my eyes, “You don’t think I had anything to do with Constance’s death, do you?” His voice soft, pleading.

  “Of course not. That’s crazy. ”It was important to assure him, and myself. “Why does he think that? Did he say?”

  Michael shook his head.

  “Did he actually accuse you?” My pulse throbbed in my temples. Did Corrigan have more on Michael than he’d let on?

  He cast his eyes down on the floor and murmured. “Not exactly.”