Plateful of Murder

by Carole Fowkes

  Heavy footsteps interrupted my confession. Corrigan’s attention was directed at the replacement. “It’s about damn time.” Lowering his voice, he briefed the new guy. Then he motioned to me. “Come on. Let’s see if Walters is okay and if he remembers anything else.”

  The last stroke I saw on the monitor was a downward one. But I disregarded it and, as we got closer to the ER, I cleared my throat. “While you were in with Walters, I might have seen Michael.”

  Corrigan came to a dead stop. “What do mean might have?”

  I half-shrugged. “From the back, it looked like Michael. But when I called to him, the guy didn’t turn around or even hesitate. And there was no way he didn’t hear me.”

  “Was this guy coming from the men’s room or going in there?” His voice terse.

  “Neither. He was just walking down the hall.”

  Corrigan huffed, pulled out the notepad he always carried and wrote something down. He stuck it back in his jacket and mumbled, “Maybe now you’re not so convinced Adler is innocent in all this.”

  I didn’t reply. I didn’t want Corrigan to be right that Michael shouldn’t be trusted. Besides being my client, my feelings for him were…more than businesslike. Maybe the guy I saw wasn’t Michael. Or was I just blinded by the fact that the man could cook and bake like Betty Crocker and Duncan Hines mixed together?

  Down in the ER, Officer Walters lay on a gurney, a bulky bandage around his head. He was more alert now, but didn’t have anything new to add, even when Corrigan asked him if he’d noticed a tall, balding, thirtyish man with thick glasses. I relaxed a bit when Walters didn’t recall any such person. When we were done, Corrigan ushered me outside the room and the hospital.

  Once we reached the visitor’s parking lot, I glanced around for Michael’s car. Corrigan pulled out his keys. “Not that it means anything, but if you’re looking for Adler’s car, I’ve already checked and it isn’t here.”

  That was a relief.

  Corrigan backed his car out of his parking space. Without looking at me he said, “They checked for prints on that CD. The only ones on it are yours.”

  “Not a surprise.” But I wished there had been fingerprints all over the CD belonging to Eagleton. “Has anyone asked Eagleton or his trusty sidekick where they were last night?”

  “I’m on it. Don’t worry.”

  Me, not worry? The cowardly part of me, a big part, wanted to let Corrigan handle it. But I couldn’t just sit by and be killed waiting for him to do something. My decision to visit Eagleton after a quick dinner with Michael was more about survival than bravery.

  In that weird way one thought leads to another, that one brought me back to wondering if it had been Michael at the hospital. If so, why didn’t he respond to my call? Could he possibly have anything to do with Walters being attacked? I chewed on my lower lip, hashing it out. My instinct told me he did. Damn my instinct.

  We waited for a red light to change. His eyes on the road, Corrigan said, “Audio team gave me their report too. Another song from West Side Story. Couldn’t do much with the voice. It was altered.” The light turned green and we cruised through. “But we’ll still need you to hear it.”

  I’d rather go to the dentist and have all my teeth drilled, than listen. But what other choice was there?

  A look at the time told me I’d probably have to go straight from my office to dinner. At least it would be at the Shanty rather than at Michael’s house. This way, I could ask my questions about seeing him at the hospital in public.

  ***

  My behind was turning numb waiting in the uncomfortable chair by Corrigan’s desk. He was hunting down the report on the CD. When I’d given up hope for blood ever returning to my posterior, he showed up, running his fingers through his hair as he scanned the report. He frowned and tossed it on his desk. “Nothing here I haven’t already told you.”

  “Figured as much.” I stood up. “You still need me to listen to it?” Eating fried spiders sounded more appealing.

  “Yep. And they should be ready for us.”

  He led me to a small room full of black and silver gadgets with lots of knobs and switches. Motioning for me to sit, he introduced me to Henry, the technician, and someone else whose name I didn’t catch.

  Henry pushed his glasses up and smiled at me. “Ready?”

  Corrigan leaned over so his face was close to mine, and he placed his hands on the arms of my chair. “Take your time. We can replay it if you need.”

  Yeah, why don’t we play it so much I go home humming it?

  My legs wiggled and my resolve melted like a popsicle dropped on a hot sidewalk. Still, I said, “I’m ready.”

  At first I heard a high pitched buzz on the CD. The voice sang to the tune of “Gee, Officer Krupke” and almost blotted out the noise.

  “Dear stupid little piggy,

  I warned you off this case.

  Now I’m gonna kill you.

  It seems like such a waste.

  It’s not that I don’t like you,

  It’s business don’t you know,

  Gee little piggy, you gotta go.”

  The song ended and Henry shut it off, but that buzz in my ears continued, traveling into my brain and spinning around, making me dizzy and nauseated. I felt hot all over.

  Corrigan’s hand was on my back then, handing me a cup of water. I took a sip. Better now, maybe because of the water. Or Corrigan, with his eyes full of concern. I took in a shaky breath and blew it out. “I’m okay now.”

  “Sorry to put you through that. Did you recognize anything?”

  “Not really.” I took another sip of water. “Could you play it again?” I hoped to not throw up.

  I listened again to the whole, sick thing. It wasn’t any easier the second time. But the background noise was familiar. “I know what that noise is.”

  Henry and I became a duo when we both pronounced, “It’s a circular saw.” I went on. “But that isn’t very significant. All my uncles, my neighbors, even my dad have one.”

  Corrigan thanked the audio team and ushered me out of the room. He rubbed his neck. “I’ll take you back to your office. Get your car, and I’ll follow you to the Shellfish Shanty.”

  My mind’s eye saw it all unfold. Corrigan asking for a cozy table for three: him, Michael and me.

  We pulled up to my car and before I got out, he said, “Act natural at the restaurant.”

  Act natural? I’m naturally terrified. Out of the corner of my mouth I asked, “Will you be at a nearby table, spying on us over the menu?”

  He snorted. “Give me more credit than that. This isn’t my first time.” He added almost under his breath, “First time I had a personal interest, though.”

  I rewarded him with a smile fit for a homecoming queen, but didn’t say anything, afraid I’d spoil it. I brushed his cheek with my fingertips and he turned toward me. Our eyes met, but before any violins could play Rachmaninoff, another driver, some guy in a fancy car, laid on his horn. “You’re blocking the driveway. Move it.”

  So much for any hubba-hubba, as my dad would say. Corrigan nodded toward the ‘Do Not Block Driveway’ sign and cursed under his breath. He jerked the car forward enough for the outraged driver to get by.

  Chapter Seventeen

  After a few last-minute instructions from Corrigan, I drove to the Shellfish Shanty. My stomach churned but it wasn’t from hunger. Every few seconds, my eyes studied my rearview mirror. Corrigan was right where he told me he’d be. I used the restaurant’s valet parking. No dark deserted side streets for me. Corrigan had parked himself, but I took it on faith he could keep me in his sights.

  I tossed my hair back in an attempt to throw off any fear. It wasn’t as if I’d never been with Michael alone before. No big deal.

  My entrance into the restaurant was memorable since I jerked like a marionette in the hands of a new apprentice. Michael waved and stood up. The perfect gentleman. Scanning the room didn’t provide me with a Corrigan sighting. Sti
ll, I stuck a smile on my face and greeted Michael like nothing had changed. My mouth felt prickly, as if it were full of straw.

  He took my offered hand and guided me to my chair. Then he bent toward me, going for a quick kiss, but I wasn’t interested and turned my head so his lips brushed my hair instead. Too bad I hadn’t shampooed. He waited for me to sit, then followed suit.

  Before I could choke on a fib like, ‘Good to see you,’ the waitress hurried over and asked for our drink order.

  “Just water for me, thanks.” I’d need all my wits about me to find out if he was at the hospital today and if so, why he ignored me.

  Michael cocked his head. “Are you sure?” He leaned in and whispered like a co-conspirator. “Let’s both get a chocolate cherry martini.”

  Ordinarily, the thought of chocolate liqueur, cherry vodka, chocolate syrup, and a cherry on top makes me swoon, but I couldn’t chance it. Still, my conditioned response was to drool like a Saint Bernard. “Can’t, Michael. But you go ahead.”

  He shook his head and just ordered water too. “No fun drinking one of those alone.” He placed his hand over mine and his eyes twinkled. “But it seems like we’ve both had a tough day and we do deserve a drink.”

  There was my opening. “Oh? What did you do today?”

  He straightened his placemat. “Errands. Mostly downtown. Should’ve taken the Rapid, but I drove.” He took a sip of his water and wiped his mouth. “Traffic was awful. Wasn’t even sure I’d make it here on time.” He paused. “So what about that drink?”

  I held up my hand to decline again, wanting to get back to the questioning. But unwinding a bit did sound good. I would let my chocolate-loving soul delight in one relaxing drink before putting Michael back under my exam light. I’d have to be careful, though, or risk accusing him of God-knows-what.

  We made small talk until our drinks came. I took a couple sips of the glorious concoction and it fortified me. I’d play it cool. But that phrase reminded me of the West Side Story song, Cool, “Just play it cool boy, Real cool”, bringing back the horror of those threatening calls. I took a shaky breath and willed my face into a fake calm. Placid, like a riverboat gambler holding a straight flush. Making sure I could once again speak in a pitch lower than a referee’s whistle, I asked, “Did any of those errands take you to Fairview Hospital?”

  He shook his head. “No. Why do you ask?”

  My eyes remained on my martini glass. “I thought I saw you and wondered what you were doing there.”

  “It wasn’t me.”

  A sip of water instead of my drink was wise. Putting the glass down, I spoke as if to myself. “Funny. The guy sure looked like you.”

  A vein in his forehead throbbed. “You don’t believe me?” He swirled the liquid in his glass.

  I dropped my hands in my lap and clasped them together to stop from fidgeting. “No, just wondered. Guess I made a mistake.” If that line was any more transparent I could hang curtains around it. My mouth went dry. “Sorry Michael. But I am a private investigator. It’s my job to be curious, and that means being curious about someone who looked a lot like you being at the hospital and ignoring me, like he had something to hide.”

  The stakes in this what-are-you-up-to game were too high for me to play coy. I ran my finger through the condensation on my martini glass and wondered if he’d seen me with Corrigan and Ed’s guard.

  He looked me directly in the eyes. “Understood.” A hint of a smile. “I know you have to ask questions, but please don’t be like Corrigan.”

  “Huh?”

  “Suspicious of everything I do.”

  My stomach did a roller coaster dive. That was exactly what I was doing, and needed to. He still hadn’t doused that flame of doubt burning in me. But I couldn’t grab him by the collar and make him talk so I used the tools God gave me; dazzled him with my sugar-substitute sweet smile. “Not to worry. Still, why—”

  He laid his hands palm down on the table, his voice firm. “I wasn’t there.” He waited a heartbeat, then, “But what were you doing at the hospital?”

  I’d prepared for him asking, and the fib rolled off my tongue. “A friend of my father’s was admitted, and my dad asked me to visit him. He was asleep when I got there, though.” I downed some water to shut myself up. When I’m not telling the truth my tendency is to expand unnecessarily on the lie. If I didn’t watch it, I’d explain the diagnosis, treatment and prognosis of this imaginary friend. Then cap it off by talking about the folks he’d leave behind.

  Michael finished his drink. “You’ll go back again then?” Without asking me, he ordered two more drinks.

  I covered my martini glass with my hand. “One’s plenty for me. And yes, I’ll go back to see him again.”

  He picked up my hand. “Please. One more.”

  Not a good idea, especially on an empty stomach. “I really can’t.”

  Any further debate over another drink was postponed by my phone’s jingling. A text message from Corrigan. I excused myself. “Have to take care of this. Be back in a second.”

  “Of course.” Michael stood as I left the table.

  I ducked into the restroom. Corrigan’s message explained he’d been called away, but my second-shift body guard would arrive shortly. In caps he added, “STAY PUT!!!” So much for 24 hour protection. My deodorant’s promise was more reliable.

  I splashed cold water on my face to revive my brain and headed back to the table, expecting Michael to resume his questioning. It was vital that I be ready for him. What I hadn’t prepared for, though, was the second round of drinks he’d ordered.

  Having no choice but to ignore the drink by my dinner setting, I apologized for the interruption.He waved his hand, as if the subject now totally bored him. “It’s certainly all right.” He smiled but his eyes didn’t reflect happy times. He picked up his menu. “What looks good?”

  At this point anything would relieve my drink’s effect. The room wasn’t exactly spinning. More like it was a big ship on a choppy sea. I hoped my alcohol-doused stomach wouldn’t reject the food and force any morsels to make a second less-than-savory appearance.

  A little voice inside kept poking me, urging me to ask more questions. Another voice told that first one to shut up and enjoy the dinner. The first voice won. “You were pretty upset with Corrigan this afternoon. Now it seems you’ve dismissed it. Why? What’s happened?”

  He lowered his menu. His face turned partly cloudy. Then the sun came out. “I decided to rise above it. After all, I haven’t really done anything wrong,” he lowered his eyes, “except maybe like my private detective too much.”

  I forced a smile. My feelings for him had faded like a cheap hair dye. “We should order dinner.”

  Instead of calling the waitress over, though, he raised his drink. “A toast. To Claire for dropping the case.”

  I picked up my water glass instead my martini and took a short gulp.

  Michael suppressed a smile. “Rather have water, huh? Glad I asked for refills.” He took a small sip of his drink, and watched me over his glass.

  We finally ordered and he raised his drink again. “A second toast. To a happy friendship that may become more.”

  All of a sudden, I got very thirsty, and lifting my water glass, drained it. Then wiped my mouth with the back of my hand like I just drank from a garden hose. My attempts to rest my chin on my hand were futile; it kept slipping off. The room seemed overly warm, and I undid the top button of my blouse.

  “Claire, are you all right?”

  I blinked hard to get his two heads back into one. At this rate, eating off the floor would be my only choice because that’s where I’d be laying. My body swayed in the chair. “I’m fine.”

  I was anything but.

  Michael spoke but I didn’t hear him. Instead, my head buzzed. The last thing I remember was imagining Michael as a fat bumble bee.

  Chapter Eighteen

  It was still dark when I woke up in Michael’s guestroom. My head felt
like someone had dropped an anvil on it, and my mouth seemed full of fuzz. I frantically patted myself to make sure my clothes were still on. They were twisted and wrinkled, but everything was in place, except for my shoes. They were next to the bed.

  Using the bedside table, I steadied myself and slipped my shoes on. Michael must have hauled me out of the restaurant before my second-shift bodyguard came. Was that a coincidence or had he cunningly figured out how to separate me from my safety net? If so, why? Visions of Ed at the bottom of my office stairs. Or, of Mallorie, lifeless at my door, compounded my fears. No harm had come to me—yet. I wrapped my arms around myself.

  Corrigan must be frantic.

  Calling him was impossible. My phone was no longer in my pocket. Not that telling Corrigan where I’d spent the night would be pleasant. But without my phone, it wasn’t an option. Panic began behind my eyes and the feeling spread to my stomach. Not satisfied to stay there, it coursed down my legs giving them the strength of gummy worms.

  “Claire?” Michael knocked, interrupting my paranoia.

  “Don’t come in. I, I’m not dressed.” My eyes darted around the room, searching for my purse. It lay open on top of a chair across the room and I groped around inside it. Although my phone was gone, he hadn’t taken my mace. The spray canister slipped out of my grasp once, but when I managed to pull it out of my purse, I tiptoed close to the door and took aim. “Come in.” With no idea what harm he meant to me, my index finger sat poised on the spray button.

  Michael walked in holding a tray with soup, bread, a cup of tea, and a pink carnation in a vase. His smile vanished when he saw the mace. “What are you doing?”

  My eyes never left him. “Why did you drug me?” Great ice breaker.

  The tray slanted and the glass vase knocked against the tea cup, creating a tinkling sound. “What are you talking about? How could you even think such a thing?”