Cupcakes and Corpses

by Carole Fowkes

  The lot was pretty empty by now, except for a few cars. I smiled noticing two of the remaining ones had Smalley’s Chocolates bumper stickers. The idea behind those was that if a vehicle was spotted with a sticker the driver won free chocolate and their name up on Smalley’s marquee. I hadn’t noticed before but a lot of people had the stickers.

  Before I pulled out of the lot, I checked my phone. Corrigan still hadn’t called. Now I was really annoyed.

  Chapter Twelve

  It was the next day before Corrigan called back, leaving a message that he’d try again later. Of course, I was indisposed at the time, refusing to take my phone into the ladies’ room.

  All morning and most of the afternoon, Gino had me go through the files again and jot down what was needed to wrap each up. It was grunt work, but the day went quickly. Before I knew it, it was time for bingo. Again.

  The parking lot at Corey’s Center was about half full by the time I arrived. Helen greeted me at the door. Rubbing her thumb and index finger repeatedly over a button on her print dress, she asked, “Are the police coming too? In case that man who upset Joanna is here?”

  I didn’t want her to know the truth, that I was working on my own. “They won’t come inside. We wouldn’t want to disrupt the game. I’ll check out the stalker myself and make sure he’s the right guy before anything is done.”

  Rather than looking at me, Helen’s eyes darted around the room. “That’s best.” She smoothed out her short, steel-gray hair.

  “Is Louise here yet?”

  “She’s at the first table, second chair. Heavy-set woman. Wearing a green top.” Helen handed me a bingo card and a marker and whispered, “On the house.”

  Luckily, nobody was seated on Louise’s right side. I sat down next to her and introduced myself. Louise didn’t look impressed. “If you and the cops did a better job, Joanna would still be alive. She was such a sweet kid.” Her sagging cheeks shook as she made her pronouncement.

  “I understand how you feel, but concerned citizens like you can help right the wrongs.” I sounded like a public service announcement. “Now, please, what can you tell me about the man who stalked Joanna?”

  She leaned toward me. “I stay after sometimes, ya know? Live alone so what’s the hurry to get back? Anyway, one night I noticed she’s shaking as she’s putting stuff away. I asked her what was wrong. She says one of the guys here followed her home. Didn’t talk to her or nothing, but, still…That’s like stalking. Anyway it scared her. I told her to go to the cops. She didn’t want to. Happened one other time and she quit. But they arrested the guy who killed her, so why the interest?”

  I should have been prepared for the question, but it took me by surprise. “We want to make sure we have the right man in custody. Now is this stalker guy here?”

  She scanned the room. “I don’t see him.”

  “Could you give me a description?”

  “Tall, blond hair. Nice-looking. Good build. That’s all I remember about him. Sorry.”

  Disappointed, I still reassured her. “That’s okay. If he comes in, you tap my foot with yours. Would you do that for me?”

  “Sure.” A bell sounded. “Ooh. That’s the warning bell to get ready.” She lined up her five cards and grabbed her marker, moving her spare in case the one in hand ran dry.

  The hostess started things off by explaining house rules, followed by her spinning the small cage next to her. The tiles clacked and bounced around. The entire room seemed to hold a collective breath. She pronounced, “B-2. That’s B-2.”

  The first three spins and picks passed by me. I was too busy looking for…someone who looked like a serial killer, I suppose.

  On the fourth spin, she called out, “I-22. That’s I-22.” I glanced down and realized my card had an I-22. I quickly dotted it. Then came an O-65. That one was on my card as well. In the same row. Despite this being an investigation, my excitement grew and by the time the hostess had called another letter and number on my card, my belly felt like it was fizzing. So great was my concentration, Louise had to kick me twice.

  She finally hissed, “I think he’s here. By the door.”

  Not wanting to turn my head and look, I tried to see him from the corner of my eye. No good. Plus I missed the previous number called. It didn’t matter. Someone from the next table over yelled bingo and I spun around to face Desiree’s possible killer. Our eyes met.

  Yep, tall, blond hair, nice-looking. Just as Louise had described him. It was Corrigan.

  As he made his way toward my table, Louise’s hands began to shake. “He knows we’re on to him. Quick, do something!”

  “Relax, Louise. He’s just—”

  “Hello, Ladies. Just what, Claire?” As smooth and cool as gelato, Corrigan pulled a chair over and sat between us.

  “I was going to tell Louise that you’re a police detective.”

  Louise’s eyes opened wide and her words tumbled out. “I don’t know anything. Honest. Anybody could be the stalker. Doesn’t have to be you.”

  Corrigan’s eyebrows knit. “Desiree’s stalker looked like me?”

  “Desiree was Joanna’s nickname.” I explained to Louise.

  “Oh.” She paused. “I think so.”

  “Or did you see me on TV Monday?”

  Louise cradled her double chin in her hand. “I don’t think…Well…Now that you mention it…”

  Much to my annoyance, Corrigan looked smug. Unwilling to let him dismiss my theory again, I brought up Desiree’s fear that she was being stalked.

  Corrigan nodded. “Duly noted.”

  Louise excused herself to get different bingo cards. She lumbered over to the welcome area, leaving Corrigan and me to talk.

  “What about bringing Louise down to the station and seeing if she can recognize your suspect.”

  Corrigan’s laugh was short and sharp. “You must be kidding. She’s not reliable. Hell, she thought I was the stalker. Good try, though, Claire.”

  “Why are you here, then?”

  “Are you kidding me? All those voicemails you left me.” He gave me a Huck Finn-like grin. “I had to get them to stop. So here I am.”

  I shook my head as if to say he was incorrigible. “Are you going to stay in case the stalker comes here?”

  That tasting-soured-milk look came over his face. “Didn’t plan to. Tell you what. I’ll stay through the next games if the two of us can play our own games afterwards.”

  Louise returned just in time to overhear Corrigan. Rather than being embarrassed, she sighed, “That takes me back to the last proposition I received. It was quite a while ago, when I was still a looker.”

  Thankfully, the hostess began calling the numbers and that conversation ended.

  As did the evening, with nobody coming into the bingo center after Corrigan. The two times I’d spent at bingo had yielded nothing. I consoled myself, thinking at least tonight I’d get some much appreciated physical attention from Corrigan. Or so I thought, until his phone vibrated. We hadn’t even gotten out of the parking lot.

  It was hard to tell by the light of the street lamp, but I think his face paled. He mumbled, “Be right there.” And I knew.

  “Another body? At a bingo hall?”

  He stared at his phone. “Body was found in a back parking lot. On Lorain, near Kamm’s Corner.”

  Squeezing his upper arm I said, “I understand. You have to go.” Being an adult, I didn’t even remind him about my belief Gutkowski wasn’t the Red Bow Killer. Being right didn’t make me feel any better.

  Against my protests, he walked me to my car, barely met my lips with his, and took off. Once he was out of my sight, I pouted. Another night of cuddling with Charlie. Oh well, at least he wouldn’t notice if I didn’t shave my legs.

  Charlie was happy to see me, which cheered me up a bit. We took a quick walk and then, once he realized it wasn’t mealtime, he sat on the floor next to me while I booted up my computer. Sure enough, the online news was full of information about t
his latest victim of the serial killer. Her name hadn’t been released yet pending family notification. Poor Corrigan. His name was scattered all over the stories. The Cleveland Police Detective who’d caught the wrong guy. Gutkowski was being released and most likely thinking of suing the city.

  Grabbing a chocolate chip banana muffin from my freezer, I waited for it to thaw a little before biting into it. Charlie got a doggie treat. Then I returned to my computer. Nothing added up. Eileen didn’t play bingo or, as an adult, the piano. Mrs. Amato did both. Rose was near a piano but didn’t play bingo. Desiree played bingo. Piano playing was unknown. The only common factor across the board was that they all lived alone. If that was the only thing driving the killer to choose them, a lot of women, including me, were at risk.

  A chill cascaded down my body and I shivered. I turned off my computer in favor of the television, telling myself the information on this latest victim would be of enormous help. Sure, and Charlie was really a prince cursed by an evil witch.

  After an hour of watching the tube and learning nothing new, I double-checked the deadbolt lock on my door and made sure my windows were sealed tight. Funny how living alone had never seemed quite so scary.

  ***

  Early the next morning, even before showering, I checked to see if there was anything new on the woman murdered the previous night. Unfortunately, it was all just a rehash of old information. After taking care of Charlie and my own needs, I drove to the office.

  The first time all week Gino hadn’t beaten me here. It wasn’t long, though, before he wandered in, looking like he’d been picked up by a tornado and dropped in front of the office. His shirt was buttoned wrong and he’d missed two belt loops. His hair, usually neatly parted on the side, stuck out as if trying to escape from his scalp. “Gino, are you okay?”

  He plopped into the closest chair. “Yeah. Spent the night with Betty. Clarence showed up.” He smirked. “Let me just say he won’t be back.”

  Whether or not he wanted me to ask, I didn’t want to know any more than that. “How about I make you some coffee?”

  “Naw. I’ve had enough of that stuff. Been up since five.” It was now nine thirty. He scratched the back of his neck. “Heard there’s been another Red Bow murder. This one near Kamm’s Corner, by the West Park library.”

  “What else have you heard?” If he had known about Desiree before I did, he was a steady user of the police scanner he claimed to have.

  He sat back in the chair. “Are we partners in the reward money?”

  I let out a deep breath, weighing my options. This case was getting more frightening by the day. Plus, $5,000 was better than nothing. “Yes. Okay. We’re partners.”

  “The victim was on her way home from the library. That was the last place she was seen. Name was Wendy Nichols and she lived on Chatfield. She was a waitress at that pancake house in Rocky River. Figured I’d go to the restaurant. Get breakfast. Ask around.”

  “That means I get the library?” Figures he’d go for the easier task. He stood and smoothed his shirt with his hands, but the creases were too deep to disappear. “Think I’ll take Betty with me.”

  Sure, another meal he’ll write off as a business expense. Big spender.

  Leaving at the same time, I was convinced of my accomplishing more in one hour than he would all day. I was already regretting my decision to share the reward.

  My visit to the library garnered me very little. According to the librarian I spoke with, Ms. Nichols was a regular there. That she usually checked out nonfiction was the extent of what the woman could tell me.

  Just outside the building, an elderly lady stopped me. She pushed her thick glasses up with her index finger. “Are you with the police, dear?”

  “I’m a private investigator, but I do work with the police.” Believing she was just nosey, I prepared to excuse myself.

  That is, until she said, “Wendy wasn’t killed by that Red Rover Killer, was she?”

  “You mean the Red Bow Killer. Yes.”

  The woman’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh dear!”

  “Did you know Wendy well?”

  “Sometimes we’d talk. Usually about what book we’d read. Yesterday, I saw her leaving just as I was coming in. She had some books on playing games.”

  I was on alert now. “Games like bingo?”

  “I didn’t get a good look at them. The only reason I knew they were games is because the top one had a checkerboard or something like that. I didn’t have my glasses on.”

  “Was there anything else you remember?”

  A man followed her out.” She pinched her chin. “Or maybe he was just leaving at the same time. I’m not sure.”

  “Could you describe him?”

  “He had one of those oxygen thingies on. I suppose that’s not important.”

  Recalling the bingo player on oxygen, I wondered how many men in this area carried oxygen around with them. I grasped the lady’s hand. “Thank you! Thank you!”

  I spun around and went back to the librarian, describing the guy and asking if she’d ever seen him.

  “Why, yes. He’s over in History and Current Events right now. And I believe he’s been here before.”

  Barely letting her finish her sentence, I raced to that section. Nobody was there. I searched the rest of the library to no avail. How did he get out without me seeing him?

  Finally, I went to the checkout desk, wondering if information on the books someone checked out was confidential. It was.

  Amazingly, Corrigan answered his phone. “Hi. Can you come to the West Park library? Right now, so we can see what books Wendy Nichols checked out the night she died.”

  I could feel his irritation through the phone. “Three books. One was on bingo, one on playing clarinet, and the last on attracting men. None were found with her body. And before you ask, she didn’t own a clarinet.”

  “Yes, but that means bingo is the link.”

  “You’re forgetting Eileen and Rose. Neither played bingo.”

  “As far as we know.” I was reaching. “Maybe it’s bingo or music.” Turning to the ridiculous I even muttered, “Maybe it’s oxygen.”

  “What? Claire…” A warning in his tone. “Sure. Maybe what gets this guy off is a woman playing the piano and singing out bingo numbers. Who knows? The one thing I’m sure of is that, whoever he is, he’s not anything you’ve run across. Please. Stay out of this.”

  He was correct, of course. And I was alarmed and worried. This guy’s murder streak was the stuff of nightmares. But the lure of even half the reward, plus getting whoever killed Mrs. Amato was too strong. Plus, for me and for all of his potential victims I wanted it all to end.

  “You’re right, Brian. Look, I better get back to work. Gino’s probably wondering about me.” I’d skirted his request with a non-answer. It wasn’t my best response, but at least no lies were involved.

  All the way back to the office I thought about Wendy Nichols and why she was killed. She wasn’t at a bingo parlor the night she died. Was it just the idea of bingo that made her a target? Or maybe it wasn’t bingo, it was music. Ideas were darting through my brain in no particular order, sort of like bumper cars.

  At work, it came as no surprise to me that I’d be alone. Gino hadn’t returned from his so-called fact-finding breakfast. My guess was that the only facts he discovered were whether Betty liked pancakes or waffles better.

  Actually it was good having my boss gone. It gave me time to look up when the bingo parlors in Brook Park had games. I couldn’t risk Aunt Lena’s displeasure by calling off one more night, but luckily, St. John’s Catholic Church on Bunts Road near Detroit Avenue had bingo tomorrow afternoon at four thirty. I could at least sit in for a couple of games before leaving for Cannoli’s.

  I let Angie know where to meet me and explained I’d have to leave bingo early. She’d be on her own. I wasn’t happy about that, but there wasn’t much of a choice.

  Afterwards, I typed up the last few invoices a
nd opened the mail. Nothing but bills and junk mail. If Gino didn’t get some new clients, we’d both be working at Cannoli’s.

  I drummed my fingers on my desk, drank a cup of tea, and decided I’d waited long enough for Gino. Digging through my purse, I found the address of the piano instructor, Todd Shotswell. Corrigan had assured me Shotswell had a solid alibi for Eileen’s murder, playing in a concert, but what about for the other murders? Or maybe we hadn’t identified all the music teachers in the area. I’d checked Cleveland’s West Side and nearby suburbs. But how could I be sure my search had been broad enough? Back to the computer I went, this time to search for musicians outside the immediate area.

  There were four of them who gave lessons. The first one’s line was disconnected. The second person no longer taught or even played due to a chronic illness. The final two were women.

  I shook my head, knowing I was grabbing at a cobweb. You know it’s there, but when you snatch the thing it drifts out of reach.

  I rubbed my shoulders and rolled my neck. Maybe I just needed some music to soothe me.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The door to Shotswell’s music store and studio was open. Inside it was not exactly dark, but I had to strain to see the man as he set down a clarinet. “Can I help you?”

  “Yes.” I skirted around a drum set and a guitar. “My name is Claire. I’m wondering if you know of anyone who gives music lessons.” If he said he did, my rudimentary plan was to take one and let him know I liked bingo. Then watch his reaction.

  He stood and turned on a floor lamp. The man looked to be about forty-five with thinning medium-brown hair and a compact body. “I give lessons in the student’s home. Are you asking for yourself?”

  “Yes. Yes, I am.” I had about as much musical ability as my dog, Charlie.

  “And what instrument are you interested in?”