I didn’t own a piano so I glanced around for inspiration and found it. “I’ve always wanted to play saxophone.” I swallowed hard, hoping he did the same with my story. He stepped closer to me and brought the sharp, sweet odor of his cologne with him.
I stammered, “Of course, I’ve…I’ve never played it before. Or any instrument. I guess you could say I’m musically disadvantaged.” I wondered if my dad still had the old sax he used to play when he was young.
Shotswell’s laugh was hearty and pleasant. “That’s no problem. Most of my students have little or no experience with music. Some of them might even be tone-deaf.” Although his comment wasn’t kind, his tone was not unkind. “I like to think of my students as ‘diamonds in the rough’ if that makes any sense.” He smiled warmly.
“It does.” Despite my suspicions, I found myself genuinely smiling back at him. Still, I came there for information, not to make a friend. “By the way, do you have a card?”
“Yes.” He pulled one from his pocket. “I’m Todd Shotswell.” He stuck his hand out and shook mine with a solid, strong grip. Then back to business. “If you’ve never played, I suggest we start with the alto saxophone. It’s the easiest for beginners. Now I can rent you one for $20 a month. It’s like new.”
I told myself I could expense it out. Just like Gino was no doubt doing with his breakfast. “Okay, but can I have my first lesson here? I have a roommate and—”
He held up his hands to reassure me. “Say no more. I don’t usually do this, but we can start off with lessons here. After a few weeks, we’ll discuss it again.”
We talked price and set up a tentative schedule. Although I tried to get my first lesson the next day, he claimed prior commitments and our session wasn’t until next Wednesday. Stymied, I left with a slightly used saxophone and a how-to booklet. My frustration lessened when I decided that if my father still had his saxophone, I’d bring this one back. It’d give me a chance to do what I should have done on this first visit. Talk about bingo.
I stashed the rented instrument in my trunk and returned to the office just as Gino was settling into his desk. “How’d it go, Gino?”
He burped into his hand, and I could detect a hint of breakfast sausage in the air. “The vic was a saint.” He waved away the comment. “You know, everybody’s a saint when they die.” He snorted. “Wendy Nichols was a waitress at the pancake place since 2010. Best friend was another woman named Flo, just like in that television show.” He chortled. “Maybe the cook is named Mel.” When I didn’t laugh he went on. “Flo says she dragged Wendy to St. John’s bingo game once, but Wendy wasn’t into it.”
I stopped him. “Maybe the books were for Flo?”
“What are you talking about?”
I gave him a quick rundown of what books the latest victim had checked out of the library.
Rubbing his chin as if considering my point he said, “Could be. We won’t ever know that now. What about you? Uncover anything?”
Showing him Todd’s card, I described my plan.
“You gotta be kidding me? Sax lessons? And that’s gonna help you find the killer? We already know this music man had a hell of an alibi for Eileen’s murder.”
My jaw tightened. “Maybe. Then again, what if music has something to do with these murders? You know it could.” I turned the discussion back on him. “Did you find out if Wendy Nichols played an instrument?”
He templed his fingers. “As a matter of fact, she didn’t.”
“You’re sure?”
That’s when he admitted he hadn’t asked. “I had to get Betty back home.” He pulled out a piece of paper. “Got Flo’s number, though.” He picked up the phone. “And I’m calling her right now.”
Sometimes I wondered how Gino had stayed in business for as long as he had. I glanced around at the shabby office décor, a faded blue sofa that had seen better days, chairs that wobbled when you sat, and a picture on the wall that looked like the product of a nighttime art class. All a direct reflection of Gino’s PI skills.
Luckily, Flo answered her phone and Gino redeemed himself. “Thanks. You’re a sweetheart.” He hung up and shook his head. “She played the harp.”
“Harp?” Tilting my head to the side, “Then why the book on the clarinet?”
He shrugged. “Don’t know. But that’s what Flo claimed. So I think we need to put a list together of what each woman had in common.”
I blew out a breath. “Already did that.”
“Okay. What did you come up with?”
Looking at the letter opener on my desk, I contemplated stabbing Gino with it rather than explaining once again what I’d already told him.
He rubbed his chin as if he was thinking deep thoughts. “We need to check out all the bingo parlors around here.”
Little did he know how close he was to being seriously injured. Holding my temper, I reviewed my experiences at bingo and ended with my findings of zero. Lucky for him, before going into my future plans, Betty walked through the door. Her mascara had run down her face and she looked like a mask from a Mardi Gras ball.
Gino jumped up. “What’s wrong?”
Betty handed him an envelope. “From Rose, before she…” Her voice trailed off as she swallowed a sob.
He gently guided her to a chair and slipped the envelope from her hand. Inside was a note. Gino skimmed it and his face paled. His voice was as solicitous as a lawyer when explaining a will. “Do you mind if I read this to Claire?”
Betty shook her head.
“Dear Bets, Sorry I disappeared on you again, but I felt too confined. Met a guy (don’t I always?) who likes music as much as me. Piano, guitar, even clarinet, it doesn’t matter. He’s crazy about it all. Says he’s crazy about me and maybe someday it’ll be ‘til death do us part. Be happy for me. Love, Rosie.”
When he finished reading, Betty dropped her head in her hands. Her shoulders shook. “I shoulda took better care of her.”
Gino dropped to his knees and tenderly placed his hands over hers. “Claire, get her some water.”
Mesmerized with Gino’s softness, it took me a moment to move.
When I returned with the cup of water, Betty was wiping her eyes and Gino was talking to her in soft tones. He took the glass and had her take a sip. “Betty, we need to get this note to the cops. After we make a copy for ourselves.”
I volunteered to take it to Corrigan. Maybe he’d finally agree I was right in believing that music somehow played a role in these murders.
On my way there, I called my dad to thank him for paying my landlady and to find out if he still had his saxophone and what type it was.
“Yeah, still got the old sax. It’s a tenor. Why?”
“I’m, um, taking lessons.”
He laughed. “When you were young your mom and I tried to get you to play the flute. You flat out refused. So what’s up with lessons now? Especially a saxophone? I know you’re not planning to play at my wedding.”
Telling him the truth was out of the question. “I just think it’d be fun. You always seemed to enjoy it.”
“Yeah, I did. You know, your mother thought it was sexy when I played.”
“Dad!” I wrinkled my nose.
He chuckled, “Okay, I’ll stop. If you want it, the tenor sax is here for you.” His tone turned serious. “Oh, by the way, Lena claims you’ve been working late with Gino.”
I bit my lower lip, fearing my lie would bite me on the rear. “Yes. Was she upset?”
“No, but I’ve known Gino long enough to know he’d never work extra hours. Tell me you’re not using the time you should be at Cannoli’s trying to find that Red Bow Killer.
“Dad, I—”
He interrupted me and, using his I’m-the-father voice, said, “I’m not done. Now I want justice for Mrs. Amato as much as you do. But not at the risk of losing you. So here’s the deal. I won’t tell Lena what you’ve really been up to if you tell me you’re done with trying to find this murderer.”
&nbs
p; My spirits, already low, sunk so far down an expedition would be needed to find them. It was bad enough that this investigation was proving to be terrifying. Now my dad was holding the truth over me. Just like Angie. I wondered if, after all, it wouldn’t be better to confess to Aunt Lena and appeal to her mercy. But then that’d implicate Angie and I didn’t want my aunt mad at her friend. “You can rest assured, Dad, there’s no way I’ll be finding the killer.”
“I suppose that’s the best I’ll get from you.”
“Love you, Dad. I’m at my destination. Gotta go.”
I ended the call before he could say another word. Feeling like the last kid picked for a dodgeball team, it was me and me alone. Nobody was happy about my investigation except Gino, and that was for personal reasons. Now here I was, in front of the police station to show Corrigan Rose’s note. He might not know about my lie to Aunt Lena, but he was just as adamant about me dropping this case as my dad. But then nobody has ever wanted me to pursue an investigation. Everything is fine when it’s over and I’ve solved the murder. Until the next one. Sure, I’m absolutely petrified during it all, but I go on. What would it take for them to accept that I was a competent PI? How many times would I have to prove it to them?
Enough! I threw back my shoulders, held my head high and marched into the police station, Rose’s note in hand. After pleading with the cop at the reception cubicle, I was able to locate Corrigan. He was sitting at his desk and motioned for me to come over.
He pointed to the note, his tone lighthearted. “I hope that isn’t your resignation from being my main squeeze.”
“No. As long as you behave, you won’t ever get that.”
He gave me a suggestive smile and lowered his voice. “Depends on what you mean by behaving.”
“Well, for example, you can tell me what’s been going on with the Red Bow Killer.”
His good mood evaporated like water in a hot pan. “I thought we discussed your dropping out of this case.”
“You’re right. We did discuss it.” I waved the note in front of him. “But I keep getting dragged into it.”
“What do you have there?” He reached for the envelope.
I pulled back. “Not until you tell me something I probably don’t know.”
He appeared to be considering my request, then, “Okay. I bet you don’t know you can be arrested for withholding evidence.” He motioned for me to have a seat.
I ignored his gesture. “That wasn’t what I meant.” I turned toward the door, hoping he wouldn’t call my bluff. It’d be tough trying to solve this crime from behind bars.
“All right, Claire. But don’t think you’re back in this game.”
Quickly seating myself I said, “I’m all ears.”
He glanced around and then back at me. “We just learned that ten years ago there were twelve murders in Pittsburgh. Same M.O. Police made an arrest but the guy hanged himself in his jail cell before trial. The murders stopped, so the cops figured they had their man.”
Listening to the story, I’d clutched the neckline of my blouse so tightly my hand ached. “Have you checked if anyone like, Todd Shotswell, lived in Pittsburgh?”
“I’ve already told you one thing. But here’s another, just to show good faith. No record of his living there. Now hold up your end of the deal.” He stuck out his hand.
A deal is a deal, so I explained how the letter came into my possession and dropped it in his upturned palm.
He read the note twice. The second time around he started chewing on his lower lip. “Betty’s sure this is from her sister?” I nodded. After a moment, “Okay. Thanks for bringing this in.” He stood and put his suit jacket on.
“Wait a minute. Where are you going?”
“To walk you out.”
“Aren’t you going to do anything with the note?”
“You wanted one piece of information. That was the deal.”
Despite bombarding him with questions, he remained closed-mouthed all the way to my car. A quick kiss on the lips and he turned back toward the station.
I leaned against my car, fuming. Why did he have to be so stubborn about me staying out of this?
The drizzle that had started when we walked out of the station turned into a shower, so I jumped into my car and stewed over what Corrigan’s next move would be. Finally, I calmed down enough to recall that the last time I’d seen Timothy he’d had a ragged and stained Pittsburgh Pirates tee-shirt on. A gift from Eileen?
I’d been out of the office for close to two hours and Gino was probably wondering what happened. But before going back, I made a detour to Timothy’s place.
As soon as I parked in front of Timothy’s apartment building, Corrigan pulled up. It seemed like the only luck I’d had recently was bad luck. I sighed. At least the rain had stopped.
Spotting me, Corrigan leaped from his car, shaking his head as though I were a heavy chain around his neck. Once we were within speaking distance he practically spat, “What’re you doing here?”
In a voice I hoped sounded like I was immune to his surliness, I responded, “Same as you, I imagine. Finding out if Eileen had ever lived in Pittsburgh.”
Once he was beside me, he said, “We’ll go in together. I do the talking. Deal?”
“Deal.” I went for my next question. “What about the other recent victims? Did any of them have ties to Pittsburgh?”
He blew out a breath, probably wishing he could blow me off. “Police are investigating and before you hound me about it, they’re doing the same with Rose’s letter.”
We didn’t talk again until we were right outside Timothy’s door. “Remember—”
“I know. You do the talking.”
As soon as Timothy opened his door, he hugged me as if I were his best friend. “Claire! I’m so glad you’re here. Look around. I cleaned myself and my place up.”
Stepping out of the hug, I gave him the biggest smile I could muster. “I’m so glad! It must have been hard though.”
He looked down at his feet. “Yeah. It was. But you and Gino have sure helped me.”
Corrigan cleared his throat. “Detective Corrigan, Cleveland PD. We spoke before. I have a few more questions regarding your sister.”
Timothy’s eyes moved from me to Corrigan. “I remember you. Are you helping Claire?”
He might as well have asked Corrigan if he was my serf. While I suppressed a smile, Corrigan’s mouth twisted and he firmly set Timothy straight. “No. We happened to arrive at the same time. If you’ll just answer my questions I’ll be on my way.”
“Sure. But I think I’ve told the police everything I know.”
While Corrigan was pulling out his trusty notepad, I offered, “Sometimes something you don’t think is important turns out to be what helps solve the case.”
Corrigan actually gave me a nod of approval. “Claire’s right. Now, did your sister ever live in Pittsburgh?”
Timothy’s thick eyebrows bunched together. “Yeah, but that was ten years ago. She only stayed a year or so. Why?”
Pen poised, Corrigan continued, “Do you know if Eileen was involved with anyone while she lived there?”
Timothy squinted and turned to me. “What’s this about?” He shifted from one foot to the other.
Softly coaxing Timothy, Corrigan repeated himself, “How much do you know about any relationships your sister had while she was in Pittsburgh?”
Timothy scratched his head, thinking. “Not much at all. She was sorta skittish when she got back. Coulda been was over a guy. I didn’t ask.” He bit down on his lower lip. Then, “Maybe I should have. Why are you bringing this stuff up now?”
I couldn’t just stand there. All those women murdered in Pittsburgh while Eileen was there and she’s the first victim here? It couldn’t be a coincidence. “This is really important, Timothy.”
Timothy raised his palms upward. “Why? What does her living in Pittsburgh got to do with her murder or anyone else’s?” His expression changed. “Did this
same sorta thing happen there?”
I guess I didn’t exactly react with a poker face.
Timothy moaned. Then he quickly gave us heated glare. “You think Eileen knew this Pittsburgh murderer?” Spittle appeared in the corners of his mouth. “Maybe they were partners? What kinda stupid theory is that? If you really believed it, why aren’t you working with the Pittsburgh cops?”
I tried to backtrack a bit to change the tone of this meeting. “We’re just collecting information right now. Nothing more.”
Timothy didn’t give a verbal response. The look on his face said it all; he didn’t believe me.
Corrigan gritted his teeth. I’m sure he wished he’d duct taped my mouth before we knocked on the door. “We are working with the Pittsburgh police. But it was ten years ago. People who worked those cases retired, died. Plus, Claire’s right. We’re looking at your sister’s murder from every angle possible to catch this guy. So we’re asking a lot of questions.”
Every inch of me wanted to spill everything we suspected, but I refrained.“Timothy, believe me. This is just one more avenue we’re exploring. We will find her killer.”
Timothy grabbed my hands into his. “I gotta believe in you, Claire. It’s what keeps me going.”
“Sir, anything else you can recall when your sister got back from Pittsburgh could help.”
Timothy dropped my hands and ran one of his through his hair. He blew out a breath. “Can’t think of anything else. Eileen wasn’t much of a talker.”
“I understand. But if you do think of anything, no matter how small a detail, please let us know.” He gave his card to Timothy. “Thank you. We’ll be in touch soon.” Corrigan had his hand on the door and threw me a look that meant I needed to leave with him.
Corrigan walked me to my car for the second time. “Couldn’t let me handle the questions, could you?”
“He asked why we wanted to know.” It was a poor excuse, but I didn’t have a better one.
To my surprise, Corrigan didn’t argue with me or remind me that he was the cop, not me. Instead, in a reflective tone, he said, “The guy seems really attached to you.”
Thinking he was jealous, I gave him a flirtatious smile. “What can I say? Men are drawn to me.”
Cupcakes and Corpses Page 9
