Cupcakes and Corpses

by Carole Fowkes

  “Yeah. Well, if this Rockwell guy really did kill Eileen, I want you to make sure there’s enough evidence that he hangs. If somebody else is the killer, though, find him.”

  The wheels in Gino’s mind were obviously spinning. “But the cops already have enough proof to arrest and hold Rockwell.”

  “Pfft. You call what they have enough? I gotta be sure.” Griselli lowered his chin and his scowl told me he’d planned on meting out justice to Eileen’s murderer himself. He’d just been too late to get at Norm.

  I was worried if we didn’t agree to his request, Griselli would find someone who would. Still, I had to be positive we were aiming for the same final result. “Any evidence we find supporting Norm Rockwell as the killer, as well as if he’s not and we find the real killer, gets turned over to the police.”

  Gino’s eyes narrowed and he gave an almost imperceptible nod, as if he only just now understood. “We don’t get involved in any vigilante activity. I have to insist that any information, including what you’ve just told us, be passed to the authorities.”

  I wondered if an invisible ventriloquist had worked Gino’s mouth, declaring he’d play this one straight.

  It seemed Griselli was taken aback too. The men took stock of each other and to my amazement, our client caved. “Okay. We’ll play it your way.”

  I could only hope he’d be true to his words.

  After a quick moment, Griselli added, “But my name stays out of any information that goes to the cops. The boys-in-blue and I’ve never seen eye-to-eye.”

  I objected, “But surely, in this case—”

  He talked over me. “Going to them might cause me an unwanted incarceration. So I’m not involved in this. Understand?”

  Gino tapped his temple with his index finger as if that would shift an idea from his brain to his tongue. “You could disappear first. Then I’ll tell the cops what you said.”

  “Yeah? I don’t think so.”

  Out of desperation, I offered an alternate plan. “I could go see the detective on the case.” Before Griselli could object, I added to the idea. “You could write a note, or better yet, type it and include what you’ve told us. It doesn’t have to mention who you are. I’ll present it to the police as an anonymous tip. Meanwhile, Gino and I will continue working on the assignment so the police definitely have the right guy in jail.”

  Griselli leaned against his cane and for a moment, I feared he’d get up and walk out on us. Instead he said, “As long as my name stays out of everything, you got a deal.” Pulling out a roll of bills so big it resembled a green log, he added, “I have the first half of a nice fee for both of you.” Griselli peeled off the hefty sum of $4,000 as a down payment. All in cash. The ease with which he parted from the bills made me wonder if they were counterfeit.

  He glanced at the office walls. “Maybe you could use it to spruce up this place.”

  Gino looked offended but didn’t say anything. To ensure he didn’t get the chance, I sprang from my chair. “Here, Mr. Griselli. Use my computer for your statement.”

  It took him a while as he pecked at the keyboard with two meaty fingers, but Griselli finally finished and asked me to read his statement. It included living in Pittsburgh when the women were murdered, his affair with Eileen, and her relationship with a guy in a rock band she’d referred to as ‘Music Man.’ He ended with what he’d told us about the musician’s previous residence. I printed the note, folded it, and placed it in my purse.

  The question I’d been dying to ask pushed through my lips. “Now that we’re working together, Mr. Griselli, who is the mutual friend?”

  One corner of his mouth turned up. “Guy from New Jersey. He couldn’t get involved, but he recommended you. Said, pardon the expression, you had balls.”

  My heart almost stopped. He had to mean Michael Bucanetti, the mob boss who pulled a lot of strings in Cleveland. I’d had a number of experiences with him, most of them life-threatening.

  I must have looked as if I’d seen a tombstone with my name on it because Griselli held up his hands. “Like I said, he’s not a part of this.”

  My breathing relaxed a bit but not completely. From experience, I knew Bucanetti could change his mind and become a part of this. I forced that concern from my mind, and we struck a deal.

  As soon as Griselli left with a promise he’d be in touch, Gino closed the door behind him. “How the hell are we going to pull this off?”

  “You mean giving the police Griselli’s statement but not telling them who he is?”

  He frowned and waved his hand. “No. Convincing Griselli that Norm is the killer. Otherwise, we’ll have to find the real killer and even the cops couldn’t do that.”

  I pressed my lips together so as not to argue with my boss. But the urge was too strong. “I keep saying it, but nobody listens. There’s a possibility, however remote, that Norm isn’t guilty. Yes, he lived in a small city in Ohio, but there’s no proof he ever moved to Pittsburgh. Plus, the night we met Norm, he claimed he’d never played in a rock band like ‘Music Man’ did. He’d have no reason to lie to us about that. We need to explore further.”

  Giving me an impatient look, Gino said, “What are you? Christopher Columbus? There’s no need to explore. Norm is the Red Bow Killer. Period. End of story.”

  “Next you’ll tell me the world’s flat and I’ll fall off if I keep going.” I grabbed the note Griselli had just written. “I’m taking this to the police.” My hand on the doorknob, I added, “The guy who recommended us is Michael Bucanetti. If we don’t play this straight, we might not live to spend Griselli’s money.”

  I hated to throw Bucanetti’s name around, but it did the trick. Gino’s jaw dropped and he didn’t offer any rebuttal.

  Chapter Twenty

  Corrigan wasn’t at the police station. Another detective offered to take the note but I insisted on giving it only to Corrigan. The cop shrugged, “Suit yourself. Don’t know when he’ll be back though.”

  My decision to wait a while was smart. Getting a cup of coffee thick as mud from the vending machine wasn’t. I had just returned from the restroom where I scrubbed the sludge off my teeth with a paper towel when Corrigan returned.

  He escorted me to his desk. “Lunch with you was pure pleasure. By your expression, this must be business.”

  “Yes, seeing you this afternoon was wonderful. You’re right, though. This is business.” I waved Griselli’s note in front of Corrigan as I had previously done with Rose’s.

  His eyes followed the folded piece of paper. “Rose sent Betty another note?”

  Now was the time I’d find out how good my acting skills were. “No. Someone slipped this under the agency’s door after the guy you saw with the cane left. I heard a noise and went to investigate. All I found was that.” I nodded toward the paper.

  He pulled out a pair of latex gloves from his desk and took the note skimming through it. “And you didn’t see anyone around?”

  Keeping my voice level with just a hint of puzzlement, I responded, “No.”

  This time he took longer to go through the note. “You know it doesn’t mean Norm isn’t the killer.”

  I held my tongue, but my expression must have given me away.

  With a deep, patience-seeking breath, Corrigan asked, “Why is it so hard for you to believe Norm’s our man?”

  Sitting across from him, I squinted, wanting to force my thoughts into his brain. Yeah, like that was going to work. So I stewed rather than answer him.

  He leaned toward me. “The author of this note didn’t bother coming forward. This information could have been written by some crackpot getting his jollies.”

  “But—”

  The look he gave me was similar to my dad’s whenever, as a teen, I argued that he should allow me to have the car any time I wanted it. The look said, no way, as clearly as any words.

  “I’ll enter this into the case file. If you find out who wrote it, I’ll question them. But without knowing if this is l
egitimate or not, there’s not much I can do.”

  I nodded, mumbling just below hearing level, “Or want to do.”

  Knowing I was upset, he gently teased, “We’ll both feel better when this case is over. I’m due for some time off and my plan is to spend as much of it with you as you’ll let me.”

  In spite of my frustration, my lips curved upwards. “Be careful what you wish for.”

  While he was chuckling, I took my leave, feeling very much alone in this case.

  By the time I got back to the office, Gino was preparing to leave. “Got some running around to do. I’ll grab a late lunch. From there I thought I’d see who’s maligning B.A. Odor’s name.” He chortled, “Guy needs to change his moniker.”

  Closing the door behind him he said, “Probably won’t be back until tomorrow.”

  It was already three and, having done no office work all day, I picked up reports to file. After a whole five minutes, I dropped the papers and began working on my computer. Forty minutes of that was all I could stand.

  Bingo at Corey’s Center began at six. If I left work right then, I’d have enough time to feed and walk Charlie, eat something myself, and meet Angie before the first game. I closed my computer down, grabbed my purse, and was out the door by a quarter after four.

  ***

  Charlie was fed, watered and walked and I had downed two granola bars and a diet pop by five thirty. Not having to speed to get to Corey’s allowed me to relax and be in a decent frame of mind when Angie and I met up.

  She, on the other hand, was wearing a scowl mean enough to keep even the most intrepid bingo players from sitting at our table.

  “What’s wrong, Angie?”

  “Your aunt. She signed me up for some over-50 dating site called, Plenty of Life.” Angie fumed. “As if I’m so desperate, I need a computer to find me a man.” She crossed her arms. “She kept bringing up Norm. I choose one serial killer…”

  I placed my hand on her shoulder. “Don’t let Aunt Lena get to you. She means well. She just doesn’t always go about things the right way.”

  Angie rubbed her forehead. “Yeah. You’re right. It’s just…Oh, never mind.” She took in a deep breath and blew it out. “Okay, let’s play bingo.”

  The first game went by quickly, with a man in a wheelchair I’d never seen before as the winner. While he and the host reviewed the numbers, Jerry, the old gentleman from Smalley’s Chocolates and other bingo games, shuffled in. Moving at the speed of a snail, he made his way to the table closest to the entrance and sat.

  The second game had just begun when we heard a thump. Someone screamed, “Help! Help! Call 911!”

  I spun around and saw Jerry, face down on the table. A woman claiming to be a nurse rushed over to him and checked his pulse. He was alive but not breathing. Just as Angie and I, plus two others, helped get him to the floor so the nurse could begin compressions, Jerry opened his eyes. The nurse asked him his name, but he was pretty disoriented and seemed unable to speak. He pointed to his pocket and the woman removed his wallet. His Medicare card identified him as Gerald Wolden. Not Malden as Angie had told me earlier.

  After the EMTs whisked Jerry away in an ambulance, bingo resumed. But many of the participants, shaken by what had just transpired, couldn’t concentrate. There was so much conversation it was difficult to hear the host announce the numbers.

  When eventually someone yelled that they had bingo, Angie nudged me. “Sorry I got Jerry’s name wrong. Guess I’m not much of a detective.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” I couldn’t be upset with her. She’d done her best and I couldn’t even retrieve the memory of where I’d heard the name, Wolden, before. Some detective I was.

  Not long after her apology, Angie tapped me on the shoulder, saying she’d lost interest in that night’s game. She was going to call her son to pick her up. Just as well, because I was unable to focus either. Jerry’s last name kept rolling around in my head, sort of like those metal balls in a pinball machine. Too bad it couldn’t find a hole to fit in.

  Chapter Twenty One

  I’d sound so dedicated if I claimed to have spent the rest of the night delving into the mystery of Jerry’s name. I didn’t. Instead, after playing with Charlie and walking him, I fell asleep and Monday slid into Tuesday morning.

  As soon as I awoke, I checked the news and was relieved to learn it had been a serial-killer-free night. I turned off the television and after my morning preparations, went into work.

  Ten minutes after I set my purse on my office desk, Gino called in, claiming he was going to spend the morning with Timothy. “We’re gonna grab some breakfast and talk, you know, ‘man-o-a-man-o.’”

  Where does he come up with these expressions? “Have you heard anything new about Norm or the case against him?”

  “Nope. Just what you already know.” He paused. “Hey, we may get some more new clients today. Handle them with care, okay?”

  In a voice sweet enough to cause tooth decay, I said, “Clients will be treated super-duper special.”

  He harrumphed and hung up. After that, the day passed uneventfully, a refreshing change.

  ***

  My evening at Cannoli’s was a different story. Entering the kitchen, I heard Angie and my aunt having what is politely called, ‘words.’

  As soon as Aunt Lena spotted me, she drew me into the conversation. “Claire, tell Angie she shouldn’t be meeting men at those gambling places.”

  Before I could refuse to get involved, Angie, through gritted teeth, responded. “Bingo isn’t like going to the racetrack and picking up men.”

  My aunt folded her arms across her immense chest. “Um-hmm. I bet you wouldn’t meet a serial killer on Plenty of Life.”

  Angie countered, “How do you know that, Lena? Have you met all the men on that computer site?”

  I threw up my hands. “Stop! Aunt Lena, it’s Angie’s decision whether or not to use a dating site.” My aunt held up her index finger to argue, but I went on, “Angie, I know you don’t want any part of online dating, but you could look at the guys on it. Maybe you’ll be pleasantly surprised.”

  Never one to let someone else have the last word, Aunt Lena nodded, “I just wanted to help, but Claire’s right. It’s your choice but I did sign you up for three months.”

  Angie’s eyes opened wide and I was sure she’d lose what composure she had. Happily, I was wrong. “Okay. I’ll take a look tomorrow. Just so you know, though, that doesn’t mean I’ll go out with anyone.”

  By the sniff my aunt released, I knew she wasn’t completely satisfied. Still, to my relief and no doubt Angie’s, she dropped the topic and we bustled through the evening.

  ***

  By Wednesday morning, I’d convinced myself Norm had to be the Red Bow Killer. After all, there had been bingo games held throughout the city and no new murders had occurred since his arrest. I was finally willing to admit they’d stopped because the murderer, Norm, was now incarcerated. The women of Cleveland, including me, could feel safer now. That was something in which to be grateful.

  On that same day, Gino appeared in the office for only an hour, then disappeared until late in the afternoon. Just as well because once he learned the reward for finding Eileen’s murderer was for the arrest and conviction, all he did was sulk. If he were to collect the $10,000 at all it wouldn’t be right away.

  “I had that money practically spent.” Gino’s eyes glossed over each time he talked about the money. The final time he mentioned it he added, “That’s minus, of course, your share, Claire.”

  “Of course.” I dropped the sarcasm from my voice and changed the subject. “I was thinking about Joseph Griselli. We need to dig up some evidence.” At which point, the office phone rang. It was the very person we’d been discussing, Griselli.

  Gino made for the exit. “Say I’m not here.”

  Instead of sticking my foot out to trip him, I chose to answer the phone, identifying myself. “What can I do for you, Mr. Griselli?�
��

  “I want to cancel our agreement.”

  Shocked, I almost dropped the phone. Recovering quickly, I said in my most solicitous voice, “Can you tell me why?”

  “Something came up.”

  When I realized that was all he was going to say, I prompted, “You won’t change your mind?”

  He huffed, “Not a chance. When can I come get my money?”

  I glanced around as if expecting Gino to materialize. My voice weak, I explained, “I can’t authorize the refund and my boss is out of the office.”

  “That so? When will he be in?” His tone shifted and became rougher, more threatening.

  Having no idea as to the answer but not wanting to admit it, I said, “I’ll contact him and explain the situation. Then get back to you as swiftly as possible.”

  “Deal. But it’ll be in everyone’s best interest if you don’t keep me waiting long.”

  As soon as we hung up, I called Gino. Not surprisingly, it went right into his voicemail. Visions of a furious Griselli attacking me with his cane appeared in my mind’s eye. If answering the phones and manning the office hadn’t been the job that kept a roof over my head, I would’ve taken off. Instead, I checked my gun and nervously paced until Gino returned my call twenty minutes later. Too bad his instructions set off alarms in my head. “Set up an appointment with him for next Thursday.”

  I scrunched up my face. “There’s nothing on the calendar between now and then. It’s only right we…”

  Gino blew out a deep breath. “Don’t have the money. If we wait, we could get more business.”

  “How many stolen lunch investigations do we need for us to make up that amount of money?”

  “Not funny, Claire. Make it next Thursday afternoon. See you later.” He hung up before I could say another word.

  A wormy feeling settled in my gut. Although I hated to lose any part of the fee that might have come my way, it was only right, and a lot safer for me, that the guy got his money back. Sooner than a week after he’d requested it. After all, we’d done nothing on the case yet.