Ready to risk losing my job for defying Gino’s instructions, I called Griselli back. That he didn’t answer his phone dampened the righteous fire in my heart and I had no choice but to leave a message asking he return my call.
By late afternoon Griselli hadn’t called back. Rather than dwell on his situation, I switched to wondering about my own, namely, whether I should cancel my saxophone lessons. After all, if Norm was indeed the Red Bow Killer did I really need to spend my scant supply of time and money learning to play an instrument?
On the plus side of continuing with the lesson was Aunt Lena being under the impression I was taking saxophone lessons to play at my dad’s wedding and so didn’t complain about time taken off. In addition, if I really pressured Gino, he might agree to pay some of the lesson fees. Minus side was no time, talent or desire to play. I made up my mind to cancel with Todd.
Then he called me to confirm and I couldn’t bear to douse his sunshine with my dark thoughts about quitting before I’d really started. When I got off the phone I berated myself for being a softy. Trying to be optimistic, I told myself if I gave it a chance, it was possible I’d enjoy learning an instrument. I chuckled to myself. Maybe I’d get so good at it my dad would ask me to play the wedding processional as Suzy glided down the aisle.
Pulling myself from the reverie, I called Griselli again. Again, I left a message for him to call.
Chapter Twenty Two
I arrived at Todd’s store and studio ready to rock out on the sax. Since I was a bit early, I watched Todd instructing a young boy on the piano. His intensity in working with the child was such that he didn’t notice me enter the room.
The boy, though, looked up and grinned at me as if grateful for the interruption. I excused myself and was ready to wait outside when Todd jumped up from the piano bench. “Jack and I are just about done. Please. Have a seat.” He pointed to a chair on the other side of the small room.
Nodding and smiling at the boy, I took the offered chair and set my father’s saxophone next to me.
After the boy left, Todd apologized. “There’s been a family emergency, so I’m a bit behind. But I didn’t want to postpone your lesson.” He quickly added, “Since it’s your first time.”
My grin probably resembled the one I wore the first time a boy called me pretty. I glanced down. “I hope you won’t regret it.” Remembering my manners, I asked, “Is everything okay with your family now?”
“Yes. Thanks for asking. A close relative had a serious heart attack. He’s better, but still in the hospital. I’ve been running back and forth. He doesn’t have anyone else.”
“So sorry. That must be tough.”
He put on a brave face. “We make the best of things.” He clapped his hands together. “Let’s get started.”
The lesson was painful. To his ears and my ego. By the end of the first thirty minutes, it was evident I hadn’t inherited any musical ability from my father. To Todd’s credit, he never grimaced once. Although I do think I noticed a half-hidden wince.
By the end of my allotted hour, red-faced and tired, I admitted defeat.
Todd shook his head. “You may find it hard to believe, but that wasn’t bad for a beginner. Why don’t you try one more lesson?” He flashed a smile that could charm a turtle out of her shell. “Then if you feel that you never want to touch the sax again, we’ll call it quits.”
As if someone had taken over the connection from my brain to my mouth, I said, “All right. One more.”
He’d had a cancellation on Tuesday, so moved me up to that date. As I was leaving, he promised the lesson would begin on time. “Everything should be back to normal by then and I can turn my full attention to you.” Almost as an afterthought he added, “And your saxophone.” He closed his notebook. “Now I better lock up and get to the hospital. I’ll walk you out.”
Getting into my car, I had a feeling Todd Shotswell was interested in more than my ability to play the sax. It wasn’t what he said as much as his body language. I twisted in my seat, feeling a bit guilty. I hadn’t led him on. In fact, if he ever learned why I’d come to him in the first place, he wouldn’t be so eager to teach me anything.
Hoping he’d sooth my prickly soul, I called Corrigan. When he answered his phone, he gave no indication he’d be up to the task.
“Claire, sorry but unless you can find a hole in a witness’s statement, I can’t talk right now.”
My self-incrimination vanished, replaced by uneasiness. “Your case against Norm isn’t as strong as you thought?”
“Let’s talk about it tomorrow. Assuming I’m still alive after the Captain takes it out on my hide.”
After our conversation ended, I sat there in shock. All along I’d thought everyone was pushing Norm into being the killer. Now it appeared they really had taken a pigeon and made it into a hawk.
Turning the ignition, I noticed a dark sedan pulling out from a rear parking lot. It was hard to tell, but I thought there was a Smalley’s Chocolates sticker on the bumper. It brought to my mind the sedan that had picked up Jerry from Smalley’s that first night of bingo. My curiosity and a hunch took over. I floored the gas pedal to get behind the car for a closer look.
With only two vehicles between the sedan and me, I was catching up and hopeful I’d see who was driving the car. Failing that, I’d get near enough to jot down the plate number.
One car between us and we were coming to a red light. I slowed to a stop. Then I felt myself pitch forward and strain against my seatbelt. The driver behind me had hit my bumper and she was motioning me to move off to the side. I slammed my hand against my steering wheel. “Hell, crap, poop!” I pulled into a Giant Eagle grocery store parking lot and stepped out of my car, my knees still knocking. Shaking my head in dumb frustration, I watched the dark sedan and the car between it and mine pull away as I exchanged insurance information with the conscientious woman who’d dented my bumper and scratched the paint.
Muttering to myself all the way to Cannoli’s, I arrived there only to be bombarded by my aunt’s questions about my saxophone lessons. My answers were monosyllable. I didn’t mean to be rude. It was just that I had too much on my mind wondering about the case against Norm.
***
The next morning, I found out, as did all the citizens of Cleveland and beyond, about Norm’s situation. It was all over the news. A witness had just come forth and identified Norm as being the man who sat behind her at a live music venue called Bennie’s, in Cleveland Heights, an eastern suburb of Cleveland. She swore he’d been there the approximate time of Desiree’s, or Joanna’s, murder.
A reporter, his brows knit, wondered aloud into the camera, why the police hadn’t pursued Norm’s alibi more effectively. Hence, Norm Rockwell, the man who just yesterday, was a villain, now was lauded as an innocent tried and convicted by city officials who needed a quick resolution to a crime wave.
I turned the sound up when the scene switched to the police chief as he took the podium. He then read a pre-written statement in which he defended their reasoning for making the arrest and confirmed the police’s determination to finding the Red Bow Killer. He didn’t take any questions.
What followed on the news didn’t shed any new light on the situation. The fact did remain, though, that no new murders had occurred since Norm was taken into custody. What ran through my mind was Griselli’s request to find enough evidence to put Norm away for life or find the real Red Bow Killer.
Grabbing my car keys and saying good-bye to Charlie, I left my apartment vowing to do just that.
My first stop would be the office to see if Griselli had returned my call. It made me nervous that he’d insisted on his money back yet wasn’t available to find out when to get it. What was even more disturbing was Gino’s unwillingness to return the fee. My boss could be lazy and full-of-himself, even sometimes bending rules, but I’d never thought of him as a thief. Maybe he was, and I’d just turned a blind eye to it. I shook my head to rid myself of those rumination
s. I couldn’t afford to add any other problems to my list. But, try as I might to keep it at bay, the thought kept returning.
By the time I’d reached my destination, my mood was dark enough to diminish any glow from the sun. There’d been no return calls from Griselli, and Gino hadn’t yet made an appearance.
Rather than stew over everything going on, I’d decided to put any information, even slightly related to the Red Bow killings, together. A big undertaking, since there were enough characters to populate a classic Russian novel.
Convinced a cup of tea would help me think, I went into the kitchen, only to recall we were out of tea bags. I grumbled to nobody and shuffled back to my desk.
Someone jiggled the handle on the office door and walked in. It was Timothy, Eileen’s brother. Dark circles surrounded his eyes, making him look like an exhausted raccoon, but he was clean-shaven and his clothing neat.
I put on my gentlest smile. “How are you, Timothy?”
His voice was soft, bereft of energy. “You heard that guy, Rockwell, was released?”
Although I wasn’t feeling so confident, I pumped it into my voice. “Yes. It must be hard to think that the man who took Eileen’s life is still out there, but it doesn’t mean he won’t be found.”
Though he nodded, Timothy’s expression said he’d just about given up hope.
I shifted gears a bit. “Gino isn’t here yet. I’m not sure when he’ll come in.”
He shrugged. “Might as well give this to you as to Gino.” He reached into his Cleveland Indians logo jacket pocket and pulled out a thick beige envelope. “Before this all happened, Eileen gave me a box of what she called ancient memories to keep for her. I figured it was stuff from when we were kids. Anyway, I didn’t have the stomach to open it until this morning.” He nodded toward the envelope. “That was in the box. Maybe it’s nothing, but I wanted you guys to take a look at it.”
Excitement made my fingers a bit clumsy. It took me a minute to extract a small black notebook. The first few pages contained some names and addresses of stores in Pittsburgh.
Most interesting, though, were her notations of dates, next to which she’d written dollar amounts. These ranged from $1,000 at the top of the list to $1,500 later on. The last entry was ten years ago.
My heart began pounding hard enough to shake the building. When I flipped through the rest of the book a faded red ribbon sailed to the floor.
I could feel Timothy’s eyes on me. To buy time for my voice to return, I leaned over and retrieved the ribbon, setting it on my desk. With great difficulty, I organized my thoughts. Choosing the right words was next to impossible, so I started with the safest observation. “These amounts she wrote down. Her salary?”
“And that?” He pointed at the ribbon.
I cleared my throat. “Nothing unusual about a red ribbon. This one could’ve come from anything; a box of candy…” The look on his face told me he wasn’t buying my explanation. Understandable, since I didn’t either.
He switched back to the dates. “My sister didn’t make the kind of money she listed here. I saw some of her old paystubs.”
My feeble attempts at diplomacy failed. “You should take this to the police, Timothy. Let them sort it out.”
He scoffed. “Yeah, they’ve done such a bang-up job with evidence so far.”
I couldn’t disagree with him, but wasn’t so sure I liked the direction in which this conversation seemed to be heading.
There was a touch of hope in his voice. “You and Gino could figure out if what’s in this book had anything to do with Eileen’s murder.” When I hesitated, he pulled out a ragged checkbook from the envelope and opened it. “These deposits match the notations in that notebook.”
Timothy wasn’t going to say it, so I did. “You think the money came from something illegal?” My breath caught. “Blackmail?”
Chapter Twenty Three
His voice was barely a whisper. “Whatever it was, I think it got her killed. Even ten years later.”
I swallowed hard. “All the more reason to take this to the cops.”
He shook his head firmly. “Not a chance. You look at this.” He thrust the checkbook at me. “Whatever my sister did, I don’t want the cops dragging her name through the muck.”
Footsteps sounded, stopping me from any further argument.
“Hello?” It was Betty, dressed up as if ready for a night on the town in her deep blue, off-the-shoulder dress and strappy spiked heels. Her eyes strayed to Timothy then back to me. “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt.”
Timothy grabbed Eileen’s notebook from my hands and scooped up the ribbon while I gave Betty a weak smile. “Gino’s not in, but I’m sure he’ll be here—”
Betty held up her hand, causing her heavy charm bracelet to jangle. “That’s okay. He told me if I beat him here to wait in his office.” Her face suddenly contorted with anger. “Did you hear they had the wrong guy for Rose’s murder? I never thought Norm killed her. Jeez, he played an accordion!”
Timothy grumbled, “Cops don’t know what they’re doing. Gino and Claire could do a better job finding the SOB.”
Her chin dimpled and quivered. “No justice yet for my poor sister.” She shook it off and turned toward Gino’s office. Either because of her high heels or the tightness of her dress, her steps were so tiny I thought it might be nighttime before she reached the chair across from Gino’s desk.
Once Betty disappeared into Gino’s office, Timothy demanded my pledge not to take the notebook to the police.
“Okay. I’ll keep it between you, Gino, and me. For now.” I didn’t elaborate because, in truth, I didn’t know how long that would be. Any opportunity to decide what to do next was eliminated when Gino came through the door.
He looked to his right and left and over his shoulder as if afraid the CIA were following him. “Hi, Timothy. Claire, you seen Betty?” Even his voice was jerky.
“She’s in your office, waiting for you.”
He patted his jacket pocket and swallowed hard. “I’m going in there.” Like an action hero, Gino threw open the door to his office and leaped inside to do…whatever.
I shrugged in response to Timothy’s questioning look. I was as in the dark as he.
Not for long. Soon we heard Betty release a joyful squeal. Then, less than a minute after that, the door sprang open and Betty paraded to my desk, holding her left arm out in front of her, wrist bent downward.
I squinted against the glare. That new diamond ring must weigh a ton.
Gino followed Betty, an uncertain grin on his face. I couldn’t tell if it was happiness and relief or plain old disbelief over what he’d done.
“We’re engaged!” Betty jumped up and down as if skipping a tiny rope.
Timothy recovered before me and stuck out his hand to Gino. “Congratulations.”
I blinked hard to clear the shock from my mind. “Yeah. Congratulations. To both of you.” The smile on my face was so tight, I worried my lips might snap.
Is that what he did with Griselli’s retainer money? My only hope was that Gino had enough left over to pay his hospital bills when that ‘loan’ came due.
Gino was still grinning when he went to the kitchen and returned with a bottle of sparkling wine and some glasses. “We’ll do a proper celebration later, but for now, let’s drink to this happy occasion.”
Timothy declined, “Been on the wagon too short a time to have just one glass.”
After this morning’s events, I welcomed the alcohol, saluting the happy couple. I downed the fizzy drink.
Betty set her empty glass on my desk. “Excuse me. Got to go to the little girl’s room. All this excitement…”
As she was going out, another person was coming in.
My voice was high enough to crack my wine glass. “Mr. Griselli. I’ve been trying to reach you.” If my suspicions were right about where Gino had gotten the ring money, maybe I could stall Griselli long enough for my boss to escape.
Grise
lli scowled. “I heard your messages. I’m also smart enough to know when I’m getting the runaround. Figured the best way to get my money back was to show up and surprise you guys.”
Gino ran his finger around the inside of his collar. “Now what’s this? You want a refund?” Gino’s talent for feigning ignorance failed him.
“Francini, you knew damn well I wanted my money back.” The man clenched his teeth. “I need it now. No excuses.” He reached inside the breast pocket of his coat and my breath caught. Instead of a gun, he pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his brow.
Gino released a shaky breath. He must have thought the same as me. “I’d be happy to return your money, but—”
I interrupted. “But we’ve already got a great lead on who the real killer is.” If only Timothy would agree to share it.
Gino’s eyebrows shot up and then quickly knit. “Yeah…We do?”
Timothy, bless his soul, stepped up. “Did the same guy who killed my sister kill someone you loved?”
Griselli stared at Timothy through hooded eyes. “One in the same. Eileen.”
Timothy plopped down onto the closest chair, and Griselli went through his whole story, ending with his coming to Gino for help finding her killer.
After he listened to the entire story, Timothy scratched his chin. “But if you loved my sister, why do you want them to end their investigation?”
“That’s not what I want. But I need the dough back.” He gritted his teeth. “My ex-wife wants her alimony. Judge told me in no uncertain terms to give it to her.” He paused. “Besides, I’m pretty good at deducing people’s character, and I think this little lady here will dig until she uncovers the truth. Regardless of payment.”
Gino waved Griselli’s comment about me aside. “But you had a wad of cash when you came here.”
“Let’s put it this way. A man can incur debts pretty fast around here.” Griselli’s face darkened. “Now where’s my money?”
Cupcakes and Corpses Page 16
