Killer Cannoli (A Terrified Detective Mystery Book 2)

by Carole Fowkes

  “Yes. Hey, what happened with the neighbor?”

  He chuckled, but it was without humor. “Turns out the guy she saw was Ed.”

  I groaned and wondered, in passing, how Ed was. I promised myself I’d call him when Aunt Lena came home. As if that was a talisman for her to come back.

  Corrigan continued. “One good piece of news: George LoPresti, the Luxury Auto’s guy who set up the car to be stolen, was arrested. I’m going in to question him now. Maybe he knows where your aunt is.”

  I wanted to get excited, but I’d been beaten down so often, I couldn’t risk wasting the energy. I knew the answer before I asked, but asked anyway, “Will you call me as soon as you know anything?”

  “Of course. I better go. Make sure everything’s locked tight. I’ll send someone over there as soon as possible.”

  After I checked all the locks and had my gun at the ready, I sat down to rehash the events, starting with Aunt Lena’s disappearance. I hoped something would stick out, something I’d missed in my frenzy to save her.

  First, I was right in that either the kidnapper or someone he hired was following me. Otherwise how did he know I’d planned to pass off a new flash drive as Joey’s? In the harsh light of what happened, I realized how reckless an idea that had been. What an idiot!

  To stop from berating myself any longer, I wrote down what I knew so far. It was dismally little.

  Joey Corozza and the big fish in Cleveland, Albert Valcone, both used to work for Bucanetti. Bucanetti probably ordered Valcone to kill Joey because Joey was blackmailing Bucanetti.

  But who killed Valcone? Bucanetti? No, Aunt Carmella says Bucanetti loved Valcone. Dominic Santore worked for Valcone, but now with Valcone dead, Santore had come up in the world. Did he kill his own boss? Who wanted what Joey had? That answer was simple. All of them.

  I went round and round with the four names, but came up with nothing that could help me get my aunt back. I tried to look at it in a different way. Joey must have known they’d come after him. So if the flash drive wasn’t in his apartment or his locker, where would he put it to keep it safe? Where else did the guy go?

  As if in answer to that question, Cannoli’s phone rang.

  “Claire? It’s Angie. Lena there by any chance?”

  “No.” I slouched back into the chair. Angie wasn’t the inspiration I’d hoped for.

  “Do you know if she’s still at the police station? I figured she’d be done by now, but when I call her cell phone it goes straight to voicemail.”

  Should I come clean with Angie? “Oh, she’s fine. Yeah, she’s still at the police station. They’ve got her looking at mug shots. I guess there are a lot of them.” This lie was feebler than my old nonna’s eyesight.

  Angie asked, “Is there something you’re trying to hide? Swear to me Lena’s fine.”

  “She’s…” I couldn’t keep my voice level. “She’s…I don’t know.”

  “What do you mean?”

  I gave Angie the rundown between her gasps of horror but left out the part about time running out. At the end she gulped and asked, “Did anyone check at the golf place? He told me he liked—”

  I interrupted, “What golf place?”

  “That little one. You know, on Brookpark by all the car dealerships.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut and envisioned the area. “You mean the miniature golf near Ridge Road?”

  “Yeah. A couple times he bragged how often he made holes in one.” She snorted. “Big damn deal.”

  I picked up my purse and keys. “Thanks, Angie.” I started to hang up, but Angie was still talking.

  “Meantime, I’ll pray for Lena and you. Unless you want me to go with you.”

  Yeah, so I could worry about two women. “Sorry. Gotta go. Thanks.” Before she could argue, I ended the call.

  Could Joey have left the flash drive at the golf office? It seemed farfetched, but at this point I had to follow every lead. I jumped in the car and sped off, hoping I didn’t get a speeding ticket.

  ***

  The miniature golf’s parking lot was empty except for a beat-up Chrysler in the back. It was still a little too cool for outside activities and since the kids were still in school, business was probably slow. Maybe slow enough for Joey to get to know the clerk. Maybe hide the flash drive on the premises.

  The wind whipped through me and I pulled my light jacket tighter and walked into the miniature golf office. There was nobody there so I wandered around and finally located a lanky, freckled young man playing the number two hole. Concentrating on his putt, he didn’t notice me until I loudly cleared my throat.

  He looked up at the last minute. His ball hit the spinning windmill’s blade at the end of the green, bounced off, and landed in the water on number six hole.

  I held up my hands. “Sorry!”

  “Nah, no biggie.” He grinned and was clearly checking me out.

  “Are you the manager?”

  He scoffed. “Me? No. My uncle is. But I’m here most of the time. If you want to play, we need to go back to the office.”

  “I don’t want to play.” I pulled out my identification and introduced myself. “But I do have some questions to ask you.”

  “I’m Jason and I’m single.” He laughed like he was the first person to ever say that.

  I gave him a half-smile. “That’s nice. Do you know Larry Walters, about fifty, skinny guy, real pale?”

  He pointed, excited. “Yeah, like an albino. Me and him used to play the game together. He even brought me lunch one day. Good guy.” His eyebrows knitted. “What’d he do?”

  “You didn’t know he’s dead?”

  “So that’s why he stopped coming here. Thought maybe he got pissed because I mostly won.” He lowered his voice like we were co-conspirators. “How’d he die?”

  “Murdered. That’s why I’m here.”

  “Holy Shit. How come the cops never came and you did? Who you working for?”

  I didn’t want to squander any more time giving answers to Huck Finn. “I’m working with the police. You ready to answer some questions?”

  He grinned and his eyes gleamed. “Are you gonna arrest me?”

  “No, of course not. Do you want me to?”

  “I guess not.” But the shine in his eyes faded.

  I asked him to tell me what he knew about Larry, aka Joey. I could have been there the rest of the day so I reined him in a bit. “When was the last time you saw him? Did he always come alone?”

  “About a week ago. Yeah, but he said one day he was gonna bring a lady friend.”

  Probably my aunt. “Did he ever give you anything and ask you to keep it for him?”

  He stared up at the ceiling and picked at his chin. “Yeah, he did. Gave me an old golf club, number five wood. Told me he was scared somebody would rip it off when he moved.”

  I tried to hide my surprise. “Did he say where he was moving to or when?”

  He frowned. “Yeah, but I don’t remember and he didn’t tell me when.” His face lit up. “Hey, you wanna see the club? It’s in the back room somewhere.”

  I noted the time. “Yeah, while you’re getting it, maybe you could try to remember where he said he was moving.”

  He squinted at me. “I’ll try, but I don’t think it’ll help.” He strolled into the back room while I paced back and forth. I didn’t know much about golf clubs, but maybe Joey hid the flash drive inside the head. I waited five minutes then shouted, “Any luck?”

  No answer so I moved closer to the back room door. “Are you okay?” When he still didn’t answer, I grabbed my gun and stepped into the cluttered, dimly lit room. My mouth dried up, but my eyes seemed to take in everything. I heard a thud and another noise I couldn’t identify. Afraid that Santore’s muscle boys somehow followed me here, ambushed Jason and were beating him up, I cocked my gun. Then I heard the kid curse. I rushed toward his voice to find him sprawled out on the floor, the golf club sticking out from under him.

  “Are you
all right?”

  “Yeah.” He stood and shook out his long, gangly limbs. “Slipped.” He picked up the golf club, now bent and the head dangling. It looked like a scarecrow posted out in a field. “I accidently banged it against the pipe and fell on it. You still want it?”

  I reached for it. “Thanks.” First I yanked the grip off, turned the club upside down and shook it. Nothing. Next I ripped the head completely off and peered into it. Couldn’t see anything. I turned the head over and noticed two screws holding a plate in place. “Do you have a small screwdriver?”

  He just stood there watching me.

  “Jason, screw driver?”

  He jumped. “Oh. Yeah.” He yanked open a drawer in the front desk and handed me a screwdriver tiny enough for a child to handle. “This should do it.”

  It did. But that part of the club’s head was just as empty. “I thought maybe Joey hid something in the club.”

  Jason nodded like that made perfect sense. “Cool. Oh, when I was falling, I remembered where he said he was going. Marsden Place. That was the name. I think maybe it’s on Pearl Road.” He beamed at me like he was the last one standing in a spelling bee.

  “Great.” I’d look it up and get over there. I grabbed my purse and headed to the door.

  With puppy dog eagerness he asked, “Hey! Wanna play a round before you go? I mean of golf?”

  I turned my head. “No time now.” I hurried to my car before he could ask me when.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  I checked for the address of Marsden Place and called Corrigan. He didn’t pick up and I wondered if he was still questioning LoPresti. I left a message and continued on my way to Marsden Place.

  It was one of those apartment buildings slapped up in the mid-twentieth century, dark wood with sort of a Spanish motif. I walked past the welcome sign outside the rental office and almost bumped into a guy in a dark suit. Ever the polite person, I begged his pardon but he kept walking, didn’t even acknowledge me.

  Inside the rental office, a perky woman with dazzling, artificially white teeth pounced on me. “Can I help you find your new home?”

  I rubbed my eyes, wanting to strangle the happy out of her. Calm again, I said, “No thanks. I’m looking for information on Larry Walters. I’m investigating a crime involving him.”

  “Oh!” She covered her mouth with her hand, showing long, manicured nails. “Someone else asked about him just before you got here. Claimed he was Mr. Walters’s brother and that Mr. Walters was dead. Do you work for that gentleman?”

  Brother? Must’ve been the guy I bumped into. Was he really Joey’s brother or was he using that as his cover? My face turning white must have given her the answer.

  “Oh, I guess not…”

  I stumbled over my words. “No, I’m working with the police. What did you tell this brother about Mr. Walters?”

  “I wasn’t here when Mr. Walters came in, but it’s all in the computer.” She moved a close-by mouse and the computer screen lit up. She skimmed the notes and said, “Larry Walters was here two weeks ago and saw the Casa II. He agreed to rent it. He said he had some small pieces of furniture that he needed to store until the apartment became available and asked for the names of some storage places. He was supposed to come back later to sign papers.” She scrolled further down. “Nothing else is entered. Guess he didn’t come back.”

  I didn’t care about the apartment, but why had he gone to the trouble of coming here just to stick something in a storage unit? “Which storage places?”

  “Southwestern Storage and U-Store-It. They’re both on Ridge Road.”

  “Did you also give that information to Mr. Walters’s brother?” I knew the answer before she said it.

  “Yes. I hope that was all right.” Her smug look said, “Maybe I was wrong, but I’m pretty sure it’s okay.” Far from it. Mystery Brother was probably already at one of those places. I tossed the agent a half-hearted ‘thank you’ and ran out the door.

  I found the location of Southwestern Storage and headed there. If Joey had wanted to leave a lot of false trails to finding the flash drive, he’d done a good job. Dread flowed through me. If he’d done too good of a job, my aunt wouldn’t survive.

  The guy at Southwestern Storage was about as cooperative as a shark being asked to play nice with a swimmer. I didn’t see the man from earlier, so he’d probably gotten the same treatment. I could have kicked myself for not taking note of his car.

  I parked across the street from U-Store-It and noticed one car in the storage place’s parking lot. Either it belonged to the brother who stayed a step ahead of me or the owner. I decided to wait a minute to see if Mystery Brother pulled up or came out of the office. My stomach clenched thinking about a confrontation with him. What if he has a gun? I had a gun, but unlike me, he might not hesitate to use it.

  I didn’t have time to reach any conclusion before he exited the office and hopped into his car. Whoever he was and whatever he’d discovered, I was determined to follow him. At a safe distance, of course. I ducked down with only my eyes above the window, hoping he hadn’t seen me.

  I called Corrigan again and could have blown him a kiss when he answered. Before I could say anything, he began, “George LoPresti lawyered up.”

  I felt a wave of disappointment. Should’ve known that would happen. I wanted to know more, but at the moment, following Mystery Brother was top priority since he was the only lead left.

  I filled Corrigan in on Joey’s new apartment and the storage sheds and told him where I was. I told him, “The guy’s moving.” I waited until Mystery Brother pulled out of the lot and passed me. I noted the car’s license plate number and recited it to Corrigan.

  “Okay, Claire, I’ve got it. We can take it from here.”

  “And what am I supposed to do? Go home and bake cookies until you get him?”

  He let out a big breath. “You’re supposed to keep safe. We don’t know who this guy really is or if he’s dangerous. Now let me handle this.”

  Ignoring Corrigan’s advice, I made a U-turn and followed Mystery Brother. His car stayed one car ahead of me. If the guy had Joey’s flash drive, I had to get it right now. Every time my heart beat, it meant another second passing. I’d keep up the tail and let Corrigan handle the rough stuff. But I didn’t have time to risk on the guy slipping away.

  “Sorry, Brian. I’m not going to yank him from his car. You can do that, but I’m gonna follow him. He may have the flash drive. Okay, he’s entering I-480 West. Maybe he’s going downtown.”

  “Claire—”

  “Gotta go.” I ended the call and concentrated on driving.

  Mystery Brother didn’t seem in any great hurry, so it was pretty easy to follow him undetected. Almost too easy. An adrenalin rush made me want to floor it, pass the guy up and swerve in front of him. Of course then the evening news would start with, “A massive pile up on I-480, caused by Claire DeNardo, deceased.” That fear in mind, I forced myself to follow a car or two behind him.

  He took I-71 and continued until the W. 117th exit, then made a right hand turn. A police car pulled behind me and Corrigan called. “Black and white has spotted you and is following. I should be there about now.”

  We looked like a parade. The black and white let Corrigan’s car zip by. He waved at me to let him pass, which I did, none too gracefully, and he turned on his flashers.

  Mystery Brother pulled over like a good citizen and Corrigan, with the two uniformed police as backup, approached and asked him to step out of the car. The guy opened his car door and got out, his hands in the air.

  I opened my car door, but Corrigan held up his hand, like the traffic cop he probably once was, to stop me. For once, I did what he said and just watched. I didn’t want to catch a stray bullet in my gut.

  The man slowly pulled out his wallet with one hand, flipped through it, and extracted his driver’s license to show Corrigan. Never having heard of a wallet gun, my need to know what was going on overcame my caution
and I hurried over to them.

  Mystery Brother asked Corrigan permission to duck inside his car and pulled out an 8”x10” envelop. He handed it to Corrigan and said, “This should give you all the information you need.”

  Corrigan skimmed the letter and document attached. He ran his fingers through his hair. “Ms. DeNardo, meet Mickey Garino, Joey Corozza’s brother.”

  My eyebrows shot way up. “Brother? Really? Can you prove it? What do you want with his flash drive? I need it. Give it over.”

  I must’ve sounded demented. His jaw dropped and he stumbled over his words. “I don’t have, I mean, I don’t know what you’re talking about. My brother never told me…”

  But people lie. That was one of my first lessons on the job. According to Gino, “If it weren’t for lies, some people would have nothing to say.” I wanted to grab the guy by his tie. “What did you take from U-Store-It?”

  “I didn’t get anything from there. All I know is Joey wanted me to check about that apartment. The lady there told me about the storage units. Honest-to-God, I don’t even know what I’m supposed to look for.” His eyes shifted from me to Corrigan. “About a month ago, I got this letter from Joey. We’re twins, fraternal. But our mother could only take care of one of us, so I stayed with her; Joey went into foster care and finally got adopted when he was nine. I hadn’t talked to him since Mom died ten years ago. Anyway, you can read the letter.”

  Corrigan read part of it aloud. “If anything happens to me, bro, there’s something you should have. I’m moving into an apartment in Marsden Place. I don’t have an actual address there, but I will soon. I’ve got to get out of where I’m living now. The place is okay, but the guy I rent from is too nosy for his own good. Anyway, I’ll send you the exact address when I move in.”

  My shoulders drooped. Another dead end. My aunt’s rescue seemed farther out of reach.

  Corrigan stopped reading and motioned to the uniformed officers. “So when you heard Joey was murdered, you decided to grab the goods without anyone knowing. In fact, how do we know you didn’t kill Joey yourself?”

  Joey’s brother clenched his teeth. “I didn’t. I wasn’t even in Cleveland until yesterday. I’ll answer any questions you have.”