Killer Cannoli (A Terrified Detective Mystery Book 2) Page 10

  His look of compassion almost liquefied my will. But then I thought of my aunt and I lifted my head high, which made my dizziness worse. “I know you’re here to help.”

  “I’ll trace the call.”

  “I already called back the number, but no one answered. Big surprise.” I couldn’t stand any longer and dropped down on my sofa.

  His eyes narrowed and I felt like an ant stared at with a magnifying glass. About now though, catching fire was the least of my worries.

  “Mind if I stay a while?” He sat down next to me without waiting for a reply and watched me.

  I was suddenly as thirsty as if I’d spent the evening at a salt lick. Once I knew I wouldn’t pass out or get sick, I carefully stood and got myself a diet soda and gave him one. He took a long drink, wiped his mouth, and asked, “What aren’t you telling me, Claire? Why would an anonymous text tell you to come home and then…nothing?”

  I opened my sleep-deprived eyes as wide as I could, going for an innocent look. “I have no idea. But instead of questioning me, shouldn’t you be out looking for my aunt?”

  He rose. With an edge to his voice he responded, “I thought I was doing just that. Besides, you called me, remember?” He opened the door to leave and turned. “Last chance tonight. Anything you want to say?”

  My inner chicken voice kept pecking at me. “Tell him, tell him.” But I silenced it and shook my head. I convinced myself that I had to do what the note told me if I ever wanted to see my aunt alive.

  After he left, I threw some cold water on my face and tried to assess the situation. Ed was in no shape to help me and I couldn’t bring in Corrigan. I clamped down on my feeling of isolation. I had to concentrate on my aunt, not on how I felt. My brain was a scrambled egg. I finished my now warm soda and looked at the clock. It was 5:00 in the morning. I sniffed and decided I could use a shower and some fresh clothes.

  I leaned against the shower wall and let the cascading water wash away my fatigue. I toweled myself dry and decided to call on Alex. In my beyond exhausted, deluded mind I’d be an Italian Mata Hari, famous World War I spy who charmed secrets from the enemy. In my case, I wanted Alex to tell me who the guy was in the black sedan. I groaned then, remembering Mata Hari had been executed.

  I glanced in the mirror, taking in the dark circles under my eyes. Maybe he’d believe I couldn’t sleep thinking of him. I let out a raw laugh, grabbed my jacket and headed out my apartment door.

  From my earlier research I knew Alex worked at Busby LLP, located on E.9th Street in downtown Cleveland. I sat in rush hour traffic rehearsing what I’d say to him. With the slow-moving cars, I’d have plenty of time to practice.

  My dad called about twenty minutes into my drive. The phone’s ring reminded me of a bell tolling a death.

  My father sounded so worn out. “Have you heard anything yet?”

  I’ve been coming up with believable fibs to my dad since I was a teenager, but this one caught in my throat. “No. Haven’t heard a thing.”

  “Dammit.” He exhaled into the phone. “Want to come over and keep the old man company while we wait it out?”

  I bit my lip, wanting to say yes, but I had a CPA to visit. So I prevaricated. “I’m going to see how Ed is doing first.” Although it was a necessary lie, I hated having to use it. “Then I’ll come over and wait with you.”

  I could hear the worry in his voice. “Claire Marie, tell me you and Ed aren’t gonna go digging around in this. One family member kidnapped is too much. Two and I don’t think I could live through it.”

  I didn’t want to argue. What little time and energy I had left I needed for my confrontation with Alex. “I totally understand. As soon as I can, I’ll be over. Promise.”

  The instant we hung up, I went back to drumming up some femme fatale vibes for Alex. My emotions already blinking like a marquee, I had to be careful not to come on too strong or get weepy and blow the whole thing.

  Traffic finally began to move at a steady pace and I made it to Busby LLP’s parking lot a little before eight. As I hustled through the garage, hoping I wouldn’t forget where my car was, I wondered how I’d find Alex. I needn’t have worried though. He entered the building, briefcase in one hand, coffee in the other, as I was studying the office directory.

  “Claire! Are you here to see me?”

  I froze, my mind blanking out for a moment. Instead of playing an impossible-to-resist bombshell, I acted more shell shocked. “Oh hi, Alex! Um, yeah, I was.” The blood rushed to my face, and I hoped he wouldn’t tell me to get lost.

  He surprised me by grinning, but when I didn’t say anything more, he lowered his voice and said, “Why don’t we go up to my office.”

  My mouth reconnected to my brain and I laid my hand gently on his forearm. “That would be ideal. I mean, best. Uh, great.”

  He raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment.

  We rode the crowded elevator. My discomfort grew at each level and I shifted from one foot to the other as people entered and left at different floors. Until we were alone.

  When the elevator stopped at the 11th floor he said, “This is where we get off.” The doors opened and for just a second, I wondered if this marked the close of my life.

  Alex guided me into his office, with its cherry wood furniture and tasteful landscape paintings. On his tidy desk was a photo of a middle-aged woman, still shapely but losing the weight battle.

  He motioned for me to have a seat. I lowered myself into a chair and, to say something, I pointed to the picture, “Attractive woman.”

  He nodded. “My Aunt Carmela. That call last night was from her. ”

  An obvious lie since I knew it was Bucanetti who called him. I debated confronting him with the truth, but decided I’d probably learn more by playing along. “You’re close to her?”

  “Yeah, she’s a great lady.” He scowled. “Not like her husband.”

  I licked my lips. “Who might that be?”

  The warmth in his eyes dissipated. “Come on, Claire, Corrigan made sure you knew the notorious Michael Bucanetti was my uncle.”

  I sucked in a breath. The caller ID just said Bucanetti. Did I figure wrong? “Of course, but you told me you didn’t associate with anyone on your mother’s side.” I sat back and tried to look relaxed, but my every nerve wanted to spring. I clasped my hands together until my knuckles turned white to keep the frustration out of my voice. “Did she call about something important?” Like give you a message from her husband?

  He chuckled, “Not really. I mentioned I was having dinner with someone. When she heard your last name, she thought she might know your father from the old days. She’s originally from Cleveland. She called during our dinner to tell me she remembered how she knew him. Anyway, I called her back when I got home.” Out of the corner of his mouth he added, “A lot earlier than I had planned.”

  I ignored his dig. “You must be close to her.”

  “Bobby, my cousin, died of leukemia when we were both seven years old. She didn’t have any other kids, and I didn’t have much of a mother.”

  I caught a glimpse of the boy he must have been, needing a mother and finding, instead, a loving aunt. My heart expanded for that child, but I put a clamp on it. I had an aunt I loved too and I would do everything in my power to keep her alive.

  I forced a smile. “I’m glad for both of you.” Despite my business here, the memory of my mother, dead almost three years, popped, unbidden, into my mind.

  His phone rang. “Excuse me.” A grin of true affection appeared on his face. “Aunt Carmela, I’m glad you called. Claire DeNardo and I were just talking about you.”

  A woman’s excited voice came through his phone clear and loud. I crossed my legs and swung the top leg up and down. Pleasant as this may be, I wasn’t getting anywhere and the sand in the hourglass continued to run.

  Alex laughed and said, “Yeah, she’s sitting right here.” He whispered, “My aunt wants to talk to you.”

  I reluctantly took the
phone. I was wound too tight to exchange pleasantries with the wife of my aunt’s kidnapper. I cleared my throat. “Hello?”

  “Claire? I know you don’t know me, except as Alex’s aunt, but I knew your father when he was a paper boy—”

  Her voice grew further away and a man’s gruff voice took over. “Miss DeNardo? It’s nice you spending time with my nephew, but perhaps you got something more pressing to do.”

  For a moment I couldn’t move or talk, as if I’d been encased in ice, but I broke through. “Where’s my aunt?”

  He let loose with a guttural sound that passed for a laugh. “You got the wrong idea. I’m just offering some friendly advice.” The line went dead.

  “Hello? Hello?” I sunk deeper into my seat, like someone had pressed me down with a giant thumb.

  Alex pried the receiver from my hand. “What’s the matter?”

  I didn’t buy his act. He knew. He had to. I wanted to squeeze information from him like he was a lemon. “Nice trick. I get on the phone and your uncle starts in on me. Was that meant to push me harder to find the evidence or just to scare me?”

  His eyebrows lowered. “What do you mean? What did my uncle say?”

  I held up my hands. “Enough.” I got up so fast I tripped, but righted myself. “You won’t get away with this.” Such a cliché, but I was lucky to put a sentence together.

  I stormed out of the office with Alex fast on my heels. I couldn’t bear to stand waiting for an elevator so took the stairs. He still followed me.

  I made it down half of the first flight when he clamped his hand on my shoulder. “Claire, stop. Whatever’s going on involving my uncle, believe me, I’m not part of it.”

  “Sure, that’s what Hitler said about invading Poland. I don’t believe you don’t know about my aunt. Now let me go.” I pulled free and continued down the stairs.

  He called after me. “That car stolen from Luxury Autos is part of this, isn’t it?” I halted and, as calm as the eye of a hurricane, he added, “Claire, I had nothing to do with that car being stolen and no way would I hurt you or your aunt. I heard about Joey Corroza’s murder and your aunt being the last to see him alive. But that doesn’t make me guilty of anything.”

  “Never mind about Joey and my aunt. How do you know about that car?”

  “The grapevine. Luxury Autos is part of my division but only insofar as I do their accounting. I didn’t know anything else until you came here. Even now, I’m not sure exactly what we’re talking about.”

  My face contorted. “Like you don’t know about my aunt being kidnapped. With Michael Bucanetti as your uncle?” Why was I having this conversation?

  Alex held up his hands like a traffic cop. “Wait. What? I didn’t know. I swear. I, um, I’m sorry. I, uh, hope you get her back.”

  “If you really felt sorry, you’d tell me everything you know.” All he gave me, though, was a blank look and a slight shake of his head. My plan of drawing information from Alex slipped away. I turned toward the steps again. “Please don’t follow me this time.”

  “I won’t.” He turned around and climbed up the stairs to his floor. A little of the tension between my shoulders dissolved when I heard the stairwell door close behind him.

  I bounded down the steps, at first anxious to get away from him. But then a little niggling voice inside me asked if he wasn’t just on the wrong phone at the wrong time. I shook the unwelcome idea from my head. Another of Gino’s rules came to mind: ‘Don’t let good looks fool you into believing there’s a good soul behind that dazzling smile.’

  Gino was right, so I poured emotional concrete around my heart, and took a deep breath, not sure where to go next. Ed was out of commission, I couldn’t bring in the police, and I didn’t want to risk my dad, so it was just me. Me, a kidnapped aunt, and Joey’s missing evidence. I pushed my hair back behind my ears and straightened my spine. Gino’s rule number-something: ‘Clues are everywhere. Just make sure you’re still alive to find them.’

  I drove back to Cannoli’s, let myself in and flicked on the light. Without my aunt bustling around, the place looked like it had died. Although it had been open just yesterday, I half-expected to see cobwebs in the corners and a yellowed newspaper behind the counter.

  I didn’t want any customers dropping in, so I found a piece of cardboard and tape and put a sign on the door, reading ‘Closed due to illness in the family.’ I pushed my hair behind my ears. If I didn’t find what the kidnapper wanted that sign might soon read ‘Closed due to death in the family.’

  Banishing that morbid thought from my mind, I began searching for Joey’s evidence. After an hour of finding only a dried-out contact lens, two pennies and a ticket stub, I plopped down on a chair, once more fighting the tears. I lost the battle and they poured down. My nose began to run so I went into the kitchen in search of a tissue. I jumped when Cannoli’s phone rang. The hair on my arms stood at attention, waiting for the ringing to stop and the voice messaging to kick in.

  Chapter Seventeen

  A man’s whispering, monotone voice began. “Have you found it yet, Claire?”

  I leapt for the phone. “I’m trying. Give me more time. Please.”

  “Time’s running out, Claire.”

  “I need more time.” I pictured my aunt tied up, blood spilling down from her slashed neck if I didn’t find what the kidnapper wanted. My legs wanted to buckle. “At least tell me what I’m looking for.”

  “Don’t bullshit me, Claire. I want the flash drive. You have 36 hours.”

  I stared at the phone and sobbed, “No, you can’t.” But the caller was gone. I rubbed my eyes with the back of my hands. Not only had I lost precious time, but I realized the kidnapper was watching me. The sobs began anew, but I pulled myself together. I drew out my gun, stumbled to the door, and made sure it was locked.

  It must’ve been the day for Gino’s rules because I recalled another: ‘Cops have their place and sometimes it’s next to you, saving your butt.’ I’d been short-sighted not to let Corrigan know about the note, even though it’d said no cops. Maybe, just maybe, Corrigan could help me save Aunt Lena. I grabbed my phone and called him. “We have to talk in person.”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  “Don’t you want to know where?”

  His voice smug, he asked, “You think I don’t know you’re at Cannoli’s?” He took a deep breath and I thought he was going to end the call. Instead he said, “Okay. I’m here. Unlock the back door and I’ll rush in.”

  Corrigan pushed against the door just as I was unlocking the deadbolt. As soon as I stepped back, he was inside the kitchen. “In case you’re wondering how I knew you were here, I’ve been looking for you. Already checked your office and home, so this was next. I was just around the corner. Thought I’d get your phone and put a trace on it.”

  I clutched his arm. “Do you think anyone noticed you coming in? Did you see anyone else hanging around?”

  “No to both questions.” His brows knitted. “Have you gotten another text?”

  I balked, but came clean. “I got a note. Then a call, like someone was watching me.” He cut me off.

  “When did you get the note? Let me see it, Claire.” He tapped his foot, waiting for a response. “Well?”

  “I thought I was acting in my aunt’s best interest. I was afraid they would…” I couldn’t say it and my voice drifted off.

  He finished for me. “The note said no cops. You thought they’d hurt your aunt if you brought me in.” No scolding about my lying to him. Maybe he wasn’t such a jerk.

  I regained my voice. “Yeah, until I went to see Alex Carpenter this morning.” I rushed my words so Corrigan wouldn’t interrupt me. “Michael Bucanetti called me there and alluded to me finding the evidence. He’s behind this. I know it.” I inhaled to regain some composure. “Whatever Joey had, I better find it. I only have,” I looked at the time. “35 hours and 25 minutes.” My eyes misted and I blinked hard. No time to cry.

  Corrigan ste
pped toward me and firmly placed his hands on my shoulders. “Okay. I’ll see if we can get prints on that note and I’ll call the Newark police about Bucanetti. Hell, I’ll even go there myself if I have to. In the meantime, we’ll lean hard on his local associates. If it looks like your aunt’s been taken over state lines we can bring the FBI in right away. Okay?”

  I didn’t look at him.

  “You’ve gotta work with me on this, Claire. Understand? Lena’s chances are better this way.”

  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. He was right, but I hated hearing that I might’ve wasted precious time on my own.

  He crouched down, making sure he made eye contact. His voice was tender. “I want your aunt back safe. Same as you.”

  I lowered my head and sagged into his arms. “I know.”

  He sighed. “I wanted to tell you I wasn’t sitting on my thumbs but you didn’t give me a chance. We got a description on the driver of the stolen car.”

  My heart thumped harder. “Who is he?”

  “We don’t have a name yet. We’re still working on it.”

  I’d have bet all my non-existent salary the guy worked for Bucanetti, that Newark slime.

  Before I could say so, Cannoli’s phone rang once again, and both Corrigan and I stared at it. “Maybe it’s just a hungry customer.” I started toward the phone. My voice shook in contrast to my casual words. “Thank you for calling Cannoli’s.”

  “Claire, don’t hang up.” It was Alex.

  I glanced up at Corrigan, who stood close enough to hear. I felt transparent; everyone knew my moves. I huffed, remembering how I’d thought Joey looked like a lab rat. I felt like one now. Put some cheese in my cage and study me as I run the maze. But in this case, the cheese was Aunt Lena.

  I kept my tone as neutral as I could since Alex may have been reporting back to Bucanetti. “What is it, Alex?” I emphasized the name and Corrigan nodded.

  “I got something on that stolen car. Let’s talk about it in person, say in ten minutes?”