Killer Cannoli (A Terrified Detective Mystery Book 2) Page 12

  I took a deep breath to steady myself, scanned the area once more and as nonchalantly as possible took a step onto the porch. Looking around again to make sure nobody was watching, I tried the door and gasped when it opened. I realized too late someone else was there.

  I was about to retreat when a man grabbed me and pulled me inside. “Ed! What are you doing here?”

  He harrumphed, “I couldn’t just sit on my thumbs, waiting for someone to find Lena. Had to do something and combing through this place sorta fell into my hands.” He caught my skeptical look and shrugged. “What?”

  I knew I shouldn’t be mad, but no sleep and no clues left me irritated and maybe irrational. “First, you should be home taking care of yourself. But if you insist on snooping, why didn’t you call me? I wouldn’t have made the trip here. Saved some time.” It took all my control not to keep harping on it.

  “Lena got taken on my watch. Nothing else matters, but I gotta help save her.”

  Although my nerves felt like someone was rubbing sandpaper over them, I held my tongue. I could understand. “Okay. Have you found anything yet? Wait! What did you mean this fell into your hands?”

  “No biggie. I happen to know the owner’s sister. Easy in. The duplex, not the sister. So far I haven’t found a stinkin’ thing. Cops or somebody picked the place pretty clean.”

  I pressed my cool palms against my burning eyes. “Do you happen to know how to get into the home of the late Albert Valcone?”

  Ed looked up at the ceiling, thinking. “If I could figure out how to do it, you want in?”

  “Yeah, sure.” I looked around the room. “Mind if I look around here? I know you already did, but…”

  “Be my guest. Hurry, though. The owner’s probably going to be here soon to clean it up for leasing.”

  I started toward the master bedroom. “I’ll be quick.” With each step I took I heard the tick of the clock in my head.

  Nothing in that room except some large dust bunnies. A sharp smell came from the kitchen, as if someone had left food best refrigerated out too long. I began breathing through my mouth and did a quick look through the already opened cupboard doors and drawers that had been yanked out, some askew in their slots. I hurried back into the living room and waited for Ed who returned from the other bedroom. I shook my head. “I didn’t find anything.”

  By the look on his face I knew he’d be empty handed too. “Me either.”

  I paced and stopped. “What about Valcone’s place? If he killed Joey for that evidence everyone wants, maybe it’s still at his place. Maybe whoever then killed Valcone, never found it. You said you might be able to get in there.”

  Ed shook his head. “Yeah, maybe later. Now, no can do. Cops still have his place wrapped tighter than a corset on a fat lady.”

  Deflated, I sunk into one of the chairs and buried my head in my hands. In that position, I heard footsteps on the porch. My head shot up and Ed and I locked eyes. After a moment, the mail slot opened and papers and envelopes scattered on the floor. The footsteps outside faded and we scrambled to pick up the evidence of Joey’s life, a second notice electric bill, an overdue account letter from a local men’s store and two flyers. The first, a glossy photo of a whiter-than-white toothed family with a church in the background, guaranteed spiritual satisfaction upon attendance. Before I could open the other, Ed turned white as that flyer and swayed. I grabbed on to him and helped him lower himself to the floor.

  He pressed his palm against his forehead. “Guess I overestimated myself. Don’t feel so great.”

  “We need to get you back to the ER.” I cringed inside, calculating how much that would take away from the minutes I had left to save my aunt. But Ed was my friend and I couldn’t abandon him. “I’ll help you up. Do you think you can walk?”

  He nodded and wrapped his arm around my shoulder for assistance. Between my assistance and his will, Ed rose to his feet and took one unsure step. Then another. He leaned against the doorframe, his face flushed and sweating. “Let me… rest here…a minute.”

  “I’m calling 911, Ed. There’s no way you’ll even make it down the steps.”

  “Sure. I will.”He gripped my arm and we painstakingly made it to my car. I helped him slide in and I sped toward the closest emergency room.

  Ed’s eyes were closed, but he opened them long enough to say, “Just drop me off there, kiddo. You’ve wasted enough time with me already.”

  “But I—”

  “Don’t argue.”

  He was right. Regrettably, I couldn’t take the time from helping Aunt Lena so when we arrived at Southwest General Hospital I waited just until they got Ed inside. Then I sulked away. I hated abandoning him. Not only was I a bad boss, but an even worse friend. After all, he wouldn’t be hurt if it weren’t for me dragging him in on this case.

  I caught a red light and, along with hitting the brakes, I interrupted my guilt fest and slapped the steering wheel. “Hell’s bells!” I’d left Joey’s mail behind. I made an illegal U-turn and headed back to Joey’s, hoping the duplex owner hadn’t come in and taken the mail.

  I screeched to a stop and ran into Joey’s home. I put my hand on my chest and caught my breath. The pieces of mail were where Ed had dropped them. As I scooped up the envelopes, someone behind me cleared their throat. I bunched up the mail, shoved the wad into my pants pocket, and hoped they wouldn’t fall out.

  Chapter Twenty

  “Hands in the air and turn around real slow.”

  My mouth dry enough to be called a desert, I did as I was told and stood face-to-face with a middle-aged, roundish man in coveralls holding what looked to be a shotgun. “Who are you and how the hell did you get into my house?”

  “I suppose you’re the owner.”

  “I’m not gonna ask again. Who are you and what are you doing here?”

  My arms were getting tired and I worried his hands were itching to do something with that gun, like shoot it. “I’m a private investigator, Claire DeNardo. If you’d allow me to lower my hands, I could show you my license. It’s in my car.” He snorted and kept his gun aimed at me. I talked faster. “I’m investigating the death of your former tenant, Larry Walters, and the door was already open—”

  “You mean Joey. And license or no, you’re trespassing.” He raised an eyebrow. “You lookin’ for something the cops missed?” He smiled, revealing a space where a front tooth should’ve been. “Hey, anyone ever tell you you’re a pretty little thing? Might be fun looking for whatever you want together.” He licked his thick, reddish lips like he’d already found the prize and was about to eat it.

  I needed to get out of there fast. “You know, I was just about to leave when you came in. Nothing here to see. Thank you, though.” I took a step toward the door and hoped he wouldn’t block my way. When he didn’t, I took another step. “Nice house you have. Bet you’ll have no problem renting it.” And another. “Well, it was really nice meeting you.” A few more and I’d be at the doorway.

  But he reached out and grabbed my arm. “Where you going in such a hurry? Think I’m stupid?” A drop of spittle appeared in the corner of his mouth.

  My pulse raced. “Of course not. No.”

  “Now gimme what you shoved in your pocket.”

  I bit back a curse and decided to bluff. “Just a few used Kleenex’s. Runny nose, you know.”

  He brought his shotgun up to my middle. “You’re a baby doll, that’s for sure, but don’t push me. Might be worth some money. So give it over. Now.”

  The hope that I’d found something slipped away like the minutes I’d lost dealing with this miscreant. Having no other choice, I stuck my hand in my pocket and pulled out the wrinkled envelopes and dropped them on the floor. “I’m leaving now.”

  He knelt down to grab the mail and I started to walk backwards, my eyes on him and his gun. Although terrified I’d trip and he’d panic and pull the trigger, I thought it’d be harder for him to shoot me if I faced him. Walking backwards as fast as I co
uld I made it to the doorway, spun around and dashed to my car. I thanked God, the Blessed Virgin, all the saints and anyone above who listened in, that I’d left my purse in the trunk and my car keys on the console.

  I punched the accelerator and sped away. Once my hands stopped shaking, I pulled out my phone and called Corrigan. I hoped he’d gotten further than me on my aunt’s location, but my call went into his voicemail. I swallowed my disappointment and fatigue and headed toward Cannoli’s. Part of the way there, it occurred to me that maybe someone at Cicarelli’s had some answers. It was a drive, but I turned the car around anyway.

  I pulled up to Cicarelli’s Pizza and tried Corrigan again, but no luck. I left him a message telling him where I was, glanced in my mirror, and crinkled my nose. I ran my fingers through my hair and slapped on some lipstick. Not that that helped me look like I had it together. The dark half-moons under my eyes and my no-longer-fresh outfit didn’t add anything to my appeal, but it didn’t matter. The people I hoped to see inside wouldn’t hesitate to get rid of me no matter how good I looked. My breathing quickened and I felt lightheaded. They say when you’re ready for battle, your pain perception decreases. I could only hope that was true. Even if that idea was totally false, I still had to do this. Time was a jet zooming toward my deadline.

  I scanned the street. Two cars, one a red Infiniti and the other a dark SUV were parked across the street. I wondered if either belonged to the kidnapper or someone who knew about the kidnapping. Alex had talked to Nick Cicarelli, but this was the only way I could be sure I had the truth. I checked that my gun was handy before I even opened my car door.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  My brain screamed at my legs to stop them from moving. They didn’t listen. I grasped Cicarelli’s solid wood door and pulled, but a brisk Lake Erie wind shoved it closed again. Maybe it was a sign to leave. A sign I ignored. I tried again when the breeze stopped, but the door still didn’t open. This time a force other than one of nature stood behind me with his hand on the door. It was Dominic Santore, the guy who escorted me inside Cicarelli’s last time. Surprised, I dropped my hand from the door handle and tried to step back, but he blocked my way.

  He chortled. “What’sa matter? Now you don’t wanna go in?”

  I swallowed my breath. “Sure, I do.”

  He nodded to two men who looked like they spent all their free time at the gym. One stepped forward and opened the door like it was made of hollow plastic, then moved aside for Santore and me to enter. These human weapons followed us in and stood just a few feet away in the restaurant’s reception area.

  Santore glanced around. His cold stare finally settled on me. “Okay, we’re all inside. What do you want?”

  Frustration, fear and worry made a bad trio and I blurted out, “I’m here to find my aunt.”

  “Did ya hear that, boys? She wants to find her aunt. Hey Marco, is her aunt in the kitchen or maybe she’s in the ladies’ room?” He chuckled, but there was no humor in it. He got deadly serious. “Okay, empty your pockets.” When I hesitated, he added, “Or Freddie and Marco’ll do it for you.”

  My fingers all turned to thumbs. As I pulled my gun from my pocket, a folded, stapled piece of paper fell to the floor. The staple must have grabbed onto the lining of my pants and so escaped being scooped from my pocket at the duplex. Trying not to call attention to it, I casually covered the paper with my foot.

  “Put your gun there.” Santore pointed to a glass table. I reached over, my left foot still on top of the flyer, and laid the gun down.

  As soon as I did, one of Santore’s goons, Marco or Freddie, pulled me back so I could no longer reach the table.

  “Now what’re you hiding? Lift up your foot.” Santore nodded and one of the big guys picked up the paper and handed it to him.

  Santore smoothed it out and read it. “An ad for some locker rental place. Addressed to Joey.”

  My brain lit up like a pinball machine. Maybe Joey had stashed the flash drive there. It was my misfortune that, by the look on Santore’s face, he’d come to that same conclusion.

  It felt like I’d just been punched in the stomach. Either Santore held my aunt or had turned her over to Bucanetti in New Jersey. If they got to the flash drive before I did, what would happen to my aunt?

  I needed to get that flash drive first, turn it over and get her back. First, I had to leave these guys in the dust, hopefully with the address of the locker rental place. “You know, I’ve changed my mind. I don’t really need to be here. I’ll just take my gun and that flyer and be on my way.”

  Santore and his henchmen laughed, like they were all in on a dirty joke. I stepped toward my gun, but Freddie grabbed my arm and held it in his vice grip. Santore stopped laughing. “You ain’t going anywhere ‘til you answer a few questions.”

  But I didn’t have to. The restaurant door swung open and knocked Marco into Freddie, who then dropped my arm. It was Corrigan with two other cops. “Sorry, gentlemen, but Ms. DeNardo has other places to go.”

  I wanted to collapse like a half-baked cake. Instead, I picked up my gun and, in an uncharacteristically bold move, took the flyer from Santore’s hands and said, “I believe the police need this for an ongoing investigation.”

  “Let’s go, Claire.” Corrigan practically shoved me out of Cicarelli’s.

  “What’d you do that for?” I hissed.

  He growled at me. “You’re welcome! You know how lucky you are I got here when I did? Those guys could have ripped you apart like you were a pair of cheap pants. Why didn’t you answer your phone?”

  I patted my pockets. Unbelievable. I’d left my cell phone in the car and didn’t even realize I’d done it. But I couldn’t let him know I’d been that careless and responded with, “In case you didn’t notice, I was occupied.” I didn’t want to spend precious time arguing. “What time is it?”

  “A little after 1:00.”

  I gasped. Only seven hours left. Everything was taking more time than I could spare. It was like being in a nightmare where I’m moving in slow motion and can’t speed up. I was exhausted but I couldn’t rest. Not with the time growing so short.

  I showed Corrigan the flyer but skipped over how I’d obtained it. “I think Joey may have had a locker at this place. It could be that’s where he hid the flash drive. I’ve got to check it out.”

  Corrigan grabbed my shoulders. “Even if you’re right, do you know which locker was his? What about the key? Do you have it?”

  In a voice turning hoarse fast, I argued, “No, but we can’t let Santore or whoever he’s working for get to it first. I’m going.” I turned toward my car, but black dots appeared before my eyes stopping me cold. I put my hand out and steadied myself against Cicarelli’s building.

  Corrigan tsk’d and took my arm. “Come on, we’ll both go. I’ll drive, but even if you’re right about Joey having a locker there, we may need a warrant to get inside without a key.”

  “Understood.” But I was sure Joey did and hoped a warrant wouldn’t be necessary.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  We rushed inside the Westshore Locker and Sports Center, a place whose name was grander than it was, and up to the nicked and battered counter. A bald, multi-tattooed man in a white tee shirt stood behind a stack of boxes.

  I asked, “Excuse me, sir. Are you the owner here?”

  “Who wants to know?” The guy needed customer service training.

  Corrigan pulled out his badge. “I’m Detective Corrigan with the Cleveland Police. We’re trying to locate a locker that belonged to Joey Corozza, aka Larry Walters. Is he a customer of yours?”

  The guy didn’t move.

  “Sir, I’ll ask you again, do you have—”

  “Heard you the first time. Not saying I do, but if I do, what happens then?”

  Corrigan gave me an ‘I’ll handle this’ look. “We’d like to view the contents as evidence in a crime.”

  The man shook his head and said the words I dreaded hearing. “You don�
��t got a key, you need a warrant.”

  I leaned across the counter. “Please, it’s a matter of life or death. My aunt—”

  “Sorry, lady. Can’t bend the rules for nobody.” He looked like he’d bent and broken more than a few.

  Corrigan nodded, “I’ll be back with one. In the meantime, you wouldn’t let anyone else bend those rules for you now, would you?”

  The guy’s eyebrows came together. “I’m all about equal opportunity.” He snorted like that was the funniest thing he’d ever heard.

  At the store’s entrance, Corrigan stopped and made a phone call. I paced and envisioned stapling that clerk jerk’s lips together. When Corrigan hung up he informed me, “They’re sending a uniform here to make sure nobody gets in Joey’s locker except us. Whoever it is should be here any minute.” He looked down the street as if he expected a police car to zoom up any minute.

  I spun around and a woozy feeling hit me so hard I would have landed on the floor had Corrigan not caught me.

  “Claire, when was the last time you ate? Or slept? Go sit in the car and rest. As soon as that cop arrives we’ll go get you a burger.”

  Less than five minutes later, a uniformed cop with the word ‘rookie’ written all over him showed up. But he seemed competent enough to guard the lockers, so I agreed to that burger.

  We stopped at a Rally’s drive-through and I ordered a cheese double and Diet Coke. Ordinarily I love burgers, but I had a hard time swallowing even one bite. All I could do was wonder if they’d fed Aunt Lena or at least given her something to drink. While I was struggling with that thought, Corrigan made a couple more calls.

  When he was done, he peeled back the paper on his straw and punched it through the plastic cup top. “Newark cops questioned Bucanetti. Got nowhere, of course. The guy’s lawyer must have some sort of sixth sense. Every time a cop gets near Bucanetti, up pops the attorney.”

  He took a sip of his banana milkshake. “Some other news. We got a lead on who set up the car to be stolen. Guy named George LoPresti. Used to work for Valcone until he allegedly went legit and got a position at Luxury Autos. Some coincidence.”