Killer Cannoli (A Terrified Detective Mystery Book 2) Page 3

  He flashed his badge, like I didn’t know he really was a cop.“Police business. Open up.” His voice softened. “Please.”

  I reluctantly accommodated and he stepped inside. I clutched my terrycloth robe tighter around me. “Is this about Larry?” I yawned.

  He ignored my question and pulled out the small spiral notepad he always carried. “Where were you between midnight and 3:00 a.m. this morning?”

  I squinted at him. “Why?”

  “Just answer the question.”

  I sighed. “Got home about 12:15 and went straight to bed. That’s where I was until you banged on my door.”

  “Can anyone vouch for your whereabouts?”

  I rested my hands in the robe’s pockets. That, or they would’ve found themselves tightening around his neck. “Sure. All the guys in bed with me. Let’s see…” I looked up, as if recalling. “There’s Channing Tatum, and, uh…”

  He held up his hand. “Not funny. This is serious, Claire. Someone broke into your aunt’s bakery early this morning looking for something. A cop interrupted, but he or she got away.” He made a big show of putting his notepad back in his pocket, as if to say, “This is off the record.” He pressed his lips together. “Did you do it, Claire?”

  My legs felt like someone clipped me in the knees. I got mad. Somebody had been cruel enough to violate my aunt’s sense of security. Twice. How could he think I’d do something like that? My hands flew out of my pockets, ready to slap him sensible. “Why would I do that?”

  He inhaled deeply. “To protect your aunt.”

  My eyes opened to the size of fried eggs. “I don’t understand. To protect her from the killer?” My breath caught. Did he think I killed Larry?

  “Have a seat.” Corrigan motioned to my sofa, but I’d had a lot of liquid the night before.

  “In a minute.” I scurried off toward the bathroom.

  When I returned, Corrigan was tapping his foot. “You ready to talk now?” He sat down, took my wrist and pulled me down next to him.

  Just then my stomach let out a growl so loud it sounded like the circus was in town.

  He smirked, but the look I gave him made it clear I’d clobber him if he made one snide comment about it. On second thought, I wouldn’t because he’d put me in jail with some tough people and bad food.

  He put his hands on his knees and got down to business. “Someone wants something Larry had. Or should I say, Joey Corozza, aka, Joey the Albino.”

  “So my father was right. Larry wasn’t Larry. But who’s this Joey guy and why did he lie about his identity?”

  He bit his lower lip, probably deciding how much to tell me. “First, swear to me it wasn’t you who tore Cannoli’s apart. I want to make sure you didn’t figure out that Joey left something at Cannoli’s and went looking for it to save your aunt any unwelcome visitors. Come on, I’ll take your word for it.”

  “I didn’t do it. I swear on my mother’s grave.” I crossed my heart. “Ed dropped me off a little before midnight and I came straight home. I wouldn’t have stopped anywhere on the way because my car pooped out earlier that afternoon. Ed got it started but warned me not to stop anywhere.” Like a beetle in flour, an idea burrowed in my brain. Could Ed have done it?

  Corrigan must have read my expression. “Ed’s in the clear. Just so you know.” My eyebrows disappeared into my bangs. He explained, “Apparently he’s a bowling ace at Crown Bowling. Midnight leagues. Six guys vouched for his whereabouts.”

  I smoothed my eyebrows. “Did you really think it could’ve been either of us?”

  He shrugged. “Not really, but I needed to make sure.”

  I yawned so widely my jaw cracked. I needed caffeine and didn’t want to drink alone. “I’m going to make some tea for us. While I do, tell me about this Joey the Albino.” My gut clenched and I was glad Aunt Lena stayed at my dad’s last night.

  We sat at the table, his cup of tea getting cold while he filled me in on my aunt’s date, Not-Larry. “He was a small-time hood who, according to the Newark police, worked for Michael Bucanetti, an alleged crime boss. Corozza disappeared a year ago and police thought maybe he’d been stuffed in a trunk of a junkyard car, but they never found a body.”

  My mouth went dry thinking how close Aunt Lena came to having an ugly demise. I took a big sip of tea, but it didn’t help. “Because he came to Cleveland and called himself Larry.”

  He nodded, drained his cup, and actually walked it over to the sink. His momma trained him well. “Now you know. The guy must’ve had something on Bucanetti and the boss wanted it back. Or at least destroyed.”

  Corrigan’s phone rang. “Be right there.” He ended the call, put his phone back in his pocket, and buttoned his suit jacket. “Keep an eye on your aunt. If something happens let me know immediately. I’m going back over to the restaurant.” His tone turned harsher. “But don’t you get involved in this case. This one’s for the big boys.”

  “I guess I’m just one of the little girls.” Not that I minded staying out of this mess. An old man barreling toward me with a shopping cart scares me. I sure didn’t want to get in the way of a mobster and his treasure hunt.

  I put my hand on my hip and whispered in a husky voice, “Okay, Big Boy. It’s all yours.” To myself I added, as long as my aunt wasn’t hurt. But I didn’t want to hear him lecture me about danger, blah, blah, blah. I’d heard it all before. Besides, I wanted to call my father to keep Aunt Lena at his place as long as he could. Then when Aunt Lena reopened Cannoli’s, I’d see if Ed would check in with Aunt Lena regularly, just to make sure she was okay. I snorted, thinking how he wouldn’t mind that at all. My aunt might feel differently, though.

  The minute Corrigan left I called my dad. He was usually an early riser, but we’d been there pretty late last night. He answered on the third ring, though, sounding like he’d already had a lot of coffee. “I was just about to call you. The police were here. Someone broke into Cannoli’s last night. Soon as your aunt gets dressed, we’re going over there.”

  I repeated what Corrigan had told me about Larry being Joey and the rest of it.

  My father whistled. “I knew the guy was no good. The DeNardo nose knows. So the break-in was probably the same guy who did the killing.”

  “Yeah. Dad, I think Aunt Lena should stay at your house until the murder’s solved.”

  “I already brought it up to her.”

  I held my breath. “And?”

  “That woman is stubborn. All I could get from her was a ‘we’ll talk later.’ In other words; no.” I heard my aunt talking in the background. My dad said, “We gotta go.”

  “Okay, I’m gonna meet you at Cannoli’s.”

  On my way there, my phone rang. It was Ed. From the sounds in the background, I guessed he was eating breakfast at the Owl. I was mentally chastising him for his bad choices, bowling until who-knows-when and then pumping his belly full of fat and sugar. My stomach admired him, though, and begged for a chocolate covered, cream-filled donut.

  “About time you answered.” Ed’s mouth was full and I could hear him swallow. “Lena okay?”

  I barked, “Why didn’t you call me when Corrigan questioned you about the break-in?”

  He wiped his mouth. “I did. Check your messages. Now how’s Lena?”

  “I’m meeting her and my dad at Cannoli’s. Can you come too?”

  “Can’t. Hell, I got a shift at Triton that starts in twenty minutes.”

  I bit my lower lip. “Okay. I think the cops can handle this one anyway.”

  “You kiddin’ me? Corrigan’s a good guy and all, but…”

  I knew Ed wanted to get involved in this, but not me. I used the excuse that I had other cases, but who was I kidding? This was murder most foul, probably coordinated by a vicious mobster and carried out by a gun-for-hire. Except for the Adler case, my usual clients are like the guy who hired me to find out who stole his running shoes out of his Lifestyle Gym locker. Just the thought of facing a paid assassin made my h
ands tighten on the wheel. I’d have to arrange for my funeral and pick out my cemetery plot. No, I’d offer my aunt solace and support but leave the bullets and body count to Corrigan and his pals.

  Sure I was a private investigator, but it wasn’t the career to which I’d aspired. Since I didn’t want to reside on a park bench or cardboard box, I gave up my quest to be an art historian and went to work for Gino Francini, my father’s second cousin, in his detective agency. It wasn’t as exciting as it sounded. Most of the time I typed reports. Once in a while, I’d get to go out on surveillance, watching a suspected cheater.

  When Gino retired to Miami, I took over the struggling business. Two and a half years have passed since then, but one thing hasn’t changed. The agency and I don’t usually get clients willing to pay large sums for solutions to complicated problems. In fact lately, my cases were more like the middle-aged bachelor of uncertain means who wanted me to find his missing comic books.

  At last I pulled next to my dad’s car in Cannoli’s parking lot. He had his arm around Aunt Lena’s shoulder and was talking to her like he’d consoled me when I’d wrecked my brand new bike. “Once the police let us back inside, we’ll get it fixed up in no time, Lena.”

  A piece of my heart broke off and flew to her. “I’m sorry, Aunt Lena. You know I’ll help.”

  Aunt Lena looked at me with her heavy lidded, bloodshot eyes. “I want you to find,” she made a spitting noise. “The malvagio who did this.”

  I held up my hands. “The police will.”

  My dad took a step toward me. “Lena, she’s right. Let the cops do their job.”

  She didn’t acknowledge his comment. She clasped her hands together as if praying. “Please, Claire. I won’t be able to sleep until that murderer is caught.” Her eyes moistened and her lower lip trembled.

  I rubbed my face hard. She didn’t know the kind of company Joey kept and who, in all likelihood, killed him. I wondered if I should buy a Kevlar body suit. “All right. I’ll do it.” I could hear Corrigan’s tone warning me away from this. But I’d just become tone-deaf.

  My father’s face filled with horror. “Claire, no.”

  I held up my hand. “It’s okay, Dad. Really.” I’d have to reassure him later that I just wanted to placate my aunt and planned to stay well behind the police lines.

  Once Dad was able to talk Aunt Lena into going home, I left and called Ed. He was on break, of course. It occurred to me that he worked ten minutes followed by a fifteen minute break. While his phone rang, I wondered what he did with that time now that he had stopped smoking.

  He cleared his throat. “Talk to me.”

  I gave him the rundown and asked if he’d like some work.

  “Pro bono, like before?”

  I couldn’t ask him to risk his life for nothing. Maybe there’d be a reward. I hoped it wasn’t only in heaven. “No, but I’m not sure how much I can afford.”

  “That’s okay, kiddo. We can discuss it after I get off work. Say 4:00 at Johnny’s Lounge?”

  I grimaced. That place smelled like it’d been scrubbed with beer and a group of guys with cigarettes dangling from their lips, always congregated around the door. When a woman walked in, they’d make rude comments. As kids, they had probably made fart noises with their underarms. “Could we meet at Snickerdoodles instead?”

  “Okay. Gotta go.”

  Back at my office, I did a quick review of my pitiful bank account. It was worse than I thought. I needed money to pay Ed, even for just a down payment. I drummed my fingers on my desk, thinking of how to get more money. I grinned when I remembered a client who came in last week, suspecting her husband of cheating. She wanted proof one way or the other. I pulled Janice Wyatt’s file and plotted how to wrap this up and get the rest of the money she owed me. It wasn’t much, but I could at least give Ed spending money.

  I read all the details and committed Mark Wyatt’s face to memory. He was nice looking with a hard body. Any woman with a libido would be attracted to him. Not good for Janice.

  According to the file, he got out of work at 5:30, got home and stayed there, except for every Tuesday. He’d leave work and claimed he was going bowling and didn’t return until after midnight. But Janice didn’t buy his story. She could swear she smelled perfume on him, and she didn’t wear any. She couldn’t follow him herself with a full time plus overtime job, so hired me.

  Today was Monday. If I could get the lowdown on Mark on Tuesday, I might be able to pay Ed by the beginning of next week. I breathed a small sigh of relief and prayed Mark would follow his routine.

  For now, I had to decide on a strategy for finding Larry’s, rather Joey Corozza’s, killer before meeting with Ed. My head was pounding, warning me to drop the whole thing. Tell my aunt the murderer was gunned down by a rival. I slumped back in my chair. All she’d have to do is look in my eyes and she’d know I was lying. Or maybe just tell her Larry was really Joey. Would that make her feel worse that her judgment was so off, or better?

  Still with no plan in place, I left to meet Ed. Why couldn’t I have just agreed to work at Cannoli’s like my aunt and father wanted? I knew the answer, though. I’d rather risk bodily harm than body fat from constantly indulging in Cannoli’s goodies.

  After some protests, Bob, my car, started and I drove to Snickerdoodles, parked and walked inside. Ed was already perusing the menu when I sat down. “Hey, kiddo. So we’re going on a quest to keep the fair Lena safe?”

  I filled Ed in while checking out the menu. My eyes delighted in the choices, but my wallet yelled, “Proceed with caution.” I decided on the grilled chicken sandwich, hold-the-mayo and diet pop, resenting all those stick-figure female detectives on television who never seemed to eat.

  Ed and I placed our orders. I grimaced when he ordered a bacon-cheeseburger with mayonnaise and fries.

  Once the waitress left, he leaned forward, his hands palms down on the table. “You want me to find the scum who did it?”

  “I’d rather the cops did, but my aunt doesn’t want to wait for them. She thinks I could do it faster.” I sighed. I thought about telling him I wasn’t sure how to go about it, when I noticed my second cousin on my father’s side, Anthony, at a table across the room. Anthony used to be an attorney for some of the shadiest people in Cleveland. He’s been a corporate attorney for the past ten years, but the sleazy sheen still hasn’t worn off him. Although I hadn’t seen him for at least five years, I decided talking to him might be a good start toward getting the facts I needed.

  I excused myself to Ed and ambled over to Anthony’s table where he sat with two other well-dressed business men. One was male-model gorgeous; the other looked like he carried a gun in a violin case. Both types I was sure to be tongue-tied around. I self-consciously placed one foot in front of the other; scared I might trip over my feet and land face down in one of the men’s salads.

  “If it isn’t little Claire.” Anthony’s voice boomed. I restrained myself from wincing over the ‘little.’ He didn’t stand, but put his hand around my waist and addressed his table mates. “Hey, this is my cousin, Claire.”

  The older man at the table merely nodded when Anthony introduced him. “Meet Mr. Bontempo and Alex Carpenter.”

  Alex stood and gave me a smile that could instantly melt a gallon of ice cream. I dragged my eyes away to Mr. Bontempo, who surveyed me with his fish eyes. I’d make my visit short. “Nice to meet you.” I turned toward Anthony. “I know you’re busy, but could I call you this evening?”

  He kept his face blank and checked his calendar. “I have 6:00 clear until about 6:30.” He handed me his business card. “Call me at the bottom number.”

  I took the card, mumbled a quick thank you and a ‘nice-to-meet-you,’ and headed back to my table and Ed, who was already devouring his meal.

  He wiped a drop of ketchup from his cheek. “Except for the young one, those guys look like they should be on wanted posters in the post office. You know them?”

  I took a sip of m
y pop, my mouth so dry it felt like I’d eaten the paper napkin. “The shady-looking one in the gray suit is my second cousin. Used to be a criminal attorney.”

  Ed picked up a french fry and waved it at me. “Maybe he knows where to go to get somebody killed. Know what I mean?”

  I looked down at my sandwich. “Way ahead of you. I’m calling him tonight.” I took a bite, but had a hard time swallowing.

  Chapter Five

  While I killed time waiting to call Anthony, I Googled ‘mobsters in New Jersey.’ Interesting reading, but nothing I could use. I also found out where Joey aka Larry had called home. I’d check that out tomorrow even though, by now, I knew the cops had probably turned his apartment upside down looking for clues.

  Finally the clock struck 6:00. Twice I tried punching in Anthony’s number and twice I failed. My hands were as useless as Mickey Mouse’s and my fingers kept hitting the wrong buttons. I’m not sure if it was just a sudden clumsiness or my subconscious telling me to walk away from this. But then I remembered my aunt’s teary plea, blew out a breath and hit all the right numbers.

  Anthony picked up on the first ring. “Hey, Claire. What’d you want to talk about? Working together for a family reunion?”

  I’d rather have my eyes poked out with dried spaghetti strands. “No. I mean, that’d be fun, but I was calling about my mother’s sister, Lena Antonucci. You remember her, don’t you?”

  He laughed. “Yeah. She used to babysit me. Always baked and we’d stuff ourselves. I remember as a kid wishing she was my mother. Is she okay?”

  “Did you hear about what happened at Cannoli’s? It’s her place.”

  “Some guy got killed there. I hope to God Lena didn’t get hurt. Did she?”

  “Physically she’s fine. But…” I scratched my forehead. This was about as easy and pleasant as squeezing frozen spinach to get all the water out. “But the murder victim was going by an alias. His real name was Joey Corozza. From Newark.”

  “And…?”

  My words spilled out fast. “And I wondered if you could maybe help me find someone who knew him.”