Plateful of Murder Page 9

  We drove back to the Owl to get my car. “My theory is Eagleton and Sean are jumping ship and met with this Workosky guy last night. If that’s the case, though, neither of them could be Mallorie’s killer.”

  Ed drummed his steering wheel and thought out loud. “That would explain them leaving early, but one of them could’ve slipped out long enough to do the job and come back. He could have said he was in the john with belly problems.”

  I grimaced. “You don’t do that if you’re trying to impress someone.”

  He shrugged. “A guy might.”

  We passed a billboard advertising bathroom renovations. That ad, plus the noticeable failure of my deodorant, overwhelmed me with the desire for a hot shower. When Ed pulled up next to my car, I opened the door and said, “Give me an hour. After that, I’ll be ready for anything.”

  He shot me a cocky smile. “Sure thing. But instead of cooling my heels, waiting, think I’ll try my luck with Luther’s office.”

  Parked in my assigned spot in my apartment’s lot, I didn’t leave the car until sure nobody was stalking me. My heart raced, urging me toward the building’s door and up the stairs to my place. Please, please don’t let someone be inside.

  A can of mace in my hand, I threw open the door and scanned the room while listening for any out-of-the-ordinary noise. Nothing. With both feet inside, I spun like cops do on television. Convinced the place was clear, I locked my door behind me and blew out a relieved breath, but sucked it back in when my phone rang. Thank God for caller ID.

  “Where have you been?” It was a very irate Aunt Lena. “This is the third time I’ve called.”

  I checked my phone. Three missed calls. Was one from Corrigan? “Do you need something?”

  My aunt’s voice was honey on a buttermilk biscuit. “I know it’s short notice, but can you fill in for your father again tonight? Just a few hours. And bring that nice boy, Michael, with you.”

  My shoulders slumped and I wanted to revolt like the surliest teen. Instead, “What time do you need me?”

  It wasn’t hard to picture her crafty grin. “From 7:00 to 9:00. And you’ll bring Michael?”

  Biting my lip hard stopped me from scolding her for attempted matchmaking. “I don’t know if he’ll come.”

  “You’ll ask him, though.” Not a question, not even a request.

  I turned my face to heaven and begged for patience. She meant well. “Yeah, but he may have other plans.”

  “He may not. Ask him.”

  After I practically cut her off, I stomped into the bathroom and came out again to make sure my door’s deadbolt was on. My phone lay on the sofa, within easy reach and beckoning to me. Despite being irritated when my aunt brought it up, having Michael come along on Saturday seemed like a wonderful idea. I could claim my aunt wanted to see him again. After all, she did.

  Michael didn’t answer his phone, so after leaving a message, I returned to the bathroom and hoped to feel better after my shower. My skin tingled from the beads of hot water that fell. The rhythm of the water calmed me enough so that, for a brief moment, I believed everything would turn out fine.

  Combing my hair, I stared into the mirror, not seeing, concentrating on what to say to Michael when we talked next. When I did notice my reflection, that woman had a soft smile on her face.

  Too bad my phone went off and interrupted the pleasant interlude. Wrapping the towel around my still damp body I rushed to answer it. Probably Aunt Lena to find out Michael’s answer.

  It was Detective Corrigan. “Hi Claire. Called you again last night to make sure you were okay. I was concerned.”

  I kept my explanation short and dishonest. “Thank you for that. Everything is fine. My friend and I couldn’t sleep, so we went for coffee.” A clump of hair fell into my eyes. In my attempt to push it back, my towel fell off. I bent down to pick it up and banged my head on the table. “Ooph.” I rubbed the now sore spot and dropped the towel again, but let it lay.

  “You okay?”

  “Just hit my head.” Rather than explain about being naked, I changed the subject, moving into the personal stuff. “When you called, I thought you were my aunt. She’s playing Cupid.” Why did that come out of my mouth? It wasn’t his business.

  His laugh sounded warm and genuine. “I get it. My family does the same thing. Being single can be tricky. Everyone wants you to find someone.” For a second there was an awkward silence. He cleared his throat. “I also called you earlier to ask if you remembered anything else from last night.” His tone switched and we were back to business. “Like agreeing to come into the station first thing?”

  My hand flew up to my mouth. “On my way there.” It had unbelievably slipped my mind.

  “You better be.” He paused. “Whether you realize it or not, I’m concerned about you. Don’t want to see your body. I mean, shot, or strangled. You know, dead.”

  His sudden verbal awkwardness struck me as sweet, but before I could respond, he hung up.

  All the way to the police station my mind fought against remembering the details of last night’s phone call. Distracted, I ran a red light and laid on my horn, hoping no cars had driven into my path. Thank God for clear intersections. My memories of last night could wait until reaching my destination.

  When I pulled up to the station, Detective Corrigan was waiting. He greeted me with a wry smiled. “So you finally made it.”

  “Nice to see you, too.”

  We wound our way back to his desk, and after an attempt at getting me to relax, Corrigan asked me to repeat the ugly words the killer had spoken. They flashed through my mind as if they’d been spoken that same moment. My palms moistened as I painstakingly recited them. I blinked to keep the tears from rolling down my cheeks.

  He leaned in, elbows on his thighs. “Claire, let’s see if we can figure out whose number that was.” He took my phone and called a woman over. “This is Julie Chou. She’s going to see what she can find out about your caller.”

  He said a few words to the woman then turned back to me. “Did you detect any accent or unusual speech pattern?”

  “No.”

  “Any background noises, like a horn or train or anything?”

  “No, but...”

  “But what?”

  “He sang his message.”

  Corrigan cocked his head. “Sang it? Do you remember the tune?”

  My face scrunched up in an effort to recall. Usually, I get earworms, that annoying repetition of a song. It doesn’t matter what era it’s from or whether it’s a favorite song or not, it just plays over and over in my head. But the caller’s tune wasn’t one of those. “No idea, but it sounded familiar like, you know, ‘Jingle Bells’.”

  “He sang Christmas carols?”

  “No! But it was a tune I’ve heard before. Maybe it was a theme song from a show he liked.”

  “Hmmm. Well, keep trying to remember it. Could be important.” He asked me more questions I couldn’t answer and, by the time he was done, we were both frustrated.

  He rotated his neck and it made cracking noises. “At least if you get another one, you know what to pay attention to. And with the phone tap we’ll be able to listen in.”

  My shoulders tightened. “You don’t think he’ll call again.”

  He looked me in the eye. “Unfortunately he will.” He leaned in toward me. “Claire, drop this case. You’re in over your head.”

  In other words, I should light some candles, and pray to not get murdered. But letting go of this case wasn’t an option. “Appreciate your concern.”

  He continued to stare at me, then sat back in his chair and chewed on his lower lip. “Not gonna do it, are you?”

  I didn’t want him angry, knowing he might be the only one between me and the phone-calling killer. “You’re right, of course, but…”

  He closed down the case file and rested his hands flat on his desk, as close to me as he could be without touching me. “If you stay on this case, you could end up on the list o
f victims.”

  No words could describe my mixed-up feelings, so rather than try to explain, I looked away.

  “Unbelievable.” He walked off to retrieve my phone and handed it to me. “If we get anything on that number, I’ll let you know.”

  “Thank you.” I stood and offered him my hand. He shook it firmly and, it seemed to me, held it a second longer than necessary.

  Outside the safety of the police station, working at Cannoli’s started looking better and better. Inhaling deeply, I put that idea to rest. There was a case to solve.

  Back at my office, I googled Biologic Solutions to see if any relationship with Triton existed. Seems they weren’t competitors, since each had products to service a different segment of the medication-taking population. I switched my search to George Workosky and found out he was the new boy wonder of Biologic Solutions, linked with research in holding back the aging process. So far there were no new drugs in the pipeline, but according to one press release, production of anti-aging pills sat just over the horizon. Triton’s press releases didn’t mention any similar research.

  Two hours later and I was still no wiser about why Sean and Eagleton had met with Workosky. One bit of information helped. Biologic Solutions was headquartered in Connecticut, so maybe Workosky flew in to meet with Sean and Eagleton. Cafe Palermo, the restaurant where they probably met, was located in the Majestic Hotel. Workosky might be staying there.

  I paced back and forth, debating the wisdom of visiting him. My common sense urged me to do so. My imagination, sometimes the ruling party of my brain, ran wild. What if he was the killer? I took a deep breath to calm myself. Then called Ed.

  Ed’s assurance was tinged with impatience. “Workosky’s a pharmacist, not a gangster.”

  I scowled and defended my skittishness. “But maybe he has a sideline, like a hired assassin.”

  He sighed. “Yeah. Maybe if Constance and Mallorie had been poisoned. Otherwise, it’s not likely he killed them.”

  Even though Ed didn’t believe Workosky had anything to do with the murders, it was a relief when he agreed to meet me at the Majestic and be my backup, if needed.

  We entered the Majestic’s lobby and overheard the clerk at the registration desk address a fair-haired, early forties-looking man. “Was everything to your liking, Mr. Workosky?”

  Ed pointed at Workosky and mimed what my actions should be. To which I vehemently shook my head.

  Watching our quarry turn to leave, though, I was forced to say something. “You’re George Workosky?” As soon as he nodded, my tongue tied itself up and, to my horror, no more words came out. Luckily, I stood between him and his suitcase, and when he hesitated to move around me, I whipped out one of my business cards and handed it to him. I winced at the smear of chocolate on it and in that second, my ability to speak returned.“I’m Claire DeNardo, Private Investigator, working on the murder of—”

  He held up his hand. “Already talked to the police. Look, I have a plane to catch, so if you’ll excuse me…” He reached around to grab his bag. I stepped sideways, ready to let him get away. Only Ed’s bugged-eyed look stopped me.

  “Just a couple questions.” He wasn’t stopping and I panicked. “How would you like a ride to the airport?” My stomach sunk, realizing a potential murderer would be riding in my car. Just the two of us.

  Out of the corner of my eye I could see Ed look down and rub his forehead. It was obvious he thought my actions bordered on lunacy.

  Workosky squinted at me and a smile curled the corners of his mouth. “Why not? I don’t often have a pretty woman chauffer me around.”

  I imagined turning as pale as Workosky’s hotel receipt. “Great.”

  He bowed and with a sweeping gesture said, “Lead the way.”

  If only Ed would come to my rescue. But my mouth, acting independently from my brain, got me into this. It had to get me out.

  Workosky made a sweeping gesture. “You lead, I’ll follow.”

  A part of me hoped my cantankerous old car wouldn’t start.

  The pharmacist laid his suitcase in my car’s trunk and climbed in the front passenger’s seat. To my relief, Ed texted me he’d tail us. A couple deep breaths to steady myself. “Fasten your seatbelt, please.” If he planned on murdering me, it might take him longer strapped in.

  As soon as we got on the road and Ed pulled his car behind me, I began to grill Workosky. “You were in town just to meet with Brody Eagleton and Sean Lawrence?”

  “Now what makes you think that?”

  Relieved not to be facing him, I boldfaced lied. “Police informed me.” My hands begged to be released from my death grip on the steering wheel. “And how long did your dinner meeting last?”

  “The police didn’t tell you?”

  I was driving the car, but getting nowhere. “Would you mind telling me what you talked about?”

  He shrugged. “Small talk, you know.”

  Why is this so much easier on TV? “For two hours? What was the purpose of the meeting? You could at least tell me that.”

  He chuckled. “You could’ve saved yourself a trip to the airport. I don’t know. The guest of honor didn’t show up, so dinner turned out purely social. End of story.”

  He looked at me like a dog would at a new rawhide chew. “Had we met earlier, we could have had dinner together instead. It would’ve been much more…pleasurable.”

  When Hell freezes over and Satan makes popsicles. Why was I irresistible to rodents like this guy? I quickly exempted Michael from that long-tailed group. It took a lot of self-control to ignore Workosky’s contemptible come-on, but there was no other choice if I wanted information. “Who was this fourth person?”

  He waved my question away. “Let’s not talk about that. Tell me about yourself. Are you involved with someone?” The look on his face made me want to put more clothes on. “Actually, it’d be even better if you were. Forbidden fruit and all.” He leaned in toward me as much as the seatbelt allowed and leered, “I’ll be back in town soon. I could extend my visit another day—or night.” His eyebrow arched. “Get you a key to my hotel room.”

  This guy wasn’t a killer. He was a sleaze bucket. I stuck out my arm to keep him at a distance. “Let’s get back to last night.”

  “Why talk about last night when there can be future nights for us to think about?”

  “There is no us. Never will be.”

  He held up his index finger to make a point. “Never say never.”

  “What was the topic supposed to be?”

  He looked out the passenger door window. “Mr. Eagleton told me he had a proposition for me. That’s all I know.”

  My eyes narrowed. “You came all the way out here without knowing why?”

  He tilted his head to his right. “There’s my terminal.”

  I pulled up to the passenger unloading area. Keeping the car locked until he answered my question did occur to me, but in all likelihood there’d only be more disgusting leers. At least I knew another person was involved in last night’s meeting.

  Once Workosky enter the airport ticketing area, I blew out a big breath and waved to Ed, who pulled up beside me. He got out of the car and leaned his head through my open window. “Everything okay, kiddo? What’s the lowdown?”

  “Only that someone else was supposed to join them. It could be a he or a she.”

  He rubbed his chin. “Mallorie, maybe?”

  “Who knows?” I sighed loudly. “Let’s go back to the restaurant and see if Workosky told the truth about the time of day.”

  Workosky’s sudden reappearance and his banging on the passenger side window jarred me. “Forgot my bag.” He grabbed his suitcase from my popped trunk and gave Ed the once-over. His upper lip curled and he spat, “She turned me down for you?” He sprinted back into the terminal without even a look back.

  Ed snorted. “Pleasant chap.”

  “I’ve met some who were worse. But not many.” Changing the subject, I said, “I’m going over to Caf
e Palermo to see if Workosky’s story checks out. If it does, that could explain why Sean was as jumpy as Tara said. He was waiting for the third person to call and confirm.”

  “Could be. After we finish with the restaurant, I’m heading to Luther’s office to have a look-see. Maybe spin around in the big boss’s chair.”

  The trip to the restaurant was a waste. The three men, Eagleton, Workosky, and Lawrence, must not have made much of an impression at dinner. The waiter had a vague memory of the men and the bartender recalled the drink Sean ordered, an exotic mix the bartender had to look up.

  After that, Ed and I split up, him to Luther’s office, and me, my apartment. Thinking about that awful phone call made me dread going home, but I needed some downtime before putting in the hours at Cannoli’s.

  Speaking of which, I checked my messages. Michael had called, saying he’d be happy to accept my, or rather my aunt’s invitation. Mixed feelings of delight and uneasiness surprised me.

  Thinking about Cannoli’s reminded me of my father, whom I hadn’t seen for a few days. No matter what, Dad was always the one I counted on. Try as I might, my daughtering skills weren’t always up to par, though.

  Aunt Lena never said why Dad wouldn’t be helping tonight. A good daughter would have asked why, even knowing he probably just had other plans. If something was wrong with him, I assured myself Aunt Lena would be the first to know and tell me. Still, time for a father-daughter visit.

  In response to my knock on his door, Dad yelled, “Come on in. It’s open.” I sighed, knowing it was time to remind him again about keeping his door locked, even when he was home. Sure, it was still the old neighborhood, but even old neighborhoods weren’t truly safe anymore.

  He rose from his recliner and turned down the television. It was some documentary on artificial insemination of elephants. My dad obviously wasn’t picky about what he watched. We hugged our hellos. “Dad, you need to lock your door.”

  “I know, I know. Just sometimes I forget.” He smiled. “Hey. Want some meatballs? Lena brought them over. She’s afraid I’m gonna starve.” He patted his belly. “No chance of that.”