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

Although relieved he was here with me, I didn’t want him to know that. “Have you found anything?”

“Yep. Report on the sedan came back, a rental from Luxury Autos. They’d filed a report it’d been stolen.”

He turned off the flashlight, leaving only the moon and a distant street lamp to provide the dimmest of light. Now I could only imagine a smug look on his face. “And a real coincidence. Luxury Autos is owned by the very organization where your friend, Alex Carpenter works.”

I closed my eyes. Alex had certainly turned out to be a toad in a prince’s body. “You think he set it all up?”

“No, but I do think he’s got some part in it. Like first, he had to act as if he was interested in you.”

I smoothed my dress. “Yeah, that must have been real hard.” The sarcasm rolled off my tongue.

He cleared his throat. “I didn’t mean it that way. It’s just awfully coincidental that first, he’s Bucanetti’s nephew and second he works at the same place a car is used in the kidnapping of your aunt.”

“I know what you meant, mean.” All the vinegar drained out of me. “I just want her back safe.”

He stepped forward and gave me a one-armed hug. “We’ll find her. Every cop in the city and beyond has her description and the stolen car’s license plate number.”

I leaned into the hug hoping to draw some reassurance or strength from it. But I didn’t. “I’m so worried you’ll find the car abandoned somewhere with no sign of my aunt. Or worse, her body.”

He didn’t disagree. Not that I would’ve believed him if he had. But his silence plummeted me into a state of hopelessness I was on my own to crawl out from.

He shifted his weight to come into a full embrace, but I stepped back and his arms ended up like he was a basketball hoop. He pretended to stretch and look at his watch.

“Anyway, you’re right. I should just go home.” I had no intention of doing that, but he didn’t need to know.

He rubbed the stubble on his chin. “Some sleep will do you good.”

What I really needed was to find Aunt Lena unharmed, but I managed a weak smile and went back to my car. I wondered if Luxury Autos kept nighttime hours. I started the engine. Only one way to find out. 

As soon as I was out of Corrigan’s sight, I pulled over to look up the phone number for Luxury Autos. I’d just found their address when I got a text. Probably Corrigan electronically ordering me to stay out of ‘his’ investigation.

But it wasn’t from him or from anyone I knew. It said, “For Lena’s sake go home. Alone.”

I shivered, suddenly cold, and dialed the texting number. No answer. I started up the car with only one thought. Get home. I drove there in a haze of worry and fear. In a luckless evening, I got a small break. Very little traffic.

In my apartment parking lot, I called Corrigan and told myself to breathe, in and out, in and out. When he answered, I filled him in on the latest twist to this nightmare.

“I’ll be there fast as I can. Claire? Don’t go inside alone.”

I hung up and checked the time. 3:45 a.m. Two hours since Aunt Lena went missing. I waited a minute, then five. I drummed my fingers on my steering wheel.

Should I go inside or keep waiting?
The kidnapper might be lurking around my apartment at this very moment
.
I have a gun. Maybe I chould hold him until Corrigan gets here. At least see who he is.

Of course, that was the teensy brave part of Claire talking. The timid, afraid part of me argued that I should wait.

Another minute dragged by. My determination to see my aunt’s kidnapper was greater than my fear. But that didn’t stop my heart from racing at the thought.

Scanning the parking lot, I didn’t see any activity, but I pulled out my gun just in case. I scooted out of my car and my stomach jumped into my throat. I crept up the stairs to my second floor apartment. I slipped off my shoes so the kidnapper, if he was still there, wouldn’t hear me. I didn’t want to startle him into shooting. I gritted my teeth, trying to ignore the numbing-cold tile floor. Once I rounded the hallway corner, my apartment would be visible. I flattened myself against the wall and listened.

Chapter Sixteen

A
big, fat nothing. Nobody in the hallway. My heart returned to its normal pace, but disappointment clouded my relief. I slipped my shoes back on and took the few steps to my door. That’s when I spotted a folded piece of paper shoved in the crack between my door and its frame. Something told me it wasn’t a note announcing repaving of the parking lot. One hand held firm to my gun and I gingerly pulled the paper out by one corner and shook it open. My head buzzed as I read it.

Your aunt is safe. Her staying that way depends on you. Return Joey’s evidence in 48 hours and you’ll get her back alive. I’ll be in touch. Talk to the cops and I’ll slit your aunt’s throat.

What evidence?

My hands started to shake so badly the paper rattled. I hadn’t felt this helpless since my mother’s cancer.

At the sound of footsteps behind me, I shoved the note in my purse. If the steps belonged to Corrigan I didn’t want him to see the note.

“I thought I told you to wait outside.”

I put a brave face on and leaned against the wall so I wouldn’t collapse. “This
is
outside. Outside my apartment.”

Corrigan scowled. “You don’t do well with instructions, do you?” Before I responded he added, “Let’s go in, but me first.”

He did a quick tour of my place and gave me the all clear. I hadn’t expected to find anything else inside, but I must have let my feelings show. Corrigan’s eyes traveled from my head on down, then back to my eyes. Searching. “Are you all right?”

I broke away from his gaze and nodded.

“Did you get another text, or a call?” When I shook my head he asked, “Are you sure?”

The words, “slit your aunt’s throat” rang in my head. I couldn’t tell him. “Of course I’m sure.” It was practically a snarl. My lightheadedness was getting worse. If I didn’t sit down, I was scared I’d fall down. “Sorry. I’m not at my best.”

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.9
^th
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 11
^th
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?”