Bake Me a Murder Read Online Free Page B

of an attorney.”
    “If you think I should have one.” His shoulders slumped.
    When we parted company, I called someone who could recommend a good criminal attorney. Alex Carpenter, fair-haired, handsome, straight-as-an-arrow CPA whose uncle was Michael Bucanetti, an alleged crime boss in Newark. Although Alex claimed he kept away from any shady activity, I figured he knew the names of lawyers who defended the local thugs.
    My call went into his voicemail and I asked him to call me back at his earliest.
    While waiting, I checked messages on my office phone. One from Hank Dorkowsky, reminding me of my doggie doo-doo surveillance. Like I could forget agreeing to hide nearby at night and digitally capture the offending dog that pooped on his lawn. Hank could do the task himself for free, but I guessed he would rather someone else humiliate themselves. Now I wished I’d turned the job down. As soon as Dorkowsky had walked into my office, with his AC-DC tee-shirt barely covering his belly, I took a dislike to him.
    After I finished this pooper caper, I promised myself no more animal cases, but since I’d taken his down payment, I’d go through with it.
    I planned on dressing incognito. Nobody needed to know about this lowly assignment.
    The other message on my office phone came from my father, sounding like he’d just heard a good joke. “Hey, Pumpkin. It’s your dad. Could you do me a favor and call Gino on his cell phone. Seems Casanova abandoned the Miami ladies and followed one to Tampa. But it was a no-go.” Dad’s voice turned serious. “He’s kind of low right now, so maybe hearing a friendly voice could help. Thanks.”
    I groaned at the request, but family is family, including Gino. Plus, the guy did hire me when I really needed a job and left the business, such as it is, to me. Most of the time Gino’s heart is in the right place, but his temper can get him in trouble. Like with the Workers’ Compensation faker Gino punched. Wasn’t long after that Gino retired to Miami.
    While I looked up his number, I idly wondered if my former boss liked Tampa. From there, the idea hit me as hard as a five-day-old bagel. If I could convince Gino to do some digging in Tampa, he might uncover why Coco died in Cleveland. Worth a try.
    First, I’d offer my condolences and see what he needed. I would not share with him my father’s amusement. Everyone has the right to be a fool for love at least once.
    He picked up on the first ring. “Gino? It’s Claire. How are you doing?” I wanted to keep it light and let him open up to me.
    “Hey! It’s great to hear from you. Listen, mind if I give you a ring in say, fifteen? In the middle of something important. Ya know how it goes.”
    “Sure, Gino. Whenever you can.” I squinted, my curiosity aroused.
    I sat at my desk and leafed through the notes I’d taken on Merle and Coco. Twenty minutes later my phone rang. Gino.
    “Sorry for that. Some guy was bustin’ my ba—uh, giving me a hard time over a parking space. Geez, you’d think this was Miami Beach instead in Tampa.” He blew out a breath and continued. “Maybe your dad told you I moved to Tampa. Not the place for me. Pretty city, and most people are nice here, but not my kind of action. Can’t go back to Miami yet because of this condo I’m renting. I’d lose my shirt leaving now.” He let loose with an embarrassed chuckle. “But I’ll get back to Miami soon as I can. The women are pining for me there. Now, enough about me. How’s business?”
    How lucky is this? I suppressed a laugh.That was probably what Mrs. Lincoln thought when she got tickets to the Ford Theatre. “As a matter of fact, I got a case this morning. Missing person. The woman’s name was Coco Sanchez and she was a dancer in Tampa at a place called The Venus Trap.”
    “I know that place.”
    Of course he did.
    He coughed softly. “Pass it every day. Want me to get some background on this Coco chick?”
    “Yeah, and here’s the tricky