Cannoli to Die For

by Peg Cochran

  “Shall we begin?” the instructor said, standing at the front of the class.

  They started with some stretching, which Lucille found actually felt good. Maybe this yoga thing wasn’t so bad after all.

  The instructor took hold of two purple ribbons that were hanging in front of her forming a soft hammock. She put one foot up and then the other, going into an aerial split.

  “Now you try it,” she said to the class.

  Suddenly Lucille didn’t like yoga so much anymore. She managed to get one foot in the hammock, but before she could get the other foot in she lost her balance and went swinging upside down by one leg and hanging on for dear life.

  She was tempted to quit right then and there but reminded herself that she was here to try new things. She’d give it another shot.

  “Very good, Lucille,” the instructor called out. “Now use your abs to get your other foot up there.”

  Lucille wasn’t sure what abs were, but she was pretty sure she didn’t have any, because if she did, she suspected this yoga thing would be a whole lot easier.

  By the grace of all that was holy, she managed to get her other foot into the loop and slowly began to ease into a split.

  She was doing it! This wasn’t so hard after all.

  Whoa! How did you stop this thing? Her legs felt like they were coming out of the sockets. Sweat broke out along her forehead and dribbled down the back of her neck.

  Finally she wiggled one foot out of the strap and dangled upside down again, one foot still caught in the ribbon.

  “Relax into it, Lucille,” the instructor said. “You’re doing great. All that blood flowing to your head is going to make you feel so alive.”

  Alive? She felt like throwing up. Her head was pounding, and swaying back and forth was making her dizzy.

  She finally got her foot free, and by now the class was doing what the instructor called an inversion.

  Lucille stared at the woman in front of her trying to decipher how on earth she’d gotten herself into that position.

  The instructor pointed at Lucille. “If you’re tired just rest in corpse pose.”

  Corpse pose? Lucille didn’t want to be no corpse.

  “Lie on your back and rest,” Flo hissed at her. “It’s called corpse pose.”

  Lucille got down on her mat, groaning a bit as her muscles protested. She stretched out as Flo had instructed. This part of yoga felt pretty good. She had to pinch herself to keep from dozing off.

  Finally everyone in the class was down on the floor, joining Lucille in corpse pose.

  “What did you think?” Flo asked as the instructor dismissed them and everyone got ready to leave.

  “I don’t think I’ll be running away to join the circus any time soon,” Lucille said.

  Flo poked her. “Isn’t that Dotty’s au pair over there?” She pointed at a young girl with long blond hair.

  “That looks like her. Alva, right?”

  “I think so.”

  A group of girls had clustered around Alva, and she was busy showing them her necklace—a heart dangling from a chain.

  “Looks like diamonds,” Lucille said, squinting into the distance.

  “She must have a boyfriend. I mean, that’s not the kind of necklace you buy for yourself, diamonds or no diamonds.”

  “I guess she met someone while she was working for the Garibaldis. I wonder who it is?”

  Flo snorted. “From what I’ve heard of Dotty’s husband, he’s the most likely suspect.”

  “You don’t really think . . .”

  “I do.”

  • • •

  Lucille was the first to arrive at the Weigh to Lose meeting. No one had arranged the chairs so she pulled a dozen of them into a circle like she’d done last time. A veggie and fruit tray, obviously purchased at the grocery store, was out on the side table along with the Weigh to Lose poster and brochures.

  Whoever was holding the meeting must have stepped out for a minute. Half a dozen women trickled into the room. Lucille looked around. Why was it always the women who showed up at weight-loss meetings? She thought about the men she knew—almost every one of them had what they called a beer gut. Which was why Lucille didn’t drink no beer—she sure didn’t want to get one of those herself.

  Of course, Richie Sambucco was in pretty good shape. Sure, he wasn’t seventeen no more, but there was only a small bulge above his belt, not like some of them who looked like they’d stuffed a basketball under their shirt.

  Then again, Lucille knew she wasn’t in the best of shape herself. But at least she was doing something about it by coming to these here meetings.

  Lucille saw Felicity come in and take a seat. She had on an expensive-looking suede jacket and had a fancy leather handbag slung over her arm—it wasn’t Dotty’s, of course. Felicity wasn’t that stupid. Once again Lucille wondered what Felicity was doing with Dotty’s purse in the first place. Was it some kind of trophy like Flo said?

  A man walked into the church hall and stood at the front of the room. He was wearing a tweed sport coat with leather patches on the elbows and smart-looking Italian designer loafers.

  He cleared his throat and waited until the buzz of feminine voices quieted down.

  “Ladies,” he said, flashing a set of blindingly white teeth. “You may have heard of me as Jack the Ripper Garibaldi.” He grinned again. “But it’s just Jack Garibaldi for the moment.” He held up a hand. “Not that I’m giving up my law practice. I’m merely suspending it for the moment to take over Weigh to Lose.”

  He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his eyes.

  “My dear wife,” he said, his voice choking, “put a lot of work into Weigh to Lose, and I can’t let her down. Even though the pain of losing her is so fresh, I need to carry on the work she put so much into.”

  A couple of women sniffed and pulled out their own handkerchiefs.

  Jack grabbed an empty chair from the circle, turned it around and straddled it. He crossed his arms and leaned them on the back. “I have some very exciting news to share.”

  A murmur of anticipation went through the group.

  “I believe Dotty told you that she was set to appear on Oprah.”

  Lucille nodded her head along with everyone else.

  “It gets even more exciting.”

  He paused dramatically, making Lucille think of the Vegas performers she’d seen on television.

  “Weigh to Lose is going national and Oprah has agreed to be our spokesperson.”

  The audience gasped.

  The woman sitting next to Lucille leaned over. “No wonder he’s giving up his law practice. I heard he made a lot of money on divorce cases and that’s how he got that nickname of Jack the Ripper. But Oprah! He’ll make a fortune.”

  Lucille was in awe. Maybe he’d get them all tickets to be on Oprah’s show. She’d have to be sure to get an appointment with Rita at the Clip and Curl, and she’d finally have to go out and buy that pantsuit she’d been wanting. And she’d have to lose some weight. She could be the success story they liked to feature on them diet programs. Maybe the magazines would even pick up the story. She could see the headline—Ordinary Housewife Lucille Mazzarella Loses Big on Account of Weigh to Lose.

  It was so exciting she shivered.

  “You okay?” Flo whispered.

  “Yeah, sure. I got a chill is all.”

  Jack went to the closet and pulled out the scale. Several of the women in the group groaned. He whirled around to face them.

  “No need to fear the scale,” he said, flashing his overly whitened teeth again.

  “The number on the scale is nothing but a measure of your progress. You know the old saying—two steps forward and one back. Sometimes dieting is like that. No reason to beat yourself up over it.”

  “Is this the kinder, gentler version of Weigh to Lose?” Flo said to Lucille.

  “Apparently. I like it.”

  Lucille was surprised when Felicity raised her
hand after Jack asked who wanted to be first on the scale.

  “Excellent, Felicity,” Jack said smoothly as he made a note on Felicity’s record. “You’re down half a pound.”

  He patted Felicity on the back, his hand lingering for a moment.

  Felicity was beaming.

  “I’ll bet Felicity feels a lot better about Weigh to Lose now,” Flo whispered to Lucille.

  “Yeah.”

  Lucille was still nervous about being weighed, but she figured it wouldn’t be so bad this time. Besides, she could hardly be expected to lose much in the few days since she was last weighed.

  “I’m going next,” Flo said, slipping off her leopard-print booties.

  “Excellent,” Jack said when Flo stepped on the scale.

  Flo walked back to where Lucille was sitting with a smile on her face.

  “I lost half a pound,” she said.

  Lucille grunted as she got up from her seat and walked toward the front of the room in her stocking feet. Her heart was hammering as she stepped on the scale.

  “Half a pound,” Jack exclaimed, clapping Lucille on the back. “Congratulations.”

  “It’s probably only water weight,” Flo said as Lucille took her seat.

  Water weight? Hers was water but Flo’s was . . . what?

  Lucille fidgeted through the rest of the meeting. She couldn’t wait to tell Frankie about the half pound she’d lost. She shot Flo a dirty look. Even if it was water weight, it still counted.

  “Please help yourself to some healthy snacks,” Jack said after the last person was weighed.

  Lucille surveyed the vegetable and fruit trays. Dotty was right—things looked a lot more appetizing when presented nicely. She grabbed a cucumber spear and a slice of apple.

  Women milled around for a few minutes talking to each other, then the crowd began to thin out. Jack had disappeared somewhere.

  Flo tapped Lucille on the shoulder. “I’ve got to get going. I’ll call you later.”

  “I’m going, too. Let me get my jacket and I’ll walk out with you.”

  Lucille grabbed her jacket from the back of her chair and followed Flo to the door.

  The wind outside was brisk, and Lucille pulled the edges of her jacket together. There were only a few cars in the parking lot—Lucille supposed they were all from members of Weigh to Lose.

  The trunk of one of the cars was open and a man was standing next to it. Lucille squinted and his face came into focus. She poked Flo with her elbow.

  “Look at that.”

  Jack was in what Lucille’s grandmother would have called a clutch with a woman who obviously wasn’t his wife on account of Dotty was dead. The woman had her back to Lucille, and Lucille couldn’t see her face.

  Lucille tut-tutted under her breath. “And poor Dotty not even cold in her grave.” Lucille pointed to the couple. “I wonder how long this affair has been going on? Do you think Dotty knew?”

  “Don’t they say the wife is usually the last to know?”

  Lucille suddenly had a horrible thought. What if Frank was . . . she brushed the idea away. Her Frankie wouldn’t do something like that.

  “And here we thought Jack had taken up with that au pair.”

  “Yeah. She must have a real boyfriend after all. Someone her own age maybe.”

  “Yeah, someone who bought her that necklace. I can’t believe she would have bought it for herself.”

  “Can you see who the woman is?” Lucille asked Flo.

  “No,” Flo whispered back. “That fuzzy purple hat she’s wearing is even covering her hair.”

  “I know one thing though,” Lucille said. “Mr. Jack the Ripper and this woman didn’t just meet—not the way they’re kissing.”

  “True. This must have been going on long before Dotty died.”

  “Do you suppose it’s Jack who killed Dotty?”

  “This there sure gives him a motive, don’t you think?” Lucille pointed to Jack and the woman again. “I’d sure like to know who that woman is.”

  “We can pretend we’re walking to our cars and go past them to get a better look.”

  Lucille grabbed Flo’s arm. “Wait. We don’t want him to see us.”

  “Why not?”

  “If he killed Dotty he might realize that we’ve put two and two together, so to speak.”

  “You’re right. We can duck down behind those cars over there.” Flo pointed to several cars parked in a row.

  “Quick! He’s turning around.”

  They scuttled like crabs across the parking lot to the shelter of the cars, where they crouched down, out of sight.

  “This is killing my back,” Lucille said. “My lumbago is going to be acting up again.”

  “There’s no such thing as lumbago, Lucille.”

  “You only say that because you’ve never had it.” Lucille scowled. “Can you see anything?”

  Flo peered through the windows of the car they were crouched behind.

  “I can see him, but not her.”

  “We might as well go then,” Lucille said. “My car is over there.”

  “Mine’s over there.” Flo pointed in the opposite direction. “Make sure you stay down.”

  “I will, I will.”

  Lucille said goodbye to Flo and began creeping along, one hand on her back, which was cramping on her.

  She heard a car pull into the parking lot but didn’t dare look up. A car door opened and then slammed closed.

  Lucille continued to creep along, eyes on the ground until all of a sudden she was staring at a pair of men’s black wingtip shoes.

  By now she could barely straighten up so she craned her neck to see who it was.

  Father Brennan was staring down at her, a concerned look on his face.

  “Is everything okay, Lucille?”

  Chapter 10

  As Lucille pulled out of the parking lot she had an idea. Frankie wouldn’t like it, she told herself. She tried to put it out of her mind. But on the other hand, it would be good for Frankie. Lucille continued to think about the idea as she drove down Springfield Avenue.

  By the time she reached the parking lot of the A&P, she’d made up her mind. She was going to do it whether Frankie liked it or not.

  Lucille slammed on her brakes, peeled into the lot and into a space next to the cart corral.

  She needed something for dinner. She would make Frankie’s favorite—eggplant parmigiana. She only hoped they had some decent eggplants.

  The wind had picked up even more, and Lucille’s hair blew across her forehead and into her eyes. She really needed to make an appointment with Rita at the Clip and Curl for a haircut. Of course, by the time she got home and was near a telephone, she would have forgotten.

  Lucille wrestled a cart from the tangle by the door and began walking up and down the aisles. She passed by the cookie aisle and was very proud of herself. So far this Weigh to Lose diet had been the easiest one she’d been on. Her slacks felt looser already on account of losing that half a pound.

  Lucille found what she needed and headed toward the checkout lanes. There was a long line at the customer service window—mostly people buying lottery tickets and those scratch-off cards her mother liked so much. The Powerball jackpot was the largest ever, so even people who didn’t gamble were buying a handful of tickets with hopes of winning.

  Lucille thought about it—what would it hurt? She wheeled her cart over and got in line in back of a man in jeans and a T-shirt. He was covered in plaster dust and clutching a fistful of lottery forms.

  While she waited, Lucille tried to think of some numbers—Lucy’s birthday of course, and Bernadette’s, too. The day she and Frankie got married and the day of their first kiss.

  People talked about feeling lucky and Lucille wasn’t sure what that meant. She tried to get in tune with how she felt—her arms, her legs, her face. There was a slight buzzing in her head—was that feeling lucky or was she getting a headache?

  No matter. She hated the thought o
f wasting a dollar but everyone said playing the lottery was fun. So far all she’d done was stand in line—maybe the fun came later when they read the numbers out on TV.

  The fellow at the head of the line turned to leave and Lucille realized it was Joe from the real estate office. He was clutching a bundle of lottery tickets in his hand.

  • • •

  “It sure smells good in here,” Frankie said when he opened the back door. “What are you cooking, Lu?”

  Lucille opened the oven door. “See for yourself.”

  Frankie kicked off his shoes and shoved them into the corner by the back door.

  He peered into the oven and took a deep breath.

  “Don’t tell me.”

  “Yes.”

  “Eggplant parmigiana,” he said, inhaling the scents wafting from the oven. He turned to Lucille. “What’s the special occasion? I mean, you’ve been torturing me on that heart-healthy diet for months now. No sausage, no capicola sandwiches—nothing but sprouts and berries.”

  Frank went up behind Lucille and kissed her on the back of her neck. Then he wrapped his arms around her and continued nibbling.

  Lucille squirmed away. “Frankie!”

  She felt guilty knowing what she was going to do.

  “Come on, the diet hasn’t been that bad.” Lucille closed the oven door.

  “What about that diet of yours?” Frank asked as he pulled a beer from the refrigerator.

  Lucille glanced at the instructions from Weigh to Lose she’d affixed to the refrigerator door. She peered at them, running her finger down the columns.

  “I can have as many vegetables as I want, and last time I checked, eggplant was a vegetable. Plus your tomato sauce is made with tomatoes and they’re a vegetable, right?”

  “Sure,” Frank said as he popped the top off his beer and took a long swig. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “I’m allowed a serving of dairy so that’s your cheese. The basil don’t count since it’s an herb, and they’re free also. And I saved my serving of bread and only had a salad for lunch so there’s your breadcrumbs,” Lucille finished triumphantly.