Cannoli to Die For

by Peg Cochran

  She frowned. “They warned us not to cut back too far on our calories or our bodies would think we were in some kind of famine like we was living in Africa or something and we’d stop losing. Since this here eggplant parm is mostly vegetables, and they’re on the free list, maybe I oughta have a little something to go with it.” She snapped her fingers. “I can put on some pasta to have on the side. That should do the trick.”

  Frankie put his beer down on the kitchen table. “I’m going to go change.”

  He gave Lucille another kiss on his way out of the kitchen. Now she felt really guilty about what she’d planned. She got a large pot out of the cupboard and filled it with water.

  Frankie stuck his head back into the kitchen briefly. “How come we’re eating in the dining room? And you’ve got five places set.”

  “We’re having company.”

  “Who? Flo and Richie?” Frank groaned. “You know I’m tired when I get home from work, Lu.”

  “It’s a surprise. You’ll like it.”

  Lucille heard him muttering as he climbed the stairs to the second floor.

  She sure hoped Frankie would like the surprise. Otherwise this whole thing was going to blow up in her face.

  Lucille jumped when the doorbell rang. This was it. She dried her hands on her apron and scurried to answer it.

  Little Lucy was right by the door and Lucille scooped her up before saying hello to anyone else. She held her tight and planted kisses on her chubby cheeks until Lucy squirmed to get down.

  “Come on in. The table’s all set, and dinner is almost ready. I only have to warm up the garlic bread.”

  She stood aside for Bernadette and Tony to pass. Bernadette had a strange look on her face. Lucille turned to her.

  “What?”

  “Are you sure Dad is going to go along with this?”

  “Of course he is. It’s time to let bygones be bygones.”

  Bernadette looked skeptical but she followed Lucille inside and took a seat at the dining table.

  “We could have sat in the kitchen, Ma.”

  “It’s much nicer this way. More special,” Lucille said as she fastened the safety belt on Lucy’s high chair.

  There was a sound on the stairs and Lucille tensed. This was it. She scurried to bring the eggplant parmigiana to the table. Surely the sight and smell of some good food would make everything go okay. She didn’t want everybody getting into no argument on an empty stomach. That wasn’t healthy.

  Frankie took his usual seat at the head of the table. He looked at Tony and Bernadette but didn’t say anything. He motioned toward the empty place setting next to Theresa.

  “What gives? Is someone else coming?”

  “That’s for cousin Louis,” Theresa said, unfolding her napkin and laying it in her lap. “He’s been stopping in for lunch so I decided to invite him for dinner, too.”

  Frank opened his mouth but nothing came out. “Lucille!” he said finally.

  “Go on, Frankie, eat your dinner. We’ll talk about it later.”

  Frank looked more than happy to let the subject drop. He helped himself to a generous portion of the eggplant then pushed the dish toward Bernadette.

  So far, so good, Lucille thought. She should have had Bernadette and Tony over sooner.

  They ate in silence. For once even Theresa wasn’t talking. Frankie had his head down, forking up his dinner. Lucy had fallen asleep in her high chair, a long strand of drool hanging from her mouth.

  Lucille was almost too nervous to eat. So far everything had gone okay, but what about when dinner was over? She held her breath as Frank lifted his head and pushed his empty plate away.

  “So,” he said, looking at Bernadette and Tony. “You’ve decided to come around after all.” He gave a big smile.

  Bernadette and Tony looked confused.

  “What do you mean?” Bernadette asked, reaching over to wipe Lucy’s chin.

  “I mean . . . us.” Frank made a sweeping gesture. “Together again like always.”

  “It is nice,” Lucille said, even though she had a feeling that wasn’t what Frankie meant.

  “So,” Frankie turned to look at Tony. “Can you start back at JoFra tomorrow morning? I have a big job over in Chatham.”

  “You don’t understand,” Bernadette said. “Tony isn’t giving up his own company to come back to work for JoFra.”

  “But I thought . . .” Frank looked bewildered.

  “Ma said you’d come around,” Bernadette said. “That’s why we came to dinner.” She took Lucy from her high chair and held her in her arms. Lucy’s head flopped against her mother’s shoulder.

  “Yeah.” Tony pushed his chair back. “Ma said everything was okay. That you were fine with me starting my own business.”

  Frank’s eyebrows were lowered and his face a dusky red. He clenched his fists and slammed them down on the table.

  “Lucille!” he bellowed.

  Chapter 11

  Lucille arrived for work at the real estate agency early the next day. Almost before Janice had her coat off, she had the coffee made and a steaming mug on Janice’s desk.

  Janice looked extremely pleased, and Lucille felt a glow of satisfaction. If this new job worked out, maybe they’d hire her full-time and she could quit her job at the church. And if that happened, she’d never have to see Jeannette again. Or listen to Jeannette order her around . . . Lucille do this, Lucille do that. She was going to do a real good job at Dingledyne, Mingledorff, Hoogerwerf and Rumble, and she’d make a novena to Saint Joseph, patron saint of success in work, to ask for extra help.

  Lucille was finally getting the hang of the phone. She’d cut barely anyone off all morning. She’d even managed to transfer a call to Janice just like she’d seen Janice do.

  The phone rang again, and this time it was a call for Joe, but he wasn’t there.

  “Take a message and tell them Joe will call them back this afternoon,” Janice said. “He has a closing this morning.”

  Lucille took down the caller’s name and number and put the message slip on Joe’s desk.

  “I saw Joe in the A&P last night,” Lucille said to Janice. “We was both buying lottery tickets. I never played before, which is kind of funny when you think about it because Frankie and I are always talking about what we’d do if we ever won the lottery. Frankie said he’d like to buy a little place down the shore and then we’d take a trip to Italy and maybe in the winter we’d go on one of them cruises in the Bahamas and of course pay off our mortgage and put money aside for little Lucy’s college . . .”

  Lucille wound to a stop. Janice was frowning at her, her thinly penciled eyebrows rising nearly to her hairline. “What’s the matter?”

  “Joe was buying lottery tickets?”

  “A whole bunch of them. Maybe one of us will win. Wouldn’t that be something?”

  Janice leaned her elbows on her desk. “Joe isn’t supposed to be gambling.”

  “Why not? Besides, I don’t think buying a lottery ticket is gambling . . . I mean, it’s not like betting on the horses, you know? My father’s third cousin once removed used to go to the track every payday and blow it all. That was back when your employer handed you an envelope with cash at the end of the week.”

  “Joe’s been doing a little more than buying lottery tickets,” Janice said with a roll of her eyes. “He missed a closing one time because he was off at some casino in Connecticut.”

  “I guess that’s bad, huh?”

  “You bet it is.” Janice tucked a stray hair back into her twist. “I had to do the closing for him, and I wouldn’t mind, but he walked away with the commission, which, if you ask me, isn’t fair. It isn’t fair at all.”

  “Yeah, I can see what you mean.”

  “Mr. Mingledorff was really ticked off but he agreed to give Joe a second chance if Joe agreed to join one of those support groups—Gamblers Anonymous or something like that.”

  Lucille was surprised. She kind of figured Mr. Mingledorff
was probably six feet under by now—along with the rest of them.

  “I know they hold meetings like that over at St. Rocco’s.”

  Janice pursed her lips. “That could be where Joe was going. It sounds familiar.” She shrugged. “But if Mr. Mingledorff finds out Joe’s been gambling again . . . well, I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

  The phone rang, and Lucille scurried to her desk to answer it. Janice went back to her own desk, and Lucille could hear her typing on her computer.

  It was another call for Joe. Lucille took a message, put it on his desk and sat back down again. She straightened her stapler, her scotch tape dispenser, her notepad and her pen and pencil holder.

  She tapped her fingers on her desk and startled to whistle, but when Janice cleared her throat loudly, she stopped.

  Finally, she swiveled around to face Janice.

  “You know that’s something about Dotty. As far as I know, they still don’t know who killed her.”

  Janice, who had been looking at clothes online at Macy’s, quickly switched the page from sequined cocktail dresses to the MLS site for real estate listings, and looked up eagerly.

  “It is something, isn’t it?” She leaned her elbows on her desk and put her chin in her hands. “I know Joe wasn’t sorry to see her go, but who knows? There may have been other people who felt that way as well. Dotty did have the knack of rubbing people the wrong way.”

  “What about her husband?” Lucille said. “Isn’t it usually the husband or wife who’s the killer? It always seems to turn out that way on those cop shows on TV.”

  “I don’t know. I only met Dotty’s husband once—at the office Christmas party a couple of years ago. He didn’t stay long—said he had to get back to work.”

  “Did Dotty ever say anything about him? Like how they got along . . . ?” Lucille was picturing Jack in the parking lot with that other woman in his arms.

  “Not really. Dotty wasn’t much for chatting. Although the woman at the salon and spa she went to told me that Dotty told her that she and Jack were planning on renewing their vows. I’ll always be grateful to Dotty for recommending Beatriz to me. I’ve been going to her ever since.”

  Renew their vows? Lucille had never been able to make no sense of that. When you stood in front of the priest, you promised to love and cherish each other until death. A promise was a promise—what was there to renew? Was it like being vaccinated for tetanus where every ten years you had to get a booster shot?

  It sounded like Dotty didn’t share much with Janice, which wasn’t surprising on account of they didn’t seem to like each other much. But obviously Dotty talked to other people like this lady at the salon. Lucille wondered what else Dotty might have told her.

  “So this lady at the salon who’s so great . . .”

  Janice leaned over her desk toward Lucille. “She’s marvelous. I have to say Dotty was cutthroat when it came to selling houses, but she was generous about sharing other things like beauty tips.”

  “So this lady—”

  “Beatriz.”

  “Beatriz. Does she like cut hair or do makeup or what?”

  Janice shook her head. “She does waxing. That’s all she does, and let me tell you, she’s the best. I’ve been going to her for bikini waxes ever since Dotty told me about her.”

  Bikini waxes? Lucille didn’t know from bikini waxes. And why should she? She certainly wasn’t wearing no bikini—not after having a baby and going through menopause.

  “I highly recommend her,” Janice said, opening her desk drawer and fishing around inside. She pulled out a card and handed it to Lucille. “Here’s her contact info. Honestly, I wouldn’t go to anyone else.”

  Lucille looked at the card—the Princess Salon and Spa in Short Hills. She hadn’t been planning on going to anyone at all, especially not for a bikini wax, but if this Beatriz knew something about Dotty, maybe it would be worth it.

  • • •

  Janice only needed Lucille to work until noon, and Lucille didn’t have to be at the church that day, so she called up the Princess Salon and made an appointment with Beatriz. The woman said that Beatriz was normally booked far in advance—she was that good—but they’d had a cancellation and could fit Lucille in. She kept telling Lucille how lucky she was, but Lucille wasn’t so sure about that. She’d been secretly hoping to put off this experience for a couple more days in order to work up her courage.

  She called Flo and Flo assured her there was nothing to it.

  “Lucille, if you’ve been through childbirth, believe me, nothing can touch it. Getting waxed is like a walk in the park in comparison.”

  Lucille felt a little better after that, and her hands were only shaking a bit when she pushed open the door to the Princess Salon and Spa.

  The air that rushed toward her was heavily perfumed with something expensive-smelling and the hush in the reception area was punctuated by the trickling sound of a water fountain. Lucille gazed in awe at the miniature crystal chandeliers adorning the ceiling and the white fur-covered chairs surrounding an amethyst coffee table.

  Lucille caught a glimpse of her own shoes and their scuffed toes and worn heels and felt like fleeing. This here place wasn’t for the likes of her—she was used to the Clip and Curl, where the back exit led past the washers and dryers where they laundered the towels and more than one of the operators’ chairs was mended with black electrical tape.

  Before Lucille could flee, a stick-thin woman with thick gray hair piled high on top of her head glided toward her.

  “Can I help you?”

  “Yeah. I’m Lucille Mazzarella and I’ve got an appointment.”

  The woman slid behind the reception desk and consulted an appointment book with gilt edges, running her perfectly manicured fingernail down the entries.

  “Yes. We have you down for a bikini wax with Beatriz. If you’ll come this way, please . . .”

  Lucille felt her heartbeat speed up. She tried giving herself a pep talk. After all, she’d gotten a tattoo, hadn’t she? And she’d been every bit as scared going into that as she was now.

  The woman led her into a small room painted a soothing seafoam green with a large painting of the ocean on the wall. In the middle was the kind of examining table they had in doctors’ offices. It even had that paper pulled over it, which Lucille hated because it always stuck to you, and when the doctor said to slide down, you couldn’t because you were caught on the paper.

  “Beatriz will be with you shortly,” the woman said soothingly as she closed the door.

  Lucille wasn’t sure what to do. She checked out the imitation French side table where there was some sort of contraption that looked like a slow cooker and those wooden tongue depressors like the doctor used to check your throat.

  She was looking at the painting when there was a knock on the door and a woman came in.

  “I’m Beatriz,” she said, smiling at Lucille. “So you’re here for a bikini wax. Is this your first time?”

  “Yes.”

  Lucille’s mouth was dry and she wished she could have a drink of water.

  “What are we going to do? An American? French? Brazilian?”

  Lucille had no idea what the woman was talking about but she figured if Beatriz was Brazilian then she ought to go for one of those—it was probably her specialty.

  “A Brazilian,” Lucille said without much conviction.

  “Excellent choice. Now, take off your pants, and lie down on the table, please.”

  “I got your name from Janice Karpinsky,” Lucille said as she fumbled with the buttons on her slacks. “She said Dotty Garibaldi used to come here, too.”

  “Dotty was a client for many years. Such a shame what happened to her. We’ll all miss her.” Beatriz shook her head as she stirred something in the slow cooker. “Right when her business was taking off, too.”

  “Me and my friend Flo joined Weigh to Lose. Oprah is going to be the spokesperson.”

  “How can that be with Dot
ty gone?”

  “Her husband is taking over.”

  Beatriz rolled her eyes. “That man! He was cheating on Dotty, you know. She was going to divorce him. She’d already been to see a lawyer. She wanted the divorce to go through before she signed the contract with Oprah. That way she wouldn’t have to split the profits with her ex.”

  Beatriz had transferred some of the contents of the slow cooker to a smaller bowl and was stirring it with one of the tongue depressors. She glanced at Lucille and frowned.

  “We can’t do a Brazilian with those on.” She pointed to Lucille’s underwear.

  “These? You want me to take them off?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Just what the heck was a Brazilian anyway? Lucille thought as she slid off her underwear. Sheesh, at least at the gynecologist’s office they gave you a piece of paper to drape over yourself.

  “So Dotty was going to divorce her husband, huh?”

  Lucille got on the table and lay back.

  Suddenly she just had a thought that made her so excited, she momentarily forgot where she was. If Dotty planned to leave Jack before the big money from Weigh to Lose came rolling in, that gave him the perfect motive for murder. With Dotty out of the picture, he could take over the company and the profits would all be his. She knew it, she thought in triumph, it was always the husband just like on them TV shows.

  Lucille was so busy thinking she only vaguely noticed Beatriz applying something warm to her nether regions. She had to admit it wasn’t an entirely unpleasant sensation. Beatriz now had a strip of cloth in her hand that reminded Lucille of the rag curls her mother used to make to put in her hair when she was a kid. Beatriz began applying that, but Lucille was too preoccupied to pay attention to what Beatriz was doing with it.

  Until Beatriz ripped it off.

  Then she let out a blood-curdling scream.

  Chapter 12

  “You did what, Lucille?”

  Flo sat bolt upright in the manicurist’s chair at the Clip and Curl.

  Sally, the manicurist, also stared at Lucille in disbelief.