by Peg Cochran
“Don’t you think I’d pull over if I could?”
“Maybe we can jump off?” Flo said.
“But then what about the cart? If it crashes they might make us pay for it.”
The cart began to slow and the cacophony of horns in back of them increased.
“Why are we slowing down?”
“Sheesh, Flo. First you’re screaming at me to stop and now you want me to go faster?”
“Fine, fine. You’re the driver.”
Lucille shot her a dirty look.
They went a few more feet, slowed some more and came to a complete stop.
“Lucille, you can’t stop here! Turn around and go back to the club.”
“I didn’t stop. I think we ran out of gas.”
“You’ve got to be kidding. Now what?” Flo said.
“We need to get back to the club so we can pick up your car and get the hell out of here.”
“What are we going to do about the golf cart? Leave it here?”
“Got any better ideas?” Lucille said. “You want to be arrested for stealing a golf cart? What would Richie say?”
“You’re right. Besides, I don’t look good in orange.”
They got out of the cart and began walking back toward the country club.
“I would have worn sneakers if I’d known we were going to go hiking,” Flo said, picking her way along the shoulder of the road.
Drivers were zapping down their windows and yelling.
“Move that cart, lady.”
“What do you think you’re doing blocking the road like that?”
“Why is everyone so mad?” Lucille said.
“Gee, Lucille, I don’t know. Could be because we’ve blocked the street and they can’t get by?”
One man, in a stained T-shirt with tattoos up and down his thick arms, started to get out of his car.
Flo gave Lucille a little shove. “Run, Lucille. We’ve got to get out of here.”
They were both out of breath by the time they reached the safety of the club parking lot.
Flo wiped a bead of sweat off her forehead. “At least I must have burned some calories.” She looked over her shoulder. “Oh, no!”
“What’s the—”
Lucille didn’t finish the sentence. Two men in dark green blazers with the club insignia on the pockets were trotting down the driveway toward them.
“They don’t look too happy,” Lucille said.
“No shit, Lucille.”
“Let’s get out of here.”
“That’s the best idea you’ve had all day.”
• • •
All Lucille wanted to do when she got home was put her feet up and relax. Maybe watch a little TV and grab something to eat. She could go to the A&P later for something for dinner. Although maybe they would do something different—like order a pizza to give her a night off. Ma wouldn’t like it, but there was some leftover eggplant parmigiana in the refrigerator that she could have.
Maybe they’d even open a bottle of wine, Lucille thought, and have a nice, relaxing evening—her and Frankie. And who knows where that might lead? Lucille thought about her new wax job and felt her face flush. What would Frankie think about it? Maybe, as Flo said, it would make things interesting again.
Lucille pulled the Olds into her driveway and let out a sigh. It was good to be home. They’d had a close call that morning, that was for sure.
She was putting her jacket in the closet when the phone rang. She could hear the TV on in her mother’s room so she knew Theresa wasn’t going to get it.
“Hello?”
Lucille was a little breathless after scurrying from the hallway to the kitchen. She really ought to start doing what they used to call aerobics but now called cardio. Lucille didn’t care what they called it—she hated sweating and she hated jumping up and down.
“Lucille, it’s Janice. I’ve got a huge favor to ask.”
“Yeah?” Lucille said warily, eyeing her easy chair, which she could see from the kitchen.
“I’ve scheduled an open house at Felicity’s house and I’m tied up, and I wondered if you could . . . I mean, you’ve been there already so you know the ropes, and you did such an excellent job . . .”
Lucille blew out a sigh. “Sure, sure. I can do it. I just need to get cleaned up a bit.”
“No problem. It doesn’t start until two o’clock. Does that give you enough time—”
“Sure, sure.”
“It’s really easy—all you have to do is sit at the kitchen table, welcome people and hand them a flyer.”
“Sure, sure,” Lucille said again as she hung up.
Sheesh. And here she was looking forward to a nice rest, and now this. But if she wanted to have a career in real estate—after all, Janice had said she was good at it—she needed to put her job first.
She felt a renewed sense of energy as she went up the stairs to her room. Maybe after the appointment she could get over to the mall to buy that pantsuit she was going to need now that she was on her way to being a real estate agent.
• • •
Lucille got to Felicity’s house a little early. She wanted to make sure everything was in order before the prospective clients arrived. She figured she could do a little dusting and run the sweeper if need be—she knew you had to go above and beyond if you wanted to get ahead in your career.
The lockbox on the door didn’t give her any trouble this time, and Lucille felt very proud as she pushed open Felicity’s front door. Since the last time she’d been there, Felicity had hung an autumn-themed wreath on the door and there was a ceramic pumpkin sitting out on the table in the foyer.
Lucille looked around but everything was in perfect order, and there was nothing to do. A length of plastic had been laid down on the carpet to protect it and it crinkled as Lucille walked across it.
She peeked into the living room and thought about perching on the sofa, but all the cushions had been plumped up so nice she didn’t want to put a dent in them.
She wandered into the kitchen and took a look in the fridge. Half a chocolate layer cake sat on a platter with some plastic wrap over it. Lucille shook her head. Even she knew that wasn’t on the Weigh to Lose diet. But who could blame Felicity? She was going through a divorce and selling her house—you needed a little something to cheer you up when you were dealing with things like that. Even she knew that wasn’t no time to start a diet.
Lucille pulled off a length of paper towels from the roll on the counter and gave the sink a good polish. Nothing made a better impression than a clean, shiny sink. Then, with the clock ready to tick over to two o’clock, she sat down, straightened the flyers on the table and waited.
Lucille was nearly dozing when she heard the front door open. She sat up quickly, straightened the already straight flyers and waited.
A middle-aged woman walked into the kitchen. She was dressed casually and wasn’t wearing a coat.
“Would you like one of these here flyers?” Lucille handed one to her.
“Thanks.” The woman winked at Lucille. “I actually live across the street. I’ve always wondered how Felicity had decorated the bedrooms. I’ve been in and out of her house for years, but I’ve never been upstairs.”
“I suppose that’s okay,” Lucille said.
She knew she would be curious herself. A bedroom could tell you a lot about a person. She remembered her surprise when she discovered that Frankie’s sister and brother-in-law had twin beds. How could you snuggle when you were so far apart?
She heard the woman walking around upstairs. Lucille hoped Felicity found someone to buy this place soon, but it wasn’t looking good. So far no one else had arrived for the open house.
As she sat there, Lucille couldn’t help but think about the chocolate cake in the refrigerator. Would Felicity even miss it if she helped herself to a small piece? She hadn’t had time for no lunch except for the piece of cheese and hunk of salami she’d eaten while getting dressed. A tiny piece of
cake couldn’t hurt her diet all that much.
A few minutes later, the neighbor reappeared in the kitchen. She handed the flyer back to Lucille.
“I don’t need this really. I was only curious. Sad about Felicity and Paul getting a divorce. They used to seem happy together.” She leaned closer to Lucille and lowered her voice. “Although you never know what’s going on behind closed doors, do you?”
That was for sure, Lucille thought.
“I’m Barbara, by the way.”
“Lucille.”
“And it’s not just the divorce, you know. They need the money because of that investment that went bad.”
“Oh?” Lucille’s ears perked up.
“It was supposed to be a sure thing, but you know how those things are. I don’t trust the stock market myself. I like my money in the bank where I know it’s safe.”
She and Frankie had never had any extra cash lying around to invest, Lucille thought. They’d always lived paycheck to paycheck. Sure, they put a little by here and there, but every time they got a few dollars saved, the money would be needed for something like a car repair or a medical bill.
“What a shame.”
Lucille couldn’t imagine money disappearing just like that with nothing to show for it.
“Of course Felicity blamed it all on Jack.”
Lucille’s ears perked up further.
“Jack?”
“Mmmhmm. Jack Garibaldi. He’s that big-shot divorce lawyer. Jack the Ripper they call him. I see his ads on TV all the time.”
“Is that Dotty Garibaldi’s husband?”
“You know them?”
Lucille shook her head. “I’ve been going to their Weigh to Lose program over at St. Rocco’s.”
“I heard they were going to do something like that. Shame about Dotty. She didn’t get to see it through.” Barbara fiddled with a button on her blouse. “Jack was big on investing—thought he knew everything. But the tip he gave Felicity and her husband went sour, and they lost a lot of money.”
“Oh?”
“Of course Jack lost a lot of money, too. He was counting on Dotty’s little project to become a success. And from what I’ve heard, it is going to be a big success.”
“Yeah. They’re getting Oprah and everything.”
Barbara raised her eyebrows. “That is big. Jack must be thrilled. I suppose all the money goes to him now.”
They heard the sound of the front door opening and a voice calling out.
“Hello?”
Barbara smiled. “I’d better let you do your job.”
A young couple walked in while Barbara was leaving. They couldn’t have been older than their late twenties. Where did kids get their money from these days? Lucille wondered again. She and Frankie had worked all their lives and still couldn’t afford a place with a great room and an on sweet bathroom. They couldn’t even afford to fix the leak in the roof.
The couple picked up a flyer and went off to explore.
Lucille was glad for the quiet. She had a lot to think about. So Jack was responsible for Felicity losing a ton of money—at least according to Barbara. It wasn’t exactly Jack’s fault that the investment didn’t work out, still, she could see Felicity being mad about it and wanting to blame someone. That was only human nature.
Did Felicity blame Dotty, too? Maybe Dotty was the one who passed on the information from her husband. And maybe that’s why Felicity killed her. Maybe it made Felicity mad to think of Dotty having all this money from Weigh to Lose when here she was, having to sell her own house to make ends meet.
And now it made perfect sense about Felicity keeping Dotty’s handbag. It was spite, pure and simple.
Chapter 14
Lucille sank into a kitchen chair and eased off her shoes. Her feet were killing her. If she could get up the energy, maybe she’d go soak them in some Epsom salts later. Better yet, she’d take a bath in Epsom salts. Her back hurt, too, and so did her knees. And she couldn’t wait to take her bra off and slip on one of her old sweatshirts.
After Barbara left the open house, things had picked up and Lucille had been rushed off her feet. Janice was pleased—she talked to a couple who were on the verge of putting an offer in on Felicity’s house. Lucille wondered if that meant she’d get to share in the commission.
Probably not, but she was still making more money than she did in the office at St. Rocco’s.
She was about to put on a pot of coffee when the phone rang.
Lucille sighed. It was Flo. She wanted Lucille to go shopping with her for lingerie for her trousseau. Lucille had never heard of a middle-aged woman, marrying late in life, needing a trousseau, but Flo insisted.
Finally Lucille gave in. She splashed some cold water on her face, washed her hands, combed her hair and was ready when Flo picked her up.
“Where are we going?”
“To the mall,” Flo said as she backed out of Lucille’s driveway.
“Which mall? New Jersey has more malls than any other state in the country.”
Flo sighed loudly. “The Short Hills Mall. You didn’t think I was going to drive all the way to the Freehold Raceway Mall down in south Jersey, did you?”
Lucille didn’t answer.
“Besides, Nordstrom is having a sale on lingerie. I’m hoping to pick up some lacy little bits at a good price.”
The vision of lacy little bits made Lucille uncomfortable. She thought about her own underwear—a bra with a safety pin in the strap, panties she bought in a six-pack at the grocery store and one of them things they used to call a girdle but was now called shapewear, according to Bernadette.
Changing the name didn’t make no difference as far as she was concerned—it was still as uncomfortable as hell.
The mall wasn’t crowded—it was nearly time to sit down for dinner. Good thing she’d already planned to talk Frankie into ordering a pizza for them.
Flo parked the Mustang and they went inside and walked over to Nordstrom.
Lucille was always amazed at how the air in high-end stores smelled different—sort of perfumed but nothing heavy like they did it on purpose. Maybe things that cost a lot just smelled better.
They took the escalator to the lingerie department on the second floor. It was quiet, with only a few shoppers strolling around.
A mannequin, dressed in a pair of soft flannel pajamas printed with flowers, was posed on a pedestal at the front of the department.
“What about that?” Lucille pointed at the mannequin. “Those would keep you nice and warm all winter long.”
Flo stared at Lucille for a long moment before saying anything.
“Lucille, I’m looking for things for my honeymoon, and, news flash, we aren’t going camping, we’re going to the Caribbean.”
“So? You could use them after. When you and Richie get home.”
Flo grabbed Lucille by the arm and hustled her over to a display of panties. She held up a pair.
“Now this is more like it.”
“There ain’t nothing to them.” Lucille frowned. “And they don’t have no back.”
“They’re thongs,” Flo said, picking up two more pairs.
“You know, Flo, sometimes covering up a little is sexier than letting it all hang out. After all, you only want to show off the good parts, you know what I mean.”
Flo turned and glared at Lucille. Lucille figured she better change the subject before Flo walked off in a huff.
“Did I tell you what I heard about Felicity?”
“No, what?” Flo said, fingering a cream-colored silk-and-lace nightgown.
“According to Felicity’s neighbor, Felicity and her husband lost a whole lot of money on account of a bad investment tip that Dotty’s husband Jack gave them.”
“So?”
“What do you mean so? Don’t that make it look like Felicity killed Dotty out of spite and then kept that fancy handbag of hers to top it off?”
Flo shrugged. “Maybe. But I still think it was Jack�
�s doing. I mean, why would Felicity kill Dotty and not Jack if Jack was the one who gave her that tip?”
“I don’t know. Maybe she plans to kill Jack, too.”
Flo stopped short next to a mannequin in a lacy pink baby-doll nightgown. She fingered the material then spun around to face Lucille.
“I have to have this.”
“Seriously, Flo?”
“Seriously.” She clicked through the adjoining rack until she found her size. She tucked the nightgown under her arm and turned to Lucille. “By the way, what did Frankie think about your Brazilian wax job?”
“He hasn’t seen it yet,” Lucille admitted. “And you know what? It’s beginning to itch like hell.”
• • •
They left the Short Hills Mall with several shopping bags of lingerie for Flo’s honeymoon. Flo tried to talk Lucille into getting something for herself, but Lucille resisted. She would buy herself some new things once she lost weight on her new Weigh to Lose diet.
Lucille breathed a sigh of relief when Flo pulled into Lucille’s driveway. Everything hurt—her back, her feet, her knees—even her head.
Theresa was in her room—the muted sound of her television drifted downstairs to the kitchen. Frankie wasn’t home yet—he’d called to say he would be late—a job was taking longer than he expected. A house over on Hobart Avenue in Summit had been overrun by fleas when the owner’s dog got loose and went running through the wooded area behind their property.
Lucille felt a strange vacuum—no one needed her. It was an odd feeling. Maybe she would take that Epsom salts bath after all.
She went upstairs to her bedroom, put on her robe and slipped into the bathroom.
She turned on the taps, retrieved the box of Epsom salts from the linen closet and added a good dose to the steaming water. As soon as the tub was full, she climbed in and stretched out, letting the warmth ease her tired muscles.
She was almost dozing when she heard Frank’s voice and his tread on the stairs.
“Lucille?”
“In the bathroom.”
