by Peg Cochran
“I thought you didn’t like Dotty,” Lucille whispered as she slid in next to Flo.
“I didn’t. But I couldn’t help wondering if the killer would be here today.”
That had never occurred to Lucille. But maybe even more important was who wouldn’t be there. Would the killer be afraid to show their face?
A few more people filed in and the service began. Lucille felt her eyes closing during Father Brennan’s sermon and forced them open. She hadn’t been sleeping so good lately, what with worrying about this and that. Sometimes it seemed like there was always something to worry about.
The service finally over, Father Brennan announced that Dotty’s friends and family were invited to the church hall for the reception.
Lucille followed the crowd out through the open double doors at the front of the church and across the parking lot to the entrance to the church hall. Long folding tables had been set up along the wall and waitstaff in black pants, black vests and white shirts were bringing out platters of food.
Lucille felt her mouth water. That salad at lunch wasn’t holding her. She needed some protein to fill her up and give her some energy.
Lucille noticed Felicity in the corner talking to Father Brennan. She was wearing a black knit dress with a small print scarf at her neck. She glanced over and waved to Lucille.
Lucille waved back and watched as Felicity walked toward her.
“Dotty’s got herself quite a turnout,” Lucille said when Felicity reached her.
Felicity had a glass in her hand and she rolled it back and forth between her palms.
“I wasn’t going to come,” Felicity said, handing the empty glass to a passing waiter. “I’d made no secret of the fact that Dotty and I didn’t really get along. But I felt it was my duty.”
“I know what you mean. I didn’t know Dotty all that well—hardly at all really—but I figured it would be respectful to attend the service.”
Someone bumped Lucille’s elbow and she spun around.
“Joe!”
“It’s Lucille, right?”
“Yeah.”
Joe had dark circles under his eyes. Lucille wondered if he was having trouble sleeping, too.
“You look tired.”
Joe was startled. “Me?”
“Yeah. You’ve got them dark circles under your eyes. Are you having trouble sleeping?”
Joe let out his breath sharply. “I have been tossing and turning lately.”
“I don’t blame you,” Lucille said, patting his arm. “It’s probably on account of Dotty’s murder. That’s enough to keep anyone awake at night.”
“It sure is.” Joe gave a high-pitched laugh. “It’s a good thing I have an alibi.”
“Oh?” Lucille raised her eyebrows.
Joe pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his forehead.
“I was at a meeting. Here at the church.”
“Do you belong to St. Rocco?”
Joe stuffed the handkerchief back in this pocket.
No. I go to St. Theresa in Summit. But there’s this . . . group . . . I go to that meets here.”
Lucille figured that must be the Gamblers Anonymous meetings but the poor guy was probably too embarrassed to admit it.
Lucille turned and watched as a woman approached the buffet table, her hand resting on the back of Dotty’s son, Dominick.
Lucille tapped Joe on the arm. “Who is that?” she asked, inclining her head toward the pair.
“The woman with the kid? That’s Marcia, Dominick’s mother and Jack’s first wife.”
“So Dominick wasn’t Dotty’s son?”
Joe shook his head. “No. I think they had joint custody. That’s why Dotty hired those au pairs, so that when it was their turn to have Dominick she would still be able to work.” Joe laughed. “Not that they needed the money.” He made a face. “That husband of hers made plenty all by himself.”
“So that’s why she hired that girl from Sweden—Alva Lundgren.”
“Yes. Dotty brought her to the office family Christmas party last year. I guess her visa will be up in a few more months. I think they can only stay a year.”
That must have been good for Jack, Lucille thought. That way he didn’t have to worry about breaking things off—the girl would be going home once the year was over anyway.
Lucille wondered if Alva was there. She hadn’t seen her in the church, but it had been crowded and she and Flo were all the way in the back.
Flo came up in back of Lucille. “Did you get yourself something to eat?”
Flo was holding a plate of cocktail sandwiches.
“I’m going to. Have you seen Alva, the Garibaldis’ au pair?”
“No,” Flo said, dabbing at her lips with a tiny cocktail napkin. “Maybe she didn’t feel comfortable showing up because maybe she’s guilty?”
“You’d think she’d want to throw the police off the scent, so to speak.” Lucille grabbed Flo’s arm. “Wait. There she is.”
Lucille pointed through a sudden opening in the crowd. Alva was standing at the buffet table talking to a good-looking young man.
“Who is that with her?” Flo said, pointing her fork in Alva’s direction.
“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.”
Lucille started to make her way through the crowd. Jeannette was there and put out a hand to stop Lucille. It seemed like all of a sudden Jeannette wanted to talk. She was full of questions, and Lucille tried to answer with only a yes or a no, but still Jeannette went on and on until Lucille thought she would scream.
By the time Jeannette was finally done complaining about the cold, her nosy neighbor and the bunion on her right foot, Lucille had lost sight of Alva. She made her way over to the buffet table where Alva had been standing, but there was no sign of her. She didn’t see that young man no more either.
No point in wasting her trip—she figured she might as well get a bite to eat while she was at it.
Lucille was helping herself to some pasta salad—she figured salad was listed on her diet so she might as well load up her plate—when someone came up next to her.
“Excuse me. Can you hand me that spoon?”
Lucille turned to find Marcia standing next to her.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Lucille said, handing Marcia the serving spoon.
Marcia rolled her eyes. “It’s no loss to me. Jack and I were divorced and I wouldn’t have liked Dotty even if she hadn’t stolen my husband from me.”
“Still, it must be hard on your little boy.”
Marcia shrugged. “He didn’t like Dotty either—he said she was mean—but he will miss his dad.”
“I guess that au pair will have to go back to Sweden now,” Lucille said. “Nothing for her to do . . .”
“I’m thinking of hiring her myself to provide some continuity for Dominick.”
“That would be nice. I wanted to say hello to her, but I can’t find her. I guess she left already.”
Marcia nodded. “She went to her ESL class—English as a second language. They hold the classes over at the Y in Summit.”
“Really?”
Lucille looked around the room. She spotted Flo talking to Father Brennan, who seemed to be struggling with the temptation to look at Flo’s cleavage.
Lucille thanked Marcia and walked over to where Flo was standing. She sidled up to her, and Father Brennan quickly moved away.
“I want to talk to that au pair who worked for the Garibaldis. She’s gone to her ESL class at the Y.”
“ESL? Is that like ESP?”
“Them initials stand for English as a second language.” Lucille frowned. “I think I could use some brushing up on my English, don’t you think?”
“You’re not going to go to—”
“I am. Want to come?”
Chapter 18
“Are we going to use our real names?” Flo said as she pulled the Mustang into the parking lot.
“Sure. That way they won’t be abl
e to trip us up.”
“Good idea.”
Lucille pulled her jacket close as they walked up the stairs to the YMCA. She had to stop at the top to catch her breath. She had promised herself she was going to start working out, but with one thing after another still hadn’t gotten around to it. Maybe she’d ask about joining the Y while she was there.
They stopped at the reception desk.
“Do you know where the English-language class is being held?” Lucille asked the young girl behind the desk.
The girl looked at them a little strangely. “Take the elevator to the second floor then make a right.”
“Where are we going to say we’re from?” Flo asked. “Are we going to be from the same country?”
“I don’t know. We’ll play it by ear, okay? Maybe they won’t ask us.”
Flo sighed and followed Lucille into the room.
A few students were already sitting at the desks that had been arranged in neat rows. Lucille gestured toward several empty ones in the back.
“Let’s sit back here. We’ll be less noticeable.”
They slid into their seats and looked around.
“I don’t see Alva, do you?” Lucille whispered to Flo.
“No. Maybe she’s not here yet or had to visit the little girl’s room.”
“I hope she gets here soon or we’re going to have to sit through this here class.”
“Shall we begin?” said a middle-aged woman standing at the front of the room.
“What did I tell you?” Lucille whispered to Flo.
The woman looked around the classroom, her eyes lighting on Flo and Lucille. “It looks as if we have some new students,” she said slowly, carefully annunciating each syllable. “Would you like to introduce yourselves?” She smiled.
Lucille looked around but there was no place to hide. Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea after all.
“Why don’t you go first?” The instructor pointed at Lucille.
“Er . . . I’m Lucille Mazzarella—that’s like mozzarella with an a.”
“And where are you from?” The woman cocked her head to one side.
Lucille thought furiously. Should she say Italy? But what if someone in the class was Italian and started talking to her and she couldn’t answer on account of she wasn’t really from Italy?
The instructor looked at Lucille, nodded and raised her eyebrows.
“Maybe you didn’t understand the question. Let me repeat it. Where . . . are . . . you . . . from?” she said slowly and carefully.
“I’m, um, from . . . from . . . Genovia,” Lucille finally burst out.
The teacher cocked her head again. “I don’t think I know where that is.”
“It’s near Transylvania.”
“Oh. Isn’t that Romania now?”
“Yeah, sure. But I kinda like the old name better.”
“Welcome, Lucille. I must say, your accent is very good. I would almost have taken you for an American.”
Lucille sat up a little straighter. Wait till she told her sister Angela that.
“I been studying.”
“I have been studying,” the teacher corrected, turning her gaze to Flo.
“And who do we have here?”
Flo got that same look on her face that she had the time she pulled out to pass a car that was going too slow for her taste and came head-to-head with that Hummer going in the opposite direction.
“What is your name?” the instructor said very slowly, as if she were speaking to a child.
Flo continued to stare, her eyes as big as two of the meatballs Lucille made for Sunday dinner.
The silence stretched on, and Lucille was afraid the woman was going to be on to them.
“Don’t be shy,” the teacher said, wagging her finger at Flo. “We’re all in this together.”
Flo didn’t answer and the woman was beginning to look vexed. Lucille had to do something.
“She’s mute,” Lucille said suddenly, pointing at Flo.
“Oh.” The woman looked very disconcerted. “I am so sorry . . . I didn’t mean . . . how could I know . . .” she babbled. She took a deep breath and regained her composure. “Well, I am sure you will still learn something in class, so good for you.” She pointed at the blackboard behind her. “We’ll be doing some writing, and I am sure you will find that useful.”
Lucille sank down into her seat. With any luck they could get through this without the teacher paying no more attention to them.
Unfortunately she was wrong. The teacher dragged an easel to the front of the room. A large pad was attached at the top. She flipped the front page over to reveal drawings of various body parts. She pointed to one of them and looked at Lucille.
“What do you call this?”
“Who, me?” Lucille pointed to herself.
“Yes. Can you tell me what this is?”
“That there’s your leg,” Lucille said.
The teacher looked slightly startled and quickly turned to one of the other women in the class. Lucille was relieved when she moved on to other students and finally ended the exercise.
“Now.” The teacher clapped her hands together. “Let’s practice our conversation.” She pointed to Lucille again. “Why don’t you go first? Tell us something about Genovia.”
Lucille squirmed in her seat. “Uh. It’s small,” she finally said after what felt like several long minutes. A drop of sweat made its way down the middle of her back and she fanned herself with her hand.
“Very good,” the teacher smiled encouragingly. “Anything else?”
Lucille shook her head.
“Okay, let’s hear from someone else.”
Just then there was a noise at the door and the sound of someone giggling. Alva burst into the room, holding the hand of a young man trailing behind her.
“I am sorry to be late,” she said, giggling again as she took a seat.
The teacher pursed her lips but didn’t say anything.
Lucille glanced at Flo. “Looks like Alva has herself a real boyfriend,” she whispered to Flo.
“Yeah. Someone her own age. Not like that sleazeball Jack the Ripper.”
The teacher turned her head sharply in their direction and Lucille clamped her mouth shut and looked down at her desk. Lucky Flo—she knew the teacher wasn’t going to call on her. Lucille huddled in her seat for the rest of the class and was relieved when she didn’t have to speak again.
Finally the class was over and people began getting up from their desks. Two Japanese women stood nose to nose, chattering with each other in their native language. Lucille motioned to Flo to keep quiet until they were out of earshot of the teacher. Not that it mattered now. It looked as if they’d pulled it off.
Alva was backed into a corner just outside the classroom. Her young man was standing close with his hands on her shoulders, their faces only inches apart. They were whispering in what Lucille assumed was Swedish, although she’d never heard it being spoken before.
Lucille jerked her head at Flo and walked over to where the couple was standing. She poked Flo with her elbow and said loudly, “Aren’t they a cute couple.”
The young man turned around and smiled at Lucille. He had blue eyes and very white teeth.
Alva peered around his shoulder.
“You’re Alva, aren’t you?” Lucille said as if she was greeting a long-lost friend.
The girl looked startled. “Please? Do I know you?”
“Not really. Only I knew Dotty, who you used to work for.”
“Oh.” The girl’s face cleared. “Dotty is dead.”
“I know.” Lucille raised her eyebrows. “And so is Jack.”
She watched Alva’s face closely, but she showed no particular emotion.
“Yes. I am sorry for them.” Alva leaned her head against her boyfriend’s chest.
“Who is this?” Lucille asked, putting a hand on the young man’s shoulder.
Alva stared at Lucille’s hand as if a nasty bug ha
d alit on her friend’s arm. Lucille half expected her to brush it away.
“This is my boyfriend, Erik.”
“Oh. That’s nice. That’s nice. Girls your age should have a boyfriend—especially one their own age, I always say.”
Alva looked puzzled.
“I mean, some girls go for older men—you know—someone who has a bit of money and can take care of them. Show them a good time.”
Alva looked affronted. “Erik and I are going to be married,” she said stiffly.
“Congratulations,” Lucille said, slapping Erik on the back. “That’s wonderful.” She beamed at them. “So that story I heard isn’t true.”
“What story?” Alva looked wary.
“About you and Mr. Garibaldi. How you was getting a marriage license so you two could get married.”
Erik pulled away from Alva and stared at her.
“That’s not true,” Alva said. “Who told you that?”
“Nobody. I mean everybody,” Lucille said. “You know how people talk. But I’m glad to see you’ve got yourself a nice boyfriend here”—she slapped Erik on the back—“and you didn’t have no plans to go after someone else’s husband.”
Erik spun around, his face red with fury. He shook his fist at Lucille. “You go away now, okay?” His accent was heavy but his words unmistakable.
“Fine, fine.” Lucille backed up slowly. “I didn’t mean no harm. I’m glad for the two of yous.” She smiled at the couple.
“What was that all about?” Flo asked as they moved down the hall toward the elevator.
“I wanted to see what her reaction would be.”
“I don’t see why. Obviously she had a boyfriend—they even planned to get married. What more do you need to know?”
“My mother always says you can fool some of the people all the time, all the people some of the time, but you can’t—”
“Fool all the people all the time,” Flo finished. “That wasn’t your mother—that was Abraham Lincoln. I remember that from Mr. Pierson’s history class.”
“If you say so,” Lucille said as she pushed the button for the down elevator. “So she does have herself a boyfriend. That doesn’t mean she wasn’t going after Jack the Ripper at the same time.”
