Hit and Nun

by Peg Cochran

  Hit and Nun

  The hilarious Lucille Mazzarella is back, and this time she’s investigating a murder linked to her favorite pizzeria. When the fifty-something housewife goes undercover at a restaurant to solve the case, she quickly learns that if the killer doesn’t get her, the calories will.

  When the owner of Lucille’s favorite pizzeria drops dead at her feet, she’s left wondering who could have harmed such a kind man—and wondering where she’ll get her favorite food now. Deciding to go undercover as a pizza maker to sniff out the clues—and maybe an extra slice or two—Lucille’s determined to track down the culprit before they can strike again.

  As the hunt for the killer heats up, Lucille and her friend Flo dig deeper into the crime and discover a jealous wife, a competitive pizza man who would kill for more business, and a decades-old mystery that may hold the key to the murder. Trouble is, the one person who could break the case wide open is a nun who took a vow of silence—and she’s not talking.

  Beyond the Page Books

  are published by

  Beyond the Page Publishing

  www.beyondthepagepub.com

  Copyright © 2015 by Peg Cochran

  Material excerpted from Iced to Death copyright © 2014 by Peg Cochran

  Cover design and illustration by Dar Albert, Wicked Smart Designs

  ISBN: 978-1-940846-43-9

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this book. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented without the express written permission of both the copyright holder and the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Excerpt from Iced to Death

  Books by Peg Cochran

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Lucille lifted the lid on the saucepan and sniffed. She wrinkled her nose. It smelled funny. Kind of like the girls’ locker room over at the high school after eighth-period gym back when you got all sweaty chasing some ball around but you wouldn’t get undressed in front of everyone to take a shower. Girls wouldn’t even take off them full slips they used to wear but would tuck them into their gym suits instead.

  Bernadette had been going on at her about trying something new for Sunday dinner. Apparently Lucille didn’t know it but she was in some kind of rut and Bernadette had taken it upon herself to get Lucille out of it. Well, this here dish was real new. Lucille glanced at the recipe she’d propped against the bread box. It was called curried chicken on account of the fact that it had curry powder in it. She’d had to make a special trip to the A&P to get the curry—it wasn’t the kind of spice you’d find in your typical Italian household.

  Lucille didn’t know what was wrong with making the same things every Sunday—stuffed shells, pasta with meat sauce, lasagna—it was what everyone liked. Just like the cannoli they always had for dessert. She didn’t hear no complaints about Flo bringing those every week. Bernadette wasn’t getting after her to try something new.

  Lucille had protested, but Bernadette had a way of wearing her down and finally she’d given in. So she was making this here curry dish for Sunday dinner. Just wait till the family got a load of this.

  She heard the front door open.

  “Yo, Lucille.”

  Lucille scurried into the foyer. “Sssssh, Bernadette and the baby are napping.”

  “Oh,” Flo mouthed silently, following Lucille into the kitchen on tiptoe. She sniffed and wrinkled her nose. “What’s that you’re making? I thought this was your week to do shells.” She put the white pastry box she was carrying down on the table.

  “I was, but Bernadette told me I was in a rut and I had to get out of it. So this here’s chicken curry I’m making. It’s got some fancy name in Indian but I forget what it is.” She lifted the lid on the saucepan.

  Flo leaned over the stove and sniffed again. She made a face. “Smells like the girls’ locker room after gym class.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought, too, but Bernadette told me it’s real good.”

  Flo shrugged.

  “So is Richie coming on his own?” Lucille asked as she put the lid back on the pot.

  “No.” Flo began to examine her fingernails closely.

  “No, he’s not coming? But I thought he was coming. On account of you two have been going out for a couple of months now, which is why I told you to invite him and all.”

  Flo sighed. “I know. But bringing him to Sunday dinner is a huge commitment.”

  “What commitment? He spends a couple hours with the family. So what? That makes him committed?”

  “That makes me committed,” Flo said. “And I’m not ready yet.”

  “What are you waiting for? You ain’t getting no younger, you know.”

  “What is it with you and age?” Flo scowled. “We’re not that old.”

  “We’re grandmothers for chrissake.”

  “So? Loretta Lynn became a grandmother at the age of twenty-nine.”

  “But we’re not twenty-nine. We’re in our fifties now, Flo. You gotta be realistic. How many single men are there left? At least Richie still has his looks. And a good job with a pension. You don’t want to spend the rest of your life alone, do you?” Lucille frowned. “You’re not still holding out for that doctor you work with, are you?”

  Flo turned away and began flipping through the Sunday paper that was splayed across the kitchen table. “He got married a couple of weeks ago. To that nurse—the one with the big . . .” Flo held her hands in front of her chest.

  “Well, what do you know.” Lucille shook her head. “So what’s wrong with Richie then?”

  “Let’s not talk about it now.”

  “Fine. But I’m just saying, you don’t want to let this one slip through your fingers.”

  They stared at each other like two gunslingers getting ready to shoot it out.

  A baby’s wail punctuated the silence.

  “Lucy’s up.” Flo’s face softened.

  Just then the bell rang. Lucille wiped her hands on her apron and hurried to the front door.

  “Angela,” she said. “Loretto. Come on in.” Lucille held the door wider. “Cousin
Louis. Cousin Millie. Nice to see yous.”

  Until recently Louis and Millie had been living in a portioned-off space in Lucille’s rec room. Louis had had the misfortune to burn down the house they were renting, and they had no place to go on account of they couldn’t afford nothing. Lucille had taken them in. They were Frank’s father’s cousins once removed, after all. But with Tony moving in and the baby and all, Lucille’s sister had agreed to put a roof over their heads. Of course Lucille had had to twist her arm a little. Angela wasn’t big on thinking of others, and Lucille worried that that was going to stand in her way when it came time to get into heaven.

  Lucille’s sister wrinkled her nose. “What’s that funny smell?”

  “Never mind,” Lucille said as she shepherded them toward the kitchen. She turned to Angela’s husband. “Frankie’s got the game on downstairs.”

  Lucille had barely made it back to the kitchen when she heard the front door open again. She stuck her head into the hall. “Come on in, Gabe.”

  Gabe was Angela and Loretto’s son, and Lucille wasn’t used to him coming on his own. He was in his early twenties but until recently had still lived with his parents. Now he had a small place of his own, but for all the time he still spent at home he might as well move back in and save himself the rent money.

  Half an hour later they were all seated around the table. Frankie was at the head, of course, playing with the salt and pepper shakers, anxious to eat and get back to the game. Tony, Bernadette’s husband—and Lucille still felt a thrill every time she said the word husband—was slouched in his seat with Bernadette next to him.

  Bernadette was nursing the baby, and Angela made a big show of turning her head the other way. Lucille didn’t see nothing wrong with it. Nursing a baby was just natural. Why spend all that money on that crap that came in a can if you were making good milk yourself?

  Father Brennan didn’t seem to think nothing of it. He was smiling at Bernadette and waving a finger at the baby.

  They finished off their soup—escarole soup with pignolis. Lucille figured one new dish was more than enough no matter what Bernadette thought.

  Lucille brought out the chicken curry and a bowl of rice and placed them on the table. Everyone stared, and then began sniffing like a bunch of bloodhounds.

  “The chicken goes on top of the rice,” Lucille said as they passed the dishes around. “The recipe said the rice will absorb the flavors.”

  “What is this stuff, Lucille?” Frankie said as he ladled some onto his plate.

  “It’s chicken curry.”

  Gabe took a mouthful. He made a face. “It tastes like soap.”

  Angela poked at it with her fork before taking a small taste. She frowned and pushed her plate away.

  Bernadette was eating heartily and so was Tony, the baby between them in one of them baby seats that they’d propped on one of the dining room chairs.

  Louis and Millie didn’t seem to notice nothing unusual. Their heads were bent over their plates, and they were shoveling in the food at a fast clip. It made Lucille wonder if Angela fed them.

  Father Brennan forked up a bite of chicken and immediately grabbed his wineglass and took a big gulp.

  By the time dinner was over, Lucille had almost as much chicken curry left as when she’d started.

  “Looks like nobody’s going to leave the table too full for once,” Frankie said, scratching his stomach.

  Lucille shot him a dirty look as she set the box of cannoli on the table. Everybody began grabbing for them at once.

  “So,” Lucille said as she resumed her seat, “we have to start planning little Lucy’s christening.” She turned to Father Brennan.

  “We’re not having her baptized,” Bernadette and Tony said in unison.

  “What!” Lucille said. She dropped her teaspoon and it clanged against her coffee cup, making everyone jump. She sent up a prayer to St. Oran, the patron saint of atheists. “She’s going to be baptized, and that’s that,” Lucille said, turning to Flo. “Right, Flo?”

  Flo shrugged. “Whatever the kids want.”

  Lucille turned on her. “How can you say that, Flo? You and me was both baptized.” She waved a hand around the table. “Everyone here has been baptized. That way we’ll all be together in heaven, right, Father?” She looked at Father Brennan.

  He looked a bit as if the wine was going to his head. He nodded at Lucille.

  “See? Father Brennan agrees.”

  “Funny,” Bernadette said. “I didn’t hear him say anything.”

  “It’s what they call a tactile agreement, Miss Smarty Pants,” Lucille shot back. Bernadette shrugged and took another bite of her cannoli. Tony just sat there. Even though he’d been in the army and overseas to one of them places where they were all fighting about something—Lucille could never figure out exactly what—he hadn’t become any more talkative. Still sat there with his mouth hanging open half the time.

  “What’s wrong with having the baby baptized?” Lucille asked.

  “We don’t believe in it. We don’t think babies are born with sin so what’s the point?”

  “But what’s the harm? Father Brennan splashes some water on her head, says a couple of prayers, and it’s all over. It don’t mean nothing.”

  “If it doesn’t mean anything, then why are we doing it?” Bernadette looked smug.

  “Because I said so, that’s why. Because I’m your mother and Lucy’s grandmother, and I want to see her christened, okay?”

  Chapter 2

  When Lucille woke up the next morning, the house still smelled funny. That was the last time she’d let Bernadette talk her into trying something new. Even though Bernadette had acted real impressed by the dish, which was kind of a nice change from her putting down everything Lucille did, from the way she dressed to how she styled her hair.

  Although the September air was chilly enough to give her goose bumps, Lucille threw open a bunch of windows to try to clear the smell. She leaned her arms on the sill of the front bedroom window and looked out. The leaves were turning and starting to collect in corners where the wind had blown them. Frankie would have to be getting out the rake soon. Maybe Tony would give him a hand. An image of Tony sitting at the table with his mouth hanging open flashed across Lucille’s mind. She shook her head. Most likely Frankie would be tackling the job by himself.

  From up here Lucille could see the statue of the Blessed Virgin Mary in the front yard. That made her think about how Bernadette and Tony didn’t want to baptize little Lucy. She’d gone to bed thinking about it and had woken up thinking about it. She knew from her days in catechism classes that a layperson could perform a baptism in an emergency—like if the person was dying and there was no chance of getting a priest there on time. Lucille wondered if this could maybe be considered a special case? Even though little Lucy wasn’t in no danger or anything, God forbid.

  Or maybe she could sneak the baby over to the church and ask Father Brennan to perform the ceremony in secret like? It’s not like Bernadette was one of those people who didn’t want their kids vaccinated, and Lucille had gone ahead and had it done anyway. A baptism couldn’t possibly do any harm.

  Lucille thought about it as she got dressed. She pulled on a pair of brown slacks she hadn’t worn since last winter. The elastic in the waist was a little snug. She must have put on a couple of pounds over the summer. Fortunately she had just read about this new diet. It was in one of the magazines she’d picked up at the Clip and Curl to look at while she waited for her color to develop. It was called the Paleo diet and all the celebrities were on it—even one of the actresses who was on the soap Lucille watched, along with a bunch of other people she’d never heard of.

  It was supposed to be real simple and didn’t require any exotic ingredients like curry. You just basically ate what the cavemen used to eat. Stuff like meat and fruits and vegetables. And you didn’t have to count no calories. Lucille liked that since she was always losing track and that’s why none of them
other diets had ever worked for her.

  She was supposed to work in the office at the church today. Father Brennan wouldn’t be there—he had some luncheon to go to honoring the archbishop—and Father Morales was helping out at another parish while their priest was in the hospital having his gall bladder out. Lucille didn’t look forward to being alone with Jeannette, who seemed to think she was in charge, but there wasn’t nothing she could do about it.

  The air had turned pretty chilly so Lucille got her black leather jacket out of the closet. Frankie had given it to her way back when they were in high school. It was pretty worn by now and Lucille couldn’t hardly zip it closed anymore, but she wasn’t about to give it up.

  She felt the same way about her Olds, she thought as she backed it out of the garage. White with red leather interior—so what if it didn’t have all the newfangled gadgets that other cars had? What did she need with one of them GPS systems or a CD player. As long as she could plug in her tape of “Lucille” by Little Richard she was happy.

  As soon as Lucille turned the corner onto South Street she realized she had forgotten to bring her lunch with her. The door to Sal’s Pizzeria was propped open, and she could smell the pizza inside her car. She quickly put on her blinker and turned into the parking lot.

  She figured one slice wouldn’t hurt. The cavemen didn’t have pizza, but that was only because no one had thought to put all the ingredients together until Marco Polo came along. What was pizza anyway? Tomatoes, which were a vegetable, cheese, which came from cows, and bread. The cavemen must have had bread—one of them had invented fire so someone else had probably figured out how to make an oven. It wouldn’t have been like her GE, but she was pretty sure they could have at least baked bread in it.

  She walked through the door to Sal’s and took a deep breath. She never got tired of pizza and Sal’s was some of the best. It was the sauce that made it—supposedly it was a secret recipe that had been handed down from his great-grandmother back in Naples.