by Peg Cochran
Sal’s had red booths along the sides and square wooden tables in the middle. Sal didn’t believe in changing nothing, which Lucille liked. If the booths needed repairing, he had them fixed. He didn’t go hauling in new ones like so many of these places today.
Lucille made her way up front. Sal’s wife, Tiffany, was behind the counter as usual, her black hair sprayed into a bouffant twist. She went to the Clip and Curl same as Lucille. Today she was looking decidedly pissed off. Lucille knew that Sal often left her alone to deal with the place and that didn’t make her none too happy. He said it was business, but Lucille knew Tiffany didn’t believe him, and with good reason. His business was right here at Sal’s Pizzeria. What need did he have to go gallivanting all over town?
Lucille approached the counter. Her mouth was watering already. Tiffany was pulling a pie from the oven—the crust golden and blistered in places, the cheese gleaming with oil.
“Hey, Lucille,” Tiffany said when she turned around. “You want a slice?” She motioned toward the pie she’d just retrieved from the oven.
“Yeah,” Lucille said. She hesitated. “Aw, give me two. I’m real hungry today.” They said that on this Paleo diet you were supposed to eat as much as you needed to in order to feel full, and Lucille figured that today it was going to take two pieces of pizza, especially seeing as how she hadn’t had too much to eat the night before.
“So where’s Sal?” Lucille looked around but didn’t see no one except Tiffany and a handful of customers.
Tiffany’s expression soured. “You tell me,” she shot back. “He went off to some secret meeting that I didn’t know nothing about. And here the lunch trade is about to begin, and I’m all by myself.” She rubbed the scar on her face—something Lucille had seen her do when she was upset.
She got the scar in a car accident some fifteen years ago. She had a bit of a limp too, although it wasn’t that noticeable unless she was wearing heels, which she didn’t do all that often. Sal had been in the accident as well, but although he’d had a couple of broken bones, they were all healed by now. People said he’d married Tiffany out of pity—he hadn’t been driving the car himself but still he felt responsible. Sal was that kind of guy.
But Lucille knew the rumors weren’t true—Sal really loved Tiffany. They was a couple and had been for the last fifteen years. Just like her and Frankie, although she and Frankie had been married a lot longer. After all, Bernadette was almost twenty years old and they’d been wed good and proper when she was born—none of this baby daddy stuff for them.
Tiffany was sliding Lucille’s two slices of pizza onto paper plates when some guy rushed in, tying an apron around his waist as he slipped behind the counter. He had dark hair, on the long side, and dark eyes like a couple of black olives.
Tiffany tilted her head in his direction. “This here’s Joey Barba. He’s going to be helping us out from now on.” She turned toward the fellow. “Where you been? You was supposed to be here fifteen minutes ago.”
The guy gave her a charming smile. He looked vaguely familiar to Lucille but she couldn’t place him—plenty of guys around with dark hair, dark eyes and a nice smile.
“Sorry, Tiff. I went to get my oil changed and they took forever.”
Tiffany sniffed, her shoulders set in a rigid line.
“What happened to Ray?” Lucille said.
“Sal fired him. He was always late.” She looked pointedly at Joey. Tiffany motioned to Lucille’s pizza. “You gonna eat that here or you want me to put it in a box for you?”
Lucille glanced at her watch. She was already late. Jeannette would have a fit, even though she wasn’t in charge no matter how superior she acted.
“I’d better take it with me.”
Tiffany pulled a box with Sal’s Pizzeria written on it from under the counter. She slid Lucille’s slices into it, closed the lid and handed it to Lucille. “There you go.”
“Thanks.” Lucille pulled out her wallet and tossed a few dollars on the counter.
The new guy—Joey—picked up the bills and went over to the register. He punched in some numbers and the drawer shot open. He scooped up some coins, walked back to where Lucille was standing and gave her a handful of change.
It wasn’t much, a few nickels and a couple of pennies. Lucille dropped it into the jar with the picture of the bald kid where they were collecting money for St. Jude’s Hospital. She said good-bye to Tiffany and headed out the door.
• • •
Just as Lucille had suspected, Jeannette gave her a dirty look when she walked into the church office a couple of minutes later. Father Brennan’s door was closed on account of him being away, and Jeannette was at her computer, staring at Lucille over her half-glasses. Her stare intensified when Lucille set the pizza box on her desk and opened the lid.
Lucille felt guilty for not offering Jeannette one of the slices, but she was starving. She tucked one of the paper napkins into the neck of her blouse and took a big bite of the first piece. She could feel Jeanette’s eyes on her as she chewed, so she swiveled her chair a bit to the right to get a little privacy.
Lucille had finished the first piece and had taken a bite of the second when Jeannette cleared her throat.
“Lucille?”
“Huh?” Lucille went to put the pizza down, but she hadn’t completely bitten through the layer of cheese, and it was now stretching between her mouth and the slice in her hand like a long elastic band. She finally had to reach up and pull the cheese off the piece with her fingers.
Jeannette raised an eyebrow as she watched Lucille.
Like Jeannette drank her tea with her pinkie raised, Lucille thought as she chewed.
“Would you go over to the church and make sure the flowers look okay?”
“Now?”
“Yes.”
Lucille put down her pizza. She’d discovered that with Jeannette the path of least resistance was . . . well, the path of least resistance. She’d finish her second slice when she got back. It was probably good to pace herself anyway.
Lucille got up, pulled her leather jacket back on and left without saying a word. That would show Jeannette.
The wind had picked up, and Lucille hunched her shoulders and pulled the edges of her jacket closer together. She didn’t understand why Jeannette couldn’t go check on the flowers herself. Besides, the flower committee always did a great job, so there was no real need to worry. It was just another opportunity for Jeannette to boss Lucille around and interrupt her lunch.
The church was dark and hushed with that peculiar smell all Catholic churches seemed to have—a combination of incense, dying lilies and damp.
Lucille’s footsteps rang out against the marble floor, and she got up on her tiptoes as she moved forward. It just didn’t seem right to go making so much noise in church, even if it was empty.
As she approached the altar she dutifully paid attention to the flowers. They looked fine to her. Not that she was no expert or nothing. Frankie knew she liked her flowers already arranged and always went to Stahl–Del Duca in Summit and had them make something up for her for Mother’s Day and their anniversary.
Lucille would have lingered in the church in order to stay away from Jeannette for as long as possible, but she kept thinking of that slice of pie growing cold on her desk.
She tiptoed back down the aisle and was about to grab the handle of the heavy wooden front door when someone pushed it open.
Lucille jumped, and she could feel her heart thumping crazily in her chest. She hoped she wasn’t going to have no heart attack on account of being scared like that.
A man walked into the church and at first Lucille didn’t recognize him. He was real pasty white—almost like one of them albinos—and he was walking funny, kind of bent over with his hand pressed to his side.
“Sal!” Lucille exclaimed suddenly.
What was he doing in church when Tiffany was waiting for him over at the pizza parlor? Father Brennan didn’t do no confessions o
n Monday—everybody knew that.
He stared at Lucille. His eyes looked real funny, like they were about to pop out of his head.
“It’s Lucille,” she said to him. “Lucille Mazzarella. We get pizza from your place all the time.”
At first Sal didn’t say anything, and then Lucille noticed his lips move.
“What?” She moved closer so she could hear.
“Help,” he said weakly.
“What’s the matter? Are you sick or something?”
He pulled his hand away from his side. It was covered in blood.
Lucille screamed, and Sal sagged against one of the pews.
“You stay here, and I’ll go call nine-one-one,” Lucille said as she reached for the door.
“No.” He spoke more forcefully this time.
“But you’re bleeding. What happened? Did you have an accident or something?”
Sal shook his head, and even that small motion seemed to tire him. “I need Father Brennan.”
“He ain’t here. He’s off at some luncheon for the archbishop.”
“I want to be baptized. I’ve never been baptized.”
“Now?” Lucille asked incredulously. “Don’t you think we ought to get you fixed up first?” She was all for people being baptized, but there were priorities, after all.
“I’m not going to make it.” Sal slid to the floor, his back against the end of a pew. His face had grown even paler. “Please! Get a priest.”
“But there’s no one here.” Lucille twisted the hem of her top between her hands.
She didn’t know what to do. It didn’t look like Sal could hang on until Father Brennan got back from his lunch, especially if she didn’t get back to the office and call 911 right away.
She was thinking furiously. “Maybe I can do it,” she blurted out. “We learned way back in catechism class that if someone is in danger of dying, and they haven’t been baptized, anybody can administer the sacrament. I remember I always hoped that one day I’d be able to help someone in need.”
“Looks like I’m the answer to your prayers then.”
Sal’s breath had turned raspy and Lucille figured he wasn’t long for this world. No sense asking him a bunch of questions when there was no time to waste.
Lucille ran to the Holy Water font and filled her cupped hands with water. It dribbled down her pants leg as she ran back to Sal, but there was no help for it.
She splashed a drop on his forehead. “Sal, I baptize you in the name of Father”—another splash of water—“the Son”—Lucille opened her hands and let the last drops of water land on Sal’s forehead—“and the Holy Spirit.”
Sal’s eyes closed, and he slumped to the floor. Lucille checked, but his chest was no longer rising and falling.
He was dead.
Chapter 3
For a couple of seconds Lucille was paralyzed. Not that this was the first time she’d encountered a dead body, but it was hardly the sort of thing you became used to no matter how often it happened. For a minute she wondered if she was some kind of jinx and maybe she ought to get Father Brennan to perform one of them exorcisms.
She closed her eyes, but when she opened them, Sal was still lying there dead. She had to get the police—STAT—like they said on them hospital shows Bernadette liked to watch.
She pulled open the door and made her way across the grass toward the path to the rectory. It felt like she was moving in slow motion, like through quicksand or something. Finally she reached the door to the church office and pulled it open.
She burst into the room, breathing hard as if she’d run all the way. Jeannette spun around and stared at her, her eyes going all beady and round. Lucille reached for the phone on her desk and noticed that a hunk of cheese had been pulled off her slice of pizza. She glared at Jeannette as she listened to the phone ringing on the other end, but Jeannette didn’t look away. She didn’t even turn red or nothing.
Finally the dispatcher answered, and Lucille explained the situation. She had to say it all twice because apparently she wasn’t making no sense. At least that’s what the woman on the other end of the phone kept telling her.
“What is going on?” Jeannette asked as soon as Lucille hung up.
“We got ourselves a dead body over in the church. Sal from Sal’s Pizza across the street.”
Jeannette gasped.
“I’ve got to get back there. The cops are on their way.”
She was about to leave but at the last minute turned around and grabbed her slice of pizza. She had half a mind to toss it in the trash knowing that Jeannette had touched it, but she was still hungry. Good thing this tragedy hadn’t hurt her appetite none.
As Lucille walked across the green, she could hear sirens in the distance, and by the time she reached the front door of the church, patrol cars were pulling into the lot and policemen were spilling out. An ambulance pulled in right behind them.
Lucille stuffed the last bite of pizza into her mouth and held the door for the patrolmen who rushed past her. As soon as the two men wheeling a gurney were inside, she let the door close and went to join them.
“Stand back, this is a crime scene,” one of the uniforms said.
“Crime scene? What are you talking about, Gabe? You mean he was . . .”
Gabe nodded his head. “You going to be okay, Aunt Lucille? You want to sit down for a bit?”
As a matter of fact, Lucille wasn’t feeling too good at all. The pizza was beginning to repeat on her. She covered her mouth and burped softly. She knew she had a pack of antacids in her purse, but she’d left it back at the office. She thought of going to get it, but she didn’t want to miss nothing.
Lucille was still hesitating when the door to the church opened. A shaft of light flashed across the floor and was quickly extinguished as the door shut. A man entered, and although it was hard to see his features on account of it was on the dark side, Lucille immediately knew who it was. She recognized his swagger as he walked toward the cops assembled around Sal’s body.
He came toe to toe with Lucille and looked her up and down. He was working a toothpick in the corner of his mouth and had his hands stuffed into the pockets of his leather jacket.
“Again, Lucille?” he said.
“Richie.” The name burst out of Lucille with a combination of relief and dread.
“You keep stumbling over bodies like this and I’m gonna start wondering, you know?”
Lucille scowled at him even though Flo kept telling her that was going to cause wrinkles. “I didn’t have nothing to do with it, I swear.”
“Do you know the guy?”
Lucille shook her head. “Yeah, it’s Sal from Sal’s Pizzeria across the street.”
“He got a last name?”
“Something with a z. It sounds kind of like them machines they use to clean the ice during hockey games.”
“A Zamboni?”
“Yeah, that’s it.”
“That’s his name?”
Lucille scowled again. “No, but something like that.”
“Zambino,” one of the cops in the back piped up. “Sal Zambino.”
Sambucco gave a gusty sigh and shifted the toothpick from the right side of his mouth to the left. “Did you order a pizza from him or something? I mean, who comes to church in the middle of the afternoon on a Monday?” Sambucco looked around. “I don’t see any pizza.” He sniffed. “But I swear I smell it.”
“I picked up a couple of slices at Sal’s before coming over here. My clothes must have picked up the scent.” Lucille sniffed at her sleeve.
“Were you meeting him here or something? What they call one of them rendez-vous?” Sambucco raised his eyebrows up and down, and the cops chuckled.
“No! Me and Frankie’s been together for over twenty-five years. You know that, Richie. No way I’d be meeting another man.” Lucille thought back to the time she and Sambucco almost . . . She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at Sambucco.
“Okay, okay, you do
n’t have to get all bent out of shape about it. It was just a question.” He chomped down on the toothpick. “He say anything to you?”
“Yeah. He said he wanted to be baptized.”
“What the . . .” Sambucco blurted out.
Lucille gave him a stern look.
“Seriously? He said he wanted to be baptized?”
“Yes. And I remembered that back in catechism class the nuns told us we could baptize someone in an emergency, and this looked like an emergency to me so I got some Holy Water and I—”
“So let me get this straight. The guy’s bleeding to death.” Sambucco gestured toward the glistening red puddle surrounding the body. “And he says he wants to be baptized? He doesn’t ask you to call an ambulance or nothing?”
Lucille shook her head.
“Any idea what killed him?” Sambucco turned and looked at the cops and paramedics gathered around the body.
“Stab wound,” a short, heavyset guy in the back said. “Looks like it anyway.”
He kept bouncing from the ball of one foot to the other, what Lucille’s mother would have called having ants in his pants.
“We’ll know more when the ME gets hold of him.”
Lucille thought of one of them cop shows she watched with Frankie, where the medical examiner cut open the body to find out what killed the guy. Suddenly she was sorry she’d eaten both those slices of pizza.
Sambucco looked at Lucille. “I don’t suppose he said anything about how he came to be stabbed? Or who stabbed him?”
“No. All he said was he wanted to be baptized.”
Sambucco let out another gusty sigh. “Why is nothing ever easy?”
One of the cops had disappeared outside and was now back, coming down the aisle with a large black plastic bag in his arms. He laid it out on the marble floor and unzipped it. The harsh sound set Lucille’s teeth on edge.
Sambucco seemed to have noticed and took pity on her. “Lucille, look, you can go now. If there’s anything else you can think to tell us, give me a call, okay? You got my number, don’t you?”
Lucille nodded. She noticed a couple of the cops snicker and poke each other. She gave them the kind of look that Sister Marguerite used to give her second-grade class when they acted up, and they dropped their hands to their sides and looked down at their feet.
