by Peg Cochran
“Yeah, baby,” Archie squawked from his cage in the corner.
“Aw, shut up, would you?” Frank said over his shoulder before turning to kiss Lucille.
“You’re home early,” she said when he let her go. “I haven’t even started dinner yet. I’ve got the fixings for baked penne. I know you always enjoy that.”
“I told Tony he could close up. It’s time he earned his keep a little, you know?” He grabbed Lucille around the waist. “Forget about making dinner, let’s go out. I’m in the mood for a pizza, how about you?”
“Sure. Just let me go freshen up.”
Lucille tiptoed up the stairs—the baby was napping and she didn’t want to wake her. She’d leave Bernadette a note about the penne. She could make it for herself and Tony.
She quickly washed her face, combed her hair and freshened her lipstick. They didn’t go out often on account of it was expensive and half the time the food was no good. But she could always go for a pizza.
“I’m ready.”
Frank was sitting at the kitchen table with the newspaper open in front of him.
He looked Lucille up and down. “You look good. You lose some weight?”
“Yeah, maybe.” Lucille didn’t want to tell him about the diet on account of she wanted her new body to be a surprise.
“Where do you want to go?” Frank asked when they were in the car and backing out of the driveway.
“Sal’s has the best pizza.”
“You sure you don’t mind going there after . . .”
“Nah, it’s okay. If people stop going there, what is Tiffany going to do? She still has to earn a living, after all.”
When they got to Sal’s, the place was dark, and there was a piece of paper taped to the front door: Closed Till Further Notice.
“Well, how do you like that?” Lucille said.
“I’m sure they’ll open again after the funeral and all that.”
“I’m kind of surprised though. They got this new guy working there—Joey. You’d think he could run the joint while Tiffany saw to the arrangements.” Lucille shrugged. “Where should we go?”
“We can try Rocky’s,” Frank said and gestured to the pizza parlor across the street.
They crossed Springfield Avenue. The place was a little more upscale than Sal’s, with Rocky’s Pizza Parlor spelled out in fancy script neon letters.
“They must be doing okay,” Frankie said, pointing to small sign in the window with Part-time help wanted printed on it.
“Smells good,” Lucille said as they pulled open the door.
The place was crowded, but they were able to get a booth in the corner. That was where they always sat when they were dating. Lucille didn’t know where all the time had gone. Just yesterday they were teenagers holding hands and sharing a soda and now they were married with a daughter and a granddaughter.
They ordered a pizza with the works—pepperoni, mushrooms, sausage, onions and extra cheese. But no green pepper—Lucille found it always repeated on her.
“I still can’t believe it about Sal,” Frankie said as the waitress slid their pizza in front of them. “And it looks like the cops don’t have any idea who did it.”
“Or why,” Lucille added as she took a bite of her slice. “He wasn’t robbed or nothing. They found his wallet in his pocket with plenty of twenty-dollar bills in it.”
Frankie pointed toward the front door. “Looks like we got here just in time. There’s a whole bunch of people waiting.”
“Yeah, with Sal’s closed, there’s no competition now.”
Lucille had her slice halfway to her mouth when a thought occurred to her. She looked at Frankie. “What if Rocky had something to do with Sal’s death? So he could get all the business for himself? Look at this place. It’s packed.”
Frank raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you think that’s kind of . . . extreme?”
Lucille shrugged. “I don’t know. You read stuff like that in the papers all the time.”
Lucille looked down and busied herself with rearranging the pepperoni slices on her pizza. She had an idea but she didn’t want to say nothing to Frankie about it.
“You’re not getting any ideas, are you, Lu? Last time you went investigating you almost got killed.”
“Who, me? No, of course not,” Lucille said, stuffing a bite of pizza into her mouth so she couldn’t say anything more.
Chapter 6
“You want to do what?” Flo asked.
Lucille had phoned her as soon as she got home and as soon as Frankie was safely downstairs with some cop show blaring on the television.
“This way I can get close to Rocky and maybe I’ll hear something.” Lucille twirled the phone cord around her finger as she looked at the mess in her kitchen.
Bernadette had made dinner all right, but hadn’t bothered to clean up. There was red sauce all over the stove, dishes stacked in the sink and the rest of the baked penne was still sitting out on the counter. Lucille sighed. She knew it was hard getting anything done when you had a small baby. It seemed like just yesterday she was trying to care for Bernadette, keep the house clean and get food on the table. She was proud of the job she’d done. Frankie always came home to a hot meal and Bernadette’s toys were always picked up by dinnertime, even if the furniture wasn’t dusted and the rug needed vacuuming.
“But Lucille,” Flo protested. “You’ve never waited tables before.”
“I’ve helped out at St. Rocco’s spaghetti dinner for the last five years. Don’t that count for something?”
She could hear Flo sigh over the telephone line. “People aren’t exactly demanding at the spaghetti dinner. You’re going to be run off your feet at the pizza parlor.”
“Yeah, but I promised Ma that I’d do my best to solve the case. You said yourself that Richie said the police are getting nowhere.”
“But they’re working on it, believe me. Richie said he expects a breakthrough any day now. He won’t like this, Lucille”
“Then don’t go telling him, okay?” And she hung up.
• • •
Lucille was up early the next morning and so was everyone else. Little Lucy woke the whole house before six a.m.
Frank rolled over and peered at the alarm clock. “I can’t wait till those two save up enough money to move out,” he grumbled.
“Yeah. As much as I love having the baby around, it’s awful cramped with all of us under one roof. I don’t know how they managed in the old days with everyone living together and five kids sharing the same bed.” Lucille fished around for her slippers. “Besides, it’s two more mouths for us to feed.” She thought of the mess in the kitchen the night before. “And plenty more work.”
“You talk to Bernadette any more about getting the baby baptized?” Frank asked as he yawned and stretched.
“No. I thought I’d let it rest for a bit and then sneak up on the idea like. You know Bernadette. When she digs her heels in, there’s no moving her.”
Frankie grunted.
While Frankie showered and got dressed, Lucille scrambled some eggs and put two slices of bread in the toaster. She actually didn’t mind being up early and watched impatiently as Frank dawdled over his second cup of coffee.
“Don’t you think you oughta be going?” Lucille glanced at the clock over the sink.
“Why? You got your lover waiting outside in the bushes?”
Lucille laughed along with him. No lovers, she thought, Frankie was all she needed. But she did want to get to Rocky’s Pizza Parlor first thing. She was going to apply for that waitress job no matter what Flo thought about it. If she could work it in around her hours at the office at St. Rocco’s, everything would be just fine.
• • •
A woman was opening the back door to Rocky’s Pizza as Lucille pulled into a space in the parking lot. She was about ten years younger than Lucille and was wearing dark jeans and a T-shirt that said Rocky—the King of Pizza on it. Underneath the words was a caricature of Rock
y wearing a crown.
“Yeah?” she said when she noticed Lucille standing behind her.
“I want to apply for the part-time job. I saw the sign in your window last night.”
“Come on in, then. I been run off my feet with the crowds we been getting. I could use some help.”
Lucille followed her into a room with huge coolers along one wall and boxes stacked along the other.
“Rocky’s not here yet, so you’ll have to wait. You can sit at one of the tables. You want a glass of water or something?”
Lucille shook her head, went through to the restaurant and slid into one of the booths. She was a little nervous and sent up a prayer to St. Martha, patron saint of waiters and waitresses.
A couple of minutes later she heard the back door open and the sound of a man’s voice, and then Rocky himself walked into the restaurant. He was short and stout with a head of thick, dark hair. He, too, was wearing a T-shirt with his picture on it, although the way it strained across his belly, it made his face look all stretched out. Lucille tried not to stare at it as he slid into the booth opposite her.
“So Nicole says you want to apply for the part-time job.” He fiddled with the gold link bracelet he wore on his right wrist.
“Yeah.” Lucille was fascinated by his gold and diamond pinky ring. The way the light caught it, it looked like it was winking at her.
“You got any experience?”
“Sure, sure,” Lucille said, thinking about the spaghetti dinners.
“With pizza?”
“Sure, sure,” Lucille said. She’d been eating pizza all her life, hadn’t she?
Rocky took a packet of sugar from the container on the table, ripped it open, and poured it into his mouth.
What kind of breakfast was that? Lucille wondered. Didn’t the missus make him something to eat in the mornings? Of course, maybe there was no missus. He wasn’t wearing a wedding ring—just the fancy pinky ring with the diamonds.
Rocky blew out a breath. “Can you start today? Now?”
“Sure, sure,” Lucille said for what felt like the one millionth time.
Rocky slapped the table. “Great. You’re hired. Go see Nicole. She’ll fix you up with a T-shirt and show you what to do.”
Lucille took the T-shirt Nicole handed her and went into the ladies’ room to change. She looked around and decided the first order of business was to give the place a good scrub. She’d ask Nicole about getting a bucket and a sponge.
The T-shirt was a little tight, but Lucille figured it would fit just fine once she lost some more weight. Besides, she wasn’t planning on sticking around all that long—only until she got the information she was after. Although if the tips were good, it might be worth keeping the job a bit longer—maybe she could make enough for her and Frankie to rent a place down the shore next summer. Bernadette and Tony could bring the baby, maybe Flo and Richie would come for a few days, too. Lucille was lost in that pleasant daydream when Nicole knocked on the door.
“Everything okay? Shirt fit all right?”
“Coming.” Lucille opened the door.
Nicole handed her an apron. She was working a piece of minty gum, but Lucille could smell the smoke on her. She must have been out back having a cigarette.
“Okay, let’s get started,” she said as Lucille tied on her apron. “Go check all the tables and make sure the salt and pepper shakers, the red pepper shakers, and the parmesan cheese shakers are full. Get yourself a tray”—she pointed to a stack of them behind the counter—“and collect the ones that need filling.”
That was easy enough, Lucille thought. Less than ten minutes later she had an assortment of shakers on her tray. She took them over to Nicole. Lucille was helping her refill them when a male voice drifted out from the back room. It wasn’t Rocky—it was someone else. Probably the guy who makes the pizzas, Lucille thought.
She was turning to take the tray of refilled shakers back to the tables when a man entered the room, whistling. Lucille was so startled she almost dropped the tray.
It was Joey from Sal’s Pizzeria. What was he doing working here at Rocky’s? He must have quit. Maybe that was why Tiffany had had to shut the restaurant down—she didn’t have no one to help her out.
By eleven o’clock the restaurant was starting to get busy. Lucille found that waiting the tables wasn’t all that different from waitressing at St. Rocco’s annual spaghetti dinner, no matter what Flo said. She retrieved a couple of bucks from the table she’d just cleared. This here job was turning out better than expected. She’d pocketed quite a few tips already. She wished things would slow down though so she’d have the chance to talk to Nicole and see if she knew anything.
Lucille and Nicole were standing side by side at the counter, waiting while Joey retrieved two pies from the oven.
“It’s good to see the place this busy,” Nicole said, cracking her gum. “There was a time when I thought Rocky was going to go under and I was going to have to find another job.”
“No kidding.”
Nicole nodded. “Yeah, it was rough for a while there. All on account of that guy finding a roach baked into his pizza.”
Lucille shuddered.
“The Board of Health shut us down for a week while they did an inspection. It was in all the papers.”
Lucille had a vague recollection of something like that, but she thought it was around the time of Bernadette’s wedding and the baby being born, and she had had her mind tied up with all that stuff.
“Rocky was convinced that Sal Zambino had a hand in it. Probably sent the guy in with a dead roach and had him put it in his slice of pizza, then make a big stink about it. He’s hated Sal’s guts ever since.”
Lucille didn’t have much time to think about that bit of news because her customer’s pizza was ready. She delivered the pizza—it had stuff like ham and pineapple on it. Lucille didn’t hold with these so-called Hawaiian pizzas. No self-respecting Italian would eat a pie with pineapple on it. It was a disgrace.
She headed back to the counter to wait for her next order—a couple of plain slices for two white-haired ladies sitting at a table in front.
Joey popped the slices into the oven to warm them, then picked up a ball of dough and began to stretch it between his hands.
“So how come you’re not working at Sal’s no more?” Lucille said, leaning her elbows on the counter. Her back was starting to kill her. When she got home she’d take a bath with some Epsom salts. That always helped.
“Sal’s is closed,” Joey said as he twirled the dough in the air.
“But just for now, right? Just till the funeral is over and all.”
Joey shook his head. “No. Tiffany’s decided to close the place for good. I needed to find another place to work. Fortunately, Rocky was looking for someone.”
Joey quickly spread tomato sauce on the pie and sprinkled on a good helping of grated mozzarella. He tilted the bowl toward him.
“Looks like we need more cheese.” He turned to Lucille. “You take over while I go grate some.”
“Me?”
“Yeah. Rocky said you had experience.”
“Sure, sure,” Lucille said. She hoped she wasn’t going to go to hell for lying. She’d have to be sure to get to confession this week.
Joey disappeared into the back and Lucille slipped behind the counter. She could feel the sweat breaking out. It sure was hot back here with those ovens going. She opened one of them and slid in the pizza Joey had just made like she’d seen him do. It slid off the paddle easily enough.
That wasn’t so hard, Lucille thought. She wiped her hands on her apron.
Nicole snapped her fingers. “I need a large with mushrooms and sausage,” she called to Lucille.
A large with mushrooms and sausage. Lucille stared at the ingredients spread out on the butcher block counter. She knew how to cook. She ought to be able to do this.
She grabbed a round of dough and began to stretch it the way she’d seen it done countless t
imes. The circle began to get bigger, and Lucille’s confidence grew. She gave it a little twirl, and it stretched some more. This was actually kind of fun, she thought. She was pretty good at this—wait till she told Flo. Another little twirl and it was almost as big as the pan.
It was then that Lucille decided to go for the finale—she tossed the dough in the air the way Joey had done.
It came down and landed on her face.
Chapter 7
“What’s going on?”
Rocky’s voice boomed loudly in Lucille’s ear, and she cringed. She was still peeling pizza dough off her face and picking it out of her hair.
“That one didn’t come out so good,” Lucille said.
Rocky’s face turned even redder. “You’re fired,” he shouted, pointing toward the exit.
Lucille scurried into the back room, picked up her purse and her top and ran out the door, half afraid that Rocky was going to throw something at her. She’d never been so glad to be tucked away safely inside the Olds. Fortunately it turned over on the first try, and she shot out of the parking lot and down the street, oblivious to the horns blaring behind her.
That hadn’t worked out so well. But she’d gotten some very interesting information, and it looked as if she was going to be able to keep the T-shirt.
Lucille pulled into her driveway, buzzed up the garage door and put the Olds away. The phone was ringing as she was walking into the house. It was Flo.
“Lucille? You want to grab a late lunch?”
“Sure.” Lucille looked at the clock and was surprised to see it was only a quarter after one. It felt like an eternity since she’d left the house earlier that morning.
“What would you like? Pizza?”
“Anything but pizza,” Lucille said vehemently.
“Okay, there’s a little sandwich shop down the street from here. Will that do?”
“Yeah, that sounds good.”
“I’ll meet you there in ten, okay?”
Lucille had hung her leather jacket over one of the kitchen chairs. She put it back on and went out to the car.
