by Peg Cochran
“In fragrance del . . . whatever you said. What does that mean?” Lucille suddenly forgot about the chips.
“I think it’s Italian for caught in the act.” Melissa shrugged.
“You don’t say! Who was the woman?”
“Some tacky bimbo. I didn’t recognize her. She wasn’t nothing special if you ask me.” She reached for a back scratcher that was sitting on the coffee table and stuck it down inside her cast. “Of course the wife has that scar on her face, and she walks kind of funny. But still . . .”
“I know what you mean. That’s no excuse for stepping out. For better or worse. The good with the bad. Those there are the marriage vows.”
Melissa flopped back against the pillows. “Except I heard she had the scar before he married her. Still . . .”
“That’s what I heard, too.” Lucille eyed the chips one last time. “So is there anything else you can tell me about this gal he was sneaking around with? What did she look like?”
“Dark hair. Dark eyes. I didn’t notice much—frankly, I was too embarrassed. I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me.”
“Do you remember anything else?”
Melissa scrunched up her face. “No, not really. Except there was a red Mustang parked in front of the house when I got there. If I’d of known, I’d never have gone inside, if you know what I mean.” She shuddered. “It was horrible. I mean seeing them like that . . .”
Lucille nodded sympathetically. “I can just imagine.”
Lucille gave one last glance at the corn chips and began to get up. “Listen, thanks so much for letting me stop by. I appreciate it.”
Melissa started to struggle to her feet, but Lucille stopped her.
“You sit, I’ll just lock the door in back of me.”
Melissa nodded.
“Thanks, again.” Lucille pulled open the front door to the apartment. The wind had picked up and nearly grabbed it from her hand.
She walked down the path and looked up at the sky. The clouds were darkening and it looked like rain.
That was something what Melissa had said about finding Sal and this bimbo in the clutch, so to speak. Had Tiffany walked in on them at some point herself? And got mad enough to stab Sal?
There was only one thing worrying Lucille. Flo had a red Mustang just like the one Melissa saw parked outside Sal’s house. She was pretty sure Flo didn’t have nothing to do with Sal—other people probably had red Mustangs, too. After all, they didn’t make this one special just for Flo.
But it still worried her so much that she forgot all about the corn chips on the way back home.
• • •
Bernadette was in the kitchen with Lucy when Lucille got home.
“How’s my little granddaughter?” Lucille said, holding out her arms for the baby.
Lucy gurgled and settled her head against Lucille’s shoulder. Lucille automatically started to rock from side to side.
“You know, holding a baby is like riding a bike. You never forget how.”
Bernadette grunted. Her arms hung limply at her sides, as if she didn’t know what to do with them when she wasn’t holding her daughter.
“How are you and Tony coming along with the deposit on a house?”
Bernadette shrugged. “Okay, I guess.”
“You guess? Any idea when you’ll be getting your own place?”
Just then Lucy began to wail.
“She’s hungry,” Bernadette said.
Lucille handed the baby back to her daughter. “Any thoughts on getting her baptized? We don’t have to go through a whole big rigmarole or nothing. Just take her over to the church and have Father Brennan perform the ceremony quick like. Just you and Tony, me and Frankie, Flo and Aunt Angela and Grandma Theresa and—”
“No.”
“What do you mean, no?”
“No, okay? I told you—me and Tony don’t believe in baptism so I’m not going to change my mind.”
Oh, yes you are going to change your mind or my name isn’t Lucille Mazzarella. If worse came to worse, Lucille would borrow Lucy for an hour or two and take her over to the church herself.
• • •
Lucille opened the refrigerator and stood in front of it, undecided. She rummaged around and found a plastic container of leftover baked penne from the other night. She’d skipped breakfast so she figured she could have a little more than usual for lunch. It was all about balance is what she’d read in some women’s magazine.
She put the pasta in the microwave and set the timer for a minute. There were thirty seconds left when the phone rang.
Lucille grabbed the receiver. “Hello?”
“Hello, Mrs. Mazzarella?”
“Yes.” Hardly nobody ever called her Mrs. Mazzarella, and it sounded strange to Lucille.
“This is Dave Smith from the National Life Insurance Company.”
“Yeah?”
“Do you have a moment to talk?”
The timer had dinged on the microwave, and Lucille looked at it longingly. She was starved, but she figured she ought to give the guy a chance to tell her why he was calling. Maybe it was something important.
“Yeah, sure.”
“I’m sure you realize that protecting your family is important.”
It sure is, Lucille thought. Like having your kids baptized.
“Have you given any thought to purchasing life insurance?” Dave asked.
“No, we haven’t. It’s enough to pay the mortgage every month and put food on the table.”
“I understand, believe me, I understand. But you can insure your family’s future for pennies a day. What if something were to happen to your husband, for instance?”
Nothing better happen to Frankie, Lucille thought. She wasn’t planning on being no widow. She was going to go first. She thought about the second mammogram she’d just had. Maybe she was already dying?
“We can offer you one hundred thousand dollars in protection for only a few dollars a month. Isn’t the security of knowing your family is protected worth that much?”
Lucille glanced longingly at the microwave. Her pasta had probably already cooled down. She didn’t want to reheat it too many times on account of the penne would get soft. She wished this Dave guy would get to the point.
“I’d like to come by and discuss some of our products with you,” he said.
Products? First he’s talking about insurance and now suddenly it’s products?
“I think it would be better if you talked to my husband when he’s home,” Lucille said. “We don’t make no big decisions without talking it over first.”
“Can I call this evening?”
Lucille had stretched the phone cord as far as it would go and was edging toward the microwave. “Yeah, sure, sure. Call back tonight.”
She hung up the phone. Phew. She thought he’d never stop talking. Now she could finally eat her lunch.
She was spooning the pasta into a bowl when she remembered the conversation she’d had with Flo about Sal Zambino having life insurance and the rumors that he had been cheating on Tiffany. And maybe his wife knew about the insurance and decided to move things along a little—before Sal threw her over for someone else? She thought about the Grabowskis and how Alex Grabowski had taken out that big policy on his wife Donna.
Of course, it wasn’t Alex who’d killed Donna in the end—someone else had beat him to it.
But that didn’t mean that Tiffany wasn’t the one who stabbed Sal. Maybe she knew about the mistress and decided she’d rather be a rich widow than run a pizza parlor all her life or have her husband take off with another woman, leaving her high and dry.
As soon as Lucille finished her lunch she called Flo.
“Do you think that Sal might have had one of them life insurance policies and Tiffany was after the money?”
“It’s possible.”
“I wonder how we could find out?”
“I don’t think we can, Lucille.”
“Maybe Ti
ffany has the policy stashed away at home somewhere?”
“No,” Flo said vehemently. “I know what you’re thinking. No more breaking and entering, Lucille. I’m dating a cop, remember? Think of how it would look. One of these days we’re going to get caught and end up in Rahway State Prison.”
Flo slammed the phone down.
Sheesh, Lucille thought. When had Flo become so touchy?
Chapter 11
Frank was whistling when he came in the door after work. Lucille was in the kitchen staring into the refrigerator trying to decide what to make everyone for dinner. She had a fresh batch of chicken breasts, but there was that package of pork chops she’d bought on the manager’s special. Maybe she ought to cook those first.
“Hey.” Frank grabbed Lucille by the waist and danced her around the kitchen. “Guess what?”
Lucille giggled as Frank dipped her like they used to do back when they was younger. “What?”
“We scored a great, big, gigantic, enormous account today.”
“You did?”
“Yes, and they signed a contract for the whole year. This is really going to boost our profits, Lucille. We might even be able to rent a little place down the shore this summer as well as take that trip to Vegas.”
“That’s great, Frankie.”
“We gotta celebrate. How about we go to dinner at Rocky’s and order something special off the menu? I heard they do a great pasta Alfredo.”
Lucille froze. She could never show her face in Rocky’s again. What was she going to tell Frank?
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” Lucille said, but even to her own ears she didn’t sound none too convincing.
“You got something special planned for dinner?”
“No, but what about the kids?”
“Let them order a pizza or something.”
“How about we try that new place that opened up in Berkeley Heights? What’s it called?”
“We can go there another time. I’ve got a real taste for pasta Alfredo.” Frank gave Lucille a little shove. “Go on. Go powder your nose or whatever it is you gals do to get ready.”
Lucille went up the stairs slowly. What was she going to do? She couldn’t go to Rocky’s but Frankie obviously had his heart set on it. Maybe Rocky wouldn’t remember her. In his business, he saw a lot of people every day. She’d be just another familiar face he couldn’t quite place. Maybe he wouldn’t even be there. With any luck, he’d have gone home for his own dinner.
Lucille put on some lipstick, dabbed a bit of powder on her nose and went downstairs.
Frank talked excitedly about his new client all the way to the restaurant, but Lucille hardly heard a word he said. It was chilly out, but she was sweating inside her leather jacket. She scuttled behind Frank as they entered the restaurant and slid into an empty booth. She looked around quickly but didn’t see Rocky.
Nicole came by and dropped a couple of menus on their table. She was in a hurry and didn’t seem to notice Lucille, but Lucille made sure to keep her head down whenever she passed by.
The door to the restaurant opened, and Frank waved to whoever walked in. Lucille swiveled around in her seat and was surprised to see Flo and Richie heading toward them.
Frank waved them over to their table.
“Why don’t you join us?”
“Don’t mind if we do.” Flo slid into the booth next to Frank and Richie sat down next to Lucille.
Lucille inched away from Richie. He was the only guy she’d ever dated besides Frankie—the one time she and Frankie had had a fight and broken up for two months—and she had to admit, he still made her hot all over.
Nicole came by with two more menus, and Lucille quickly put hers up in front of her face and pretended to be studying it intently.
“I know what I’m having, the pasta Alfredo. Ralph from church says it’s the best he’s ever had.” Frank threw his menu down on the table.
Lucille couldn’t concentrate on the entrées. What was she going to do when Nicole came back to take their order? She’d surely notice Lucille then.
Flo and Richie put down their menus as well and a minute later Nicole appeared at their table with her pencil poised above her order pad.
“What’ll it be today, folks?” She seemed distracted and kept looking over her shoulder.
Lucille kept her menu opened in front of her face while the others ordered. “I’ll have the chicken parmigiana,” she said when it was her turn.
Nicole held her hand out for the menu, and Lucille passed it to her, keeping her head turned to the side and looking away.
Flo gave Lucille a curious look and raised her eyebrows. That was fine for Flo, Lucille thought. The waitress hadn’t gotten a good look at her the other night. Lucille was the one who had spent the day working at Rocky’s. There was no way Nicole wouldn’t recognize her. It was a miracle Nicole hadn’t noticed her yet. Lucille sent up a prayer to St. Joshua. He was the patron saint of spies, and Lucille figured spies had to stay hidden away, right? And that was pretty much what she was doing right now.
Richie reached across the table and took Flo’s hand. Flo seemed slightly uncomfortable. Lucille shot a look at Frank. He used to do stuff like that when they were dating, but romance went out the window when you had kids and a mortgage to deal with and the routine of married life set in. It made her feel kind of wistful though. It would be nice to have some spice back in their life again.
Nicole headed toward their table with a tray laden with dishes. She placed it on a stand and began doling out the entrees. Lucille kept her head down, pretending to be looking for something in her purse. She could feel Nicole’s eyes on her, and the woman hesitated for several long seconds before turning away and heading back to the kitchen with the empty tray.
Lucille let out a sigh of relief. Now Nicole wouldn’t be bothering them no more, and she could eat her meal in peace. Suddenly she was starved. She was really glad she’d read about this here Paleo diet because it meant she could have things like chicken and cheese and pasta. Who could live without pasta?
Lucille had her fork halfway to her mouth when Rocky came out of the kitchen to stand by the counter in front of the pizza oven. Why hadn’t she chosen to sit facing the other way? Lucille thought. She quickly ducked under the table.
“What’s the matter?” Flo asked.
“Nothing. I dropped my napkin.”
“Here, I’ve got an extra one,” Frankie said.
“It’s fine. I’ll just pick this here one up off the floor, and everything will be fine.” Lucille wondered how long she could pretend to be fishing underneath the table. Was the coast clear? Had Rocky gone back into the kitchen?
She felt Flo kick her lightly and figured that was Flo’s way of telling her she could come out of hiding. She grabbed her napkin from her lap and held it up triumphantly, but everyone was too busy eating to notice. Lucille glanced toward the front of the restaurant, and Rocky was gone. He must be back in the kitchen.
She picked up her fork and began to eat. The chicken parmigiana was excellent, although she herself would have gone a little easier on the salt. Still, it was a meal she hadn’t had to make herself, and she was going to enjoy every bite of it. She and Frank didn’t go out often—and it was pizza or a hamburger most of the time—so this here was a special occasion.
They were finishing their meal when Lucille noticed Nicole heading their way again.
“Excuse me.” She gave Richie a shove. “I’ve got to use the little girl’s room.”
Richie stood up to let Lucille pass. She nearly knocked him over in her haste to get away.
Lucille closed the door to the ladies’ room with a sigh of relief. Unfortunately she couldn’t stay in there forever. Nicole would be coming back to take their dessert order and then bring their check. Why hadn’t she insisted to Frankie that they go someplace else?
Lucille cracked open the door. The coast was clear. Richie had moved over in the booth and was busy t
alking to Frank. Lucille sat down beside him. While Lucille was gone, Nicole had cleared the table and left dessert menus.
“No dessert for me,” Flo said. “I’ve got to keep my girlish figure.” She smiled coyly at Richie but he was still deep in conversation with Frank about the odds of the Giants making the Super Bowl.
Lucille scanned the offerings. She could go for something sweet. What would the cavemen have eaten for dessert? She figured apple pie was her best bet. They had to have had apples—Adam and Eve had had them in the Garden of Eden, and that was way before the cavemen. And if they could make bread in their ovens, why not bake a pie?
Nicole approached their table, and Lucille grabbed her purse from the floor, put it in her lap and bent her head over it as if she was looking for something.
“And what will you have?”
Lucille kept her head down. “The apple pie,” she mumbled. She breathed a sigh of relief when Nicole moved away again.
Moments later, Nicole was on her way back to their table with their dessert order and a pot of coffee.
“How about those Giants?” Lucille said, turning her head toward Frank and Richie so quickly she almost gave herself whiplash. They both looked at her oddly and then went back to their discussion.
Nicole returned to the kitchen, and Lucille looked around the room. Rocky was sure doing a good business—the place was packed. It was good luck for him that Sal had been killed. Speaking of Sal . . . was that Tiffany in the booth toward the front? Lucille squinted. It sure looked like her. And she was sitting with a man. He had his back to Lucille, but she could see he had dark hair and broad shoulders. Tiffany was leaning toward him, talking earnestly.
Had Tiffany already taken up with someone else?
The man opposite Tiffany started to shift in his seat and finally got up. Lucille could only see his profile, but she could tell right away that it was Joey. The two of them had been looking awful cozy together. Was Joey another reason Tiffany had wanted Sal out of the way?
Lucille quickly bent her head over her apple pie. There was no telling whether Joey would recognize her or not. She was finishing up her dessert when a movement at the back of the restaurant caught her eye. Rocky had come out of the kitchen again and was going from table to table greeting the customers.
