by Peg Cochran
Lucille felt her dinner starting to repeat on her, and sweat was breaking out in her armpits. She dug around in her purse for the roll of Tums she always kept with her. She popped a few in her mouth.
Rocky was getting closer. Could she run to the ladies’ room again, pleading stomach trouble? But she’d have to go past Rocky to get there and he might recognize her and make a scene. The sweat was now dripping down Lucille’s sides. She fanned herself with a napkin.
Now Rocky was talking to the table just ahead of theirs. Lucille kept her head down over her plate.
“Did you hear the news about Mrs. De Pasquale’s granddaughter?” Flo said
“No,” Lucille said without looking up.
“I heard from Gina when I went to get my haircut that . . . Lucille, what are you doing? Why aren’t you looking at me?”
Lucille looked up long enough to see that Rocky was approaching them. She slipped off her seat and ducked under the table. Rocky was now so close she could see the tips of his highly polished Gucci loafers. Lucille wormed her way around the table legs and past Flo’s feet until she could crawl out. Her back bumped the underside of the table, sending several coffee cups sliding to the floor.
“You!” Rocky roared when he got a glimpse of Lucille’s face.
But Lucille was already on her way out the front door.
Chapter 12
“What were you thinking?” Frank said for the one millionth time as he and Lucille lay in bed.
“I wasn’t thinking, okay? Can we stop talking about it now?”
“But you don’t know anything about making pizzas. And I thought you liked your job over at St. Rocco’s.”
“I do. I do. I just thought I’d see about bringing in some extra money.”
Lucille had cracked the bedroom window, and the room was cool, but she was sweating. So far Frankie thought she’d only taken the job at Rocky’s Pizza to earn a little cash. He didn’t know she was snooping, and she hoped to keep it that way. She was pretty sure he wouldn’t like it if he found out.
“Business is going good, Lucille. With this new client, we’re going to be making some money. You don’t need to go getting no second part-time job, okay?”
“Sure, sure.” Lucille rolled on her side. “I talked to Bernadette again,” Lucille said, changing the subject, “but you know how stubborn that girl can get. She still won’t take little Lucy to be baptized.”
“I think you should leave her alone, Lu.”
“You don’t mean that. Come on, Frankie.”
“I don’t know, Lu. I think I’m losing my faith. There’s so much crap going on in the world, it’s hard to believe there really is a God up there.”
Lucille reached for Frankie’s hand. “You’re just a little depressed is all. You can’t lose your faith, Frankie. We’ve all got to be together in heaven. Like it says in the Bible. I don’t want to go to heaven if you’re not going to be there. Or little Lucy because they never got her baptized. How about you go talk to Father Brennan?”
“What good is that going to do?”
Lucille stared into the darkness. “I’m sure he’s got some kind of special blessing.”
Frank sighed. “You mean like some hocus-pocus? Say a prayer and all will be well.”
Lucille gasped. “Frankie, don’t talk like that.” She sent up a quick prayer to St. Rita, the patron saint of desperate situations. First Bernadette, and now Frankie? What was happening? Had the devil cast some kind of spell on them all? Would she be next? Lucille didn’t know what she would do without her faith. It got her through the rough times and kept her going. If she stopped believing in heaven and an afterlife, what did that mean? That this was it?
She was going to talk to Father Brennan herself. Get him to talk some sense into Frankie, and Bernadette, too, while he was at it.
“Good night, Lucille,” Frankie said, rolling away from her.
“Good night, Frankie.”
Soon she heard Frankie’s deep, even breathing, but she knew that for her, sleep wasn’t going to come so easy tonight.
• • •
“You sound down, Lucille,” Flo said.
Lucille wound the phone cord around her hand. “Yeah, I guess I am. It’s on account of what Frankie said last night on top of Bernadette being so stubborn about getting Lucy baptized.”
“The clinic is closed today. Dr. Hacker is away at a medical conference. How about we grab a cup of coffee and you can tell me all about it?”
“Sure, that sounds good.”
“Meet me at Old Glory in half an hour?”
“Fine. I’ll see you then.”
Lucille hung up the phone. She noticed some toast crumbs on the kitchen table. She swept them into the palm of her hand and tossed them in the sink.
She didn’t know what she’d do without Flo. Sure, they’d had their falling outs, but they were like family—they always got back together again.
“I’m taking Lucy for a walk.” Bernadette stuck her head through the kitchen door.
Lucille followed Bernadette out to the foyer and watched as Bernadette snapped the baby into her little pink jacket and pulled the knitted cap Grandma Theresa had made over Lucy’s soft brown curls.
Lucy sat in her stroller kicking her legs and trying to grab Bernadette’s hair in her chubby fist. Lucille felt her heart swell with love until she thought it would burst. She watched as Bernadette pushed the stroller down the front walk to the sidewalk. Please God, don’t let anything happen to the two of them, she prayed silently as they disappeared around the corner.
By the time Lucille powdered her nose and combed her hair, it was time to leave. She checked that the gas was off on the stove—she’d been so absentminded lately, what with worrying about everything—she was afraid she was going to do something stupid like leave it on. Mrs. DiGiorgio, a friend of her mother’s from the Senior Center, had done that, only the flame had gone out and the house had filled with gas. Her daughter-in-law had had to get the fire department to come over and check things out on account of she was afraid the whole house might blow up. Mrs. DiGiorgio wasn’t allowed to touch the stove no more unless someone was there to watch her.
Flo’s red Mustang was pulled up in front of the Old Glory when Lucille got there. She remembered what that girl Melissa had said—about how a red Mustang had been parked outside of Sal’s house the day she walked in on him and his bimbo. It couldn’t possibly have been Flo’s car. She and Richie were an item now, Flo wouldn’t go around playing with no other guy—especially not Sal Zambino. Besides, no matter what Flo thought, Sal was a lot younger and not likely to be interested in someone Flo’s age. She’d better not say nothing on account of Flo could react like an entire nest of angry hornets when she got upset.
“Lucille,” Flo called from a corner table when Lucille pushed open the door.
There were only a handful of other people in the restaurant—most of them nursing cups of coffee.
Lucille sat down opposite Flo. Even though it was Flo’s day off, she had her hair and makeup done to perfection. Flo was like that. She always looked good.
Flo pointed at Lucille’s top. “Looks like you’ve got some kind of spot there, Lucille.”
Lucille looked down. She scraped at the spot with her fingernail. It must have come from the eggs she’d had for breakfast.
The waitress swooped down on them with a pot of hot coffee. She raised her eyebrows at Lucille. Lucille nodded her head, and the woman splashed some coffee into her cup.
“So what’s up?” Flo asked when the waitress moved away.
Lucille explained about Frankie and Bernadette.
Flo reached over and patted Lucille’s hand. “They’ll both come around, you’ll see. That was a close call at dinner last night,” Flo said, stirring some sugar into her cup.
“No kidding.” Just thinking about it made Lucille break out in a sweat. “But I did see something interesting.”
Flo stopped with her spoon in mid-stir. “What�
�s that?”
“Tiffany was there with Joey last night. And they was looking awful cozy, if you know what I mean.”
“Tiffany and Joey . . .”
Lucille nodded.
Flo whistled. “So maybe Tiffany did off Sal, after all. So she could take up with Joey.”
“It looks like it, don’t it?”
“And then there’s the insurance angle you mentioned—assuming you’re right about that.”
“You know what we ought to do? We ought to go take a drive past Tiffany’s place. See if maybe Joey’s car isn’t parked outside seeing as how it’s still morning, and I don’t think he starts at the pizza parlor until lunchtime.”
“Good idea.”
Lucille frowned. “There’s just one thing. How are we going to know if it’s Joey’s car parked outside or not?”
Flo dug around in her purse. “I’ve got a friend who works at the DMV. Bruce. Maybe I can sweet-talk him into looking up Joey’s registration for us.”
“Him?”
“Don’t get your panties in a bunch. He’s gay. Used to sweep the floors at the Clip and Curl when I worked there.”
“What are you waiting for then?”
Flo had had to promise Bruce that she would give him her leopard-print calf-hair booties when she didn’t want them anymore, but he finally agreed to look up Joey’s registration. He reported back that Joey drove a white Chrysler Neon, license plate XQV J33.
Flo said good-bye to Bruce and tapped some keys on her phone.
“What are you doing now?”
“I’m checking the white pages for Tiffany’s address. Unless you know it . . . ?” Flo looked at Lucille over the top of her half-glasses.
Lucille shook her head.
“Zambino, right?”
Lucille grunted. “You mean you can do all that on your phone?” She gestured toward the cell in Flo’s hand.
“Sure. That’s why they call them smart phones.”
Lucille grunted again. They called them smart phones because you had to be smart to figure them out. She’d been lucky she’d even been able to make a call on the one she’d had. And then only after Bernadette had spent a couple of hours showing her how the thing worked.
Flo frowned at the phone in her hand. “Looks like Tiffany lives on Evergreen Avenue. I think that’s over by the community pool.”
“Yeah.” Lucille picked up the check the waitress had dropped on their table. “I’m pretty sure I know where it is.”
“We’ll leave your car here and take mine. Then we can use my GPS just in case,” Flo called over her shoulder as they headed toward the cashier’s desk.
• • •
Tiffany lived on a street of relatively modest homes, many of which had been added on to over the years or had new fake columns tarting up the front entrance.
The street was quiet with most of the children in school at this hour. A woman came down the street wheeling a stroller. Lucille glanced at the baby as they went by—it wasn’t nearly as cute as their little Lucy. But this baby had probably been baptized. Lucille balled her hands into fists.
Flo glanced at her. “What’s the matter?”
Lucille set her jaw. “Nothing.”
“Fine. Don’t tell me if you don’t want to.” Flo pulled over to the side of the road in front of a brick bi-level. “This should be it.”
Lucille looked out the window. The driveway of Tiffany’s house was empty, and no one was parked in front of it either. “Guess today’s not our lucky day.”
As Lucille said that, the garage door began to go up. Lucille poked Flo. “Looks like Tiffany is going somewheres.”
They watched as Tiffany got in the car.
“She sure is dolled up,” Lucille said.
Flo glanced at her. “Why? Because she put on makeup and combed her hair?”
Lucille shot Flo a dirty look, but Flo didn’t notice—she was busy watching Tiffany back out of the garage.
“We’d better go before she sees us.” Lucille sank down in her seat as Tiffany’s Infiniti shot past them.
“Why don’t we follow her?” Flo put the Mustang in gear as Tiffany’s car roared down the street.
Flo took off after her, sending Lucille slamming into her seat. Lucille braced her hands against the console as Flo rounded the corner onto Springfield Avenue. She said a quick prayer to St. Stanislaus Kostka, patron saint of those with broken bones, on account of if Flo continued to drive like that, they were sure to be in an accident.
“Do you think she’s going to meet Joey?”
“We’ll find out,” Flo said as she passed a slow-moving delivery truck, heedless of the double yellow line.
Lucille clenched her teeth. She knew it didn’t do no good to criticize Flo’s driving. She breathed a sigh of relief when the Infiniti’s left blinker went on and Flo followed it into a parking lot.
Tiffany pulled up in front of a storefront with a sign over the door that read National Life Insurance Company.
“See? I told you,” Lucille said, poking Flo. “She murdered her husband, and now she’s collecting the insurance money.”
Chapter 13
“What now?” Flo turned to Lucille.
“Let’s wait. See what she does when she comes out.”
Flo examined her fingernails. “Sounds good to me. I’m in no hurry to go home and clean the house.”
About twenty minutes later, the door to the National Life Insurance Company opened and Tiffany walked out. She started up the Infiniti, and Flo quickly put her Mustang in gear.
They both got caught up in a long funeral procession with the hearse up front and a line of cars following with their lights on. Lucille made the sign of the cross and shivered. All this activity had momentarily taken her mind off her mammogram, but all her fears came back to her in a rush. She sure hoped she wasn’t going to be heading to church in the back of a hearse anytime soon like that poor sucker ahead of them. She wanted to stick around to see little Lucy grow up.
They followed Tiffany down Springfield Avenue, onto South Street as she made a left turn, and into the parking lot of the Wells Fargo Bank.
“She’s probably going to deposit that big, fat life insurance check,” Flo said, idling behind Tiffany.
They followed Tiffany through the drive-through teller line, waving at the teller as they blew past without stopping, leaving the girl openmouthed. Tiffany turned left onto Springfield Avenue and headed into Berkeley Heights. Flo managed to stay right behind her, even though it meant squeaking through a couple of yellow lights that turned red as they passed under them.
Tiffany pulled into the parking lot of a rather seedy-looking bar. The neon sign was blinking—the letter a missing from the word bar. Lucille knew this kind of place from the soaps—it was where businessmen met their mistresses—dark inside with patrons who had nothing else to do, hoisting their first whiskey as soon as the noon whistle blew.
“This here don’t look like Tiffany’s kind of place.” Lucille peered at the storefront, her eyebrows raised.
“All the more reason to suspect she’s meeting someone.” Flo pulled down her visor, flipped up the mirror and began patting her hair. “They don’t want to go someplace where they might see someone they know.”
“I don’t think you’re going to find Mr. Right in this here place,” Lucille said. “Besides, you’ve got Ritchie. You don’t need to go attracting no more men.”
Flo pulled out her lipstick and touched up her lips. “You know the saying, Lucille. Use it or lose it. I plan to keep it as long as I can.”
Lucille snorted and opened her door. She waited while Flo dug out her compact and powdered her nose. The wind had picked up and she shivered, pulling her leather jacket around her more closely.
Finally, Flo was ready. “Okay, let’s roll.”
They crunched across the gravel parking lot to the door of the bar. Lucille paused with her hand on the doorknob. “What if Tiffany sees us?”
Flo shrugged. “A
ct normal. Like we just happened to stop by for a drink.”
“At noon?” Lucille said. The whistle had blown a few minutes ago.
“She can’t do anything about it, can she? It’s a free country.”
“But I don’t want nothing to drink now. Even a highball doesn’t sound good.”
“You don’t have to order alcohol, Lucille. Get a diet cola for goodness sake.”
Did the cavemen drink cola? Somehow Lucille didn’t think so. She would just have to break her diet in the name of their investigation.
As Lucille had suspected, the inside of the bar was barely lit. She had to stand in the entrance for a couple of seconds to let her eyes adjust. Tiffany was sitting in a booth way in the back—the last one in the row. And she was with someone all right, but he had his back to the room.
Lucille poked Flo. “There’s Tiffany. But we can’t see who that is with her.”
“Let’s sit down.” Flo glanced toward the bar, where a guy in a rumpled business suit had swiveled around on his stool. “People are starting to look at us.”
They slid into a booth and watched as the bartender ambled over. He had a dirty apron tied around his waist, and there was a stain on the front of his T-shirt.
“Name your poison,” he said wearily, looking at Lucille.
“Diet cola.”
He looked momentarily startled but then shrugged and turned to Flo.
“A ginger ale.”
“You ladies don’t want nothing to drink?”
“Sure we do,” Lucille answered. “Like we just told you, a diet cola and a ginger ale.”
“In case you two ladies hadn’t noticed,” he said, putting an emphasis on the word ladies, “this is a bar. Most people order something with booze in it.”
Lucille could see Flo was getting annoyed. There was something about the way her eyes narrowed whenever someone pissed her off.
“We don’t want any booze,” Flo said, annunciating each word carefully. “We want a diet cola and a ginger ale.”
