by Peg Cochran
The rung of the ladder under Lucille’s knees shifted suddenly, and she grabbed on to the sides for support. What was going on? Lucille gasped in terror as the ladder slowly began to unfold until the top was touching the tree branches alongside the road.
Lucille found herself a third of the way up and a sitting target for Joey, who was raising his gun for another shot. Lucille scrambled up several rungs as a bullet whizzed past her.
“Flo,” she yelled, trying to be heard above the screaming of the fire truck’s sirens. “How do you put this here ladder down?”
She waited but there was no answer.
Joey was taking aim again and Lucille scrambled to the top of the ladder. She wasn’t crazy about heights—Frankie could never talk her into going on the roller coaster at Seaside Heights—but this was no time to think about that. Falling off the ladder seemed to be the least of her worries at the moment.
Joey had his finger on the trigger now. Lucille squeezed her eyes tightly shut.
Chapter 27
This was it, Lucille thought. The end of the road. She’d never see Frankie or Bernadette or little Lucy again.
Lucille tensed as she waited for Joey’s bullet. Suddenly she felt herself moving. She opened her eyes to see that the ladder was turning. It was making her dizzy, and she closed her eyes again, but that made it worse.
Joey had a puzzled look on his face and was dancing around, trying to keep Lucille in his sights. He was so focused on Lucille that he didn’t see Sister Genevieve slip out of the fire truck, pick up a hefty rock and hurl it at him. Joey slumped to the ground.
Lucille clung to the ladder, not daring to climb down while it was moving. The screaming siren wound to a halt, and it was blessedly silent. Lucille watched as Flo jumped out of the truck and moved cautiously toward Joey.
“Good shot, Sister,” she said to Sister Genevieve. She put up her hand in a high-five gesture and smacked palms with Sister Genevieve.
Joey wasn’t moving, and Lucille could see red oozing from the side of his head. Sister Genevieve had hit him good.
“He’s out cold,” Flo called to Lucille. “You can come down now.”
“I can’t,” Lucille yelled back. “You’ve got to stop this thing.”
“I’m not sure which lever I pushed. Let me get Joey here tied up, and then I’ll see what I can do.”
By now, Lucille was getting used to the motion of the ladder and very cautiously reached for the lower rung with her foot. She made it down one step and breathed a sigh of relief.
And then she heard it—police sirens in the distance. She had to get off of this wretched ladder or the police were going to find her in her underwear wearing a nun’s cap and veil, and then what were they going to think? Gabe would be sure to tell Angela about it, and then for sure Lucille would never hear the end of it.
She inched her way down to the next rung. So far so good. Another step—this time Lucille’s foot slipped, and she grabbed for the rails, dangling for a moment with both feet hanging. She got one foot back onto the rung of the ladder and paused, breathing heavily.
After a few minutes, she reached down with her left foot and made the mistake of looking down. She froze. She couldn’t do it. She’d have to wait until someone came to rescue her. So what if they found her in her underwear? She and Flo would be heroes for rescuing Sister Genevieve and capturing a dangerous killer.
Flo, meanwhile, had pulled a silk scarf from her capacious handbag. She flipped Joey onto his stomach and tied his hands behind his back. Judging from the dent in the side of Joey’s head, Lucille didn’t think he’d be coming to any time soon.
Lucille clung to the ladder, hoping Flo would hurry up and stop it from spinning. She was beginning to get a bit dizzy, and now that her life was no longer at stake, she was feeling a little queasy from the constant movement.
Moments later two police cars slid to a stop in back of the fire truck. Two officers got out of the first car—Lucille was relieved to note that she didn’t recognize either of them. The doors of the second car opened and the driver and the officer riding shotgun got out. Lucille closed her eyes and rested her forehead against the ladder. One of them was Gabe.
She opened her eyes when she heard him calling.
“Hey, Aunt Lucille. What are you doing up there?”
“It’s none of your business, Gabe, just get me the hell down, would you?”
One of the policemen disappeared into the cab of the fire truck, and slowly the ladder ceased its revolution.
Next thing Lucille knew, someone was putting their arms around her. She could feel the rough fabric of their shirt against her bare skin.
“It’s okay, Aunt Lucille, I’ve got you.”
“Gabe.”
He guided her down the ladder one step at a time. Lucille was more than happy to lean against him and let him take the lead. She’d worry about what Angela was going to say later. She just wanted both feet planted firmly on the ground and then she would put on her habit—she was shivering and her teeth had started to chatter again.
Soon she would be home, she reminded herself, and her Frankie would put his arms around her and everything would be okay.
• • •
By the time Lucille got home, all she wanted to do was sink into a hot tub and soak away the aches that had started at the top of her head and were now down to her toes. Flo had offered to come by later and pick up Lucille’s habit and take it back to the costume shop, and Lucille was more than happy to let her. Sometimes she didn’t know where Flo got her energy from. Of course, Joey had been shooting at her, Lucille, and not Flo, so no wonder she was worn out.
Frankie was waiting when Gabe pulled the patrol car into the driveway. He came running out the front door and stood watching as Lucille climbed out of the passenger seat.
“I’ve been so worried,” he said as he and Lucille walked arm in arm up the path and into the house. “Gabe phoned me as soon as the call came in. I wanted to head out to the reservation when he told me what was going on, but he said I would be in the way and might even make things worse. It’s been hell sitting here twiddling my thumbs waiting to hear.”
Lucille leaned her head against Frankie’s chest as his arm tightened around her waist. She glanced over her shoulder to see her neighbor, Mrs. Makloski, watching them with her mouth hanging open. She was almost ninety and her eyesight wasn’t none too good. Lucille had to smile—she probably thought Frankie was having an affair with a nun. No doubt she’d be over in the morning to tell Lucille about it. And by then she’d have already gone around to all the neighbors to fill them in on this juicy bit of gossip. Let them have their fun, Lucille thought. She was so glad to be home safe and sound she didn’t care.
Lucille walked into the house and was surprised to smell something . . . something cooking. It smelled good. She felt her stomach rumble.
“What’s that smell?” she asked Frankie.
Frankie hung his head. “Me and Bernadette thought we’d get dinner ready. So you didn’t have to do nothing when you got home.”
Frankie and Bernadette cooking? That was something Lucille never thought she’d see.
“It’s nothing fancy. Just hamburgers. And we bought some potato salad and cole slaw at the A&P.” Frankie covered his face with his hands, and Lucille could see his shoulders shake. “Geez, Lucille, I was so worried.” He dropped his hands and looked at her. “I found myself praying. Can you believe it? It was the only thing I could think to do. I guess maybe I haven’t lost my faith after all.”
“Sometimes you have to doubt in order to strengthen your faith,” Lucille said.
“Wow, Lucille, that’s really deep.”
Lucille felt herself blushing. Frankie wasn’t big on compliments. When she asked him how he liked something she’d cooked, she knew it was good if he grunted. He didn’t go in for no flowery language like you saw on them TV commercials.
“I’m so glad you’re okay. I was really worried you were going to die.�
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Lucille put her arms around Frank. “I didn’t die, and now let’s hope I don’t die from no cancer either.”
Frankie snapped his fingers. “I almost forgot to tell you. The doctor called while you were out and said the test was fine. No cancer.” Frank gave a huge grin.
Lucille sank against her husband. “That’s a relief. Not that I really thought—”
“No, but it’s good to know for sure.” Frankie tightened his arm around Lucille. “Hungry?”
“Starved.”
• • •
It was Sunday again. To Lucille it sometimes felt as if it was always Sunday. But she didn’t care. She was just glad to be alive. She hadn’t been shot and she didn’t have no cancer either.
This Sunday she wasn’t making no experimental dishes no matter what Bernadette thought—no curries or nothing else exotic—just plain old American Italian food. She had a nice pot of escarole soup with cannellini beans, acini di pepe and a sprinkling of pignoli simmering on the stove. That was how Frankie liked it, although every Sunday her mother would remind her that her father had never liked pignoli in his soup. That was fine, but her father was gone now, and she had to please her husband. You had to be flexible when you cooked or else no one would enjoy the meal.
Lucille had gotten up early to start a pot of ragu, which everybody liked. And Flo was bringing cannoli and other Italian pastries as usual.
The table was set with a white cloth, Lucille’s best dishes and silverware and the crystal she and Frankie had gotten for a wedding gift from the employees at Ace Pest Control, where Frankie had been working at the time. Lucille straightened a fork and shifted the plates on the side of the table closest to the kitchen. Pretty soon they’d have to be making a place for little Lucy. Lucille already had a high chair she’d picked up at a garage sale one Saturday morning.
There was a knock on the front door and then it opened. “Yoo hoo,” Flo called from the foyer.
“In here.”
Flo walked into the dining room with a white bakery box tied with string in one hand and her fake fur leopard-print purse in the other. She looked at the table and counted under her breath.
She pointed at the plates. “You’re going to have to set another place. Richie’s coming.”
“Flo!”
“Don’t say it.”
Lucille followed her into the kitchen. Flo put the bakery box on the table and her purse on the nearest chair.
“But that’s great. Aren’t you glad?”
Flo sighed and her shoulders slumped up and down. “Yeah, I guess so. It’s just that it makes me feel a little . . . trapped.” She ran a finger around the collar of her sweater. “Like I’ve given up on all my options.”
“Like what? Being all alone when you’re old? Single men don’t grow on trees, Flo. Most of them our age are already married.”
“I guess I thought maybe this time I’d get . . . more out of life.”
“What more?”
“I don’t know. Money. Jewelry. A fancy house. Security.”
“Fancy schmancy.” Lucille pointed a finger at Flo. “You’ll have security. The security of knowing you’ve got someone to come home to at night. The security of knowing you’ll have someone by your side even if you get sick or when you’re old and not attractive no more.”
“Please, Lucille, speak for yourself.” Flo drummed her fingers on the table. “I guess you’re right. I think I know it deep down inside, and that’s why I finally asked Richie to dinner.”
A pot on the stove began to hiss. Lucille grabbed a potholder and lifted the lid.
“I hope you’re not making any of that stuff you made last week.” Flo shuddered.
“Don’t worry. There’s escarole soup, pasta with meat sauce and your cannoli. The usual. I guess there’s comfort in knowing what to expect.”
Flo sighed. “I’m beginning to think you’re right.”
Chapter 28
An hour later they were all seated around the table. Lucy was on Bernadette’s lap, chewing on her mother’s hair. Lucille remembered when Bernadette used to do that to her. Geez, it had been a long time since she’d had hair that long. Tony was busy snapping photos with his phone. Taking pictures with a phone, Lucille thought. What was the world coming to? Back in her day they had an actual camera with film and a strap that went around your neck.
Cousin Millie was looking down at her empty plate with a sad expression, and Cousin Louis was sliding further and further off his chair. Lucille’s mother was giving him a dirty look—she’d never approved of Lucille’s father’s side of the family. Angela looked at her watch and poked her husband, but he ignored her.
Lucille had the water for the pasta boiling—all she had to do was throw in the rigatoni after serving the soup, which was on a slow simmer to keep it warm. Father Brennan was waiting to say grace and was already on his second glass of wine. Frankie was tapping his fork against his water glass, and Flo kept looking toward the front door, jumping every time there was a noise.
“Do you think Richie got held up?” Lucille asked finally, hovering between the table and the kitchen.
“Probably,” Flo said, her lips in a thin, tight line.
Suddenly Flo’s cell phone rang, and she jumped up from the table and ran into the kitchen. Lucille followed her.
Lucille couldn’t tell much from Flo’s end of the conversation, but she could hear the disappointment in her voice. Finally, Flo hung up and shoved the phone back in her purse.
“That was Richie. He’s been held up on a case. He’s sorry, but he won’t be able to make it.” Flo’s tone was flat.
“You know, with police work, there’s always something,” Lucille said. “And he’s a detective, so he’s a big shot in the department.” Not like Gabe, Lucille added under her breath.
“That’s true,” Flo said, but she didn’t sound convinced. She wrinkled her nose. “He sounded funny. I don’t know.” She shook her head. “I’m afraid maybe he’s getting cold feet.” She gave a laugh that turned to a sob. “Now that I’ve gotten used to the idea . . .”
“I think you’re worried for nothing. He said something important came up, and I’m sure he meant it. Besides, in the beginning of a relationship, one partner will be up and the other down, but eventually they’ll meet in the middle.” Lucille put her arm around Flo and gave her a squeeze. “Come on, let’s get something to eat—that will make you feel better. You’ve probably got that low blood sugar they’re always talking about.”
Flo followed Lucille out to the dining room, where they collected the soup plates and took them into the kitchen to be filled. Finally everyone was seated with a full bowl in front of them, and Father Brennan began to say grace.
Lucille hoped he wasn’t going to take too long on account of she didn’t want the soup to get cold. Fortunately, Father Brennan was quick and to the point. Lucille breathed a sigh of relief as everyone lifted their spoons and dug into the meal.
Frankie grunted, which Lucille took to mean the soup was good, and she was able to relax a bit. No matter how many meals she made, she still worried every time she put something out on the table.
“Everyone is talking about you down at the station,” Gabe said, slurping up a spoonful of soup. A piece of escarole was caught between his two front teeth.
“Gabe.” Angela smacked him on the arm. “You got something on your teeth.”
Gabe ignored her and Lucille almost had to laugh—Angela made a face like she’d just sucked on a lemon.
Lucille wasn’t surprised that all the cops was talking about her. Here they’d found her in her underwear, wearing a nun’s veil, and stuck on the ladder of a fire truck. She was pretty sure that didn’t happen every day.
“They’re saying that you’re a hero.”
Gabe looked at Lucille in a way that no one had ever looked at her before. Like she was important or special or something.
“Joey was meaning to kill poor Sister Genevieve. He wanted to take out
everyone who he felt had betrayed him after that accident,” Gabe said.
“I’m sure it was Tiffany who told him the truth,” Lucille said, starting to get up to collect the empty soup bowls. “She knew Sal had been driving the car that night, not Joey. The poor guy—he didn’t remember nothing on account of his head injury. So when the cops told him he was driving, he believed it.”
“And did fifteen years in the slammer,” Gabe added.
“I think Tiffany told him the truth in order to get him to kill Sal,” Lucille said over her shoulder as she carried the plates into the kitchen. “Sal was playing around, and she resented the fact that she had this scar for the rest of her life and that everyone thought he’d only married her because he felt sorry for her.”
Gabe was hanging on Lucille’s every word. “You think so, Aunt Lucille? Wait till I tell the guys down at the station about this.”
“I think she offered to pay him to do the deed, not knowing that as soon as he heard the truth, he was planning on killing Sal anyway.”
“So Tiffany paid Joey?” Gabe was leaning forward in his chair. Lucille had never had anyone pay so much attention to her before.
“Yeah, but I think she screwed him over and didn’t give him the amount he was expecting. That gave him another reason to kill Tiffany, although the real reason was because she knew he wasn’t driving that night but didn’t say nothing—she just let him go to jail.”
Flo frowned. “Why would she do that?”
“On account of she was in love with Sal. Maybe they was going out but he didn’t want to settle down, you know? Or maybe there was someone else, and she was afraid of losing him. But after she lied for him, he was more or less forced to marry her. He didn’t want her going around telling people the truth. She had him over what they call a barrel.”
Lucille looked around the table. They all had their eyes on her, even Frankie and Bernadette and her sister Angela.
