by Peg Cochran
Unholy Matrimony
The hilarious Lucille Mazzarella is back and planning a wedding. But even the worst Bridezilla can’t create the wedding drama she’s about to face in this second book in the series.
Desperate to see her pregnant daughter Bernadette married before the baby comes, Lucille is engrossed in all things wedding. Nothing will distract her from planning this Mazzarella main event. Nothing, that is, except for the murder of the mother of the groom.
Just when things couldn’t possibly get any worse, Lucille is named as the prime suspect, and it’s a race against time as she and her best friend Flo struggle with shady financial dealings, a family that isn’t at all what it seems, a groom that might not be all man, and a little bundle of joy that might make an appearance before the mother can say I do.
Beyond the Page Books
are published by
Beyond the Page Publishing
www.beyondthepagepub.com
Copyright © 2014 by Peg Cochran
Material excerpted from Iced to Death copyright © 2014 by Peg Cochran
Cover design and illustration by Dar Albert, Wicked Smart Designs
ISBN: 978-1-940846-12-5
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Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Excerpt from Iced to Death
Books by Peg Cochran
About the Author
Chapter 1
“Yo, Bernadette. Shake a leg, would you?” Lucille glanced at the clock. They should have left fifteen minutes ago. “Yo,” she yelled again, “you’ve got to get a move on or you’re going to be late.”
Lucille was opening her mouth again but didn’t get past “Yo” when Bernadette slunk into the kitchen.
“You go with your father and I’ll take Cousin Louis and Cousin Millie with me. We’ll stop at Grandma’s on the way and pick her up. This way you won’t be too late on account of having to wait for us to get her in the car.”
Lucille turned around to look at Bernadette and her voice slowly trailed off. “You’re wearing that?”
“Yeah.”
“Sheesh, Bernadette. This is your rehearsal dinner. You couldn’t make more of an effort? You haven’t even combed your hair. This ain’t no diner we’re going to—it’s the Pantagis Renaissance, for chrissake.”
A sulky look settled on Bernadette’s face and she smoothed the cotton T-shirt over her burgeoning belly. “You think it’s easy to find something to wear when you’re nine months pregnant?”
Like she’d never been pregnant herself? What did Bernadette think—that she and her father had found her in a cabbage patch?
“Just go comb your hair, okay?” Lucille glanced around. Her gaze fell on the wedding invitation she’d already framed and hung in the kitchen above the old wall phone she couldn’t bring herself to get rid of. She didn’t trust them cordless things. Forget to charge them and then where were you? Unable to call 911 while you’re having a heart attack or robbers in masks are coming in through the window. You’d wind up six feet under all on account of a dead battery.
Lucille stopped for a second to read the engraved invitation, although she’d already read it dozens of times. The script was so fancy she couldn’t hardly make out the words.
Mr. & Mrs. Francis Mazzarella and Mr. & Mrs. Alexander Grabowski
Request the honor of your presence at the marriage of their children
Bernadette Francine and Taylor Alexander
It was some odd kind of invitation, Lucille thought. Back in her day the invite came from the bride’s parents, but the Grabowskis wanted their name on there too. Probably on account of the fact that they had paid for them. Lucille had protested that the script was way too hard to read, but Donna Grabowski had insisted on it. Said it was how things were done. Lucille wondered how on earth Donna would know how things were done. They were both born and raised in New Providence, to working-class parents. None of this la-di-da stuff for them. They were simple people. Of course that was back when Donna was still Donna DeLucca. Before she’d married that big shot Alex Grabowski. Donna said he was a hedge fund manager. Sheesh, if Lucille had known there was so much money in landscaping, she would have told Frankie to go into that instead of pest control.
By the time Lucille turned around, Bernadette had disappeared again. Lucille could hear her in the bathroom. Just their luck that morning sickness had stayed with Bernadette the whole pregnancy.
Lucille sighed and made her way up the stairs. She tugged at her dress. Her sister, Angela, had insisted on taking her over to the Short Hills Mall to one of them real fancy dress shops. She said it wasn’t every day your only daughter got married. Lucille wasn’t so sure about that. What with the divorce rate and all, some people’s daughters were getting married three and four times.
The dress was turquoise and had one of them girdle-type things built right into it. Now she knew how sausage meat felt being squeezed into the casing. But she had to admit, it made her look good. Like she’d lost ten pounds without even having to diet. She hoped Frankie liked it.
Frankie was standing in front of the mirror over the dresser in their bedroom. He had a tie around his neck and was swearing under his breath.
He turned when he heard Lucille’s footsteps. “Holy crap, Lu, I think I’ve forgotten how to tie a tie. The damn thing keeps coming out uneven.”
“Here—” Lucille held out her hand. “Give it to me. It’s no wonder,” she said as she put the tie around Frankie’s neck, “you don’t wear no tie to work. Sheesh, I can’t even remember the last time you wore one.”
Standing so close to Frankie, Lucille got a whiff of his aftershave. Same one he’d been wearing since they began dating in high school. She picked him up a bottle every time she went to the drugstore so he wouldn’t run out.
Lucille twisted one end of the tie around the other. She could see how smooth Frankie’s face looked—he’d taken the time to shave extra careful. She had a sudden longing to reach out and stroke his cheek and feel the softness that she knew would be like a baby’s skin.
She took a deep breath and finished tying Frankie’s tie. On impulse, she put both arms around his neck and
pulled him close for a kiss.
Frankie twisted at the last minute and Lucille’s kiss landed on his cheek.
Lucille stood back and looked at him. What on earth was wrong? That wasn’t like Frankie. Maybe he was just nervous because of the wedding and all—giving away his only daughter. That would be hard for any man. Still, Lucille couldn’t stop thinking about it as she headed back down the stairs.
Cousin Louis and Cousin Millie were waiting patiently in the living room, Millie sitting bolt upright, her hands folded primly in her lap, Louis slumped against the cushions, his head thrown back and a bit of spittle glinting on his chin.
Louis and Millie shared a house on Floral Avenue that had been left to them by their parents. Unfortunately, they’d had to sell it to pay Louis’s gambling debts. The new owner, who just happened to be Alex Grabowski, had agreed to let them stay on for a nominal rent.
The whole arrangement had worked like a charm until Louis took it into his head one day to warm up a can of soup. He promptly forgot about it and fell asleep on the couch. Millie was over at the church helping the Flower Committee decorate the altar for a funeral and when she got back the house was in flames. Fortunately Louis had escaped unharmed, but they had no place to live. Lucille had taken them in—after all, family was family—until the Grabowskis got the insurance money and rebuilt the house. Lucille hoped that was going to be real soon on account of feeding five mouths instead of three was getting expensive.
Of course Bernadette was leaving soon—tomorrow—Lucille wiped away a tear at the thought—and she would no longer have to buy the odd stuff that satisfied Bernadette’s cravings. One week it was artichokes at $2.59 each; another week it was some fancy French cheese Bernadette claimed she had had at the Grabowskis one night with cocktails.
“You and Bernadette had better get going,” Lucille called up the stairs to Frankie as she grabbed her car keys off the table by the front door.
“Time to go,” Lucille yelled into the living room.
Millie slowly rose from the sofa, smoothing her dress down over her hips. Louis let out a snort, opened his eyes briefly and then shut them again.
“Come on, it’s time we got going.” Lucille shook his arm.
Louis opened his eyes again and looked around in confusion.
“We’re going to Bernadette’s rehearsal dinner,” Lucille reminded him.
“Better get going then,” Louis said as he pushed off from the sofa.
Lucille rolled her eyes and said a quick prayer to St. Teresa Avila, patron saint of headaches, because she was pretty sure she was about to get one.
• • •
Lucille’s mother lived barely five minutes away in the same house Lucille had grown up in. It was a modest neighborhood of Cape Cods and split levels, most of them well cared for. Even though July had been particularly hot, the lawns were all green and the plants were thriving. Lucille remembered her father standing outside with the hose on hot summer nights and the sprinkler going every morning.
She drove down the street slowly—kids were out playing and riding their bikes. She used to do the same when she was young. She glanced in her rearview mirror. It was a little strange with Louis and Millie sitting in the backseat of the car and her up front driving. It made her feel like one of them chauffeurs rich people had.
Lucille pulled into her mother’s driveway and came to a stop. She turned around and leaned over the seat.
“I’ll only be a minute.” She crossed her fingers. Hopefully her mother would be ready.
Lucille went up the walk and rang the bell. No answer. She tried to peer through the frosted glass panels on either side of the door, but the foyer was dark. Maybe the bell was on the blink? She knocked once, twice, three times.
Still no answer.
Lucille dug the spare key out from under the mat and opened the front door. “Ma?”
“Down here.”
“Ma, where are you?”
“I’m in the rec room.”
“Can you come up here, Ma? We’ve got to get going.” Lucille glanced at her watch quickly. “We’re already late as it is. You don’t want to miss nothing, do you?”
“I can’t come up.”
“What’s the matter? You hurt yourself?”
“Not exactly.”
“What do you mean not exactly?” Lucille started down the stairs and came to a halt on the bottom step. “Holy shit!”
“I’m stuck.”
“What the hell are you doing?”
Lucille’s mother was strapped into a pair of electric blue boots and was hanging upside down from some strange contraption. Lucille stopped short at the sight.
“It’s called inversion therapy. Supposed to stretch out the spine. Remember that inch the doctor said I’d lost? Well, this here is supposed to help me get it back again.”
Lucille shook her head. “How are you supposed to get off that thing by yourself?”
She picked up the instructions lying on the floor. “The balance is so precise, simple arm movements are all that’s needed to control the extent of the rotation,” she read out loud.
Lucille’s mother snorted. “Simple, my eye. Watch this.” She moved her arms slightly and the table swung to 45 degrees, then upright to 90 degrees and finally full circle again to completely inverted. “What am I supposed to do? Jump off?”
“Where did you get this thing? I thought you sold all that crap you bought on QVC?” Lucille’s stomach plummeted as if she were on some kind of roller coaster. She sent up a prayer to St. Regina, patron saint against impoverishment. A year ago her mother’s QVC addiction had nearly put them in the poor house. She thought her mother had learned her lesson. She couldn’t have gone back to her old habits after everything that had happened. Besides, she was still attending the Shopaholics Anonymous meetings over in Summit.
Lucille’s mother looked sheepish. “This was in the back of one of the closets. I guess I missed it.”
Lucille grunted. “Well, never mind. We’ve got to get you off of that or we’re not going to arrive at the rehearsal dinner until dessert. This is Bernadette’s big moment. I don’t want to spoil it for her.”
“Where did she meet this Taylor anyway? And what kind of name is that? It’s a last name, not a first name.”
“Bernadette was waitressing at the Beacon Hill Tavern, and Taylor used to stop by with his friends. I guess he and Bernadette got to talking, and one thing led to another.”
Lucille’s mother fixed her with an eagle-like stare. “Sounds fishy to me.”
“We can’t afford to look a gift horse in the mouth,” Lucille said as she spun her mother upright. “Bernadette’s pregnant, and the father is overseas in one of those foreign countries you hear about on the news all the time. And he don’t have no plans to marry her either.”
This time Lucille’s mother grunted.
Lucille wrestled with the straps on one of the gravity boots. “We’ve got to get a ring on her finger before this baby’s born.”
Chapter 2
The parking lot was full when Lucille pulled into it. She noticed the JoFra Pest Control van with the dead roach on top and “You Got ’Em—We’ll Get ’Em” written on the side, parked in the back. She breathed a sigh of relief. Frankie and Bernadette were already there. She angled the Olds into the closest space she could find. The car was getting old but Lucille refused to give up on it. She loved the contrast of the red leather with the white exterior. Okay, so it was a little worn in places, and it tended to stall at lights. It still had four wheels and went forward. That was enough for Lucille.
Millie and Louis slipped out of the backseat, and Lucille held the door for her mother and put out a hand. They all stood for a moment looking up in awe at the Pantagis Renaissance. It was lit up like a Christmas tree and reminded Lucille of one of them cruise ships they were always advertising on television.
Millie and Louis looked slightly overwhelmed as they entered the private room the Grabowskis had rented for th
e occasion, but Louis soon found his way to the bar and Millie stationed herself next to a tray of hors d’oeuvres, her hand darting out as stealthily as a turtle’s head to grab one.
Lucille looked around the room at the chandeliers dripping with crystal, the elegant table settings and the masses of fresh flowers. The hall at St. Rocco’s was going to look like nothing compared to this. She wished she and Frankie could have afforded a similar setup for the wedding reception but it wasn’t possible. Besides, Bernadette would be just as married whether the reception was at the church hall or at some five-hundred-bucks-a-plate wedding palace. And that was all Lucille cared about.
It was embarrassing enough that Bernadette was going to be walking down the aisle with a huge belly. Back in Lucille’s day, girls who were in the family way went to stay with a “cousin” or “aunt” for the nine months and didn’t return until after the baby was born. Now they had a whole section of maternity wedding gowns at the bridal shop she and Bernadette went to. Lucille didn’t hardly know what to make of it.
Frank was at the back of the room talking to some guy in a navy blazer and a pair of pants with some kind of print on them. Lucille squinted. They looked like ducks, but she couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to buy a pair of slacks printed all over with ducks. She sidled up to the bar and ordered herself a highball. She didn’t normally drink—maybe a glass of wine with Sunday dinner—but this was a special occasion.
Donna DeLucca—Lucille still thought of her that way even though she’d been Donna Grabowski for more than twenty years now—was wearing a beige lace dress with a plunging neckline. Her hair was done and so were her nails, and there were huge diamond studs in her ears. Well, it was fine for her, Lucille thought, she had the money for stuff like that. She glanced at her own hands. She’d meant to trim that ragged nail on her left thumb but had never gotten around to it. She dropped her hand quickly and took a big gulp of her drink.
