2 Unholy Matrimony

by Peg Cochran

  Still, a pain was starting under Lucille’s left rib. She hoped she wasn’t having no heart attack or what her neighbor, Mrs. Esposito, had—it sounded like vagina, but Lucille was pretty sure that wasn’t it. Maybe she was just stressed out. First worrying about Frankie and then all this nonsense with Bernadette.

  As long as she kept busy and didn’t think about it, everything would be okay.

  She dished out a stack of golden brown pancakes for Bernadette, got the syrup from the fridge, and put a couple of flapjacks on her own plate. She might as well have a little something more to eat. Chances were she wouldn’t be having no lunch today on account of being so busy, and the wedding reception probably wouldn’t start until nearly five o’clock. By the time Mrs. De Pasquale put out her famous antipasto, Lucille would be starved.

  Lucille sat opposite Bernadette and watched as Bernadette demolished a stack of pancakes. At least all this drama wasn’t affecting her appetite none. Now that she was eating for two she couldn’t afford to skip meals.

  Lucille finished up her pancakes and took her dish and Bernadette’s to the sink. She rinsed them off and put them in the dishwasher. Bernadette had drifted out of the room, and Lucille could only pray that she was getting ready to go to the hairdresser and had gotten over this nonsense about Tony. He’d made it clear how he felt about marrying Bernadette and that was that.

  • • •

  Lucille had an appointment at the Clip and Curl with Rita. She’d been going to Rita for years now. Come to think of it, she’d been wearing her hair the same way for years too. Today would be no different, although maybe Rita could give her a little more lift in front and perhaps a few curls in back to make it look special.

  Lucille got her dress out of the closet—a long, pale blue gown with a square neckline and matching jacket. Lucille thought it was awfully fancy for the hall at St. Rocco’s, but Donna said she was wearing a gown and insisted that Lucille do the same. Donna had wanted the reception to be black tie but Lucille had put her foot down. If the men wore black ties it would look like a funeral, not a wedding.

  Lucille was about to leave when she noticed Millie’s cardigan draped over the kitchen chair. Millie was always cold—said the central air gave her a headache. Lucille had turned it down, and now no one was happy. Millie was still cold, and she, Frank and Bernadette were sweating. She really had to get the Grabowskis to reconsider about the house. Maybe if she gave Donna a call and sweet-talked her a bit. Donna always did like being complimented. Lucille picked up the phone and quickly dialed Donna’s cell phone. It rang and rang but no one picked up. Lucille sighed. Maybe she could have a word with Donna at the wedding. It couldn’t hurt.

  Heat and humidity hit Lucille the minute she opened the garage door. She was going to have to ask Rita to go heavy on the spray if her hair was going to hold. At least it was sunny. Donna wanted the photographer to take some pictures outside, and Lucille couldn’t imagine the entire wedding party traipsing around in the rain.

  Lucille glanced back at the house. She hoped Bernadette was getting ready. She’d asked Frankie to talk to her. Hopefully he had been able to get her to change her mind.

  Lucille hung her dress in the backseat of the car. She planned on getting dressed at the church, but first she had to stop by the mall to pick up a pair of pantyhose. She thought she had a pair in the back of her lingerie drawer, but she couldn’t find them.

  The Olds started on the first try. Lucille breathed a sigh of relief and, plugging in her tape of Little Richard performing “Lucille,” shot down the driveway and headed off.

  The Short Hills Mall was busy but Lucille managed to find a parking space. She almost never went to the mall—too fancy for her—and she wasn’t sure where to start.

  Even the air in the place smelled expensive. Lucille wandered around for a bit before deciding on Macy’s. Then it took forever to find the hosiery section. It seemed like hardly no one wore pantyhose anymore, and there wasn’t much of a selection. Lucille hesitated. Was she a medium/large or large/extra large? There was a chart on the back of the package but Lucille couldn’t read it on account of she’d left her reading glasses in the car.

  Lucille glanced at her watch. It was getting late and she wanted to have time to check on the food. Mrs. De Stefano and Mrs. De Pasquale made the best tomato sauce and lasagna in town, but they rarely agreed on anything. Lucille wanted to make sure they weren’t going to arrive after the ceremony to find one or the other of them knocked out cold on the floor and nothing done about the meal.

  She grabbed both packages and went up to the cashier.

  • • •

  The ladies at the Clip and Curl clustered around Lucille as soon as she pushed open the door. It was always like that when someone came in to get their hair done before a wedding—all the hairdressers and even some of the clients would gather around and beg for details. Normally Lucille would have basked in the attention, but today she just wanted to get out of there. The thought that Bernadette might not go through with the ceremony was giving her indigestion.

  She felt around in the pocket of her pants and pulled out an antacid tablet. She brushed off the lint and popped it into her mouth.

  Carmela chattered all the while she was washing Lucille’s hair: what color were the flowers, how many bridesmaids, what was Bernadette’s gown like. Lucille was only half listening—all she could think about was how her stomach was churning and her nerves were on edge. She slipped a hand into her pocket, but that had been the last of the antacids.

  “What are we going to do?” Rita asked, comb poised in the air, after Lucille had been led over to her station.

  “What?”

  Rita laughed. “You’ve got mother-of-the-bride jitters. Just relax. Everything’s going to be fine.

  That’s what you think. Lucille had a bad feeling, and it wasn’t only on account of Bernadette.

  “Relax.” Rita rubbed Lucille’s shoulders and gave her a little hug. “What should we do today? Something a little different maybe?”

  Lucille paid no attention as Rita twisted her hair around various rollers and pins and then led her like a sheep over to the dryers. The warmth made Lucille drift off briefly—she hadn’t slept well the night before—and she jumped when Rita put a hand on her arm.

  “Let’s get you combed out.”

  Rita’s fingers flew through Lucille’s hair, unrolling, unpinning, combing and brushing.

  “There. What do you think?”

  Lucille’s head was a mass of curls. She sent up a prayer to St. Patrick, patron saint of snakes, paid the cashier and rushed out of the Clip and Curl.

  She jumped into the Olds and headed toward St. Rocco’s. She just prayed that everything was going well with the food and that Mrs. De Stefano and Mrs. De Pasquale hadn’t gotten into no arguments.

  Lucille pulled into the church parking lot and came to a stop around the back of St. Rocco’s hall. The tantalizing smell of homemade tomato sauce hit her as soon as she opened the door. That was a good sign. At least the two of them was cooking something.

  Tables had already been set up in the hall—a long one for the bridal party and round ones for the guests. They were covered in white tablecloths with a small vase of flowers in the center of each—nothing fancy like they’d had last night at Pantagis, but Lucille thought the room looked very pretty.

  It was hot and steamy in the kitchen. Lucille put a hand to her hair, but Rita had sprayed it real good and the humidity shouldn’t bother it none. Mrs. S. and Mrs. P., as Lucille thought of them, were busy. Mrs. S. was stirring a big pot on the stove while Mrs. P. arranged lasagna noodles in a pan. A huge stack of white boxes from a bakery in Maplewood were balanced on the counter. According to Flo they did the best cannolis, sfogliatelli and pignolis. It wouldn’t be a real wedding without some pastries. There would be wedding cake, too, with a plastic bride and groom sitting on top. Lucille just hoped it wasn’t going to be just the groom standing there all by himself with no bride coming
down the aisle.

  The thought made her sweat, and she let the door to the kitchen close, crossed the hall and went outside. It wasn’t much cooler, but if you concentrated real hard you could feel a slight breeze.

  Lucille walked the short distance to the front of the church. She was surprised to see Donna’s Mercedes parked by the door. What was she doing here? This was Lucille’s show—she’d had hers last night. But that was just like Donna—she’d always been bossy, telling everyone what to do and how to do it.

  Lucille was in quite a huff as she mounted the stairs to the church door. It wasn’t doing her indigestion no good, and she stopped for a minute and put a hand to her chest. Maybe she was actually having a heart attack? This whole business with Bernadette was more than enough to give anyone a heart attack.

  She pushed open the door to the church. It was shadowy inside with that smell that was peculiar to old churches—dusty hymnals and the lingering scent of incense mingled with the sweet smell of flowers. It was chilly, too. Lucille stood for a moment to enjoy the relief from the heat.

  As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she looked around. Her sister, Angela, and the ladies from the Flower Committee had done a good job. Large white satin bows adorned the ends of the pews—they were cheaper than flowers—and a modest arrangement of white lilies fleshed out with a lot of greenery sat on the altar. Lucille thought it looked pretty nice considering it hadn’t cost them all that much. Frankie was working six days a week as it was to pay for it all.

  Lucille moved toward the front of the church, checking that everything was in order. She’d expected to find Donna inside, what with her car being parked out front, but there was no sign of her.

  The very first pew, where family members and close friends would sit, was missing its bow. Must have fallen off. Lucille looked around but didn’t see it anywhere. That was odd.

  She went around in front of the pew to see if it had landed there, but no dice. She glanced to the right—toward the confessionals—and noticed a pile of rags on the floor. It looked as if someone had just dropped them there. Now who would have done something like that? Lucille tsk tsked under her breath as she walked closer.

  Suddenly she came to a complete halt. “Holy shit!”

  It wasn’t no bundle of rags she was looking at—it was a body. Donna DeLucca Grabowski’s to be exact. The ribbon missing from the front pew had been tied around her neck, pulled tight and finished in a bow. Donna’s face was the color of an eggplant.

  For a moment all Lucille could think about was the wedding and whether or not they’d have to cancel it. Maybe Father Brennan could quietly marry Bernadette and Taylor over in front of the baptismal font? That wouldn’t bother the police none. Because Lucille knew from experience that they’d be roping off parts of the church with that yellow and black tape they used.

  For several long moments Lucille was rooted to the spot. She felt like that woman in the Bible, Lot’s wife, who turned to a pillar of salt. Not that Lucille really believed that that had ever happened. It was just a story like “Hansel and Gretel” or the “Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe,” made up to warn everyone they better follow the Ten Commandments or else.

  Lucille took a deep breath and began to back away from the body. It was weird to think that that was all that was left of Donna DeLucca Grabowski. She couldn’t move no more, talk no more or even complain no more.

  No matter. She had to do something. Lucille wished she still had one of them cell phones that everyone carried around these days. Frankie had gotten her one and she’d accidentally dropped it in the toilet when she answered a call in the ladies’ room at Bernadette’s shower. She hadn’t bothered to replace it.

  Lucille glanced around in panic. Then she realized she was being ridiculous. It wasn’t like she was going to find a phone hanging on the wall inside the church. She caught a glimpse of Donna’s purse out of the corner of her eye. The contents had been spewed across the marble floor—lipsticks, wallet, compact . . . and a cell phone.

  Lucille hesitated for a second and then picked up the phone and dialed 911. She explained the situation to the operator, clicked off the call and then absentmindedly put the phone in her pocket.

  Chapter 4

  Being stuck in a church with a dead person was beginning to make Lucille feel faint. It was one thing if the body was ensconced in a nice, padded casket but quite another to have it sprawled, lifeless, on the floor. She backed away from Donna’s body and headed down the aisle, nearly running when she got to the last three rows. She yanked open the door and stood blinking in the blinding sunlight.

  She was outside, sitting on the steps, when the first police car arrived. The officer had barely gotten his door open before three more cars came barreling into the parking lot.

  Gabe, Lucille’s nephew, jumped out of one of them.

  “You, okay, Aunt Lucille?”

  “Just feeling a little shaky is all.” Lucille thought that a bite of something to eat might make her feel better, but she knew she would have to wait.

  She glanced at her watch. Bernadette was supposed to be getting married in a little over an hour. The guests would be arriving soon. What was she going to do? It would take a lot longer than that for the police to finish with the scene.

  Lucille was thinking things couldn’t get any worse when an unmarked car pulled into the lot and Richie Sambucco stepped out.

  Lucille hadn’t seen him for several months, not since the time she’d tried to seduce him, but even from where she was standing she could see he hadn’t lost that swagger that always made her breathe a little faster. She and Sambucco had dated briefly in high school after Lucille had had a big fight with Frankie, but they hadn’t seen each other again until he’d reappeared in town less than a year ago.

  “Hey, Lucille,” Sambucco said as he approached the steps where Lucille was sitting.

  “Richie.” Lucille fought the urge to cry now that help was here.

  “Stumbled across another body, have you?” Sambucco pulled a piece of gum from his pocket, unwrapped it and stuck it in his mouth.

  Lucille gave him a suspicious look. “What do you mean by that?”

  Sambucco shrugged and snapped his gum. “Nothing. I don’t mean nothing by it. It’s just kind of a weird coincidence, don’t you think?”

  Lucille frowned and followed him back inside.

  Patrolmen were beginning to contain the scene with rolls of black and yellow tape. It was just like on television. Lucille devoutly wished it was on television and she was back home in her old sweats and her pink fuzzy slippers with her feet up on an ottoman.

  Sambucco made his way down the church aisle. Lucille couldn’t help thinking how it ought to be Bernadette walking down that aisle. Would that ever happen now?

  Sambucco stared at the body for a moment. He turned to Lucille. “Any idea who it is?”

  “It’s Donna DeLucca. Well, now she’s Donna Grabowski, but I can’t help but think of her as Donna DeLucca still. She was in my sister Angela’s class in high school. You remember Angela. That time you came by my house and she—”

  “Do you know what she was doing here?”

  Lucille nodded vigorously. “Yeah. Our two kids is getting married this afternoon. Her Taylor and my Bernadette.”

  “Looks like she was strangled.” He gestured toward the bow around Donna’s neck. “The ME should be able to tell us more.” He turned toward Lucille. “So how’s it going, Lucille?”

  Lucille thought back to the evening before and how Frankie had turned away from her. It was enough to shake a woman’s confidence. Richie had always made it plain that he was still attracted to her. Perhaps a bit of flirting would make her feel better.

  “Oh, you know, this and that.” She batted her eyelashes experimentally at him.

  “What’s the matter? You got something in your eye?” Sambucco slapped her on the back.

  Sheesh. Maybe she really wasn’t attractive no more—not to Frankie and not to Richie eithe
r. Of course even the elastic waist on her pants was getting tight, so she really ought to take off a few pounds. There was this new diet the girls at the Clip and Curl were talking about. You got to eat anything you wanted five days a week and then for two days you had to really watch your calories. She ought to be able to handle that. She’d start right after the wedding.

  If there was going to be a wedding.

  Gabe had been stationed at the door to stand guard and keep people out. Lucille glanced at her watch again and began to sweat. Less than an hour until the ceremony. She wished the cops would hurry up.

  There was a commotion at the door and both Lucille and Sambucco swiveled in that direction.

  “Oh, for chrissake, Gabe, let me through. What do you think you’re doing anyway?” Flo elbowed Gabe aside and marched down the aisle toward Lucille.

  “I came to see if you needed any help with anything, and that idiot nephew of yours tried to keep me out.”

  Lucille stiffened slightly. It was one thing for everyone in the family to think Gabe was an idiot—it was another thing to say it out loud. There was a certain protocol to these things. Flo ought to know that.

  “What’s going on?” Flo demanded.

  “Flo,” Sambucco said. He looked her up and down and Lucille could see the way his eyes lit up.

  Flo was wearing a low-cut dress that Lucille thought was a bit unfair in light of Father Brennan’s vow of chastity, and she’d recently had some strange stuff injected into her face that was supposedly poison, but still, it made her look at least five years younger.

  Obviously Sambucco had noticed as well. Lucille felt a twinge of envy.

  Sambucco threw his shoulders back and preened like a peacock, his eyes never leaving Flo’s. “We got ourselves another murder here.”

  “What? Who?” Flo’s jaw dropped nearly to the ground. It made the excess skin on her neck bunch up and gave Lucille a tiny moment of satisfaction before she felt ashamed of herself and sent up a prayer to St. Elizabeth of Portugal, patron saint against jealousy. Flo was her best friend, after all.