by Peg Cochran
Lucille had another bad night, tossing and turning. When she finally got out of bed, her eyes felt gritty and she ached all over. Maybe she was getting arthritis, or, as her mother called it, “Arthur Itis,” like it was some guy she knew. When did she get so old?
She couldn’t believe that Sambucco thought she was a murderer. They’d known each other forever—surely he knew her better than that. Lucille had a momentary thought about how well Sambucco had almost gotten to know her and she could feel her face get hot. But, like Sambucco said, evidence was evidence.
Lucille tiptoed out of the bedroom—Frankie was still sleeping—and went into the bathroom to splash some cold water on her face. The shades were down in the bedroom and the room was in shadow. Lucille grabbed some clothes she’d tossed over a chair the other day, pulled on the T-shirt and capri pants and headed down to the kitchen.
While she was waiting for the coffee to brew, she began to cry. It was all too much. Bernadette still wasn’t married, Frankie was acting strange, Donna was dead, and the police were trying to blame her. A tear dribbled down Lucille’s cheek and landed in the sugar bowl. She stuck a hand in her pocket. She always seemed to have at least one crumpled tissue stashed on her. She was forever forgetting to remove them before doing the laundry and Frankie was always complaining that his black socks came out of the dryer with bits of white lint on them.
There was a tissue in the pocket, and something else as well—something hard and square. Lucille pulled out the object and stared at in disbelief. It was Donna’s cell phone. She’d picked it up to call 911 and had forgotten all about it. When she realized that it made her look even guiltier, she jumped and dropped it onto the floor like it was some kind of red-hot coal. The back popped off and slid under the refrigerator and the glass on the front splintered like a piece of ice.
“Coffee ready?”
Lucille looked up to see Frankie standing there in his boxers and T-shirt, his hair rumpled in that way that always got to her. But right now all she could think about was Donna DeLucca’s phone. She didn’t want Frankie to see it. At least not until she’d figured out what she was going to do. She managed to push it underneath the overhang of the cupboard with the toe of her slipper. Frankie wouldn’t notice it there—he sure never noticed the clumps of dust, bits of onion peel or other morsels of food that suggested he might get out the vacuum and give it a pass around the baseboards.
Lucille poured out a cup of coffee, added two spoons of sugar and a splash of milk—just the way Frankie liked it—and slid it across the table to him. He stirred it absentmindedly and reached for yesterday’s paper that had been left on one of the chairs.
Lucille turned her back to him and, after a quick glance over her shoulder, eased the cell phone out from under the counter. Her back gave a loud crack as she bent to retrieve it, but when she looked, Frank was engrossed in yesterday’s sports stories.
Now to find the piece that had disappeared under the fridge. Lucille got down on her hands and knees—her knees giving an even louder crack than her back had—and felt underneath the refrigerator. Nothing. Well, not nothing, there sure was a lot of dust under there. Lucille blew it off her hands and stifled a sneeze as it rose in the air.
She couldn’t reach no further like that so she got down flat on her belly and swept her hand as far under the fridge as it would go.
“Whaddya doing, Lu?”
Lucille looked up. “Nothing,” she said and was relieved when Frankie grunted and went back to his paper.
Her fingers touched the edge of the cell phone back, and she teased it out slowly. She clasped it to her chest and heaved herself onto her hands and knees. She grabbed the edge of the counter and pulled herself to her feet. Frankie was still engrossed in the paper, and she managed to shove the two pieces of the broken cell phone into her pocket.
She was about to open the refrigerator to get out the eggs and fix Frankie some breakfast when she changed her mind. He could make something himself. She had plenty on her plate already—decide what to do with the cell phone, find Taylor Grabowski, and figure out who might have wanted Donna dead.
• • •
Lucille wanted to go straight to the Grabowskis’ residence and grab Taylor by his slightly-too-long designer-cut hair and drag him in front of the altar with Bernadette, but she was scheduled to work at the church that day. It was just part-time, but she knew that Father Brennan counted on her. Besides, she was worried about him and wanted to make sure he was okay.
It turned out Father Brennan was fine, but he was obviously worried about Lucille. She could tell by the way he kept coming out of his office to check on her, staring at her with those watery blue eyes of his that put her in mind of a pair of underdone fried eggs.
Lucille spent the time working on the church newsletter. She still hadn’t completely mastered the computer, but she could press print with the best of them. Then it was just a matter of running the pages through the folding gizmo, slapping on the address labels and slipping them through the postage machine.
By the time she was done, she realized Flo would be getting off work at the plastic surgery clinic where she acted as receptionist and secretary. Flo had had Lucille’s back since they became best friends in second grade, and Lucille didn’t want to approach the Grabowskis without her. Flo could be a bit hotheaded at times, but in a fight she knew how to throw a mean right hook and her pointy-toed stiletto heels sure as hell came in handy.
They decided they would leave Flo’s car at the clinic—Lucille’s lumbago was acting up, and trying to squeeze into Flo’s low-slung car wasn’t going to do it no good.
As soon as Flo settled herself in the passenger seat, Lucille plugged in her Little Richard tape and they were off. She shot out of the driveway a little faster than she meant to and Flo gave her a sharp look.
Flo pulled down the visor on the passenger side and scowled. “I keep forgetting you don’t have no mirror,” she said, flipping the visor back into place. She patted her hair. “I had lunch with Dr. Hacker today.”
“Dr. Hacker?”
“He’s the lead surgeon at the clinic. Very handsome. Drives a gorgeous red Ferrari.”
Lucille whistled. “He must be rolling in it.”
“He is. He has a boat down the shore and a house in the Poconos. He just got divorced, and all the ladies are after him.” Flo smiled archly. “But it’s obvious I’m the one he’s attracted to.”
“Where did he take you for lunch?”
Flo shifted in her seat. “We didn’t exactly go . . . out.”
“You’re not telling me . . .”
“No, no,” Flo protested. “Nothing like that. We really did have lunch together—just not out. We ate in the breakroom.”
“So did he order something special for you? Some of that raw fish stuff that all these young kids are so keen on?”
Flo squirmed some more. “Not exactly. We got sandwiches from the deli down the street.”
“Still, that’s nice that he bought you lunch.”
Lucille glanced at Flo out of the corner of her eye. Flo’s face was flushed red.
“Okay, Lucille, the truth is he was ordering from the deli and asked if I wanted anything, okay? But he did join me in the breakroom. Sat right next to me, too. I just know he likes me.”
Lucille started to open her mouth but then decided against it. At least Flo wasn’t crying over Marco anymore—he had been way too young for her, but Flo had refused to see that. Of course, it didn’t help that he had left her for an even older woman. One with money.
Lucille had only been to the Grabowskis once, for cocktails right after Bernadette and Taylor got engaged. The house was on Pine Way—probably one of the most exclusive streets in New Providence—and was stone-fronted with a circular drive and immaculate landscaping. Well, that made sense, Lucille thought, given that Alex was a hedge fund manager.
Flo let out a long, low whistle as they pulled into the drive. She got out of the car and stared up at th
e house. “I think I’ll marry this Taylor guy myself. This is some setup. I can’t believe that tramp Donna DeLucca got this lucky.”
Lucille followed her up the front steps and rang the bell.
They could hear it pealing melodically inside the house, but after several minutes the door remained closed. Flo poked Lucille. “Ring again. Probably takes them ten minutes to get to the front door in a place this size.”
Lucille had her finger on the bell when the door was thrown open.
“Yes?” the red-haired woman standing there asked impatiently.
She had a faint accent and was wearing white silk pajamas with a matching robe. She had several strands of pearls and diamonds draped around her neck, rings on every finger and a pair of sapphire chandelier earrings swung from her ears.
“We’re looking for Taylor Grabowski,” Lucille said as soon as she found her voice. Who was this woman and where on earth was she going dressed like that?
“He’s not here.” The woman held out her hand and admired the rings that winked from every finger.
“Is Alex Grabowski in?”
Lucille tried to peer past her into the hall. A bunch of clothes were tossed on a yellow silk bench in the hallway, dirty plates and glasses were piled on the foyer table and she could see several pairs of shoes discarded here and there. The place looked to be a mess. Donna was going to be furious when she got home, Lucille thought, before remembering that Donna wasn’t never going home again.
The woman scowled. “I don’t know where Alex is, but I would like to know. He owes me money.”
“Who are you?” Flo said, putting one foot on the step to the foyer.
“Natalie.”
Flo continued to stare at her. Lucille couldn’t tell if she was trying to be intimidating or if she was just admiring the woman’s earrings. No matter. It worked.
“Natalie Romescu,” the woman finally answered.
“Are you a relative?”
Her pout deepened. “I am maid.”
Lucille’s jaw dropped. How on earth was she going to get any work done dressed like that? Every time she bent over to scrub a toilet, those necklaces were going to slap her in the face.
“Are you sure Taylor isn’t here?” Lucille glanced up at the house’s façade. “This here’s a big place.”
Natalie pouted again. “I am very sure.” She fingered one of the pearl and diamond necklaces.
“Do you know when he’s coming back?”
She put out her hands, palms up. “He comes and goes when he wants. I am not babysitter, you know.”
“And Alex?”
Natalie’s pout turned to a scowl. “I have not seen him for many days.”
“Was he here on Saturday?” Lucille asked as casually as possible.
Natalie pursed lips that were painted cherry red. “Yes, he is here in the morning, then he go to pick up dinner jacket from cleaner and poof!” She spread her fingers wide and blew into the air. “He is gone, just like that. Never come back.”
“He was supposed to be at his son’s wedding,” Lucille said.
“I know nothing about that.” Natalie lifted her shoulders and let them drop.
“Did he take a bag with him? You know, like a small suitcase or a duffel bag or something?”
“I do not know. Maybe. I think he have briefcase.”
“Why would he take his briefcase with him to pick up his tux at the cleaner’s?” Flo asked Lucille, her eyebrows raised.
Lucille shrugged.
They could hear a telephone ringing somewhere inside the house.
Natalie began to close the door. “I have to go now.”
Lucille opened her mouth to say something but found herself staring at the polished brass knocker on Donna’s front door.
“There was something very odd about that,” Lucille said as they walked toward her car.
“There certainly was!” Flo agreed. “I guess the mouse is playing while the cat’s away.”
Lucille stopped with her hand on the car door handle. “What do you mean?”
“Well, it’s obvious that Natalie has raided Donna’s closet and jewelry box. Where else would she have gotten all that jewelry and those fancy silk pajamas?”
“Yeah,” Lucille said and slipped behind the wheel. “Which means she knows Alex isn’t going to come back anytime soon.”
Chapter 10
“You know what I’d like to know?” Lucille said as she pulled away from the Grabowski’s house. “I’d like to know where Alex Grabowski is staying if he isn’t coming home. I mean, he’s got to be somewheres, right?” She looked at Flo out of the corner of her eye.
Flo grunted.
“I’m thinking that maybe he’s been staying at his office. That’s what Frankie did when—well, you remember. He put up one of them lightweight cot things and spent the night.”
“You know, you could be right.” Flo pulled a lipstick from her bag and touched up her lips. “I think we should go check out this guy’s office. Maybe we’ll get lucky and he’s there.”
“Yeah. And maybe he can tell us where to find that no-good, disappearing son of his.” Lucille flicked on her blinker. “There’s only one thing. We don’t know where his office is.”
“I do,” Flo said triumphantly. She opened her purse, rummaged around briefly, and pulled out a card. She flashed it at Lucille. “His business card. He gave it to me at the rehearsal dinner. In case I ever want to invest my money.” Flo laughed. “What money? It’s all gone by the end of the month.”
“What’s it say?” Lucille tried to peer at the card, but when a horn sounded she quickly turned her attention back to the road.
“The office is somewhere on Springfield Avenue in Summit.” Flo tapped the card with a long, manicured fingernail. “It’s the Bassett Building. I know where that is. There’s a shoe store on the ground floor. This here’s on the second floor.” She looked out the window. “You’ve got to turn around.”
“As soon as I find a place.”
Flo’s head swiveled in both directions. “Do a U-turn. No one’s coming.”
“No, thanks. I don’t need no tickets.”
Lucille pulled into the nearest driveway, backed out and went in the opposite direction.
Not even ten minutes later, she had parked the car and she and Flo were heading toward the Bassett Building.
Lucille glanced at her watch. “It’s getting late. I hope we haven’t missed him. Always assuming this is where he’s been keeping himself.”
They pulled open the door to the Bassett Building and headed toward the elevator.
“What floor did you say it was?” Lucille asked, her finger hovering over the buttons.
“Second.”
The elevator door opened on the second floor, and they got out. The hallway was quiet and most of the offices were dark behind their frosted glass doors.
“I got a feeling we’re too late,” Flo said as they headed down the hallway toward the suite that housed Investments International and Alex Grabowski’s office.
“Yeah, but if he’s spending his nights here, he might still be around.”
They turned the corner and stopped outside Suite 215.
“It’s dark,” Lucille said as she rattled the door handle. She peered through the frosted glass. “I don’t see nobody in there.”
“Maybe he’s in an inner office. Knock on the door.”
Lucille rapped on the glass.
They waited.
“No one,” Lucille said, disappointed. She turned away from the door. “We might as well go. I’ve got to get dinner started anyway.”
“Wait.” Flo put up a hand. “What’s this.”
A bundle of mail tied together with twine was lying on the floor just outside the door to the office.
Lucille poked it with her toe. “Looks like today’s mail.”
“I guess that means Alex hasn’t been around. He would have picked it up, don’t you think?”
“Yeah.” Lucille s
tooped down and read the return address on the top piece of mail. It was a manila envelope with a clear cellophane window where the address showed through.
“Get a load of this.” Lucille picked up the stack of mail and pointed to the top piece. “Looks like he got something from some insurance company. National Mutual Life Insurance Company,” she read out loud.
“I wonder who he was insuring,” Flo said. “I mean, don’t you think it’s kind of suspicious that Donna has turned up dead and her husband is missing? Maybe he took a policy out on her. He could be planning to collect the dough and then skip town.”
Lucille looked up and down the hall. Everything was quiet—no one tiptoeing about.
“What if we take this here envelope back to my place and steam it open and see for ourselves?”
Flo gasped. “Are you serious?”
Lucille shook her head. “Yeah. Then we can bring it back, tie the bundle back up and no one will be the wiser. Alex wasn’t here today, and something tells me he ain’t going to be here tomorrow either.”
“I wonder what else is in that stack there?”
Lucille eased the twine off the batch of mail and began to go through it. Flo leaned over her shoulder.
“Back up, would yous?” Lucille elbowed Flo. “You’re making me sweat breathing hot air all over me like that.”
“Well, I sure am sorry,” Flo said in a snippy tone.
“Looks like a lot of bills.” Lucille held up an envelope that had Past Due stamped on it in red ink.
She continued to rifle through the stack of mail. “Here’s another one. And another.” She held the envelopes out for Flo to see.
“Looks like he was behind on a lot of things. I thought they was so rich.”
“Maybe he was a gambler and pissed it all away.”
“Now we really need to see what that insurance policy says.”
• • •
Lucille figured she needed to schedule another fast day soon or this new diet wasn’t going to work. But not today. She’d had a sub loaded with capicola and salami for lunch. She’d meant to save half for tomorrow, but before she’d realized what she was doing she had finished the whole thing. She was pretty sure that it didn’t leave too many calories left over for dinner if she was supposed to stick to only 800. Especially since she was planning baked rigatoni for dinner.
