by Peg Cochran
“Frankie’s cousins,” Lucille corrected. “Once removed.”
Sambucco shrugged. “Whatever.”
“Come on, Richie, use your head.”
Sambucco sighed. “Look, Lucille, like I told you, it’s not me, it’s the chief. It would be different if Frankie’s cousin was still the chief—but he’s retired, and we’ve got this young guy who insists on doing everything by the book. And I got to play along if I want to keep my job. It isn’t personal or nothing.”
“Sure, sure, I understand. You’ve got to do your job. I get it.”
“It’s not like I’m going to arrest you or nothing. But if you can think of anything . . . and I mean anything . . . that might help us find the killer, you tell me, okay?” Sambucco took one of Lucille’s hands in his and held it.
Lucille had a feeling she was pretty sure wasn’t no hot flash. Suddenly she was sixteen again and in tenth grade in the backseat of Richie’s car. She gave Richie’s hand a squeeze and then pulled hers away.
“I appreciate what you’re doing for me, I really do. And if I hear of anything that might help solve your case, you’ll be the first person I call.”
“I hope I’ll be the only person.” Sambucco got out his wallet and pulled out a couple of singles. He left one on the table.
“You don’t have to—”
“Forget about it, Lucille. It’s on me. Just do me a favor and talk to Flo, okay? You got my cell number?”
Lucille nodded.
“Great.” Sambucco looked at his watch. “Geez, I gotta get going. You take care, and don’t forget, you call me if you’ve got anything, okay? No playing hero this time. Promise?”
“I promise.” Lucille watched as Sambucco walked to the front of the restaurant and pushed open the door.
The blonde waitress was leaning on the desk chatting with the cashier. Lucille sauntered over as casually as she could. She wished Richie had let her pay for her iced coffee—then she’d have an excuse to approach the two women.
No matter. She’d just go up and ask, all casual-like, if the blonde was Betty.
Both of the women looked up as Lucille approached the cashier’s desk. Even before she could say a word she caught a glimpse of the blonde’s name tag: Ashley.
“Is . . . is Betty here?” Lucille stammered, at a loss for what to say.
“Betty?” the cashier asked. “Nah, she got married.”
Ashley nodded. “Yeah. She quit right after. I think they moved.”
“Down the shore to Atlantic City,” the cashier said. “I think I have her address somewhere if you’d like it.”
“No, that’s okay,” Lucille said. “I’m sure she’ll be in touch.”
And she beat a hasty retreat from the Old Glory.
• • •
As Lucille pulled into her driveway, she noticed a Cadillac parked in front of her house. It was black or dark blue with them tinted windows they put in cars for celebrities and politicians. For some reason it gave her a creepy feeling. She thought about those two goons in the dark suits who had crashed Bernadette’s reception and shivered even though it was hot enough to fry an egg on the sidewalk.
She walked toward the front door and stopped to peer in the garage. Bernadette’s car was gone, which was good. She had a doctor’s appointment for an ultrasound. Now that her due date was fast approaching, the doctor seemed to be ordering every single test in the book. Couldn’t they just wait and see how the baby turned out when it arrived? Because even if they found something wrong, what were they going to do about it now?
Lucille tried to see if anyone was inside the parked car, but of course she couldn’t see through the tinted glass. She headed toward the front door again, but every nerve in her body was screaming run! Of course she hadn’t run since her junior year of high school, and even then she didn’t set no records. She and Flo used to saunter around the gym at a snail’s pace while all the goody-goody types were churning up the ground, arms pumping and sweat making their mascara run.
Maybe she couldn’t run no more, but she could walk. She tried to act nonchalant as she turned around and began heading back toward the Olds, pretending as if she’d forgotten something. She’d just reached the door—her fingers were even touching the handle—when two men appeared from around the side of the house and grabbed her by the arms.
They were either the two goons from the reception or very close cousins—dressed in black suits and black T-shirts despite the heat.
“Get your hands off me,” Lucille hissed.
They ignored her and, lifting her up off the ground, propelled her toward her own front door. Lucille glanced left and right, but for once Mrs. Esposito wasn’t out pulling weeds and Kayleigh, the young mother next door, must have put the kids down for a nap because the yard was empty and silent.
Lucille thought about screaming, but who would hear her?
Meanwhile, they had reached the front door.
“Open it,” the guy on the right said. He had what Lucille thought was called a lazy eye, and it was kind of weird the way it roamed all over the place while he was talking to her. Her cousin Francine used to have one of them, and she never did get married on account of guys were put off by it.
Lucille wrangled the door key out of her pocket but her hands was shaking so hard she couldn’t hardly get it in the lock. The guy on her left sighed loudly, took the key from her, and opened the front door.
They shoved her inside.
The house was empty. Frankie was at work and Angela had taken Millie and Louis shopping. Louis needed some new socks, and Millie wanted to get a new bra.
“What do you want?” Lucille asked as they pushed her into a kitchen chair.
“We want to ask you some questions,” the shorter one said. He had a scar that ran from his temple around to the back of his head that was visible through his buzz cut.
“You want a cup of coffee, maybe? And I just made a nice angel food cake. I could cut you a slice . . .” Lucille babbled.
“No,” the shorter one said, “we’re not here for a coffee klatch.”
The taller one shot him a look. “I could do with something to eat.” Lucille noticed he was missing the tip of one finger.
She got up before the shorter guy could say anything. She’d feel better on her feet doing something rather than just sitting there listening to her heart pounding in her chest. Meanwhile she sent up a prayer to St. Arthelais of Benvento, patron saint of kidnapping victims. She wished Frankie would come home for lunch, but he usually picked up something from the deli around the corner from his office.
Lucille bustled around fixing the coffee and slicing the cake. She cut herself a slice, too. Today was her fasting day, but she was feeling kind of weak and needed something to perk her up. Besides, angel food cake was so light, it couldn’t possibly ruin her diet.
“Mmmm, this is good. You make this?” The taller guy forked up another bite.
“You sure you don’t want some?” Lucille turned to the other goon.
He cracked his knuckles. “All right, just a little piece maybe.”
Lucille cut another portion of the cake and put it on a plate. She glanced at the knife in her hand. Here she was holding a possible weapon and them guys was too dumb to notice. Could she take one of them by surprise? But then what would she do about the other one? Besides, she couldn’t picture herself sinking the knife into someone’s chest. Just the thought gave her the heebie-jeebies. She reluctantly put it down on the counter.
The shorter one finished his piece of cake and put the plate on the table. “Okay, enough of this stuff here. You need to tell us where Alex Grabowski is hiding.”
“Alex? Grabowski?” Lucille stuttered.
“Yeah. We saw you went to his house the other day.”
“What do you want with Alex?”
“Let’s just say the boss wants to have a word with him. About a debt he owes.”
“I don’t think your boss is going to be able to talk to Alex now.�
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“Oh, don’t worry, he will. Because you’re going to tell us where he is, right?” He raised his fist threateningly.
“Oh, yeah? You think so, huh?”
The shorter one moved closer to Lucille.
“Okay, okay, don’t go getting all hot under the collar. It’s just that Alex Grabowski is dead,” she finished triumphantly.
“Dead?” the short one echoed.
“That can’t be,” the other one responded.
Lucille shook her head. “I got it straight from the horse’s mouth. Or at least from Detective Richie Sambucco.”
They both groaned.
“The boss is going to kill us,” the taller one muttered to the other.
“Yeah? Well, that ain’t my problem. Now the two of yous get out of my house. Go on, get out.” Lucille made a shooing motion at them.
They both headed toward the front hall.
“Listen,” Lucille said as she held open the door. “You find that kid Taylor, you let me know, okay? I need to have a word with him. He left my Bernadette standing at the altar. Just wait till I get my hands on him,” she called after the men’s retreating backs.
Lucille slammed the door shut and leaned against it, her hand on her chest. One of these days she really was going to have one of them heart attacks.
She was more shaken by the incident than she wanted to admit. She kept looking at the clock, but Angela hadn’t stopped by yet to bring back Louis and Millie. Besides, Lucille wasn’t sure she wanted to tell Angela about what had happened. Somehow Angela would turn things around and it would sound like it was all Lucille’s fault. Angela had been doing that to Lucille since Lucille was born.
She finally picked up the phone and dialed Frankie’s office. Janice, the secretary, answered on the fifth ring. She sounded kind of harried, as if they might be very busy. Lucille kept it short and sweet, although she and Janice had been known to pass the time gossiping whenever possible.
“Yo, Janice, it’s Lucille. Is Frankie there?”
“I’m sorry, Lucille,” Janice said breathlessly, “but Frankie is out on a job. Want me to give him a message?”
“Nah, that’s okay. I’ll give him a ring later. It’s not important.”
Lucille would have tried to prolong the conversation, but she could hear one of Janice’s other lines ringing in the background and reluctantly hung up.
She paced her kitchen—back and forth in the area between the refrigerator and the table. Two steps forward and two back. Those goons had upset her more than she wanted to admit. What was going on? Where was Taylor and who had killed Donna and Alex?
Finally Lucille could stand it no more. She grabbed the phone and dialed the number of the plastic surgery clinic where Flo was working. Flo always knew how to make it better. Even though they sometimes argued and sometimes even didn’t talk for a couple of weeks, in many ways Flo was more family to Lucille than her own family.
The phone rang half a dozen times before Flo’s voice came over the line.
“Yo, Flo, can I come over and see you? Something’s happened and I’m kind of upset.”
“Oh, goodness, Lucille, what is it?” Flo whispered. Lucille guessed maybe one of the doctors was nearby.
“Can I come and see you?”
“Geez, it must really be something. I hope Frankie’s okay. It’s not the baby, is it?”
“No, no, nothing like that. I’ll tell you when I get there.”
“Fine. I got a break coming up.”
“Okay, I’ll be there in about fifteen minutes.”
“Listen, can you stop by Starbucks and bring me a skinny triple shot half-caf venti iced caramel macchiato no whip and one pump mocha?”
“A what?”
“Honestly, Lucille, don’t you know anything?”
“I know when something sounds ridiculous. I’ve got a half a pot of coffee left. I’ll pour it over some ice, add a bit of milk and sugar and bring it to you. Okay?”
Flo sighed. “Fine.”
Lucille fixed a thermos of coffee for Flo, looking over her shoulder the whole time. What if those goons came back? A shiver went up her spine despite the fact that the kitchen was sweltering. Millie must have turned off the air conditioner while Lucille was out.
Lucille was glad when the door shut behind her and she was behind the wheel of her beloved Olds. She shot out of the driveway so fast that Mrs. Esposito, who was next door watering a bunch of plants that looked like they were ready for life support, actually jumped.
The clinic where Flo worked was right on Springfield Avenue. Lucille found it easily enough. It was a long, low building with elaborate white shutters and an absurd fountain tinkling in the small garden.
Lucille parked, walked around to the front of the building and pushed open the door. Plush sofas and chairs were carefully arranged in the lobby, and framed photographs of attractive women with unnaturally smooth faces, gigantic smiles and impossibly white teeth adorned the walls.
Flo was seated at a curved, polished wooden desk outfitted with a telephone that looked to Lucille like it came out of one of them futuristic shows on television.
“Give me a sec, would you?” she said when Lucille approached her.
“Sure, sure, no problem. You want this now?” She held up the thermos.
“In a minute, okay?”
“Sure.” Lucille wandered into the waiting room and took a seat in a deep blue velvet chair. She sank practically up to her chin. She looked around. There was a notebook on an occasional table alongside the chair. She picked it up and began to leaf through it. It contained before and after pictures of clients. Lucille had to admit, the doctors did some amazing work. She put her hands on either side of her face and lifted. There was a mirror on the far wall, and she went to stand in front of it. She did look better with some of the excess skin tightened, although her eyes looked kind of funny—squinty-like.
Suddenly Flo came up behind her. “You should consider having some work done.” She pointed at Lucille’s reflection in the mirror.
Lucille let her hands drop to her sides. “You gotta be kidding, right? It’s enough we can pay our mortgage every month with a little left over to put away for our golden years. Never mind me having plastic surgery.”
Flo examined Lucille’s face. “You don’t need surgery. A little Botox would do. Smooth out these wrinkles here”—she traced a line across Lucille’s forehead—“and here” —she touched the grooves that ran from Lucille’s nose to her mouth.
“Yeah, but I bet even that ain’t cheap.”
“I’m sure I can convince Dr. Hacker to give you a discount. He did mine for free.” Flo brushed a hand across her own forehead.
Lucille was starting to wonder what Frankie would think if she went ahead and did it. Maybe if she had a little work done, lost a few pounds . . .”
“How much of a discount?”
“I’ll ask him. Meanwhile, let’s go outside. I could do with a smoke.”
Lucille followed Flo out to the parking lot. There was a grassy area in back with a battered wooden picnic table. They sat down across from each other and Flo fished a cigarette out of her pocket. She lit it, took a deep drag, then twisted the cap off the thermos. She poured some out and took a long drink.
“Oh, that’s just what I needed,” she said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
“It may not be one of them drinks from Starbucks, but if you ask me, coffee is coffee.”
“So are you going to tell me what happened?”
Lucille took a deep breath and explained to Flo about the two goons who had shown up at her house.
Flo gasped. “Geez, Lucille, you could have been killed!”
Lucille’s hands started to shake again. “It was awful,” she admitted.
“You need a pick-me-up.” Flo took a last puff of her cigarette and stubbed it out on the bottom of her shoe. “Let’s see if Dr. Hacker can fit you in. It’ll be my treat.”
“I can’t let you�
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“Nonsense. It’s an early birthday present.”
Lucille was ready to protest some more but then shut her mouth. You just didn’t say no to Flo. It was impossible. She would end up going along with it sooner or later so it might as well be sooner so she could get home and start thinking about dinner. Hopefully Dr. Hacker would be booked solid and Lucille wouldn’t have to go through with it.
“Listen,” Lucille said as Flo drained the rest of her coffee. “Richie Sambucco asked me to do him a favor. A little ground work, so to speak.”
Flo raised an eyebrow.
“Seems he’s kind of thinking of asking you out. He asked me to see how you would feel about that.”
“Richie Sambucco?” Flo snorted. “I’ve got my eye on bigger things.”
“Richie’s a nice guy, Flo. You have a similar background, and believe me, that means a lot. And he’s got a good job and all. You ought to give him a chance.”
“Yeah? How much do you think a policeman makes compared to a plastic surgeon?” She jerked her head in the direction of the clinic.
“Well, sure, if it’s only money you’re after. But marriage is a partnership. You gotta like each other and respect each other. You need to have something in common.”
“Dr. Hacker likes to travel and spend money, and so do I.”
“You know that’s not what I mean.”
“Look, Lucille, I’ve spent my whole life pinching pennies. Raising a kid on my own, holding down a job, sometimes two. I want to take it easy for a change.”
“So what am I going to tell Richie?”
“Don’t tell him anything. I’ll let him down gently if he calls, don’t you worry.” Flo glanced at her watch. “And now I’ve got to get back to work.”
Lucille followed Flo back to the reception desk, where one of the nurses had been sitting in her absence. Flo sank into her chair and jiggled the mouse on her computer, which sprang to life, revealing a screensaver of a tropical island paradise with blue water and sparkling white sands.
“Let me see,” Flo said as she scrolled through a bunch of entries. “Bingo!” she announced, pointing a hot pink painted nail at the screen. “Dr. Hacker’s got an opening in fifteen minutes. I’m going to go talk to him now.”
