2 Unholy Matrimony

by Peg Cochran

  “Let’s just hope Taylor shows up for the funeral.” Lucille pushed herself up out of her chair. “If I don’t get rid of that bird, Frankie is going to kill me.”

  • • •

  Lucille had some time before the funeral so she thought she’d get some housework done. Bernadette was still sleeping, but Lucille knew the vacuum wouldn’t bother her none. She plugged it in and began to sweep the carpets.

  She did a little dusting, washed some fingerprints off the glass panels alongside the front door and ran a mop over the kitchen floor. There was still time, so she thought she’d throw in a load of laundry or two.

  She went through the clothes, checking for spots. For some reason she always seemed to get one or two on her tops no matter how careful she was. Maybe she ought to start tucking her napkin into her neck instead of putting it on her lap.

  She stuck her hand in the pocket of her capris and pulled out a couple of crumpled tissues. Frankie wouldn’t like it none if his black pants came out all covered with bits of lint.

  Lucille stuck her hand in the other pocket and found something hard. What on earth? Good thing she’d checked. She didn’t need to go putting something important through the wash.

  Lucille gasped when she pulled the two pieces of Donna’s cell phone from her pocket. Here she’d gone and forgotten all about it. She felt herself flush all over. How was she going to give it to Richie now? He’d think she’d been holding on to it on purpose. That she had lured Donna to the church and killed her. Her, who felt guilty swatting a fly.

  Lucille tried to fit the back onto the cell phone. It was one of them real expensive ones—an i-something. Lucille thought that was an awfully strange name for it. The back snapped into place—at least that worked. Lucille pushed one of the buttons and was relieved when the phone came on. Looks like she hadn’t completely broken it after all. Not that it made much difference. With Donna being dead, she wouldn’t be needing it no more.

  Out of curiosity, Lucille punched a couple more buttons and found the call list. There was her phone call all right. Just like Richie said. The one she’d made to Donna before leaving for Macy’s. She hadn’t meant nothing by it. Who knew it would land her in hot water?

  There was a long list of callers. Donna must have spent half the day with the phone pressed to her ear. Lucille scanned the list. Nothing interesting. She was about to turn the phone off, when something caught her eye.

  Someone had called Donna right before Lucille had, not more than a few minutes before, and it just happened to be Donna’s sister, Maria DeLucca. Was it possible that she . . . ? Lucille switched the phone off. Now she was starting to imagine things. Must be all the stress.

  She needed a vacation. Maybe when this was all over, and the baby was here and Bernadette was settled, she and Frankie could go away for a weekend down the shore. It had been a long time since they’d done that. Rita at the beauty parlor had offered to loan Lucille the little condo she and her husband had bought in Wildwood Crest. It was only a couple of blocks from the beach. It would be good for Frankie, too. He’d been working six days a week lately to make ends meet.

  Lucille took the cell phone upstairs and tucked it into her dresser drawer under her underwear. Maybe she’d ask Flo what she thought Lucille ought to do. She didn’t want to bother Frankie. He had enough on his plate as it was.

  Lucille had a black dress she kept for funerals. It wasn’t the latest style, but she didn’t care and didn’t see any reason to buy a new one. She and Frankie led a casual life that didn’t often call for her to put on a dress.

  As she reached into her closet, she noticed the gown she was supposed to have worn for Bernadette’s wedding. Would she ever wear it now?

  She slipped into her dress. It was a little snug, but that didn’t matter. As soon as she got serious about this new diet, she would lose weight like crazy.

  Flo was picking her up, and then they were going to stop to get Lucille’s mother. Lucille looked at her watch. She’d better hurry.

  Lucille was waiting by the door when Flo rang the bell.

  “What are you doing with that thing?” Flo asked, pointing at the birdcage at Lucille’s feet.

  “If I see Taylor at the service, I’m going to give the bird back to him. I promised Frankie I would get rid of it.”

  “I’m not sure I want that in my car.”

  “He’s not going to hurt nothing, Flo, relax.”

  “I hope not.”

  Lucille folded herself in half and slid into the passenger seat of Flo’s Mustang.

  “You know, Flo, we ain’t getting any younger. You’re going to have to get yourself a more practical car. This here model will be too hard to get into and out of when you have arthritis.”

  “We’re not that old, Lucille,” Flo said as they backed out of the driveway. “Besides, what about your Olds? It doesn’t start half the time, makes all sorts of funny noises, and there’s no mirror on the passenger seat visor.”

  “The Olds is fine.”

  “Well, when you get rid of the Olds, I’ll consider trading in my Mustang.”

  They turned onto Lucille’s mother’s street. A child’s red ball rolled into the street and Flo had to slam on the brakes.

  “Be careful. Be careful,” the parrot chirped from the backseat.

  “I can see why Frankie doesn’t want that thing around,” Flo said as she pulled into the driveway. “Frankly, I’d shoot the damn thing if it were mine. I don’t need no one telling me what to do—certainly not some stupid bird.”

  Lucille’s mother came out of the house and got into the backseat. She stared at the bird. “I gotta ride in the back with this thing?”

  Lucille sighed. “You want to trade places with me, Ma?” She put her hand on the door handle.

  “No. We’re going to be late. I want to get to the funeral parlor before they close the casket.”

  “What’s that smell?” Flo sniffed and rolled down the window.

  “My perfume. You like it?” Lucille’s mother said from the backseat.

  “It’s kind of strong, Ma. What kind is it?”

  “It’s called Excitement. I got it from Total Romance. It’s supposed to attract men like honey attracts bees.”

  “I thought you were past that, Ma.”

  “You’re never too old, Lucille.”

  Flo cruised down Springfield Avenue and made a right onto Summit Avenue. There were already a few cars in the parking lot next to Ippolito’s.

  “I hope we didn’t miss nothing,” Lucille’s mother said as Lucille helped pull her out of the backseat of Flo’s car.

  “Where are you going? Where are you going?” the bird said.

  Lucille reached inside and yanked the cover down over the cage.

  A small group of people were standing by the front door to Ippolito’s. An older man was smoking a cigarette and a young man was talking on his cell phone. A black limo, with its motor running, was pulled up just beyond the entrance

  Lucille and Flo made their way inside.

  “What room are they in?”

  “I don’t know,” Lucille said.

  Just then a man who looked to Lucille like he could stand to gain a few pounds glided up to them. He was wearing an ill-fitting black suit and a black tie and had a thin mustache that at first looked like a smudge on his upper lip.

  “Can I help you, ladies?”

  “Yeah. Which room are the Grabowskis in?”

  “If you’ll come this way.”

  They followed him down the carpeted hall to a room at the end. “I believe they will be leaving for the church shortly.”

  “Thanks,” Lucille said.

  “I told you we should have left earlier,” Lucille’s mother said.

  Lucille looked around the room quickly. There were only one or two people, and they looked like employees. Probably everyone else had already headed over to St. Rocco’s. Certainly there was no sign of Taylor. She wondered where Maria was. Probably making a visit to the
little girls’ room before leaving for the funeral.

  “They look good,” Lucille’s mother said, gesturing toward the caskets.

  Lucille glanced over to where the corpses lay in matching satin-lined caskets. She couldn’t see much from here. She really needed to get her eyes checked.

  Just then Maria rushed into the room. “I’m sorry I’m late,” she said to no one in particular. “My car broke down and I had to leave it in the lot behind Liss Pharmacy and walk here.”

  She was all in black, clutching a white handkerchief and with a large leather purse hanging from the crook of her arm. She stopped dead when she saw the caskets and began to scream. “I told you we wanted the caskets closed.” She rounded on one of the employees furiously. “Those were my sister’s final wishes.”

  The young man jumped and approached the caskets. Lucille sidled closer to get a better look before they put the lids down. She knew from experience that the dead didn’t always look exactly like they did in real life. Sometimes they looked better—like her second cousin, Vinnie. Dying had finally taken the scowl off his face.

  Of course the funeral parlor did its best—putting makeup on the corpse and doing its hair—still, it wasn’t the same. But the guy in the casket didn’t look at all like Alex Grabowski. And Lucille was pretty sure it wasn’t just on account of him being dead.

  The young man was about to lower the lid when Lucille yelled, “That isn’t Alex Grabowski.”

  Maria turned and glared at her. “Are you crazy? How dare you. You think I don’t know my own brother-in-law?”

  “That ain’t Alex Grabowski,” Lucille insisted. The guy didn’t look at all like Alex. What was wrong with Maria? Maybe all this had been too much for her and she had lost her mind?

  Lucille was about to go to Maria to try to comfort her, when Maria whipped a gun out of her purse.

  “Nobody move.” She waved the gun around unsteadily.

  Her eyes looked crazy—kind of like Lucille’s old Uncle Dom when he’d had too much to drink.

  “No need to get so upset,” Lucille said, taking a step toward Maria.

  “Stop,” Maria commanded.

  Lucille didn’t need to be told twice. She put her arms up to show Maria she wasn’t going to go no further. This wasn’t the first time Lucille had looked down the barrel of a gun, and it wasn’t no less scary than it had been the first time.

  Everyone else in the room stood stock-still. It reminded Lucille of the tableaux they used to do in grade school at Christmas. She’d always hoped she’d be picked to play Mary, but she usually ended up as one of the donkeys in the manger.

  Maria looked around wildly, finally lunging toward Lucille and grabbing her by the arm. She pressed the gun against Lucille’s temple.

  “You’re going with me.”

  “Whoa, I gotta get home. My Bernadette is having a baby any minute now, and you know how girls are at a time like that, they need their mother.”

  “I wouldn’t know about that,” Maria said, increasing the pressure of the gun on Lucille’s temple.

  “Okay, okay, no need to get all bent out of shape about it. Sheesh. Where are we going?”

  “That’s none of your business. Just remember, I have nothing to lose by shooting you.”

  “Okay, okay.”

  Maria led Lucille toward a door at the back of the room. Lucille supposed that was where the hearse pulled up to load the casket. She hoped she wasn’t going to end up in one of those herself. As long as she did what Maria asked, there was a chance she could talk some sense into her. Lord knows, she’d had enough practice trying to talk sense into Bernadette.

  Maria whirled around suddenly, jerking Lucille’s arm. She pointed at Flo. “Give me your keys.”

  “My keys?” Flo repeated.

  “Yeah. To your car.” Maria held out her hand and waggled her fingers.

  “Over my dead body,” Flo said, clutching her purse to her chest.

  Maria removed the gun from Lucille’s temple and waved it toward Flo.

  “Okay, okay, it’s just a figure of speech, know what I mean? No need to get all worked up about it,” Flo said as she scrambled in her purse for her keys. “Here.” She pulled them from her handbag and dangled them in front of Maria.

  Maria went to snatch them, but Flo tossed them away from her toward the far corner of the room. Maria made a noise like a wounded animal and looked from Flo to Lucille to where the keys had landed and then back again. Finally, she backed away from Lucille, the gun still pointed at her.

  No one moved. They knew they were dealing with a crazy person.

  Maria grabbed the keys and straightened up. Suddenly Flo took off one of her stilettos and slammed the heel down on Maria’s hand.

  Maria howled in pain, but she didn’t drop the keys. For a horrible moment Lucille thought she was going to shoot Flo. Bile rose up from her stomach, and she wished she could have a good dose of Brioschi. That would clear it up in no time.

  Maria kept her eye on Flo as she dragged Lucille to the door. Next thing she knew, they were out the door and heading across the parking lot. Maria kept the gun pressed to Lucille’s side where no one could see it. They looked like two women out for a stroll. Except maybe for the rings of sweat forming under Lucille’s arms. That was the last time she was going to buy that off-brand deodorant.

  “Which one is your friend’s car?” Maria asked.

  She sounded so normal, Lucille thought, like they was just having an everyday conversation about the weather. She pointed to Flo’s red Mustang.

  “Nice car,” Maria said as she beeped open the doors.

  She kept the gun trained on Lucille as Lucille folded herself into the passenger seat. Lucille stared out the window as they pulled out of the parking lot. She thought about Frankie. He would miss her if something happened to her, although she figured he’d move on eventually. All the women would be buzzing around bringing him casseroles and inviting him to dinner. A tear trickled down Lucille’s cheek and she brushed it away. She didn’t want Maria to see her crying.

  Then she thought of Bernadette and the granddaughter she would never see. They already knew it was a girl. Bernadette had had one of them ultrasounds and had more pictures of the baby before it was born than Lucille did of Bernadette before her first birthday. Lucille hadn’t had a sonogram herself—back then they only did them for medical reasons. Now they had a special 3-D variety that everyone was paying extra for. How would Bernadette manage without her? Maybe Frankie’s new wife would lend a hand. That thought made Lucille cry again, and she tried to turn her mind to something else. She ought to be saying her prayers. The Act of Contrition at least. She sent a prayer up to St. Alexius, patron saint of beggars. Because by now she was ready to beg Maria to let her go.

  Lucille’s mind went around in circles between thinking about her family and how much she would miss them and this here mystery about who had killed Donna. She now knew the second-to-last phone call on Donna’s cell phone had been from Maria. Did that mean that Maria had been the one to lure her sister to the church to kill her? Because Lucille was pretty sure it was a woman who had done it—who else would have bothered to tie that ribbon in a bow?

  But what was the deal with Alex? As far as Lucille knew, Maria didn’t have no beef with him. Except maybe for the fact that he dumped her for her sister. Still, that was a long time ago. And then it wasn’t even Alex in the coffin back at Ippolito’s. Was he really dead at all?

  Maria had been the one to identify Alex’s body. Why would she have lied? And the police found his wallet on him with all his identification. It didn’t make no sense.

  Lucille decided she wasn’t going down without no fight. She was more than willing to forgive and forget, but she didn’t let no one get the best of her. Not Yolanda Narducci back in high school, who tried to accuse Lucille of copying off her paper in algebra class, or Denise Williams, who said Lucille had tripped her when they were running the hurdles in gym. Unfortunately, she had no idea w
hat to do. Grab the wheel and cause an accident? That probably wouldn’t do her no good. This wasn’t no time for her to be laid up with a broken arm or leg. Maybe it would be best to wait until they got to where they were going.

  Lucille thought about the contents of her purse. Could a rattail comb be used as a weapon? Maybe she could poke Maria in the eye with it. The thought made Lucille queasy.

  Lucille watched as the light in front of them turned green. Just their luck to be making such good time. They were on Springfield Avenue and were now approaching the intersection with South Street in the center of New Providence. The light changed and Maria slammed on the brakes.

  “Be careful. Be careful,” screeched the parrot from the backseat.

  “What the hell was that?” Maria shouted, turning to look behind her.

  “It’s a parrot. Nothing to worry about.”

  “Well, that thing had better shut up or I’ll shoot it.”

  “Yeah, baby. Yeah, baby.”

  Maria picked up the gun from her lap, but the light changed and the car behind them beeped. She floored the gas, and Lucille shot forward in her seat. Thank goodness she had her seat belt on or she might have gone straight through the windshield.

  They were heading into Berkley Heights now. Lucille thought she remembered that Maria lived somewhere in Berkley Heights—perhaps they were going to her house.

  Lucille glanced in the side-view mirror of the Mustang. There was a large black car behind them. A mile later Lucille checked the side-view mirror again. The dark-colored car was still there. It was awful strange-looking. Lucille squinted. It was a hearse! She couldn’t see real well, but the driver looked suspiciously like Flo.

  Maria put on her blinker and they made a left turn into a condo development of two-story townhomes shaded by large trees. Maria pulled into a spot in front of one with a bright red door.

  “Don’t make any sudden moves,” she said to Lucille as she opened her door and got out. “If you run, I’ll shoot.”