by Peg Cochran
Millie was taking things pretty good considering. She and Frankie helped her out of the church and over to the limo from Ippolito’s, which was waiting by the door. Lucille pretended not to notice the moth hole in the shoulder of Millie’s coat. Judging by the style, Millie must have bought it when Eisenhower was president. It was a shame that Louis had gambled away all the family money. Millie used to be quite a sharp dresser—silk dresses, wool suits with velvet collars, good leather shoes. She seemed to have shrunk since those days and become as quiet as a mouse. Lucille felt sorry for her.
Lucille had to admit she always got a bit of a thrill riding in the funeral limo—everyone following behind them as if they were royalty or something. It was too bad someone had to die in order to make it possible.
There were only a handful of people at the grave site. Lucille envied the ones who’d gone straight to the church hall for the luncheon. The wind grabbed her coat the minute she got out of the car. She struggled to pull the two edges together and fasten the buttons.
Father Brennan must have been cold as well because he got the service done in nine minutes—a record for him. He was getting older and was known to ramble a bit, but this time the November weather must have spurred him on.
Lucille was happy to get back in the car and out of the wind. It always seemed to turn bitter right after Thanksgiving, and today it almost felt like snow.
The church hall was crowded when they got there. There was a long line at the buffet. Flo had gotten there ahead of them, and she was waiting in line with a plate in her hand. Lucille looked at the food longingly. Bernadette and Tony hadn’t gone to the grave site on account of the baby. They already had full plates and were sitting at one of the long tables with little Lucy between them in her portable car seat.
“You want to get something to eat?” Lucille asked Millie as more people bore down on them to pay their respects. If they moved now, they could escape before anyone reached them.
“She probably doesn’t have no appetite,” Frank said, putting his arm around Millie. “After everything that’s happened.”
“Are you kidding?” Millie said, shrugging off Frank’s embrace. “I’m starved.” She made a noise that sounded more like a cackle than a laugh. “After everything Louis did—he ruined my life—I’m glad that bastard’s dead.” And she made a beeline for the buffet.
“Would you get a load of that?” Frank turned to Lucille. “Must be the shock. It’s like done something to her mind.” He tapped his head.
“Maybe she was pissed at Louis for losing all their money. After all, half of it was meant for her. Next thing she knows they’re living in that rental they can’t even call their own and then Louis goes and burns the place down.”
“You don’t think Millie . . .” Frankie said.
Lucille shook her head. “I don’t know. It’s possible. Maybe Millie got fed up and decided to hire someone to kill Louis.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Don’t look at me like I’ve got three heads,” Lucille said. “Stranger things have happened. You ought to read Star magazine. You’d be surprised what people do.”
Frankie didn’t look too convinced, Lucille thought, as she headed toward the buffet. She grabbed a plate and waited eagerly for her turn to move up the line. She had to keep her diet in mind though. This time she really was going to lose weight. She spooned a big helping of penne al forno onto her plate. That was as Mediterranean as you could get. The meatballs in marinara sauce were on her diet, too, so she helped herself to some of those. She reluctantly passed up the slow cooker of chili—Mrs. Fiore made a mean pot of chili. Of course, she wasn’t Italian herself—she’d married Mr. Fiore and taken his name.
Lucille figured she’d come back for dessert. They had Italian pastries she could have, although she’d have to pass on the German chocolate cake. She was pretty sure Germany wasn’t in the Mediterranean.
She was heading toward the table where Frankie had secured them some seats when she noticed two women approaching her. One was Mona, Louis’s lady friend. Lucille didn’t recognize the other woman.
Mona had her fur coat draped over her shoulders and a bracelet with what looked like real diamonds on her wrist. The woman who was with her had her hand under Mona’s elbow and appeared to be helping her. She was younger and Lucille took her for the daughter. She had brown hair with a blond streak running through the front. Lucille ran a hand through her own hair—maybe she ought to think about getting some highlights again?
It was sure nice of the two of them to come—she hadn’t realized Mona and Louis had become so close.
The younger woman helped Mona to an empty seat at the end of a table then turned and began to bear down on Lucille. She didn’t look none too happy. As a matter of fact, the expression on her face made Lucille want to turn tail and run, but there was nowhere to put her plate of food down, and she didn’t want to take a chance on spilling it. Some of the serving dishes at the buffet were already nearly empty.
Before Lucille could move, the woman pointed a finger at her. “You.”
Lucille looked around then pointed at herself. “Me?”
“Yes.”
The woman had reached Lucille and Lucille could see her cheeks were flushed. She ought to get her pressure checked. Lucille still remembered old Mr. Fantone, who was always red in the face. He keeled over one day from a stroke, and his wife said it was because his pressure was too high and he refused to do nothing about it.
“You’re related to Louis, right?”
“Yeah. He was my husband Frankie’s father’s second cousin once removed.” She held out her free hand. “I’m Lucille Mazzarella, by the way. That’s like mozzarella but with an a.”
The woman ignored Lucille’s outstretched hand. “Carol Bishop.” She pointed her finger at Lucille again. “I told him he wasn’t going to get away with it.”
“Away with what?” Lucille was getting a little nervous on account of this lady was acting as if she’d lost her marbles.
“He was nothing but a con artist.”
Lucille couldn’t argue with that—Louis had been conning people into taking care of him for as long as she could remember.
“He was romancing my mother because he planned to take advantage of her.”
Take advantage of her, Lucille thought. Mona was a grown woman—surely she knew what was what by now. Lucille thought back to tenth grade, when she and Frankie had broken up for a couple of months and she had had her little fling with Richie Sambucco. Even back then she knew perfectly well what Richie was after and she also knew he wasn’t going to get it.
“Taking into consideration their age—no offense to your mother or nothing—but how was Louis going to take advantage of her?” The woman opened her mouth and Lucille put up a hand. “I know all about them little blue pills they advertise on television, but still . . .”
The woman began to sputter. “That’s hardly what I meant.”
Lucille was getting tired of holding her plate, and besides, the food was probably getting cold. There was a congealing oil slick forming on top of her pasta al forno. “What did you mean then?”
“Louis was worming his way into my mother’s affections in hopes of being mentioned in her will.” Carol gave a loud sniff. “My mother is quite well-off, you know.”
No, she didn’t know, Lucille thought. But it would have been just like Louis to do something like that. Not that she was going to admit it to Mrs. Crotchety Pants here. She adopted what she hoped was a neutral expression but her eyes kept straying to the congealing food on her plate.
Carol’s face hardened. “My mother may have put your cousin in her will, but he’s dead now and he can’t take it with him. That money belongs to me.” She stabbed a finger at her own chest, and Lucille took a step backward.
Before Lucille could say anything more, Carol turned on her heel and marched off. Lucille watched as she grabbed her mother by the arm and half led and half dragged her to the door o
f the church hall.
Lucille stared after them, her food momentarily forgotten. Carol sure was pissed off. Maybe she was the one who’d arranged a hit on Louis?
Chapter 5
“What was that all about?” Flo asked when Lucille joined them at the table.
Lucille shrugged. “That woman got it into her head that Louis was courting her mother because he was after her money.”
Flo snorted. “That would have been the most sensible thing your cousin Louis ever did.”
Millie leaned across Flo and tapped Lucille’s shoulder. Lucille paused with a meatball halfway to her mouth. What with all the interruptions, she wasn’t never going to finish all the food on her plate. If things went on like this, she wouldn’t have to diet after all.
Millie pulled the edges of her black cardigan closer together. She pointed a trembling finger at Lucille. “Louis was quite flush with the money lately,” she whispered, looking over her shoulder.
The people at the table behind them had their heads bent over their plates, and besides, Lucille doubted they would be interested in what Millie had to say. Lucille recognized one fellow from the Knights of Columbus—it looked like he’d brought his whole family along for a free meal.
“What do you mean?” Lucille asked. Was Millie talking about real money? After all, finding a quarter under the sofa cushions would seem like a fortune to her given her circumstances.
“He bought himself a new suit and tie, and he was bringing stuff home all the time, like a couple of pounds of prosciutto from the deli, bottles of whiskey, a big box of those chocolates he likes. He even bought me this sweater.” She tugged at the cuff of her cardigan. “And he was going out regular like,” Millie continued in hushed tones.
“Where’d he get the money?” Lucille thought Millie might be getting that old-timer’s disease everyone was talking about lately. “Where would Louis get money like that from?” Even when Louis had had money, he’d had a hole in his pocket and didn’t keep it for long.
Millie shrugged. She readjusted a pin in her gray bun. It was slowly slipping sideways like a collapsing soufflé.
“He must have gotten it from somewhere,” Lucille said, putting down her fork with a sigh.
“He was playing poker again. He always was good with cards.” Millie lifted a bite of pasta to her mouth. “And he was going somewhere every Tuesday night regular as clockwork.”
“You need money to play poker,” Lucille explained, rubbing two fingers together. “He had to have gotten it from somewheres.”
“Like I said, I don’t know. But I can tell you he was up to something.” Millie bent her head over her plate and went back to finishing her meal.
“I’m going to the ladies’ room.” Lucille poked Flo. “You want to come?”
“Sure. I could stand to powder my nose.”
Flo’s strappy stilettos made for slow progress across the room. Lucille couldn’t see how she could stand to wear shoes like that. She’d given up on heels years ago. Give her a nice pair of Dr. Scholl’s and both she and her feet were happy.
No one was in the ladies’ room when they got there. The crowd was thinning out and the church ladies were beginning to remove the platters of food. Lucille had managed to snag the last cannoli before the empty plate was whisked away.
She rummaged in her purse for her Tums. This Mediterranean diet was giving her heartburn. Maybe it wasn’t the right diet for her?
Flo had already gone into a stall, and Lucille took the one next to it.
“There’s no toilet paper in here,” Flo said, sticking her hand under the partition. “Hand me some, would you?”
Lucille unrolled a wad of paper and handed it to Flo.
“Thanks.”
“Do you think Millie is losing her marbles?” Lucille asked as she opened the stall door and headed toward the sink, where Flo was already looking in the mirror, touching up her lipstick.
“I mean, where would Louis get money from? He’s been dead broke for years.”
“Maybe the lady friend was funding his poker games and giving him presents?”
Lucille looked in the mirror and fluffed her hair with her fingers. She’d forgotten to bring along her comb. “Mona looks like the type who keeps the purse strings pretty tight. And that daughter of hers would make darn sure she did.”
They had left the ladies’ room—the door was swinging closed behind them—when Lucille felt someone tap her on the shoulder. She spun around. It was Mario, her next-door neighbor.
“I wanted to tell you how sorry I was to hear about your cousin Louis and to pay my condolences.”
What a nice man, Lucille thought. He’d only met Louis the one time but he’d made the effort to come to the funeral. That was real neighborly of him.
“Listen,” Lucille dropped her voice. “You don’t know about any poker games going on around town, do you?”
Mario shook his head. “I’m not much of a gambler. Besides, I like to keep myself to myself, know what I mean?” He was studying Lucille intently, and it made her uncomfortable. She took a step backward.
“Sure, sure.” She nodded. “Thanks for coming.”
She was relieved when he turned to leave.
• • •
“There’s something a little off about our new neighbor,” Lucille said later after she and Frank got back from the funeral.
“Off how?” Frank threw his jacket over a chair in the living room.
Lucille gave the jacket the evil eye, but Frankie didn’t notice. She sighed and picked it up to hang in their closet.
“I don’t know. Just off. I never see him going out or having anyone come over.”
“He’s a guy,” Frankie said as he started up the stairs to their bedroom. “What do you expect—he’s going to host a coffee klatch? Guys don’t do stuff like that.”
Lucille hung Frankie’s jacket in the closet. “You’re probably right.”
“You know, I think the daughter of that lady friend of Louis’s might have had something to do with his being killed.”
“What?” Frankie whirled around to stare at Lucille.
“She was afraid that Louis was after her mother’s money, and she was afraid her mother might leave it to him. You know how older people get these whims and go off and do things you never expected. Look at Ma for instance—buying all that stuff from QVC. Who would have thought? It’s possible that Mona would have put Louis in her will and written her daughter out.”
“And on account of that you have her pegged as a murderer.”
“Do you have any other ideas?” Lucille asked, her hands on her hips.
“Yes. I do have another idea.”
Lucille cocked her head. It was nice that Frankie was taking an interest for a change. “So what’s your idea?”
“My idea is that you keep your nose out of things and let the police solve the case. Believe me, they don’t need your help.” Frank pulled on his dark blue work shirt with his name embroidered over the pocket. “You got any more of that Brioschi?”
Frank was changing out of his dress slacks and into his dark blue JoFra ones.
“Sure. I’ll get it for you.” Lucille gave Frank a stern look. “You getting those pains again?”
“It’s only heartburn.” He thumped his chest with his fist. “I ate too much of the pasta al forno.”
“It was good,” Lucille admitted as she went into the bathroom to prepare the antacid for Frank. “You going to work?” she called from the open bathroom door.
“Yeah. We got a big job this afternoon, and Tony’s going to need help if we want to finish by five o’clock.”
Lucille handed him the fizzing glass of Brioschi, and he tossed it back with a grimace.
“What’s for dinner?”
Sheesh, they’d only just finished lunch and already Frankie was talking about dinner. “I don’t know. I’m going to the A&P to see if they have a nice pork tenderloin.” She’d make it rosa di parma style and bingo, it would automa
tically be on her Mediterranean diet.
“Don’t cook dinner too early on account of this job might take longer than we think.”
Frank was about to head out when he turned around suddenly. “Wait. How are you going to get to the store if the Olds won’t start?”
Was he worried about her, Lucille wondered, or was he worried about whether or not she’d be able to get the fixings for his dinner?
“I’m thinking it’s the battery. Flo is coming over to give me a jump to see if we can’t get her started.”
Frankie grunted. “See you later.”
Frankie had barely gone when Lucille heard a horn honking. Must be Flo, she thought. She pulled on her leather jacket, wrapped Frankie’s old wool scarf around her neck and opened the front door. Flo’s red Mustang was parked next to the Olds.
“You sure you know how to do this?” Lucille asked as she approached Flo’s car.
“It’s easy,” Flo said, popping open her trunk and retrieving a set of jumper cables.
Lucille had changed her clothes, but Flo was still wearing the short skirt and high heels she’d worn to the funeral. Lucille thought she must be freezing as she clapped her own hands together to keep them warm.
“What do we do?” Lucille asked as they both peered at the tangle of wires under the open hood of the Olds.
“First you attach this cable here.” Flo struggled to open the clamp. She finally managed it and attached it to the battery. She stood back and stared at it for a moment. “No, that’s not right. That’s supposed to go here.” She removed the clamp and repositioned it.
“I don’t know, Flo. If we do this wrong, we could blow up the Olds or your Mustang. Maybe even both.” Lucille had an image of both cars going up in smoke and frowned.
“What do you want to do then?” Flo removed the clamp and stood with the cables in her hand.
“You ladies need some help?”
They turned to find Mario, bundled into a parka, standing on the lawn.
Lucille breathed a sigh of relief. “Yeah. Do you know how to jump a car?”
