by Peg Cochran
“You think so?”
“I don’t know. Maybe she was after Jack on account of the money. She marries him and keeps seeing the boyfriend on the side. She eventually divorces Jack, gets a big settlement and she and the boyfriend—”
“Ride off into the sunset.”
“Yeah. Just like in them old movies.”
• • •
Lucille pulled the Olds into the driveway and scurried into the house. She had to hurry and change for Flo’s bachelorette party. They didn’t have no parties like that back when she and Frankie got married. You had a proper wedding shower with some of your girlfriends and your mother, your future mother-in-law, ninety-year-old Aunt Rose and one of your friend’s daughters all done up in a frilly dress and white patent leather Mary Janes.
You sure didn’t have no male strippers or margarita fountains like Flo was talking about. Certainly not with your mother and grandmother and Aunt Rose sitting there. You pulled a bunch of folding chairs into a circle and opened your gifts. Then you had cake and coffee and everyone went home.
Flo said the theme of the party was glitter and everyone was supposed to wear something with sequins or sparkles. Lucille didn’t have much use for either of those but she did have a sequined sweater somewhere in the back of the closet that she bought that one time she and Frankie went to a New Year’s Eve party at their friends Natalie and Steve’s house.
Lucille pulled the top out and looked it over. It looked a little small. She said a quick prayer to Saint Thomas Aquinas, who they said had also struggled with his weight during his life.
Lucille slipped the top over her head. Her arm got caught and she had to thrash around a bit to get it free. She managed to pull the top down and went to the mirror to see how it looked.
It was a little snug and kept wanting to ride up. Lucille tugged it back into position. The shoulder pads looked kind of funny, but there wasn’t nothing she could do about it now.
Flo said she would pick Lucille up. Lucille didn’t know why, she could easily take the Olds—so maybe it didn’t start right away, but it always got her there in the end.
Lucille pulled back the living room curtain and was watching out the window when a huge white stretch limo pulled into her driveway. She figured they was turning around. The driver was going to have a time of it, what with Mr. Tarantino’s car parked at the curb right across the street from Lucille’s driveway. Mr. Tarantino had a perfectly good driveway and a perfectly good garage but he insisted on parking his car in the street.
The door to the limo began to open. Lucille hoped they weren’t going to ask for no directions.
Flo emerged from the limo clad in a shimmering body-fitting dress covered in gold sequins. What there was of it—if the cleavage was any lower or the skirt any shorter, Lucille figured they would meet in the middle. She hoped Flo didn’t pay too much for the dress because she sure didn’t get much material for her money.
But what was Flo doing in a stretch limo?
Lucille had the door open before Flo reached the front step.
“What are you doing?” Lucille said. “I thought we was supposed to go to your bridal shower.”
“We are. I thought it would be fun to pick everyone up so I decided to treat myself, seeing as how we couldn’t all go to Las Vegas for the weekend.”
Lucille hesitated.
“Come on, everyone is waiting.” Flo urged her toward the car.
Lucille grabbed her jacket, followed Flo down the walkway and climbed into the waiting car. Most of the seats were already taken—she recognized Rita and Carmela from the Clip and Curl, a woman Flo worked with at the plastic surgery office, one of her neighbors and a few ladies from church.
The limo whisked them through downtown New Providence, which was quiet, most of the shops being closed, although there was a line at the ATM at the bank.
Flo had rented a function room at the Murray Hill Inn—something else Lucille had never heard of. The people she knew used the church hall for everything from bridal showers to funeral luncheons.
Flo handed out plastic glasses and passed around a bottle of champagne that had been sitting in a bucket filled with ice.
Lucille tried to hold her glass steady as they turned the corner onto Central Avenue. She took a few cautious sips—she didn’t want to get tipsy before the party even started.
The car pulled up in front of the inn and the driver whipped around to open the door.
“This is quite something, isn’t it?” Rita said to Lucille as they stood in front of the hotel. “Leave it to Flo to come up with a plan like this, huh?”
Rita tottered slightly on her stiletto heels. She laughed.
“I’m used to wearing flats since I’m on my feet all day. I think I’m out of practice.”
Lucille hadn’t worn more than a one- or two-inch heel since she could remember. Even now she was wearing a pair of flats that were getting old but had conformed to the shape of her feet and were really comfortable.
The group of ladies, glittering in their sequins and spangles, marched into the hotel and down to the room Flo had rented for the party.
The lights were dimmed and there was a round table in the middle of the room with a fountain on it. Some kind of liquid was flowing from it, and it was ringed with cocktail glasses. Lucille figured those were the margaritas. She was going to steer clear of them. Too much to drink and the next thing you know you’re dancing on the tables and having to be helped home. And the next day you wake up with a headache and queasy stomach that even a good dose of Brioschi won’t cure.
Gifts were piled on a long table with a paper wedding bell decorating the center. Lucille carried her package over and nestled it in among the others—her wrapping hadn’t turned out too good and some of these were real fancy.
She hadn’t known what to get Flo—she already had a house all set up and so did Richie, so she got them a new set of towels with His and Hers embroidered on them. Everybody could use new towels, right? She and Frankie still had a couple leftover from when they were first married, although now they were in the rag bag instead of the linen closet.
Lucille helped herself to a piece of cake—it wasn’t polite to go to a party and then not eat a little something. There were some fancy bottles of water in a tub of ice, and Lucille grabbed one of those. She never could understand buying bottled water when the stuff that came out of your tap tasted just fine.
She was about to go over to talk to Rita when the swinging door to the Carmel Room burst open and a bunch of policemen rushed in. Lucille squealed and nearly dropped her cake on the floor. What was going on? They weren’t doing nothing wrong—just a bunch of middle-aged ladies having a party.
The policemen stood in the middle of the room with their hands hanging. Their heads swiveled back and forth as if they were looking for something. Lucille’s nephew Gabe wasn’t with them and she didn’t recognize no one else.
Several minutes went by until Flo yelled music at the top of her lungs and all of a sudden a song came blaring out of hidden loudspeakers.
The men began to dance to the music, gyrating their hips suggestively. Lucille hoped none of them was going to put their backs out moving like that. She figured those weren’t no real policemen. She didn’t know any who could dance like that.
By now the ladies were squealing and clapping, egging the men on. Their moves became more suggestive, and one of them grabbed Flo and began gyrating in front of her dangling a pair of handcuffs playfully.
The guys were young and cute, and Lucille decided she wasn’t going to tell Frankie about this part. She was really beginning to enjoy herself when the men whipped off their shirts and threw them over their shoulders.
The ladies gasped and then whistled and cheered wildly. Someone shouted “Take it all off.”
The music was loud and Lucille was starting to get a headache. Maybe if she got some fresh air. She made her way out of the room, back up to the lobby and out the front door. It was chilly, but the
air felt good—the function room had gotten a bit stuffy.
A woman in an electric blue dress with a sequined top was standing under the portico smoking a cigarette. She flicked a long snake of ash from her cigarette.
“You’re a friend of Flo’s?” she asked in a husky voice.
“Yeah. Flo and I go way back. All the way back to second grade, as a matter of fact.”
“I’m Flo’s cousin. Second cousin, to be accurate.” She smiled. “Sandy Ferrara.”
“Are you related to Joe Ferrara?”
“Yeah.” She dropped the cigarette on the ground, where it continued to smolder. “Joe’s my brother.”
“I’ve been working part-time at that real estate agency where Joe works.”
Sandy made a face. “Good thing Joe still has that job. His wife would kill him if he lost it. It’s a pretty good job, too.” She rummaged in her purse and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “She wouldn’t have to work if Joe didn’t gamble away half his paycheck.”
Lucille’s ears perked up. “I thought Joe wasn’t supposed to gamble no more?”
Sandy made a face. “He isn’t supposed to. He cut a deal with that outfit he works for. Promised to quit gambling, go to his meetings and they wouldn’t prosecute.”
“Prosecute?” Lucille frowned. “Why would they want to prosecute him all on account of missing a couple of closings?”
Sandy bent her head over the match cupped in her hand. She looked up and blew out a stream of smoke.
“I guess you don’t know. Joe embezzled money from the agency—a lot of money.” She took a puff on her cigarette. “Joe’s a good guy. But he’s got this addiction, and he can’t stop.”
“So he took the money to pay off gambling debts?” Lucille thought of that phone call that had come for Joe.
Sandy spit out a crumb of tobacco. “Yes. That’s why he had to promise to quit going to casinos and playing the numbers.”
But Joe still owed money, Lucille thought, or that man wouldn’t have been calling him and sounding so threatening. Lucille knew scared when she saw it, and Joe had been scared.
Chapter 19
Lucille woke up with a dry mouth the next morning and felt as if someone had put a band around her head and was tightening it. Flo had finally talked her into trying the margaritas. Lucille had been thirsty and had drunk two of them way too fast.
Plus, she hadn’t gotten home until after eleven o’clock. Bernadette and Lucy were already in bed and Frank was asleep on the sofa in front of the television.
She couldn’t stay out late no more, Lucille thought sadly. She and Frankie used to go bowling at midnight with their friends when they were young. The bowling alley had a special deal on Saturday nights. It was cheap, and back then they didn’t have too much to spend on having fun.
They still didn’t have too much to spend, Lucille thought as she slipped her feet into her slippers and tied the belt of her robe around her waist. They’d had high hopes when they got married, but she couldn’t complain. They had a nice roof over their heads, plenty to eat and Frankie’s company did okay most of the time.
Lucy was already in her high chair when Lucille got down to the kitchen. She was plucking pieces of dry cereal out of a bowl and stuffing them into her mouth.
Bernadette was sitting at the table, her head propped up with one hand, playing with her phone with the other.
“Aren’t you going to feed the baby some breakfast?” Lucille said, her hands on her hips.
Bernadette yawned. “She has breakfast.” She pointed at the bowl of cereal.
“That’s no breakfast. I used to make you a nice boiled egg every morning or a nice bowl of cream of wheat.”
“She’s fine,” Bernadette insisted. “She likes Lucky Charms.”
Lucille peered at the bowl and frowned. “That has sugar in it.”
“That’s why she likes it.”
“That ain’t no good for her teeth, Bernadette.”
“She only has eight teeth so far.”
“Yeah? Well, do you want her to grow up with eight less teeth in her mouth because she ate too much sugar?”
Bernadette yawned again. “These are only her baby teeth, Ma.”
“So?”
Lucille took her apron off the hook on the back of the pantry door and tied it around her waist. “I’m going to make her a nice scrambled egg and a piece of toast.”
Bernadette shrugged.
By the time Lucille had cooked breakfast for Lucy and had had a bite to eat herself, she had to rush to get dressed. She was working at the church that morning—Father Brennan was sending out St. Rocco’s monthly newsletter and Lucille would be needed to stuff and address envelopes.
• • •
Jeannette spun around when she heard Lucille open the office door.
Jeannette always looked like she’d just sucked on a lemon, Lucille thought as she hung up her coat.
Jeannette pointed to a box of envelopes on Lucille’s desk.
“I’ve printed the labels. You can stick them on the envelopes.”
Lucille gritted her teeth. Jeannette could have done that herself seeing as how she was already here. As far as Lucille could tell, Jeannette didn’t do nothing but push Lucille around and answer the telephone.
Lucille began peeling the labels off the backing and sticking them on the envelopes. After a few minutes, she got into a rhythm and her mind began to wander back to Dotty and Jack’s murders.
She thought about Joe—poor guy must have been pretty desperate when old man Mingledorff caught him stealing from the company. Makes sense he would kill Dotty in order to nab that hefty commission for himself.
But here she and Flo had been suspecting the poor guy and maybe he really had been at that Gamblers Anonymous meeting like he said. It’s not like they could go right up to him and ask him to prove it. Flo said Joe’s and her family had been on the outs for a number of years—going up to him and accusing him of murder was no way to bring the family back together again.
If Joe really did have an alibi, they were going to have to prove it themselves.
Lucille knew Joe was supposed to go to Gamblers Anonymous meetings and they held them meetings here at St. Rocco’s, just like the Weigh to Lose meetings.
Lucille rummaged in her desk and found the schedule of events at St. Rocco’s that they put in the Sunday bulletin every week. She ran her finger down the listings until she came to what she was looking for.
Bingo! The Gamblers Anonymous group met on the same day and at the same time as the Weigh to Lose program, although they were in the smaller room down the hall.
On the one hand, that meant Joe would have been at the church around the time Dotty was murdered. On the other hand, maybe he really was at that meeting.
Lucille hadn’t noticed him hanging around the church that morning and neither had Flo. And did he even know Dotty would be there? Of course, Joe could have showed up for his meeting, noticed Dotty running the weight-loss group down the hall and decided to change his plans—skipping his own meeting and lying in wait for a chance to do Dotty in with her own melon baller.
Dotty had taken attendance at her meeting. Maybe they’d done the same at Gamblers Anonymous. Lucille figured Joe couldn’t be the only one who’d been told he had to participate or else.
But how to find out? Dotty and her husband had taken all their Weigh to Lose material with them each time they held a meeting—perhaps the Gamblers Anonymous leader hadn’t bothered. Maybe they’d shoved it in one of the cupboards so it would be there for next time. They’d been holding meetings at St. Rocco’s for years, so maybe Father Brennan let them keep everything in the closet in that room. It was worth checking out at least.
Lucille squirmed around in her chair. She needed an excuse to get away from Jeannette’s eagle eye. If her hours picked up at the real estate office, maybe she’d be able to get away from Jeannette altogether.
That thought made Lucille very happy. She could imagine saying I
quit to Jeannette and then walking out, her head held high. She murmured the words to herself, lifting her chin and sticking it out. It felt so good she decided to do it again.
Suddenly she was aware of Jeannette staring at her. “Are you talking to me?”
“No, no,” Lucille assured her.
“You must be talking to yourself then.”
“No. Of course I’m not.” Lucille did her best to act affronted. “I was . . . I was practicing my speech.”
Jeannette stared at her without blinking. “You’re giving a speech?”
“Yeah, sure. Why not?”
Jeannette still wasn’t blinking.
“At the Gamblers Anonymous meeting.” Lucille pushed her chair back. “As a matter of fact, I should probably practice downstairs in the room where they’re having the meeting. To get into the right mood, so to speak. So if you don’t mind . . .”
Lucille could feel Jeannette’s eyes boring into her as she walked out of the office. Who did Jeannette think she was anyway? Why couldn’t Lucille give a speech? She’d never done it before, but she’d never shown a house to a potential buyer before either. And she’d done just fine, hadn’t she?
The room where the meetings were held was dark, but the door was unlocked. Lucille flipped on the lights and looked around. There were two posters on the wall—the Serenity Prayer and The Twelve Steps. Lucille felt encouraged. Maybe the leader kept an attendance book and had left it here somewhere.
There was a closet at the back of the room. If there was an attendance book, it would probably be in there.
Lucille started across the room then stopped abruptly. What if the group leader had taken the book home with him? Or her? She supposed the leader could be a her, although in her mind she pictured some middle-aged guy with slightly longer hair wearing a crewneck sweater and fidgeting with the change in his pocket.
She looked over her shoulder as she approached the door. She didn’t want no one to catch her snooping. She didn’t know what she’d say if Father Brennan walked in. Or Jeannette. But Jeannette didn’t like to walk much so Lucille doubted she’d be leaving the office until it was time to go home.