by Peg Cochran
“Okay, let’s shift her to the trunk now,” Flo said, bending down and grabbing Janice’s ankles.
Lucille took hold of Janice’s shoulders and they began to drag her toward the car.
“Sheesh, I think Janice should have considered going on the Weigh to Lose diet herself,” Lucille said as they stopped briefly and wiped their faces.
“We’re almost there.” Flo pointed toward the driveway. “We can’t stop now.”
“Sure, sure. I’m fine. Let’s go.”
They managed to drag the body the rest of the way and together they heaved it into the trunk.
“Serves her right,” Flo said as she slammed the lid shut.
They were backing out of the driveway when they heard a train whistle and the six seventeen came roaring down the tracks in back of the house.
Flo and Lucille looked at each other, grinned, and gave the thumbs-up.
Chapter 23
“Richie sure was surprised when we pulled into the police station with Janice all trussed up like the Thanksgiving turkey,” Lucille said, letting the curtain drop back into place.
“He sure was,” Flo said, coming out of the bathroom with a mascara wand in her hand. “What’s that noise?”
Lucille moved the curtain out of the way again and peered out the window.
“It’s the street cleaner. And old Mrs. Tarantino is stuck behind it, it looks like. She keeps darting into the other lane as if she’s going to pass, but she must lose her nerve because she keeps dropping back again.” Lucille let the curtain fall back into place. “It’s not like she ever goes any faster than one of them machines anyway. We always seemed to get stuck behind her on the days Bernadette was late for school.”
Which was most of the time, Lucille thought. She wasn’t entirely sorry to see those days go.
“Are you almost ready?”
Lucille followed Flo back to the bathroom, where she was peering into the mirror, outlining her lips with a pencil.
“Almost.”
“I’ve got your dress all laid out nice for you on my bed. And your shoes, too.”
“Thanks, Lucille. Thanks for letting me get ready at your place.” She turned around and blew a kiss at Lucille.
“I’m so excited. I can’t believe you’re marrying Richie. You’re going to be so happy, Flo.”
“I hope so.”
“I know so,” Lucille said firmly. “Marriage is wonderful. It isn’t always a bed of roses and sometimes you have to compromise, you know? But you’ve got each other no matter what and that’s what counts.”
Lucille followed Flo into the bedroom, where Lucille helped her slip on her dress. Flo perched on the edge of the bed and fastened her shoes—stiletto-heeled sandals with ribbon ties around the ankles.
“You look beautiful, Flo,” Lucille said with tears in her eyes.
Flo fastened the jeweled belt that encircled her waist and turned toward the mirror hanging over Lucille’s dresser. She tucked in a stray lock of hair that had escaped and settled the birdcage veil she’d chosen on top of her up-do.
“I think I’m ready, Lucille,” Flo said, and there was a quaver in her voice.
“We just need your bouquet. You wait here while I nip into the kitchen to get it. I put it in the refrigerator to keep it fresh.”
Lucille retrieved the white florist box from the kitchen and brought it to Flo. She stood in front of the mirror and straightened her own dress—a plum-colored taffeta sheath with beading around the neck and on the cuffs of the long sleeves. She’d even gotten shoes dyed to match—not high-heeled like Flo’s, but with a kitten heel that she could walk in without killing herself.
Frankie was already at the church—he was standing up for Richie. The two of them plus her nephew Gabe and some buddies from the police force went out drinking last night for Richie’s bachelor party. Lucille had had the devil of a time getting Frankie up in the morning, but after a glass of Brioschi he was almost as good as new.
Tony was walking his mother down the aisle. Lucille hoped there wouldn’t be no fights on account of Frankie still being mad at Tony. She prayed that all of them being together for Flo and Richie’s wedding would get Frankie to see the light, so to speak.
Flo took one more look in the mirror and turned to Lucille.
“I think I’m ready, Lucille.”
“You look lovely, Flo. Come on, then, let’s go.”
• • •
Lucille picked a couple of dried leaves off the windshield of the Olds and got in. They were going to be just in time for the church. She didn’t want Flo standing around and possibly getting cold feet.
“All set?” She looked over at Flo, who had turned rather white.
“Yes. I’ll be fine once we get there.” She turned toward Lucille. “I got to tell you, Lucille, I’ll be glad when the ceremony’s over. I’m going to order myself a double martini with extra olives the minute we get to the Marco Polo for the reception.”
“You don’t want to drink too much at your own wedding, Flo, so be careful.”
“I will. Don’t worry.”
Lucille turned the key in the ignition. Nothing. She tried again. Still nothing.
“Lucille!” Flo clutched the dashboard. “I knew I should have brought my car instead of having Tony drop me off.”
“Don’t worry, Flo. She’s a little cold is all. Give her a chance to warm up.”
“We’re going to be late.”
“Richie’s going to wait for you. There’s no need to panic.”
Lucille turned the key in the ignition again. Still nothing. She wasn’t turning over.
“What are we going to do?”
“Let’s give her a rest and then try again. I don’t want to flood the engine.”
“You’ve got to get yourself a new car, Lucille. I know you love the Olds, but this is ridiculous.”
Lucille felt her back go up. “The Olds is fine. I told you—she can get a bit cranky in cold weather.”
“It’s only October. What are you going to do in January and February? Tell me that, huh?”
“Everything’s going to be fine, Flo. I said a prayer to Saint Francis of Rome. He’s the patron saint of automobile drivers.”
“Saint Francis? Lu, you need to pray to Saint Jude, patron saint of lost causes, because I hate to break it to you, but this car is one big lost cause.”
Lucille could tell Flo was on the verge of tears. She had to do something before she started to cry and ruined her eye makeup. Then they’d never get to the church.
“I have an idea,” Lucille said as she opened her door.
“What?”
“You don’t have to sound so suspicious. Come on.”
Flo got out of the car. “Okay, now what?”
“Follow me,” Lucille said.
They started down the driveway and along the sidewalk.
“Geez, Lucille,” Flo yelled when her heel caught in a crack and she nearly twisted her ankle. “Where are we going?”
“Not much further. I can hear it in the distance. I think it must be over on the next street.”
“What can you hear? What’s on the next street?”
“The street cleaner.”
“The street cleaner? Have you lost your mind, Lucille? What are we going to do? Stick out our thumb and hitch a ride.”
“Don’t be silly. Of course not. We’re going to ask for a ride real polite like. We don’t have to go far.”
“You are out of your mind,” Flo grumbled.
“Yeah? Well, you got any better ideas?”
Flo continued to grumble, but she followed Lucille down the sidewalk and across the street.
“There it is.” Lucille pointed into the distance.
“This had better work, Lucille. I swear I’m never going to . . .”
Lucille grabbed Flo’s arm. “We’re in luck.”
“How so? I’m not feeling particularly lucky at the moment.”
“Look! See that car parked along th
e curb?”
“We’re going to steal it?”
Lucille rolled her eyes at Flo. “No. But the driver’s gone to ring the doorbell over at that house there. See? I’ll bet the car belongs to someone inside, and he’s going to tell them to move it.”
“Oh. So we’re going to steal the street sweeper?”
“Borrow it, Flo. We’re going to borrow it. He left it running and all.”
“If I weren’t desperate . . .”
“Hurry, before he comes back.”
“If I’d known we were going to be jogging, I’d have worn sneakers,” Flo said, lifting up her skirt and trotting behind Lucille.
“Do you know how to drive one of these things?” Flo said when they reached the street sweeper.
“It can’t be that hard, can it?”
“There’s only room for one person,” Flo said, pointing at the machine.
“You can sit on the front. There’s plenty of room. Here, take my jacket.” Lucille slid out of her leather jacket and handed it to Flo. “Spread this out so you don’t get your dress dirty.”
Flo opened her mouth but then shut it again and scrambled on top of the street sweeper.
“I look like one of those figureheads they have on the front of ships,” she said as Lucille steered the machine away from the curb. “What time is it?”
“We’ve got time, don’t worry.”
“Lucille, we’re going like five miles an hour. It’s going to take an hour to get to the church.”
“Be quiet, Flo. I got to concentrate.”
They’d finally made it to the corner of Springfield Avenue and South Street with a dozen cars trailing behind them, waiting impatiently to pass. A couple of them honked their horns, but Lucille gave them the finger and kept on driving.
Cars came along South Street in fits and spurts. Finally there was a break in traffic and Lucille pulled out to make the turn. A red Camaro was coming toward them. The driver wasn’t slowing.
“What’s that jerk doing?” Flo said, pointing toward the sports car. “He’s probably texting. Everyone texts and drives these days.” She clutched the sides of the sweeper. “Go faster, Lucille.”
“I’ve got her floored, Flo. She can’t go no faster.”
Lucille closed her eyes as the Camaro got closer and closer. At the last minute, the driver looked up from their phone and pulled hard to the left. The other lane was empty and they were able to skid around the street sweeper and zoom past.
“I’m going to need a martini myself when we get to the reception,” Lucille said.
“Hell,” Flo said, straightening her hat. “I can’t wait that long. I’m going to grab that cup of Communion wine from Father Brennan and drain it.”
They continued on in their snail-like pace down the driveway to the church.
“We made it, Flo. None the worse for wear.”
“Speak for yourself,” Flo said as she jumped down from the hood of the street sweeper. “How do I look?”
“Gorgeous. Now go on in and get married.”
• • •
In no time, the church bells were ringing and Flo and Richie were walking back down the aisle, arm in arm, as husband and wife. Lucille didn’t know how Flo did it, but she danced the night away in them high-heeled shoes of hers, never leaving Richie’s side.
After a couple of highballs, Frankie forgot he was mad at Tony and the two of them began talking. Turned out Tony’s business wasn’t doing so hot but he was too ashamed to ask Frankie if he could join the business again.
Well lubricated with alcohol by then, Frankie agreed to take Tony back and the two of them linked arms and began singing “Amore” together at the top of their lungs.
Lucille had had to drive Frank home and Bernadette had had to drive her and Tony and little Lucy.
Lucille was glad to get home and kick off her shoes. Even though her heels weren’t anywhere near as high as Flo’s had been, her feet were killing her. Bernadette and Tony had come to their house and were down in the basement watching television while little Lucy napped in her porta-crib.
Frankie pulled off his tie—which he’d loosened the minute they walked into Marco Polo’s—and tossed it over the back of a kitchen chair.
“You got any of that Brioschi, Lucille?” He put a hand on his stomach. “I don’t know why, but my belly isn’t feeling too good.” He grabbed the back of a kitchen chair as he began to sway.
“You don’t know why?” Lucille said, getting the blue bottle out of the cupboard. “Maybe it’s on account of all them highballs you drank and the three pieces of wedding cake.”
She handed Frankie a glass of fizzing liquid.
“Say, Lucille.” Theresa wandered into the kitchen. She’d changed out of the gold brocade suit she’d worn for the wedding into a velour jogging suit and a pair of fuzzy bedroom slippers. “Did you ever check the numbers on that lottery ticket you bought?”
“Lottery ticket? What lottery ticket?”
“Don’t you remember? You took me to the A&P to buy one and figured you might as well get one yourself. I hope you didn’t lose it. Someone won the Powerball last week so there isn’t a big prize like there is when we go weeks without a winner. But it will still be something.”
“I forgot all about it,” Lucille said, reaching for her purse. “It should still be in here somewheres.”
“I got the winning numbers right here. They was in today’s paper.” Theresa put an article torn from the newspaper down on the kitchen table.
Lucille scrabbled through her purse. She pulled out half a dozen used tissues, a ballpoint pen that didn’t work, her wallet and a comb with half the teeth missing and finally the lottery ticket. She grabbed her glasses from the kitchen counter and put them on.
She put the ticket next to the newspaper clipping and began to check the numbers one by one, moving her finger from one number to the next. She checked the numbers again. She took off her glasses, cleaned them on the dish towel hanging over the oven handle and checked them again. She couldn’t barely breathe.
“Frankie. Here.” She passed him the ticket, her hand shaking slightly. “You check the numbers. I think I’m seeing things. Must be time for a new pair of glasses.”
“What?” Frank took the ticket and compared the numbers to the one on the clipping Theresa had cut from the paper.
Slowly a grin spread over Frank’s face. “I don’t think you’re seeing things, Lucille. I think we’ve won!”
He grabbed Lucille around the waist and lifted her off her feet.
“Frankie, Frankie, put me down. You’re going to put your back out.” Lucille straightened her dress. “Don’t get too excited. You know how these lotteries are. Maybe we only won a buck like Ma did with her ticket the other day.”
“That was a scratch-off, Lucille. You don’t win big on those. This here is the real lottery.”
“Does the article say anything? About how much the winning ticket is worth?”
Theresa picked up the clipping and ran her fingers along the lines, her lips moving almost imperceptibly.
“It says here that the first prize is fifty thousand dollars!”
“Oh, my God,” Lucille said, her eyes filling with tears. “Oh, my God.”
“We can get a new roof, Lucille. No more worries about that leak in the back bedroom.”
“That’s a lot of money,” Theresa said, the news clipping fluttering in her hand.
“We can go to Italy,” Lucille said, grabbing Frankie’s arm. “We can go to Italy.” She made a sweeping gesture around the room. “All of us. You, me, Ma, Bernadette and Tony and little Lucy. Flo and Richie. We can all go to Italy. And I’ll get to see the Pope.”
She flapped her hands several times then ran out of the kitchen to the foot of the basement stairs.
“Bernadette,” she yelled down the steps. “We’re going to Italy. All of us.”
Books by Peg Cochran
See all of Peg Cochran’s book on the Smashwords!
The Lucille Mysteries
Confession Is Murder
Unholy Matrimony
Hit and Nun
A Room with a Pew
Cannoli to Die For
The Cranberry Cove Mysteries
Berried Secrets
Berry the Hatchet
Dead and Berried
Farmer’s Daughter Mysteries
No Farm, No Foul
Sowed to Death
Bought the Farm
The Gourmet De-Lite Mysteries
Allergic to Death
Steamed to Death
Iced to Death
Young Adult Books
Oh, Brother!
Truth or Dare
Writing as Meg London
Murder Unmentionable
Laced with Poison
A Fatal Slip
About the Author
Peg grew up in a New Jersey suburb about twenty-five miles outside of New York City. After college, she moved to the City, where she managed an art gallery owned by the son of the artist Henri Matisse.
After her husband died, Peg remarried and her new husband took a job in Grand Rapids, Michigan, where they now live (on exile from New Jersey, as she likes to joke). Somehow Peg managed to segue from the art world to marketing and is now the manager of marketing communications for a company that provides services to seniors.
She is the author of the Lucille Mysteries, the Cranberry Cove Mysteries, the Farmer’s Daughter Mysteries, the Gourmet De-Lite Mysteries, and, writing as Meg London, the Sweet Nothings Vintage Lingerie series.
Peg has two daughters, a stepdaughter and stepson, a beautiful granddaughter, and a Westhighland white terrier named Reggie. You can read more at www.pegcochran.com and www.meglondon.com.