by Peg Cochran
The ticking of the clock on the wall was getting on Lucille’s nerves. They had to get their costumes back to the store, and then Lucille had to go home and start Frankie’s dinner. They usually treated themselves to a steak on Saturday night, but it was too late to go to the butcher now. She’d have to think of something else.
They heard a rustling sound and Sister Genevieve glided into the room. She was very tiny with round, bright blue eyes behind her wire-rimmed glasses. She stood with her hands folded in front of her. Lucille thought they looked like white doves against the black of her habit. She also thought there was no way this woman looked like a killer, but appearances could lie. She saw a movie like that once. She didn’t remember the name, but this baby-faced guy turned out to be the murderer when all along you thought it was going to be the sharp-nosed fellow in the black suit.
“Can I help you?” Her voice was soft and musical.
“I’m Lucille, I mean Sister Lucille, and this here’s Sister Flo.”
Sister Genevieve perched on the edge of the wing chair and fingered her rosary beads nervously. “Where did you say you were from?”
“California. We’re from California.”
“I don’t see how I can help you with anything.”
“It’s about that car accident you were in fifteen years ago.”
Suddenly Sister Genevieve’s fingers were still. “That was a long time ago. I’ve put it behind me.”
“I can imagine it was a terrible experience,” Lucille said, shifting again on the sofa. Flo gave her a dirty look and dug her in the side with her elbow.
Sister Genevieve nodded. “It was. I would rather not talk about it. If you will excuse me, it’s almost time for collation. That’s our dinner,” she explained.
“Do you know almost everyone who was in that accident is now dead?” Lucille said.
Sister Genevieve abruptly sat down again. “What do you mean?”
“Sal and Tiffany have been murdered.”
Sister Genevieve’s hands flew to her face.
“The only one left is Joey.”
“He just got out of jail a couple of months ago,” Flo added.
“Jail?”
“Didn’t you know?”
Sister Genevieve shook her head. “We don’t exactly keep up with the news in here. We devote our time to prayer and worship of Our Lord.” She fingered her rosary beads again. “I remember Joey as being a nice young man. What did he do?”
“You really don’t know?”
Sister Genevieve shook her head.
“It was on account of the accident,” Lucille said.
“But it wasn’t his fault.” Sister Genevieve looked agitated—she was clutching the fabric of her habit. “I know the boys weren’t supposed to be drag racing, but they’d done it dozens of times before. It wasn’t Joey’s fault,” she repeated.
“You want to tell us about it?” Lucille leaned forward with her elbows on her knees.
“We did it all the time. Saturday nights. What else was there to do? Sal, Joey and Dave were older. Everyone was impressed that we were going out with older men.” A ghost of a smile hovered around Sister Genevieve’s lips.
Lucille sent up a mental prayer thanking God that Bernadette was now safely married and she didn’t have to worry about stuff like this no more. Of course, it would eventually be little Lucy’s turn, but by then she might be dead and buried.
“Sal and Joey bought this car together and worked on it for weeks. They did something to the engine to make it go faster, and they would take turns speeding up and down the street.” She looked down at her shoes. “Dave had his own car, and they used to race. I thought it was a thrill to go along.”
Sister Genevieve was quiet for a moment. She seemed to have forgotten that she was going to be late for dinner.
“It was all my fault. I persuaded Nancy, my sister, to come along—I told her how much fun it would be. She was scared at first, but she finally agreed. And now she’s dead.” Sister Genevieve began to weep quietly, tears spilling out of her round blue eyes. She dug in the folds of her habit and pulled out a tissue.
“I couldn’t stand the guilt and wanted to put it all behind me, so shortly afterward I joined the convent and became a bride of Christ.” She shredded the tissue in her hand. “I still dream about it almost every night.”
Being married to Christ was probably a lot easier than being hitched to a real man, Lucille thought. No dinner to cook or laundry to do. Not that she would trade her Frankie for anything.
“So your sister Nancy was in the car with you?” Lucille’s stomach rumbled. The scent of food cooking was seeping into the parlor.
“No, she was riding with Sal and Joey. I was trying to fix her and Joey up. It was just me and Dave in our car.”
“And Dave was racing Joey, right? Dave and your sister were killed, and Joey went to jail.”
“I don’t understand.” Sister Genevieve looked puzzled. “Why did Joey go to jail?”
Lucille was about to open her mouth when a thought occurred to her. It was like playing the slot machines in Atlantic City—suddenly all the pictures lined up—three bunches of cherries in a row. Bingo.
Lucille turned to Flo. “Joey hit his head in the crash and got one of them brain injuries. He couldn’t remember anything about the accident. He had what they call anesthesia.” She turned back to Sister Genevieve. “So Dave was driving the one car, right? The one you were in.”
“Yes.”
“Was Joey driving the other car with Sal, Tiffany and your sister?”
Sister Genevieve was already shaking her head. “No.” The word exploded out of her, and she looked momentarily embarrassed at speaking so loud. “No, Joey wasn’t driving the other car. Sal was.”
Chapter 23
“What?” Flo exclaimed.
Lucille had a moment of satisfaction. For once she was ahead of Flo. “You’re sure it was Sal driving the other car? Maybe Sal was going to drive, but then they changed their minds at the last minute?”
“No, that’s impossible. I was in the passenger seat. Dave pulled alongside of the other car—he was in the left lane—and began to pass it. I looked out my window, and I could clearly see Sal behind the wheel.”
“That doesn’t make no sense.” Flo turned sideways and looked at Lucille. “Why did Joey go to jail then? Why didn’t he say something? Tell them he was innocent?”
“Because he couldn’t remember. Sal must have told the cops that Joey had been driving. They were both thrown from the car in the accident. And since they shared the car like Sister here said, both their prints were on the steering wheel and driver’s-side door.”
“What a rotten little bastard. Joey must have been pissed when he found out.”
Lucille shot Flo a look. Some kind of nuns they were, using language like that.
“Sal was taking a chance, but the only people who knew he was the driver of the car that night were Tiffany and Denise . . . I mean Sister Genevieve. He married Tiffany to keep her quiet, and Sister Genevieve was locked up in this convent here. He must have figured his secret was safe.”
“If I had known, I would certainly have said something.” Sister Genevieve looked pained. “But as I told you, we don’t follow the news here.”
“But what about Tiffany? I could see Joey being pissed at Sal, but why kill Tiffany, too?”
Lucille shrugged. “I think Tiffany put Joey up to it. I think she’s the one who told Joey he hadn’t really been driving that night. She knew it would make him furious—fifteen years of his life down the drain in the slammer. It probably didn’t take much to push him over the edge.”
“But why did Tiffany want Sal dead?”
“I think it was on account of she knew Sal had only married her to keep her quiet about what really happened that night. And I’ll bet she knew about the mistress. I’m sure I’d know if my Frankie was playing around.” Lucille glanced at Sister Genevieve, who looked utterly shocked.
�
�Pssst, Lucille,” Flo whispered in Lucille’s ear. “You’re a nun, remember? You’re not supposed to have no men in your life.”
“Anyways, I think Tiffany was afraid Sal was going to dump her and take off with his bimbo. She wanted the insurance money before that happened. That way she could pay Joey to take care of Sal for her—and keep her own hands clean, so to speak.”
Sister Genevieve was sitting stock-still, her face as white as her cap, her hands clenched in the folds of her habit.
“Remember when we went to that bar over in Berkeley Heights and Tiffany and Joey was there? I saw her hand him an envelope. Joey was expecting his payment, but maybe the envelope was empty, or she shorted him. So he followed Tiffany home, they argued and . . .” Lucille made a slashing motion across her neck. “Nicole said she saw a car leaving Tiffany’s house as she was pulling up. It was probably Joey’s.”
“So what do we do now?” Flo asked.
“You gotta call Richie and tell him what Sister Genevieve here said. Tell him it gives Joey Barba a motive for the two murders. Let the police take it from there.”
Flo pulled her cell phone from her purse. She frowned at it. “No reception.”
“Guess they only get calls from up above in this place.” Lucille pointed toward the ceiling.
“If that’s all, I should be going,” Sister Genevieve said, standing up. Lucille thought she looked awfully wobbly and wondered if maybe she ought to sit back down and put her head between her knees. “Collation will be over soon, and everything will have been put away.”
Geez, Lucille sure hoped they weren’t going to let poor Sister Genevieve starve all on account of her being late for dinner. She sent up a prayer to St. Nicholas, patron saint of the hungry. She was getting hungry herself. Hopefully they could get out of here soon.
They followed Sister Genevieve out to the hallway.
“If you go through those doors there,” Sister Genevieve said and pointed to a set of double doors at the end of the corridor, “that will take you out to the parking lot.”
“Thank you, Sister,” Lucille and Flo chorused.
Lucille and Flo headed toward the end of the hallway. Lucille still thought Flo should have changed her shoes and left her pocketbook in the car, but when Flo didn’t want to listen, Flo didn’t listen.
Suddenly there was a flurry of noise behind them, and they turned to see the nun who had fetched Sister Genevieve for them coming down the hall. Behind her was another nun—older, with a wrinkled face and a less than kindly expression.
“Mother Superior!” Sister Genevieve exclaimed, her face getting even whiter.
“Stop,” Mother Superior yelled, pointing at Flo and Lucille. “Stop right now. Intruders! Stop, I tell you.”
Other nuns were coming out from behind closed doors to gather in the hallway.
Flo grabbed Lucille under the elbow. “Let’s go,” she hissed. “That nun looks mean.”
“Stop,” Mother Superior yelled again. She pointed at one of the nuns crowded in one of the doorways. “Go call the police. Now! Hurry!”
“We’ve got to stop her,” Flo said. “Do something, Lucille.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Think of something.”
By now the nun had disappeared into another room. For all they knew, she was dialing 911 at that very moment. Lucille looked around and spotted a red box on the wall.
A fire alarm! She hesitated briefly then quickly grabbed the lever and pulled.
Chapter 24
The hallway exploded with noise. The nuns covered their ears with their hands and began scurrying toward the exit, bumping into each other and then ricocheting off like balls in a pinball machine.
The firehouse was just down the street, and in moments they could hear sirens.
Flo and Lucille joined the flock of nuns heading toward the door.
“What are we going to do now?” Flo shouted at Lucille.
“I think it’s time we got out of here.” Lucille picked up the skirt of her habit, ready to run to the parking lot and Flo’s Mustang.
“I’ll second that.”
Before they could move, the first fire truck pulled into the driveway and volunteer firemen began spilling out.
A car was right behind them. It made a left turn into the driveway and skidded to a halt right behind the fire truck—a white car with a small tent-shaped sign on top that read Rocky’s Pizza Parlor. The front door opened and Joey got out. He was holding a pizza box and consulting the delivery slip in his hand.
She could sure go for some pizza, Lucille thought. She was starving. She didn’t know nuns ordered pizza. No sooner had the thought crossed her mind than a man came around the corner and approached Joey holding out a twenty-dollar bill. He had Evans Electric embroidered on his shirt.
“And here I thought maybe Sister Genevieve had ordered a pizza,” Lucille said, turning to Flo.
“This is no time for jokes, Lucille. We’ve got to get out of here.”
Suddenly a scream went up from one of the nuns. Lucille whirled around. Joey had grabbed Sister Genevieve and had his arm around her neck. He was holding a gun to her head.
The electrician from Evans Electric approached Joey, as did several of the firemen. Joey waved his gun at them, and they held their arms up in surrender and backed away.
Sister Genevieve had gone even whiter than before, and Lucille could see her lips moving in prayer, although there was an oddly serene look on her face. Lucille supposed she was used to accepting everything as God’s will, and this was no different. Lucille was all for that herself, but she figured God occasionally wanted you to put up a fight. Like right now. She didn’t think God would blame Sister Genevieve one bit if she elbowed Joey in the stomach and took off.
“What on earth is he doing?” Flo whispered to Lucille.
“Getting his revenge, I think. Too bad he doesn’t realize that Sister Genevieve didn’t know nothing about it.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ll explain it later. I don’t think this is a good time. We’ve got to do something. We can’t let him get away with this.”
“Us? Why us? I say we call the police.” Flo began digging around in her purse.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Joey yelled, pointing the gun in their direction.
Flo dropped her purse on the ground and put both of her arms over her head. “I was just getting out my lipstick—”
“Yeah, well, don’t anyone else move unless I say so, okay?”
“Shit,” Flo said. “That there’s a good purse—a genuine fake Coach.”
“Shhhh,” Lucille hissed.
A quiet murmur rose from the nuns clustered together on the grass. The firemen didn’t say anything—just shuffled their feet and looked down at the ground.
Joey began edging down the driveway, pulling Sister Genevieve with him.
Sheesh, she wasn’t even struggling, Lucille thought. She could at least drag her feet a little, make it a bit harder for Joey.
Joey was almost to his car now. He reached behind him with his free arm and opened the passenger-side door. His gun was momentarily lowered, and one of the firemen decided to take advantage of it. He lunged toward Joey, but in his bulky fire protection gear, he couldn’t move fast enough. Before he was even close, Joey had raised the gun and fired a warning shot into the air.
Lucille jumped and put her hands over her ears. “He didn’t have no call to do that.”
“He’s got the gun,” Flo said. “He can do whatever he wants. That’s how it works, Lucille.”
Meanwhile, Joey had shoved Sister Genevieve into the car and shut the door. A piece of her habit had caught in the door and hung outside the car. Lucille could see she was now fingering her rosary beads.
Joey jumped into the driver’s seat, backed the car out of the driveway and took off in a spray of gravel. Everyone stood stock-still. It was like one of them Christmas tableaux, Lucille thought.
“H
e’s not getting away with this. Come on, Flo, let’s go after him.”
“How?”
“We’ll take your car, what do you think?” Lucille gestured toward the parking lot.
“Yeah? You want to tell me how we’re going to get out? That fire truck is completely blocking the driveway.”
“If you drive up over that curb, we can cut across the grass.”
“And put my baby out of alignment? I don’t think so, Lucille.”
“Then there’s only one other solution.”
“What’s that?” Flo asked, a suspicious look on her face.
“We hijack the fire truck. What else?”
Chapter 25
“You’re kidding, right?”
“No! We’ve got to save Sister Genevieve. She didn’t do nothing wrong. There’s no reason she should have to pay for what Sal Zambino did. All on account of not knowing Joey had gone to jail for something he didn’t do.”
Lucille started toward the fire truck.
“Lucille, wait,” Flo called. “I’m coming with you.” She caught up with Lucille. “I used to date a fireman, and he gave me a tour of his rig once. I would have paid more attention if I’d known it was going to come in handy someday.”
Lucille pulled open the driver’s-side door and put her foot on the step. She tried to hoist herself into the seat but it was too high, and she kept stepping on her habit.
“Give me a boost, would you, Flo?”
Flo put a hand under Lucille’s behind and pushed. “How are you going to drive this thing if you can’t even get in it?”
“I’m a little short, that’s all. That doesn’t mean I can’t drive. Everything is going to be fine.”
“Somehow I doubt that,” Flo said as she went around to the passenger side.
“Look,” Lucille said, pointing at the ignition. “They left the keys, and she’s already running.”