A Room with a Pew

by Peg Cochran

  “Aren’t you going to run them through the postage machine?”

  Lucille glanced at her watch. “I’ve got an appointment I got to get to.”

  “Really?” Jeannette raised her eyebrows. Lucille noticed there was a fleck of dandruff in one of them. “What kind of appointment?”

  “Uh.” Lucille tried to think but Jeannette was making her nervous the way she was staring at her. “I’m going to the proctologist. I’ve got this here bunion he needs to take a look at.”

  Jeannette didn’t look convinced, but before she could say anything Lucille had slipped on her jacket, grabbed her purse and was headed toward the door.

  The Olds started on the first try. Lucille patted the dashboard affectionately.

  “Good girl. You’re a good girl and don’t listen to no one who says different.”

  Lucille roared out of the parking lot and headed toward Route 10 and the Napoleon Club.

  It was almost four o’clock, and there were a lot more cars in the parking lot of the club than there had been the last time Lucille was there. After what had happened, she never wanted to see the place again, but she would do it for cousin Louis.

  Stale air hit Lucille in the face when she pushed open the door to the club. A handful of patrons sat at the bar and a girl was practicing a routine on the pole. She stopped when she saw Lucille.

  “Can I help you?” She walked over to Lucille.

  “Yeah. I’d like to see the owner of the club.”

  “Benny? You got an appointment?” She grabbed a bottle of beer off one of the tables and took a swig.

  “No, I don’t got no appointment.”

  “I don’t know.” The girl drew lines in the condensation on the beer bottle with her index finger. “I suppose it’s okay. You look harmless enough.”

  Lucille wasn’t quite sure how to take that. Was it a compliment? She followed the girl down a dark hallway with peeling wallpaper and a dirty tile floor. Lucille couldn’t believe she’d thought this here place was some kind of fancy country club.

  The girl knocked on a partially open door before pushing it open the rest of the way.

  “Yo, Benny, you’ve got a visitor.”

  A girl was standing very close to Benny—so close they were almost touching. She jumped back at the sound of the girl’s voice.

  It was Bernadette.

  Lucille didn’t have no time to react. Benny was coming toward her with his hand outstretched.

  “Benny Alberti. What can I do for you?”

  He was quite handsome in an Elvis Presley sort of way. His shirt was unbuttoned just a little too far, and Lucille couldn’t see how he could fit nothing in the pockets of those jeans of his, they were that tight.

  “I want to ask you a question.”

  Benny snapped his fingers and both the girl and Bernadette scurried from the room. Lucille didn’t have no time to think about what she’d seen or to wonder why Bernadette and Benny had been standing so close together.

  “Seat?”

  Lucille eyed the chair with suspicion. It didn’t look like no one ever gave this place a good cleaning. She perched on the edge of the soiled cushion, avoiding touching the armrests.

  Benny sat on the edge of the battered desk that took up most of the space in the office.

  “Okay, shoot.”

  “It’s like this.” Now that Lucille was here, she wasn’t sure where to begin. “My cousin Louis died recently.”

  “Sorry to hear that.”

  “Anyway, we was cleaning out his things—my sister Angela and I—and we found a deposit slip with the account number of this here club.”

  Benny fingered the medal around his neck. Lucille thought it looked like St. Cajetan, patron saint of gamblers.

  “Your cousin Louis was, shall we say, an investor in the Napoleon Club.”

  Lucille didn’t believe that for a minute, but she sensed this wasn’t the time to go mentioning it.

  “We also found a lot of cash stuffed in a sock. My sister wants to use the money to pay for Louis’s funeral, but I’m thinking that maybe that money was meant for you and the Napoleon Club.”

  Lucille watched Benny carefully. A muscle in his face twitched, pulling his mouth to the left.

  He spread his hands out in front of him. “Why would you think that?”

  Lucille decided it was time to cut the crap. “I know you gave Louis money to gamble with at them poker games he was going to. And he handed the money back to you plus a share of any winnings. I was afraid he might have cheated you and kept the money for himself.”

  Benny laughed, but there was nothing humorous about his expression. “I’m happy to say that your cousin Louis was an honest man. He paid regular as rain.”

  His tone was dismissive, and Lucille knew when it was time to go.

  “Listen, thanks for seeing me.” Lucille stood up. “I’m just going to go say hello to my daughter.” She gestured toward the door.

  “Bernadette is your daughter?” Benny stroked his chin. “I didn’t know that.”

  I bet you didn’t, Lucille thought as she gathered up her jacket and purse.

  She wanted to give Bernadette a piece of her mind, but she figured this wasn’t the time or the place. Later, when she got Bernadette alone, she’d ask her what she’d been doing standing so close to Benny. Lucille had seen the guilty look on Bernadette’s face. And she didn’t like it one bit.

  Lucille walked back down the darkened hall. A door was open on the right and Bernadette was sitting at an old table that had been put to use as a desk. The space was small, cramped and poorly lit. Lucille sighed. And to think she’d been picturing Bernadette working in this swanky office with a window overlooking the golf course.

  Bernadette looked up from some papers she’d been shuffling through. “Yo.”

  Lucille brushed some dust off a plastic chair and sat down. It wobbled precariously. She tilted her head in the direction of Benny’s office.

  “I want to ask you something.”

  Bernadette looked wary.

  “Was Benny here at the club on Friday morning, the day cousin Louis was murdered?”

  Bernadette snorted. “Benny? Nah. I don’t think so.”

  “But you’re not sure? Does he have some kind of appointment book maybe?”

  “I’m sure. Benny never gets here before three or four o’clock in the afternoon.”

  “Is he married?”

  Bernadette stiffened. “Listen, don’t start with that—”

  Lucille held up a hand in surrender. “I’m not. I’m wondering if his wife could give him an alibi.”

  “For what?”

  Lucille sighed. “For cousin Louis’s murder.”

  “But why on earth would Benny want to murder cousin Louis?”

  “Never mind. Is he married?”

  Bernadette looked sulky in a way that reminded Lucille of when she’d been a toddler. She had a sudden warm rush of feeling.

  “This woman calls here a lot. I think she might be his wife, but I don’t know for sure.”

  “Do you know her name?”

  “Yeah. Chrissi.”

  “Does she have a last name?”

  Bernadette shuffled some papers around on her desk. “Benny had me send her flowers the other day.”

  “How nice. I wonder if it was their anniversary?”

  Bernadette snickered. “The card said I’m sorry.”

  “Maybe not then.”

  Bernadette finally pulled a piece of paper from the pile and handed it to Lucille. A discarded wad of gum was folded into the corner, but at least it had this Chrissi’s name and address on it.

  Chapter 14

  Lucille was more than happy to leave the Napoleon Club behind. She was even happier when she pulled into her own driveway.

  The house felt extra quiet without Frankie. Lucille tried not to think about it as she hung up her jacket, but she had to admit she would be glad when Bernadette got off work and brought Lucy home.


  Lucille was staring at the contents of her refrigerator when the phone rang.

  “Hello?”

  “Lucille, it’s Flo.”

  “What’s the matter? You sound like you’re all out of breath.”

  “The pipe under my kitchen sink burst. The place is a mess. The plumber just left, but he had to turn the water off until he can get some kind of part.”

  “I hope he went to get it now.”

  “He had to order it. It’ll be in tomorrow afternoon. Meanwhile I don’t know what I’m supposed to do without water. I can’t even wash my face. I never go to bed with my makeup on, and I hope you don’t either, Lucille. It’s terrible for your skin.”

  Lucille figured she was in the clear seeing as how she didn’t wear much in the way of makeup—a little lipstick and maybe a dab of powder on her nose. Besides, she figured you were going to get old no matter what you did, so why stress about it?

  “Why don’t you come over here? We still have the beds downstairs from when Louis and Millie lived here before Angela gave them her spare room.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah. Frankie’s in the hospital for the night, and I wouldn’t mind some company.”

  “You have Bernadette and Tony . . .” Flo paused. “Yeah, I suppose you can hardly call them company.”

  “Have you eaten?”

  “No, I haven’t even thought of it, and now without water . . . why don’t I pick something up for us? They do a nice pasta Alfredo at Bella Riva.”

  “If you don’t mind . . .”

  “This will be fun. Like a party.”

  Lucille had the same feeling as she hung up, then she felt guilty that poor Frankie was missing out—stuck in the hospital and on a miserable diet, no less. She’d glanced at the dinner menu and she knew he wasn’t going to like it—turkey meat loaf with mashed turnips. Frankie didn’t go for turkey except at Thanksgiving when Lucille prepared it.

  Lucille ran the sweeper around the living room. Even though it was only Flo coming over, she liked things to look nice. She picked up the toys Lucy had scattered around the room and dropped them into the playpen Bernadette had set up in the corner. Lucille loved having her granddaughter around, but she had to admit she was looking forward to the day Bernadette and Tony got their own place. Now, with Bernadette actually working, that would hopefully happen sooner rather than later.

  Lucille was setting the table when Flo walked in. She was carrying a large brown paper bag and had another tucked into the crook of her arm.

  “Can you get this?” She held the larger bag out to Lucille.

  “Smells delicious,” Lucille said as she set it on the table. She opened the bag and pulled out the aluminum container. It was still warm, but she thought she’d pop it into a low oven to be sure.

  “You want a drink, Lucille? My nerves are shot.” Flo pulled a wine bottle from the smaller paper bag.

  “Sure, why not.”

  Lucille got two glasses from the cupboard and put them on the table. Flo filled them while Lucille got out some lettuce to make a salad.

  “So I went over to that Napoleon Club again today,” Lucille said, pulling apart lettuce leaves. “The owner claims Louis didn’t owe him no money, but it smells fishy to me. He looked like the type who would shoot his own mother in the back and still take Communion on Sunday.”

  “Does he have an alibi?”

  “No. At least Bernadette says he never gets to the club before the afternoon, and Louis was shot in the morning.”

  “What’s next then?”

  “He’s got a wife . . . or maybe a girlfriend—”

  “From the sound of him, probably both,” Flo said, sipping her wine.

  “Her name is Chrissi.”

  Flo made a face. “I’m betting she’s a girlfriend.”

  “What I need is some reason to talk to her, you know?” Lucille opened the oven door to check on the pasta. “So it doesn’t look suspicious like.”

  “You don’t think it’s going to look suspicious when you ask her where her husband was on Friday morning at eleven o’clock?”

  “Don’t worry. I’m going to be what they call subtle. What? Don’t give me that look.”

  “What look?” Flo ran a finger around the rim of her wineglass.

  Lucille opened her mouth but then shut it again. She didn’t want to get in no fight with Flo.

  “We need to figure out who would go to someone’s home unannounced. Maybe if they were selling something?”

  “We used to have the Fuller Brush Man and the Dugan Man.” Lucille thought about the Dugan Man and his case of breads, pastries and coffee cakes. She sure could go for one of them crumb cakes right now. “Or those people in the old-fashioned clothes carrying Bibles.”

  Flo wrinkled her nose. “Are the Fuller Brush Man and the Dugan Man still around? We need something that would appeal to this Chrissi.” She snapped her fingers. “Makeup. I’ll bet she’s big on cosmetics.”

  “So?”

  “So, we can say we’re with Mary Kay.”

  “But we’re not.”

  “We weren’t ambulance drivers either, Lucille, and that didn’t seem to bother you one bit.”

  • • •

  “That was delicious,” Flo said, pushing her plate away.

  “Bella Riva does a great pasta Alfredo.” Lucille stood up and began to collect the dirty dishes.

  Lucy was in her high chair. She had puréed green beans smeared all over her face. Flo took her napkin and tried to wipe the baby’s face. Lucy balled her tiny hands into fists and began to cry.

  Bernadette started to get up, but Flo stopped her.

  “Grandma Flo will hold her—you finish your dinner.”

  Flo picked Lucy up and cradled her against her shoulder. Lucy relaxed and was quiet.

  “Her eyes are closing,” Lucille said. “Bernadette should go put her down.”

  Flo kissed the top of Lucy’s head, handed her to Bernadette, then followed Lucille into the kitchen. They loaded the dishwasher, wiped down the counters and cleaned the sink.

  “There,” Lucille said, surveying the room. “All done.”

  Lucille had wanted to talk to Bernadette about what she’d seen that afternoon, but that wasn’t going to be possible with Flo around. She sent up a prayer to St. Elizabeth, patron saint against adultery, although she really hoped it hadn’t come to that.

  “If we’re going to go to this Chrissi’s house, we’d better get going,” Flo said. “Where’s your makeup?”

  Lucille looked startled. “My makeup? Flo, you know I don’t wear much,” she said over her shoulder as they mounted the stairs to the bathroom.

  Lucille pulled open a drawer and took out two lipsticks. Flo picked one up.

  “Love that Pink,” Flo read on the container. “How long have you had this, Lucille?”

  Lucille paused. “Gee, let me think. I bought it for the Kozlowskis’ twenty-fifth-anniversary party. It was over at the Pantagis Renaissance. You should have seen the spread—”

  “That was years ago, Lucille. You shouldn’t keep your makeup that long.”

  Lucille put a handful of other cosmetics down on the counter. “I’ve got another lipstick, some powder”—she indicated a round pink container—“and some eye shadow.”

  Flo shook her head. “The shadow is all broken up. How can you use it like that?”

  “I don’t use it. Who’s got time for all that stuff?”

  Flo put down the lipstick she was holding. “This Mary Kay idea isn’t going to work.” She drummed her fingernails on the counter. “I know! Let me get my purse.”

  Lucille looked in the mirror while Flo disappeared down the stairs. Maybe she could use a little makeup—something to cover up the dark circles under her eyes at least. Lucy was still waking up at night, and Lucille couldn’t help fretting until she heard Bernadette pick the baby up. And by then it was hard to get back to sleep.

  Lucille heard footsteps in the hall and Flo burst into
the room. “Here.” She handed Lucille a small white jar.

  “What’s this?”

  “That’s Dr. Hacker’s new night cream.”

  Lucille stared at the container. She didn’t even have any day cream, let alone night cream.

  “It’s part of the new line of cosmetics he’s developing.” Flo motioned toward the jar. “I bought that today. Dr. Hacker gives me a discount.”

  “I don’t understand. What are we going to do with this?”

  “We’re going to pretend to be selling it. That will be our excuse for stopping by and visiting this Chrissi. It’s brilliant, don’t you think?”

  Lucille had her doubts, but she knew better than to say anything. It didn’t take much to send Flo into a snit.

  “Great. It’s a great idea.” Lucille examined the container. Maybe she ought to start using night cream? “How much is it?”

  “Fifty dollars.”

  Lucille put the jar down on the counter as if it had suddenly become radioactive. “You’ve got to be kidding me, Flo. What’s this stuff supposed to do, anyway?”

  “It builds collagen in the skin.”

  “Sounds to me like it’s building Dr. Hacker’s bank account.”

  “Well, Dr. Hacker lets me have it for thirty-five dollars.”

  “What a bargain.”

  Flo shot Lucille a look, but Lucille managed to keep a bland expression on her face.

  “So we’re going to take this here cream over to Chrissi’s house and try to convince her that we’re selling it?”

  “It’s brilliant, don’t you think?”

  Lucille rolled her eyes and made a prayer to St. Dismas, patron saint of thieves and con artists.

  • • •

  “Where are we going?” Flo said as she slid behind the wheel of her Mustang.

  Lucille buckled herself in. “Livingston.”

  Flo made a right turn onto River Road that sent Lucille straining against her seat belt.

  “Almost missed it,” Flo said as she hit the gas.

  Lucille hoped they’d make it to Livingston in one piece.

  Flo slowed the Mustang as they turned onto the street where Chrissi lived. “Can you see the numbers?”

  “Barely.” Lucille squinted into the darkness. “I can’t see so good at night anymore.”