Confession Is Murder (10 page)

They went out the back of the shop to the parking lot. Flo lit a cigarette, shook out the match, and dropped it to the ground. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

Lucille frowned. Knowing Flo, that was unlikely. “What’s that?”

“Well, if Connie wasn’t sleeping with Joseph, then who was?”

“That’s what I been wanting to tell you!” Lucille pulled a kerchief from her pocket and tied it around her head. The wind was blowing her hair every which way. “I think I know who Joseph was fooling around with. Or at least the husband thinks Joseph was.”

Flo paused with her cigarette halfway to her mouth. “No shit!”

Lucille nodded. “I just been over there this morning, and he told me the whole story.”

Flo stood with her mouth open as Lucille told her about Flanagan and his wife.

“Damn.” Flo’s cigarette had burned down to her fingers, and she dropped it quickly, grinding it out with the heel of her shoe. “That makes Flanagan the number-one suspect in my book.”

Lucille nodded. “No wonder Jeanette was asking me all them questions about the murder. She had what they call an ultimate motive.” Lucille tucked a piece of hair back inside her kerchief. “Now we just got to find out if Flanagan was at work when Joseph was killed. If we can prove that Flanagan might have done it, then maybe Sambuco will let Tony Jr. go.”

Now was a good time to tell her about Bernadette and the baby, but Lucille didn’t have the heart. Flo had enough on her plate, what with her son being in jail and all. She’d tell her later, after Bernadette did the test and knew for sure.

Flo wrapped her arms around herself. “I’m freezing out here. I’d better get back inside.”

“Yeah, and I gotta be going or I’m going to be late.” Lucille glanced at her watch. “Jeanette will have a cow.”

“Jeanette! She won’t dare say anything if you tell her you know all about her and Joseph.”

“Yeah, but it might not be true. It’s just that her husband
thinks
it is, and that’s how come he murdered Joseph. I mean, why would Joseph cheat on a wonderful woman like Connie with someone like that? You seen her, Flo—”

“But you heard Connie. Joseph wasn’t sleeping with
her
.”

“Maybe he wasn’t sleeping with anyone.” Lucille dug around in her purse and pulled out the keys to the Olds. “Maybe he just wasn’t that interested. Some guys aren’t. That’s why they came up with that pill . . . what’s it called . . . Viagra.”

Flo snorted. “Bullshit. Men are men. And I doubt Joseph was any exception.”

“Well, he did want to become a priest back when he was in high school—”

“They’re the worst. Don’t you read the paper?”

“Sure I do, but—” Lucille grabbed at her scarf as the wind threatened to pull it off. “Go on in, Flo, you must be freezing.”

Lucille walked over to her car. A couple of curling brown leaves were caught under her windshield wipers. She brushed them away. So what if Joseph wasn’t having an affair with Jeanette? That didn’t mean that Flanagan wasn’t mad enough to kill him.

And that ought to be enough to convince Sambuco to let Tony Jr. go. Lucille whistled as she plugged Little Richard into the cassette slot. Being a detective was kind of fun. She really was going to have to look into it. She’d never thought of herself as the career-woman type, but with Bernadette almost grown up, maybe this was a good time to start.

Chapter 6

Lucille pulled into the A&P parking lot, just as the five o’clock whistle blew, and maneuvered the Olds into a space. She just needed to pick up a couple of things for dinner and some dessert for Bernadette. Bernadette didn’t like it when there wasn’t nothing for dessert. And frankly, she could go for a little something sweet herself. Just a bite or two, not enough to ruin her diet or anything.

The store was busy, with more than half a dozen people in the express line—mostly working women like herself, Lucille noticed, waiting to pay for their microwavable dinners or frozen diet entrees. There was one woman, in a tennis dress and sneakers, who was tapping her foot and fiddling with her car keys. She had a piece of expensive-looking cheese and a crock of paté in her basket.

Probably having people over for cocktails, Lucille thought. Her crowd never went in for stuff like that—with them it was a couple of beers in front of the game and maybe a tray of lasagna.

Lucille wheeled her cart past the aisle with all the shampoo and soap and stuff and stopped. Maybe they had one of them pregnancy kits—it would save her a trip to the drugstore. She and Jeanette had spent the afternoon getting the church newsletter ready to go in the mail, and she was tired. She couldn’t wait to get home and put her feet up.

The kits were next to a towering stack of sanitary napkins. The napkins had plain wrappers now, but Lucille could remember when they had pictures of women in fancy-schmancy ball gowns on them. She never could figure out what those expensive dresses had to do with anything—the last thing she wanted when her friend was visiting was to get all dressed up and go dancing. More like in bed with the hot water bottle, she thought.

She grabbed one of the pregnancy kits and turned it over to check the instructions. Of course the writing had to be the size of mouse tracks. It used to be she could see just fine, but now everything up close was a blur—she could hardly see to cut her own meat. She was reaching into her purse for her reading glasses when someone came up in back of her.

“Frank!”

Lucille shoved the pregnancy kit back on the shelf and looked around wildly for something else to grab. Sanitary napkins? Frank knew she didn’t need them no more. She seized a tube of ointment from a lower shelf.

Frank gestured toward it. “Hemorrhoids?”

Lucille glanced down and squinted at the label. “Yeah.” She could feel her face getting hot. “You know how it is.” She tossed the tube into her grocery cart and started to move down the aisle. If only Frankie would go away.

“Hey, babe, I’ve missed you.” He followed her around the corner to the produce section.

“I’ve missed you, too.” It seemed ridiculous, but Lucille felt awkward standing there with her own husband—a man she had known since sixth grade. She wheeled her cart next to a bin full of zucchini and picked one out. She gave it a slight squeeze. Too soft and it would be no good. You wanted one with a bit of firmness to it.

“How’s Bernadette? She okay with what’s happening?”

“I guess so. She don’t say much. Seems like she only talks to Tony Jr. She don’t want to have nothing to do with me anymore.”

“Ah, teenage girls, you know how they are.”

“Sure.” Lucille could feel her face getting hot again. She ought to tell Frank about Bernadette and the baby, but she couldn’t. Maybe later, when they knew for sure.

“You tell your mother . . . about us?” Frank leaned against the counter, and Lucille had to look away. He looked so sexy in his tight jeans and black leather jacket, she could swoon.

“I haven’t told nobody nothing. Except Flo.” She moved down the aisle to the peppers and examined the selection. She picked out a red one and a green one and weighed them in her hands.

“Shock about Joseph. I just can’t get over it. And then the police arresting Tony Jr.”

Lucille nodded. “Flo told me. She was nearly hysterical. But Dom said there wasn’t much we could do, better to let the lawyer handle it.” She put the peppers in a plastic bag and dropped them into her cart. She wasn’t going to tell Frankie about her and Flo investigating. She didn’t think he would like it.

“Sambuco came around to the office asking a lot of questions.” Frank leaned on the cart while Lucille bagged a head of lettuce. “It’s been tough running the business by myself with both Joseph and Tony Jr. gone.”

“My heart is breaking for Connie.” Lucille peered into a bin of plum tomatoes. “She’s taking it pretty good, considering.”

“Yeah. She and Joseph were so close. They did everything together.”

Close? She and Frank were close. What had happened? Having him so near was almost enough to make her forget how mad he’d made her.

“I’ve missed you, Lu.” Frank came up behind her and put his arms around her waist.

Lucille squirmed free. “I’ve missed you, too.”

“Then what are we doing?” His smile was higher on one side than the other—a fact Lucille had noted as far back as tenth grade.

“I’m sorry, Frank, I’m just not ready to forgive you for what you did.” Lucille could feel her chin quivering dangerously. She picked up two plum tomatoes.

Frank held out both hands in supplication. “Come on, Lu. I had a good reason, I just can’t tell you right now.”

“But you took my money.” A tear escaped and dribbled down Lucille’s cheek.

“I borrowed it,” Frank said with emphasis.

“You know how long I’ve been saving that?” She couldn’t cry, not right now. Lucille clenched her fist and the tomatoes burst.

“Shit!” She pulled a tissue from her pocket and scrubbed at the juice and seeds splattered across her top.

Frank took the tissue from her. “Here, let me do that.” Lucille could hardly breathe—he was standing so close. Frank wadded up the tissue and stuck it in his pocket.

Lucille pulled away from him and went over to inspect a pyramid of lemons. “Are you gambling? Like that no-good shithead cousin Louis of yours?” She turned around to face him again. “Come on, Frank, I need to know. Why did you take that money? It isn’t like you. We’ve always been careful, never got into debt. Except that time back when Bernadette was a baby, and we had all those doctor bills. But we swore it would never happen again—”

“Lucille, listen to me. I’m not gambling. I needed the money for . . . something else.”

“Yeah? Like what? A heart transplant or something? You don’t think you would of told me about it if that was the case?”

“Trust me, babe, okay?” Frank smiled, and Lucille thought her heart would break. “I can’t tell you what it’s all about right now, I just can’t. But everything’s going to be okay.” He crooked a finger under her chin and tipped her head back.

Lucille felt herself melting with that delicious, hot, liquid feeling that Frank could summon up in her at the touch of a finger.

She jerked away. “What about Betty? Huh?”

“Betty?” Frank rubbed the back of his neck. “You mean from the Old Glory?”

Lucille nodded. She could feel her stomach churning and pulled a package of antacids from her pocket.

“I just seen her around a couple of times, Lu, that’s all.”

“It looked like more than that to me.” Lucille popped two tablets into her mouth.

Frank motioned toward the packet. “Here, give me one of those, will you.” He put a hand over his stomach. “That manicotti I had for lunch is starting to repeat.”

At least he didn’t get that at the Old Glory, Lucille thought, seeing as how they went in for stuff like open-faced turkey sandwiches.

Frank straightened up a bit. “She’s just a kid. I think she’s got some kind of crush on me.”

“Don’t go telling me you’re not encouraging her.” Lucille wagged a finger at Frank. “I seen the two of yous at the spaghetti dinner.”

“She sees me as a man, Lu, you know.” Frank pointed at his chest. “A man. She doesn’t mother me half to death.”

“Oh. So I mother you, huh? I never heard no complaints from you before.” Lucille turned back toward the stack of lemons.

“Christ, Lu, you’re
smothering
me.” Frank threw his hands in the air and stalked off.

Lucille pulled a lemon from the stack. The tower collapsed, and she watched as dozens of lemons rolled down the supermarket aisle.

• • •

“Bernadette.” Lucille banged on the door with her fist. She could hear the monotonous thump of music from within but no sound of anyone stirring. “Bernadette,” she called again, “come get something to eat.”

“Yo.” The door opened and Bernadette squinted in the light like a mole. Her room was dark except for the glow from her CD system and the flickering of the muted television.

“What are you doing? You’ve been in here all day. It’s dinnertime. You gonna go to work tomorrow? You’re gonna lose the job, you know, if you don’t show up.”

Bernadette just shrugged and followed Lucille down to the kitchen.

Lucille dished out two helpings of penne with sauce Bolognese and pushed one plate across the table toward Bernadette. “Here, at least eat something. I got some ice cream, too, for after.”

Bernadette finished the pasta, wiped up the remaining sauce with a piece of bread, and then looked around the table. “Where’s Daddy?”

Lucille smacked her forehead with her palm. “Sheesh, your father’s been gone for almost a week already. You only just noticed it now?”

Bernadette shrugged again. “There any more pasta?”

At least she was eating, Lucille reminded herself. She didn’t think she could take it if Bernadette didn’t eat.

“Here.” She dished out another helping of spaghetti and sliced two more pieces of bread.

She sat and watched as Bernadette ate. “You have any idea why the police arrested Tony Jr.? I mean, they don’t just go around picking people up off the streets. They’ve got to have some kind of reason.”

“No.”

“No? That’s your answer? Come on, Bernadette, there’s got to be something. And with all the time you two spend together, I can’t believe you don’t know nothing about it.”

“I don’t know, okay, you satisfied? Why don’t you just leave me alone.” She looked down at her plate and fingered the ring in her eyebrow.

She knew something all right, Lucille could tell. “Listen, I’m just trying to help Auntie Flo. I don’t think Tony Jr. did it. I think the police made some kind of mistake. But how am I going to figure out who really did it if you won’t tell me what you know? Eh?”

“Well, then, why don’t you ask Aunt Flo about it.” Bernadette jumped up from her chair. “She knows why they arrested Tony Jr.—she’s got to.”

And she fled the room. But not before grabbing the two slices of bread off the table.

• • •

No answer. Lucille slapped the receiver back on the hook. “Sheesh.”

Where could Flo be at this time of night? Lucille was positive she was there but just wasn’t picking up. She could picture Flo sitting at the kitchen table, staring at the ringing telephone and purposely ignoring it. Now, when Lucille needed to ask her a very important question.