Confession Is Murder (19 page)

Lucille didn’t answer. She headed toward JoFra’s offices on Springfield Avenue, on the border of New Providence and Berkeley Heights, across from a small convenience store advertising cold soda and lottery tickets.

A police car cruised by, and Lucille ducked down in her seat.

“Think we ought to cut the lights?” Flo turned around and looked out the back window.

“We’re not doing anything wrong. Just out for a drive.” Lucille put on her left blinker.

“Sure.” Flo poked around in her purse. “Just a little sightseeing drive at one o’clock in the morning in the pitch black.”

Lucille turned into the parking lot and pulled the car over to a spot in the shadows of JoFra’s two exterminating vans.

“Okay, what do we do now?” Flo pulled on a pair of gloves. “We going to pick the lock or what?” She flexed her fingers in the black leather.

“Sheesh, Flo. Get real. I’ve got a key. See?” Lucille pulled her key ring out and waved it in front of Flo.

“Is it that square one there?”

“No, that’s my house key. It’s this one . . .” Lucille picked through the keys. “This here’s the one for the Olds, and this here’s my house key and . . .”

“You don’t got any more keys on that ring.”

“Shut up, Flo, it’s got to be here somewhere. I didn’t take it off, so where else could it be?”

“It fell off maybe? That ever occur to you?”

“No way. It’s here somewhere.” Lucille flipped through her key ring again.

“Any luck?” Flo had propped a mirror up on the dashboard and was carefully outlining her lips with a red pencil.

“So the key’s not here, all right? Big deal. No need to make a federal case out of it. We just gotta find another way in, that’s all.”

“Great. Breaking and entering. Think they’ll let me get my roots done in jail?” Flo put a hand to her hair.

“Shut up, Flo. We ain’t going to jail. It’s not like we’re breaking into some place that don’t belong to us. This here’s my Frankie’s business. We got a right to be here. We just don’t have a key at the moment.”

“Tell it to the judge, Lucille.” Flo got out a black eyeliner and began rimming her eyes.

“Would you cut that out already. No one’s going to see you, for chrissake.”

“I want to look good for my mug shot, okay? Case we ever get on
America’s Most Wanted
or something.”

“It ain’t gonna happen. We just go in there, take those books, and hightail it back to my house. Simple. No one’s even going to know we was here.” But she sent up a prayer to St. Beatrice da Silva Meneses, patron saint of prisoners, just in case.

Flo sighed. “You know, if you weren’t my best friend . . .”

“Come on, Flo, let’s get going. I’m exhausted. Maybe we can still catch a couple hours of sleep if we move fast.”

They closed the car doors as quietly as possible and, keeping to the shadows, crept toward the squat two-story building.

“This the main door?” Flo tested the front door, but it was locked. She shrugged. “Hey, you never know.”

“Yeah, just our luck they remember to shut up tight for the night.”

“What are we gonna do?”

“I’m thinking, all right, I’m thinking.”

The offices of JoFra Exterminating were on the second floor of the two-story wood-shingled building. Lucille looked up at the double windows that looked out over Springfield Avenue.

“Is there a fire escape?” Flo was rubbing her hands together to keep warm. The temperature had dropped, and they could see their breath.

“Let’s go round back and see.”

They made their way to the other side of the building. “Yo, we’re in business,” Lucille said, and began climbing the stairs. “Sheesh, these things aren’t built too solid, are they?”

“Hold on.” Flo clutched the railing as they made their way to the top landing, where they were faced with a brown, windowless door.

“Okay, so what do we do now?”

Lucille jiggled the door handle. “Guess we don’t get lucky tonight. We’re going to have to break in.”

“How?”

Lucille pointed at the window alongside the fire escape platform. “Through that window.”

“We’re going to break the window?”

“Yeah, come on.” Lucille squeezed past Flo and headed back down the stairs. “I got a jack in the car we can use.”

Clouds shifted across the moon as Lucille was walking toward the car, and she shivered. She couldn’t wait to get back home, jump in bed, and pull the covers over her head.

The jack was heavy. Lucille started sweating as she dragged it up the steep stairs of the fire escape, and she was panting by the time she reached the top. Good thing she’d joined the Y. Now she was going to get in shape. Although she sure as hell didn’t plan on making a habit of doing this kind of stuff.

“You hang on to me in case I go flying with this thing.” Lucille raised the jack over her head.

“I got you, don’t worry.” Flo wrapped her arms around Lucille’s waist.

“Here goes nothing.” Lucille swung the jack, and it bounced off the window, nearly sending her careening back down the stairs.

“You gotta hold on to me, Flo.”

“I am, I am. Try again.”

Lucille swung again. This time the glass cracked from right to left.

“One more time.” Lucille raised the jack again.

The window shattered. “We’re in, baby, we’re in.” Lucille dropped the jack. It hit the metal fire escape with a loud clang.

“Sssh, Lucille. Someone’s gonna hear us.”

“Here, help me, would you?” Lucille had one leg over the fire escape railing. “I’m stuck.”

Flo picked up Lucille’s other leg and tried to swing it over the railing.

“Chrissakes, Flo, you trying to kill me?” Lucille clung to the fire escape with both hands.

Suddenly an alarm went off deep within the building.

“What’s that noise?” Flo put her hands over her ears.

“The alarm.”

“How come you didn’t tell me there was an alarm?”

“Because I didn’t know about it, that’s why. Frankie must have had it put in without telling me.” What else hadn’t he told her? Lucille wondered. “We still got to get them books.” She stretched her right leg over to the windowsill. Maybe it would be better if she didn’t look down—the ground was in shadows and seemed an awfully long way away.

“Hurry. The police’ll be here any minute.”

“Keep your shirt on. It’s dark in here, okay?”

Lucille used to know the office like the back of her hand. There was a time when she used to bring her sandwich over and eat lunch with Frank almost every day. Once, when no one was around, they’d even . . . This was no time to go thinking about that, she thought, as she fanned herself vigorously. She had to find those books and get the hell out of here before the police arrived.

The accounting ledgers were on the shelf behind Frank’s desk, where he always kept them. Thank goodness he wasn’t the type to go in for a lot of rearranging or nothing. When Frank put something down, that was where it stayed.

Lucille hefted the books over to the window and handed them, one by one, to Flo.

“Come on, Lucille, I swear that thing is getting louder by the minute.”

Lucille paused with one leg slung over the fire escape railing. She could hear something else besides the clanging of the alarm. A police siren.

“Holy shit, Flo, I think the police are on the way. We got to get out of here.”

“That’s what I been trying to tell you.”

They clambered back down the stairs and toward the Olds. Flo threw the books into the backseat, and they both got in.

“If this don’t give me a heart attack . . .” Lucille turned the key in the ignition.

Nothing.

“What’s the matter?” Flo screamed.

“She don’t want to start, that’s what’s the matter.” Lucille turned the key again. Still nothing. “I told you that garage wasn’t worth shit.”

“What are we going to do?” Flo swiveled around and looked out the back window. “The police will be here any minute now.”

“We’ll take one of the JoFra vans.” Lucille had grabbed the books and was already opening her door. “Come on.”

“You planning on hotwiring it? You want to add that to our list of crimes?” Flo scrambled out of the car after her.

“Frankie always keeps the keys under the mat on the passenger side. Come on, hurry.”

Flo stopped short. “We can’t take this thing, Lucille, we’re going to be too conspicuous-like.” She motioned toward the van, which was painted to look like a hearse and had “JoFra Exterminating: You Got ’Em—We’ll Get ’Em” written on the side in white lettering.

“What are you talking about, Flo? It’s just an ordinary van. Everyone’s got one these days.”

“Yeah, but not everyone has a dead bug on top, for chrissakes.” Flo looked up at the top of the van, where a plastic six-foot-long roach lay on its back, its legs in the air. “I just think we’re going to be too easy to spot in this thing.” She reached for the door.

“Well, you got any better ideas?” Lucille got behind the wheel and turned the key. The van roared to life, backfired once, and hiccoughed across the parking lot.

“You ever drive a stick before?” Flo cringed.

“Sure, plenty of times. I’m just having a little trouble with this one.” Lucille ground the gears into position and turned onto Springfield Avenue.

As they were pulling out of the parking lot, they could see the flashing red lights of police cars up ahead, speeding toward the building and gaining distance quickly.

Chapter 15

Lucille turned right onto Springfield Avenue and hit the gas. Two patrol cars passed them, their lights flashing and sirens clanging.

“They’re going to get a lot of complaints about that,” Lucille said. “People don’t like being woken up at night by sirens.”

“Somehow, Lucille, I don’t think that’s going to stop them.” Flo gripped the door handle as they rounded the corner by the Amoco station.

“Uh-oh . . .”

“What, Flo?”

“Looks like they’re turning around . . .”

“The police?”

“Yes.”

“Shit.” Lucille pushed a strand of hair out of her eyes and stepped down hard on the gas pedal. The van sprang forward.

“Are they still there?”

Flo twisted around in her seat. “Yeah, they’re getting closer, too.” She stared out the back windows. “Oh my God!”

“Christ, Flo, you scared me! Don’t shout like that while I’m driving. What’s wrong?”

Flo started to laugh.

“What are you laughing about? This is no time to be joking with me.”

“You know that dead bug on top of the van?”

“Yeah, what about it?”

“It’s not there anymore.”

“What do you mean, it’s not there anymore? Where is it, then?”

“In the middle of the street.”

“It fell off?”

“Yup. It’s lying right across the middle of the road, on its back with its legs in the air.”

Brakes squealed in back of them, and Flo twisted around in her seat. “They’re stopping. The cops are stopping. One of them’s getting out to look at the roach.”

“This is great. It’ll give us a chance to get away and hide the van.” Lucille hit the gas again. “They behind us yet?”

Flo swiveled around again. “Nope, don’t see nothing at all. I think we lost ’em.”

Flo held up a high five, and she and Lucille slapped hands.

The center of New Providence flew by like a speeded up filmstrip. Lucille kept her foot down heavy on the gas. “I just thought of something, Flo.”

“What’s that?”

“We can’t put the van in my garage. Frank’s got all his tools and stuff in there. He’s turned it into a workshop.”

“What are we going to do then? I don’t have any garage over at my place.”

“I’m thinking, okay, I’m thinking.” Lucille drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. “How about if we take it over to my mother’s? Put it in her garage. We can leave the books there, too, for safekeeping.

Lucille turned onto Union Avenue. The houses were dark and shuttered and the street deserted. She cut the lights and cruised quietly past the sleeping homes.

“Here we are.” Lucille pulled into the driveway of a small split-level with a wishing well on the front lawn.

Flo paused with her hand on the door. “You have a key to the garage, or are we breaking and entering again?”

“Don’t worry, I got a key.”

Lucille got out and hustled over to the garage. It was quiet—the police must have given up. She popped the lock on the garage door and flung it open.

“Holy shit!”

Lucille and Flo stood and stared at the contents of the garage.

“What is all this stuff?” Flo wound her way between the pieces of exercise equipment, sporting goods, racks of clothing, and tables cluttered with ornate figurines. “Where did your mother get all this stuff?”

“I don’t know. But I’m guessing it all came from QVC.” Lucille opened a box and peered in. It was filled with Hummel figurines and collectible teddy bears. “She’s become addicted to that show.”

“What does she do with it all?”

“I don’t know.”

“How does she pay for it?”

“I don’t know that either. She’s living on social security income. Sure, she owns the house, but there are taxes, utilities, all that stuff.” Lucille pulled a tennis racket from one of the boxes and took a couple of pretend swings.

Something was gnawing at the edge of her mind but she couldn’t get hold of the thought. She hated when that happened. She rubbed her eyes. Damn, she was tired.

“What do you want to do with these?” Flo gestured toward the stack of ledgers they’d dumped on an overturned box.

Lucille stared at them. The annoying thought swam closer to the edge of her mind. It was like when you try to get a piece of spaghetti out of a pot of boiling water with a fork—the way it always slips through the tines at the last minute and disappears under the bubbles.

“Lu?” Flo shook her shoulder gently.

“Holy shit!” The thought had finally surfaced. Lucille smacked herself in the middle of the forehead.

“What?”

“This is what Frankie’s been doing with all that money. Paying for Ma’s stuff.”

“No!” Flo looked around the garage. “Wouldn’t he have told you, Lucille?”

Lucille shook her head. “Nah. Those two have been in cahoots since the day Frankie and I got married. Ma always says if she’d been a bit younger, or he’d been a bit older . . .”