Confession Is Murder (20 page)

“And here you threw him out, and he’s been helping your own mother.”

Lucille scowled. “No need to rub it in, Flo.” She felt terrible. The things she’d said to Frankie . . .

“Thieves, thieves! Get out of here or I’ll call the police!” Lucille’s mother came down the steps to the garage, brandishing a brand-new baseball bat.

“It’s me, Ma, it’s just me, okay? Go back to bed.”

“Lucille?” She was still in her nightgown and had her long gray hair in a braid down her back.

“What’s going on? Is that Flo?” Lucille’s mother peered closely at Flo and then shrugged.

“We wanted to put the van in your garage”—Lucille motioned toward the driveway—“but it obviously ain’t gonna fit. Where did you get all this stuff, Ma?”

“Never mind.” Her mother crossed her arms over her chest.

“Frankie helped you pay for all this crap, didn’t he?”

Lucille could tell by the look on her mother’s face that she wasn’t going to get no answers. She sighed.

“Come on, Ma. I gotta know. Did Frankie give you money? ’Cause it was my money, you know. The money I was saving to go to Italy. And not only that”—Lucille ran a hand across her face—“I think Frankie took some money from the business. All to pay for this garbage.” She waved a hand around the garage.

“I’m sorry, Lucille.”

Lucille’s mother suddenly looked as if she’d shrunken. Lucille noticed the warren of lines around her eyes, and how thin her hair had gotten on top. “You gotta get help, Ma. You’re going to put us in the poor house with this QVC thing.”

“Frankie said he’d fix me up with this group called Shoppers Anonymous. They meet once a week over at that church on Morris Avenue. He made me promise not to tell you. I’m sorry, Lucille.”

“Aw, forget about it.”

Lucille listened carefully, but she didn’t hear any sirens. Just the birds making that racket they made every morning. Maybe they could go home to bed now.

“You want something to eat?” Lucille’s mother said. “I got a nice almond ring, and I can put on some coffee.”

Lucille looked at Flo and shrugged. What the heck. It couldn’t hurt.

• • •

Lucille put down her dust cloth and leaned out the window to get a better view of her neighbor’s house. There was a United Van Lines truck pulled up outside, and two men were carrying out a sofa. She didn’t know the Espoza’s were moving—Mrs. Espoza never said nothing about it.

Sheesh, she was tired after last night. She looked at the bed longingly. She should be giving the bedroom a good cleaning and changing the sheets, not thinking about taking a nap.

She was dusting the dresser when she remembered what Cousin Louis had said at Sunday dinner, “cherchez la femme.” Funny, she didn’t know he knew French. “Look for the woman.” A good idea, but how were they going to find the woman? All Janice could tell her was that some woman had called Joseph at JoFra’s office every once in a while. Could have been anybody. His hairdresser maybe. Although Lucille was pretty sure Joseph wasn’t the type to go to one of them fancy-schmancy places they had for men now.

That was the problem. Joseph wasn’t the type for anything. As far as she could tell, he’d been a decent, honorable man who didn’t gamble, drink too much, or fool around. What on earth could he have done to make someone want him dead?

But he had lied to Connie, Lucille thought as she unwound the cord on the vacuum and plugged it in. He wasn’t going to them Knights of Columbus meetings like he said he was. And somehow he had gotten that Flanagan fellow all riled up.

If only there was someone who could tell her more about Joseph. Lucille pushed the vacuum up the middle of the room. Those two aunts of his were long dead, buried next to Joseph’s mother in St. Theresa’s Cemetery off of Passaic Avenue in Summit. Frank probably knew Joseph better than anyone, but even he couldn’t think of any reason why someone would want to kill the guy.

Look for the woman—but what woman? Connie was the only woman in Joseph’s life. They’d begun planning their wedding almost from the day they met. Connie was a beautiful bride. The reception was at the Suburban Hotel with a champagne toast and everything. She and Frankie had had their wedding luncheon in St. Rocco’s hall like most everyone else they knew. But Connie always had to have the best.

Flo was in Florida then—married to Tony Baldini, or so they all thought. Lucille had been planning a trip down to see Flo in Daytona Beach when she got pregnant with Bernadette. Frankie didn’t want her to go. He was afraid something might happen, so she put it off until after—when the three of them could make the trip together. But by then Flo was divorced and back in Jersey with her little boy.

Lucille sat down on the bed. She could picture those days so clearly. How come she couldn’t remember what she ate for dinner yesterday or where she left her car keys?

Now if only she could remember where she’d seen that baby picture before—the one she found in Joseph’s pocket.

Mrs. Espoza was standing in her driveway, hands on her hips, when Lucille left the house. She walked next door, stepping over the row of low bushes that separated their two yards.

“I didn’t know you were moving.” Lucille pulled her jacket close and stamped her feet to keep warm. Surely it had hit freezing today. It was going to mean the end of her tomato plants.

“We can’t afford to live here no more.” Mrs. Espoza had a kerchief tied under her chin, and the ends whipped to and fro in the wind. She shrugged. “The taxes are killing us. And with the kids grown up, what’s the point of paying all that money?”

Lucille nodded. “I know what you mean. Frank and me have stayed because the schools are good, and we wanted the best education we could get for Bernadette.”

“It used to be that New Providence was a place for working-class families.” Mrs. Espoza watched as the men loaded several boxes marked “Fragile” onto the truck. “But only rich people can afford these prices now. When the realtor told us what we could get for our house—” She shrugged again. “We realized we couldn’t afford to say no. We never even got the sign up—she had an offer the afternoon we signed the contract.”

“Where are you going?”

“We got a nice condo down in South Jersey. Real pretty place. Everything outside is taken care of for you. That way my Luis won’t have to mow the lawn anymore.”

Lucille had never once seen Mr. Espoza mowing the lawn—his wife had always done it herself. She was glad Mrs. Espoza would be able to put her feet up now at this new place of hers. It sounded good. Maybe she should tell Frankie about it. When all this stuff was over, they could take a ride down and check it out.

If this stuff was ever all over. She wished Mrs. Espoza all the best and climbed back over the bushes to her own driveway.

The Olds was back in the shop. Although this time Lucille made sure it was taken to the place she and Frankie always went. They had a little more respect for the Olds there. She was stuck with the JoFra van, although it wasn’t so bad without the dead roach on top. She never did like that thing, but Frank thought it was pretty clever, so she kept her opinion to herself.

She didn’t want to go out at all, but she’d promised Flo she’d go bowling with her. Anyways, it would give her a chance to talk to Flo about Joseph, seeing as how they’d gone out a couple of times way back when. Although if Flo had thought of something, she would have probably said by now.

Lucille pulled into Flo’s driveway. She had the left half of a two-family house on Central Avenue, not far from the A&P. It was painted pea green with white trim. Flo had never liked the color, but there wasn’t much she could do about it, not being the owner and all. She was lucky to get the place as it was.

The driveway was shaded by a large oak whose roots were buckling the asphalt. Lucille parked as far away from it as possible—she didn’t want to have to clean no leaves off the windshield when she came out. Gusts of wind were whipping the trees back and forth, and the lawn was littered with twigs.

Lucille was locking the door to the van when a girl came out of the other side of the house. She was wearing black leggings and a quilted, shiny black jacket. She had teased blonde hair and big, gold hoop earrings.

“Need me to move my car?” Lucille stepped out from beside the van.

The girl looked up, startled. “Oh. I thought you were that man that comes all the time.”

“What man?” Up close she wasn’t as young as Lucille thought.

“It’s the van. He always drove that van. Although there used to be some big nasty bug on top.” The girl shuddered. “He would be here every week. I always had to ask him to move so I could get my car out. Wednesday nights I have my cosmetology class. Except I haven’t seen him lately.”

“And he was driving this van? You sure?”

The girl laughed. “It’s kind of hard to mistake.”

What was the JoFra van doing here? Lucille fumbled with the door. Was Frankie visiting Flo? She felt like her heart had stopped.

She backed out without looking, but fortunately no one was coming. All she could see was Flo and Frankie. Frankie always said he didn’t go for all that glamour stuff—he liked Lucille the way she was. Maybe he was lying? Maybe he liked that stuff just fine. The son of a bitch. Lucille tromped on the gas pedal and the van shot forward, bouncing over the bump in the driveway.

Lucille sat in the van for a moment. Maybe she was overreacting? Maybe there was some simple explanation?

There was a tap on the window, and Lucille jumped.

“Aren’t you going to come in?”

Flo stood by the car with her arms wrapped around herself. She was wearing a thick green facial mask, and Lucille almost screamed. She looked like one of them aliens or something. “What’s that you got on your face?”

“It’s a mask. You should try one—they’re wonderful for refining your pores.”

Maybe Frankie would like her better with refined pores, Lucille thought as she slammed the door. Maybe then her pores would be even more refined than she was.

Lucille followed Flo into the house and out to the kitchen. Her hands were clenched, and she had to bite her tongue to keep from saying anything. She didn’t want to jump to no conclusions, especially considering how touchy Flo could be.

“I just have to wash this stuff off and slap on some makeup, okay?”

“Fine.” Lucille pulled out a chair and sat down.

Lucille could never get over Flo’s kitchen. The stove looked like new because Flo hardly ever used it. Lucille had looked in the freezer once, and it was stacked with microwaveable dinners—lasagna, Swedish meatballs, macaroni and cheese. She couldn’t imagine anyone making a meal out of that stuff.

“I’m ready.” Flo came back in carrying a leopard-print bowling bag. “I’ve got my war paint on.” She shrugged into a short black trench coat and tied the belt tightly around her waist. “I haven’t been bowling in a couple of weeks now. I hope I’m not too rusty.”

Lucille grunted and headed toward the front door.

Lucille backed out of the driveway and put the van in forward.

“That was some night last night, wasn’t it?” Flo turned toward Lucille.

Lucille grunted again.

“Is something wrong?” Flo looked at Lucille out of the corner of her eye.

“Wrong? No, why?”

“You seem kind of . . . tense.”

She wasn’t supposed to be tense? Lucille thought. When her husband was wanted for murder, and she just found out he’d been paying weekly visits to her best friend? The light up ahead turned red, and Lucille slammed on the brakes.

She could feel Flo watching her, but she didn’t say anything. The light turned green again, and she floored it. The bugmobile bucked briefly and then took off.

“I appreciate you going bowling with me, Lucille. I got to get in some practice before the league gets going again.” Flo put out her hand and looked at her nails. “I’m thinking of getting acrylics done. Carmela said she’d do them for me on her break next week.” She examined her cuticles. “She says they’ll grow better with the acrylics on. Then I want to get a diamond in the center of my pinky. What do you think?” She looked at Lucille.

“What?”

“You haven’t heard a word I’ve said! What’s wrong with you? Something bothering you?”

“No.” Lucille tapped her foot as she sat at a stop sign, waiting for a woman to cross. She was pushing a baby in a stroller and was taking forever getting over all the bumps and ruts in the crosswalk.

Lucille started to think about babies. How Bernadette was going to have one before they knew it. Then she thought of the baby picture she’d found in Joseph’s work pants pocket.

Suddenly she remembered where she’d seen one exactly like it before.

Chapter 16

“You lied to me, Flo.” Lucille turned to look at Flo.

“Geez, watch it, Lucille.” Flo was about to grab for the wheel, but Lucille swerved in time to avoid a UPS truck that was parked half on the shoulder and half in the street. She sent up a quick thank-you prayer to St. Christopher, patron saint of automobile drivers.

“Would you like to tell me what I lied to you about?” Flo asked.

“First off, about this Anthony Baldini guy who never even existed.”

“Come on, Lucille. Can’t we forget about that already?”

“I’m not finished, Flo.” Lucille leaned on the horn briefly, urging a lumbering sanitation truck to get out of their way. “Then you lied to me about Lenny Musgrove being Tony Jr.’s father.”

“I did not,” Flo exploded, but Lucille could tell it was a bunch of hot air. “How dare you say something like that—”

“Get real, Flo. How long we known each other? You think I can’t tell when you’re lying?”

Lucille shot Flo a quick glance—her lips were stuck out the way they did when she was sulking.

“Lenny could have been the father,” Flo said in a small voice.

“Could have? What do you mean could have?” Lucille pulled into the parking lot of Madison Lanes, eased the bugmobile into a space next to the Dumpster, and followed Flo into the nearly deserted bowling alley. Two women had the lane at the farthest end, and a young man with a scraggly goatee and an elaborate tattoo on his bicep sat smoking at the lunch counter.