Confession Is Murder (22 page)

“Flo went home early?”

Carmela nodded. “She was so upset, Lucille. I’ve never seen Flo like that. You know Flo, nothing bothers her.” She got to her feet. “Well, it’s back to work for me. Sure I can’t bring you anything?”

“No, I’m fine, thanks.”

But she wasn’t fine, Lucille thought. She felt like someone had kicked her in the stomach. Flo and Connie had a fight the day Joseph died. Flo left early. Meaning Flo could easily have gone over to St. Rocco’s while Joseph was there. She didn’t want to think any further. Flo couldn’t have done it, she just couldn’t have.

Twenty minutes later the timer on the counter pinged.

“Carmela,” Rita called from her station, “could you rinse Lucille out, please?”

Lucille left her purse on the chair and followed Carmela back to the wash tubs.

“Rita give you highlights?”

Lucille mumbled.

Carmela eased Lucille’s head back over the basin. “You’re going to love them. Rita does a great job.”

Lucille tried to relax as the warm water cascaded over her head, but all she could think about was Flo.

Carmela wrapped her head in a towel and led her back to Rita’s station. “Here you go.”

“No peeking till we’re done.” Rita turned Lucille’s chair away from the mirror and flipped on the blow dryer.

Lucille couldn’t wait to see her transformation. She wondered what Frankie would think—his wife all dolled up like the other ladies. Yes, she was definitely getting a new lipstick and maybe some eye shadow too. Flo could show her how to put it on.

“Almost done.” Rita teased a few hairs in front and then sprayed Lucille’s head with hair spray.

“Ta da! What do you think?” She turned Lucille back to face the mirror.

Lucille screamed.

• • •

Lucille pushed open the door to Come Clean, the dry cleaners next to the Clip and Curl.

“Hey, Lucille.” Gil was behind the counter, sorting through a pile of men’s shirts. “What’s up?” He threw a blue oxford into a canvas bin and walked over toward Lucille.

“I was real sorry to hear about your brother-in-law. What a shock. Stuff like that doesn’t usually happen in New Providence, you know what I mean?” He thumped Lucille on the back. “I think it must have been one of them gang members from Newark or Irvington. Probably thought they’d find something worth stealing in the church, but Joseph surprised ’em.”

He went behind the counter, pressed a button, and a large overhead rack of clothes began rotating. “Here you go.” He grabbed a plastic-wrapped bundle and hung it on a hook next to the cash register.

Lucille handed Gil a twenty-dollar bill.

“I almost got myself killed that same day.” Gil punched some numbers into the cash register and tore off a receipt. “I was crossing the church parking lot on my way to Friendly’s for lunch when this car came along like a bat out of hell. It nearly ran me down. I had to jump out of the way, and I think I pulled a muscle because I been getting this pain ever since.” He put a hand to his back.

“Some kid, I bet.” Lucille took her change and put it in her wallet.

“Nah, it was a woman. I didn’t get a good look at her, and I didn’t think to get her license number. The way some people drive these days.” He shook his head and handed her the clothes.

Lucille put out a hand and then paused. “This was around lunchtime? In the church parking lot? What color was the car?”

“I dunno. Darkish? It all happened so fast.”

A darkish car leaving the church parking lot right around the time Joseph was killed. And going so fast it nearly ran Gil down. Flo’s car was dark. And Flo wasn’t at work that afternoon.

“You’re looking good, Lucille. Different.” Gil made a twiddling motion with his hand over his head.

“Yeah.” Lucille had forgotten all about her hair. She opened the front door and the bell tinkled.

“Say, I saw Frankie over at Marco Polo the other day. What’s up? You guys split or something?”

Lucille stopped with her hand on the knob. “What do you mean?”

“He was with some girl. Snuggled down in one of the booths in the back.” Gil shrugged. “At least I think it was Frank.” He laughed. “Hey, it’s none of my business—I was just wondering.”

Betty. Frank was out having dinner with Betty. “Yeah,” Lucille said again and went out the door.

Lucille started the van and looked at her watch. Five thirty. Just enough time to nip over to her mother’s and drop off the pair of slacks she’d taken to the dry cleaner for her.

She was making the left turn onto Springfield Avenue when she heard brakes squealing. A car careened toward her, the driver gesturing rudely. Lucille stepped on the gas and made a gesture back. Sheesh, she was going to have to get her mind off Frank and Betty or she was going to get into an accident. Besides, Gil said he only
thought
it was Frank. Maybe she was getting all riled up over nothing.

The moving truck was still in front of the Espozas’ house when Lucille got home. Two movers were squatting next to a massive buffet, puffing cigarettes and glugging sodas. They stared as Lucille walked by.

Mrs. Espoza was coming out her front door. She started to wave and then stopped and stared, openmouthed. Lucille turned the key and hurried into the house before Mrs. Espoza could say anything.

Lucille couldn’t get Frank and Betty off her mind. Just who the hell did Betty think she was, having dinner with Lucille’s husband? Lucille slammed the door in back of her. And in broad daylight, when Frank was supposed to be hiding on account of the police.

Well, she wasn’t giving up her man without a fight. No siree. She remembered that time back in senior year when Paula Tuscano began putting the moves on Frank. Hmmph, she certainly showed Paula who was boss. She still felt a sense of satisfaction when she thought of holding Paula’s head under the cold water faucet in the girls’ room. Paula hadn’t looked so pretty with her hair dripping wet and her eye makeup run all over her face.

Lucille went into the powder room and looked in the mirror. She put a hand to her hair. These highlights were just the ticket. And now she was going to be working out, too. She couldn’t wait for Frankie to see the new her.

But first she would have to make it safe for Frankie to come home again by proving to Sambuco that Frankie didn’t have nothing to do with Joseph’s death. The only problem with that, Lucille thought as she opened the cupboard and rummaged around, was the only other logical suspect seemed to be Flo!

Just her luck there wasn’t nothing much to eat. She needed something to take her mind off all this or she’d go crazy. She found some stale crumbs on the bottom of the cookie jar and poured them into her palm.

“Yo, what’s for dinner?” Bernadette walked into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator.

“Jeanette!” Lucille shouted suddenly and slammed her palm down on the counter. Maybe the woman in the dark car leaving St. Rocco’s parking lot in such a hurry had been Jeanette!

“Are you crazy or something?” Bernadette looked at her strangely and slunk out of the room, carrying a package of uncooked Ramen noodles.

Lucille shook her head. No, she wasn’t crazy, she was brilliant. Jeanette had gone out to lunch the day Joseph was killed, but the police never asked
her
where she’d been. They’d been too busy picking on innocent people.

Of course they didn’t know nothing about Jeanette and Joseph. Maybe Jeanette’s husband was right, and they were having an affair. And Joseph wanted to end it so Jeanette got all pissed off and . . . Lucille paused. She couldn’t picture Jeanette actually murdering Joseph. But maybe it had been an accident, and she really hadn’t meant for it to happen?

She had to make sure Sambuco knew about Flanagan and Jeanette and the whole affair business. She was going to have to convince him she was right, but how?

Maybe she could seduce him?

Chapter 18

“Seduce him?” Flo shouted into the telephone.

Lucille held the receiver away from her ear. “Yeah, what do you think?”

“I think it’s brilliant, Lucille. You go, girl. If you get Sambuco to reopen the investigation, he’ll find out Frank didn’t have anything to do with it.”

“Yeah.” She crossed her fingers. She just hoped it didn’t turn out that Flo had done it.

“Sambuco always did have the hots for you. And the way he’s been flirting with you—”

“Flirting with me? I don’t think so, Flo.”

“Of course he has. This is going to be a piece of cake. I’m on my way over.”

• • •

Lucille heard a car stop right outside the house and peered out the bathroom window. There was a black Mercury Cougar parked in the driveway. Flo.

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” Lucille flew down the stairs as the bell pealed for the second time. She flung open the door.

“Don’t worry, Lucille, I’m here.” Flo bustled into the foyer, carrying several bags. She flipped open one that looked like a doctor’s kit. “I’ve got base, concealer, shadows, liners, lipsticks, and blush. Let’s get to work.”

Lucille followed Flo back up the stairs to the bathroom. Flo turned on all the lights. The place looked like an operating room.

“Sit on the toilet.” She put a towel around Lucille’s shoulders and stood back. “Ohmigod. What did you do to your hair?”

“Highlights?”

“Rita?”

“Yes.”

“They’re wonderful. I never thought you’d change your . . . Anyway, let’s get going. We’ve got work to do.”

Lucille didn’t resist as Flo slapped cosmetic after cosmetic on her face. “It looks good. Very good.” Flo stood back and admired her handiwork. “I got you something to wear, too.” She reached into a Macy’s shopping bag and pulled out a pair of black leather pants.

Lucille looked at them doubtfully. “I don’t know, Flo.”

“You’re going to love having a pair of leather pants, Lucille. I wear mine everywhere.”

Lucille took the pants and looked them over. She couldn’t imagine wearing them anywhere, much less everywhere.

“Now we need to talk underwear.”

“Underwear?”

Flo nodded. “Do you have a nice lacy black bra? Maybe one with a bit of—” She made a lifting motion under her breasts.

Lucille shook her head. “I don’t think I’m going to need to worry—”

“Nonsense. You’ve got to be prepared.”

• • •

Lucille’s hands were slippery on the wheel of the van. She wiped her right hand on her slacks and then her left. She wasn’t going to seduce Sambuco, not really. She was just going to use some charm to get him to see her point. No harm in that. Politicians did it all the time.

She’d called Sambuco at the station, but he was about to leave and suggested they meet at his place instead. He was playing right into her hands, Flo said. Lucille didn’t know about that. She just knew the whole thing was making her so nervous her palms were sweating, and her heart was doing that funny thumping business pretty much nonstop.

Of course she was doing it for Frankie, so there was nothing wrong with it really. Not that she would ever tell him or nothing on account of he probably wouldn’t understand.

“Now this is a pleasure.” Sambuco held the door wide and motioned for Lucille to go on in. He was wearing an open-necked shirt tucked into a pair of jeans. Lucille caught a whiff of his aftershave as she walked by.

She looked around. He had one of them town houses they’d put up on Springfield Avenue by the Coastal Station. The place was pretty spacious with a nice-sized living room. His sofa was leather and so was the recliner he had pulled up to a big-screen TV.

Sheesh, she matched the furniture, Lucille thought as she looked down at her pants. They made her look surprisingly slim, and with the bra Flo had unearthed from the bottom of her lingerie drawer, she looked pretty good. Although the underwire was cutting into her something fierce. She tried to stretch it a bit when Sambuco wasn’t looking.

“Come out to the kitchen and I’ll get us something to drink.”

He had a bottle of red wine open on the counter with a liter of single malt scotch next to it. He waved his hand over them inquiringly.

Lucille chose some red wine. She didn’t care for scotch, although she did like the occasional splash of Canadian Club mixed with some cola.

Sambuco handed her a glass of wine and then poured himself a scotch on the rocks. “We can enjoy our drinks, and then I’ll throw the steak on the barbie.” He motioned toward the sliding glass doors. Lucille could see a gas grill out on the deck.

“I didn’t mean for you to go to no trouble or nothing. I just wanted to give you some information I thought you should have.”

“Later.” Sambuco turned her around and steered her back toward the living room. “Let’s relax now and save business for later.”

She didn’t come here to relax, Lucille thought. She came here to convince Sambuco to open up the case again. But then she remembered her plan and batted her eyelashes at him as she followed him out of the room. Besides, if Frankie could have dinner with Betty, then why couldn’t she have dinner with Richie?

They sat together on the sofa. Lucille tried to inch away but the sofa was soft and cushy and her pants kept sticking to the leather. She noticed Sambuco’s hands as he rattled the ice around in his drink. She remembered those hands . . . He was the only one besides Frankie who ever made her feel . . . She’d better get her mind off stuff like that. It was too dangerous with Sambuco sitting so close to her she could feel the warmth of his body.

“So, you never married?” Lucille looked around the living room again. She didn’t see no woman’s touch about the place. It looked like Sambuco had been living here alone for a long time.

“Sure I did. You remember Debbie Polski?”

“Sure. Her father owned the newsstand over by the bakery.” Lucille remembered going there on Sundays after church to pick up the paper. Sometimes her father would buy her a treat—a pack of Blackjack gum or some Bonomo’s Turkish Taffy. She and her sister always called it the Candy Store on account of that.

“She passed away five years ago. We had a place out in Gilette, and I was on the force there, but after she died I couldn’t stand it anymore. Every place I went made me think of her . . .” He dashed a hand across his eyes.