Unholy Matrimony (14 page)

“How do I look?” Lucille asked, trying to see her reflection in the shine on Flo’s desk.

“You’ll be a little swollen for a couple of days. The results won’t show for about a week, so don’t be disappointed if you don’t see a change right away.”

Lucille couldn’t imagine there would be much of a change at all. She just couldn’t picture her face without the lines and wrinkles she’d acquired over the last few years. She felt a slight stirring of excitement. It would be good to look younger again. And if she stayed on her diet and lost some weight, she would be like a new woman.

The phone started to ring and Flo reached a hand toward the receiver.

Lucille waved good-bye and headed toward the front door. She moved her face around experimentally as she walked toward her car—scrunching up her nose, pursing her lips, frowning, smiling. Her face didn’t feel no different, thank goodness.

She slipped behind the wheel of the Olds and moved the rearview mirror so she could see her reflection. Her face looked a little red and a little puffy, but other than that she looked like the same old Lucille. She would have to be patient as Flo had said.

The Olds didn’t want to start, and by the time the engine finally caught, Lucille was sweating. She turned the air conditioner to high, plugged in her tape and pulled out of the parking lot.

She made a stop at the A&P, lingering in the produce aisle, weighing the relative merits of the four eggplants left in the bin. Finally she chose one, bagged it and put it in her cart. She took her time strolling over to the dairy counter for some ricotta. She was in no hurry to go home. She didn’t want no more encounters with rough men in black suits.

Lucille noticed the cashier, an older lady she recognized from church, looking at her a little strangely as she bagged her groceries. Maybe she was looking younger already? Lucille was almost glad that Flo had talked her into getting the procedure.

This time the Olds started on the second try. Lucille glanced at the clock on the dashboard. Hopefully Frankie would be home by now.

She had a thought as she was turning onto her street. What if those guys had come back and tied up Louis and Millie? Millie wouldn’t survive something like that. And what about Bernadette? What would something like that do to the baby? Lucille leaned on the gas and flew down the street.

Mrs. Ryan, who was out on her front lawn with her grandkids, shot Lucille a dirty look. Lucille smiled back, pretending she hadn’t noticed.

She was relieved to see the JoFra van in the driveway as she rounded the bend in the street. Frankie was home. Lucille pulled in behind him with a feeling of relief.

She put her hands to her face as she walked toward the door. What was Frankie going to think of her new look?

“That you, Lu?” Frankie called from the kitchen.

“Yeah, coming.” Lucille scurried down the hall.

Frankie had the refrigerator open and a jar of pepperoncini on the counter.

“You’re hungry,” Lucille said as she put down her purse. “I’ll get dinner going right away.”

“What are we having?”

“Eggplant parmigiana.”

“My favorite,” Frankie said as he screwed the lid back on the jar of peppers. He turned around and his jaw dropped.

“What’s the matter?” Lucille asked with an edge of smugness. That stuff had to be working already. Frankie must be startled by how young she looked.

“What’s wrong with your eye?” Frankie pointed at Lucille’s face. “Your right eyelid is drooping.”

“What?”

Lucille dashed into the powder room and looked in the mirror. Her right eye was half closed, and no matter how hard she tried she couldn’t get it fully open.

“Maybe you should call the doctor?” Frankie had come to stand in the doorway.

“It’s probably just a reaction to that stuff. It’ll probably go away in an hour or two.” Lucille crossed her fingers. She hoped that was true.

“Reaction? To what?”

Lucille twisted the edge of her T-shirt in her hands. “It’s like this. I went over to see Flo at that new job she’s got. Working for Dr. Hacker. And she kind of talked me into having this procedure done.”

“What kind of procedure?” Frankie said, frowning.

“They stick a bunch of needles in your face, and it’s supposed to get rid of your lines and wrinkles. But it don’t take right away. You gotta wait a couple of days to see the results.”

“Is this that Botox stuff? I saw something about it on television the other day. It’s not safe, Lu. It’s a kind of poison, the reporter said. It’s the same stuff that killed my great uncle Luca. My aunt Anna used to can tomatoes. Only she got a little careless one time—she was getting older, and we think she was becoming a little senile. The tomatoes were contaminated, but she didn’t know that. She used them to make some marinara sauce. She didn’t get sick herself because she was feeling a little off and didn’t eat any.”

“Flo said it was safe.”

Frankie threw his hands in the air. “Why would you do something like that, Lu? I love you just the way you are. Don’t you know that?”

Lucille lifted her chin. “Yeah? Then how come you ain’t . . . paying attention . . . to me no more?”

Frankie sank into one of the kitchen chairs and hid his face in his hands. “It’s not you, Lu, it’s me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I’ve been having some trouble . . . you know. Must be stress or something,” he mumbled into his hands.

“You should have told me,” Lucille said. “I been so worried that I wasn’t attractive to you no more.”

Frankie stood up and pulled Lucille into his arms. “Don’t you ever think that.”

“You should call the doctor, Frankie. They’ve got them pills. I seen them advertised on TV all the time. You know the commercial where the couple is sitting in two bathtubs.”

“Yeah.”

“You call the doctor tomorrow, okay? Make sure nothing’s wrong and see if you can get some of them pills.”

“Sure. And no more of this Botox stuff, okay?”

“It’s a deal.”

• • •

Lucille slid the dish of eggplant parmigiana out of the oven. Sheesh, it was hot. She put it on the stove and checked the water in the pot. It had finally started to boil so she dropped in the spaghetti and then lowered the heat on the simmering pan of tomato sauce.

Eight minutes till dinner. The table was set, she just had to drain the pasta and sauce it.

Lucille opened the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of white wine. She and Frankie had opened it on the weekend but never finished it. Tonight she was feeling like she could do with a glass.

“Millie, Louis, Frankie, dinner,” Lucille called down the basement stairs.

She walked out to the front hall. “Bernadette!” she called up the stairs.

Finally everyone was assembled around the dining room table. Lucille preferred to eat in the kitchen during the week, but with the addition of Louis and Millie they were awfully cramped. She’d gone to the HomeGoods store in Gillette to get some place mats so she didn’t have to deal with a tablecloth every night. It was bad enough washing and ironing the Sunday one every Monday.

“Be careful, it’s hot,” Lucille said as she put the dish of eggplant parmigiana on the table. She scurried back into the kitchen for the pasta, calling over her shoulder, “Everybody go ahead. Don’t wait for me.”

Lucille slid the bowl of spaghetti onto the table and took her seat. “Come on, help yourself,” she said to Millie, who was still sitting with an empty plate.

“Wassss wrong with your eye?” Louis asked, tilting slightly in his chair. Lucille suspected he’d been in the liquor cabinet again. He’d already polished off the whiskey they kept on hand for Father Brennan and the bourbon that they’d bought to serve at get-togethers. They didn’t keep much on hand. By now he must be working on the bottle of curacao the neighbors had brought them back from their vacation in the Caribbean that time Lucille had offered to bring in their mail.

“Nothing’s wrong with my eye, Louis. Why don’t you have some more eggplant.”

“Don’t mind if I do.”

“So no news from Taylor, I take it,” Lucille said to Bernadette, who was busy eating and not paying attention to anything else.

She shook her head.

Lucille noticed she couldn’t pull her chair as close to the table as before. They had to do something to get her married because she had the feeling this baby wasn’t going to wait much longer.

“Have they figured out who done it?” Louis asked as he started in on his second helping of eggplant.

“No, but I have my suspicions.”

Frankie looked up from his plate. “I hope you’re not going to get involved in this?”

“No.” Lucille shuddered. She’d always felt that what Frankie didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. “But I still have my suspicions.”

“And what are they?” Louis asked, ending his question with a burp.

“I think it’s his mistress who done it.”

“I heard he was mixed up in the mob,” Frankie said, wiping up the sauce on his plate with a piece of bread. “They killed Donna as a warning, and then when Alex didn’t pay up, they went after him.”

Lucille was already shaking her head. “I don’t think so, Frankie. The Grabowskis was rolling in it. Why would Alex go borrowing money from the mob?”

“I guess you’re right,” Frankie said. He twirled some pasta around his fork.

“I think he had a mistress and they were going to run away together.” Lucille decided not to tell him about the day she and Flo stopped by the Grabowskis’ house and met the maid.

“So Alex killed Donna so he could be with his girlfriend,” Frankie said around his forkful of pasta. “But then who killed Alex?”

“I don’t know,” Lucille admitted. “Maybe he changed his mind about marrying his girlfriend and she got pissed off and killed him.”

Frankie pointed his fork at Lucille. “Well, I don’t want you doing no more investigating, you hear. Leave it to Sambucco. As much as I can’t stand the son-of-a-bitch, he does know what he’s doing.”

“Oh, believe me, I’m done.” She held up her hands. “I’m leaving police work to the police.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Frankie said as he pushed his empty plate to the side. “It’s way too dangerous.” He looked around. “You got anything for dessert?”

• • •

Lucille removed an aluminum tin from the refrigerator and placed it in a shopping bag. She’d packaged up the leftover eggplant parmigiana last night. She may have promised Frankie that she wasn’t going to do no more investigating, but taking a casserole or dinner to a bereaved person wasn’t investigating . . . it was the proper thing to do.

Lucille hoped that this time she would catch Taylor while he was at home. But when she rang the bell, no one answered, not even that maid who’d been living there last time. Lucille rang again, but after a couple of minutes gave up and turned away from the door.

“I haven’t seen any life over there for the last two days,” a voice called from next door. “The place was completely dark last night.”

Lucille turned to see Babs Bianchi standing on her own front steps.

“I brought some dinner for Taylor. I really feel for the kid losing both parents like that.” At least she did when she wasn’t cursing him to hell for all eternity for leaving Bernadette at the altar.

Lucille walked down the steps and then across the strip of lawn that separated the Grabowskis’ property from the Bianchis’.

“Geez, it’s hot,” she said when she was standing at the bottom of the Bianchis’ steps.

“Why don’t you come in for a glass of iced tea?” Babs held the door wider.

“I won’t say no,” Lucille said as she climbed the stairs.

She followed Babs inside the house. The place looked like a palace with crystal chandeliers, brocade sofas and plush carpets. Babs led the way to a huge open-plan kitchen with granite countertops and stainless steel appliances.

Lucille sure would hate to have to clean all that. It was hard enough keeping her own tiny kitchen tidy.

“I brought this here eggplant parmigiana for Taylor on account of I figured the kid probably isn’t much of a cook. Guess Frankie can take it to work for lunch tomorrow.”

Lucille sat at the kitchen island while Babs poured them tall glasses of iced tea. She placed one in front of Lucille.

“Thanks.”

Babs brought her glass over to the island and sat across from Lucille. “You know Donna and I used to be good friends. Then that sister of hers put it into her head that I was flirting with her husband.” Babs shuddered. “I wasn’t, but Donna didn’t believe me.” She took a sip of her iced tea. “Still, I feel badly about what happened to her, you know? I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”

Lucille shook her head.

“If you ask me, it was that maid, Natalie, who was fooling around with Alex. One day I saw her carrying a very expensive handbag. I’m pretty sure she didn’t buy it herself.” Babs shrugged. “Of course she might have been dating someone else for all I know.”

“She seems to be gone. At least she didn’t answer the door this time.”

“She left me her address.” Babs jumped up and went over to a desk that was tucked into a corner and matched the kitchen cabinets. “In case the executors wanted to send her a check for the back pay she says she is owed. If you ask me, I think she’s just trying it on.”

“I guess Taylor inherits everything?”

Babs spun around. She had a scrap of paper in her hand. “I hope so. At one point Donna said she and Alex were threatening to cut him out of their will. Said if he wasn’t married by the time they died, the estate would go to Donna’s sister.”

“No kidding? Why would they do that?”

“I think they hoped they could change him. You know.” Babs made a limp-wristed gesture.

A whole bunch of pieces fell into place in Lucille’s mind. No wonder Taylor had asked Bernadette to marry him. But what on earth had persuaded Bernadette to say yes? She claimed she didn’t care about being an unwed mother—that that was the modern way these days—but maybe that wasn’t completely true. Maybe she did mind just a little bit.

Chapter 15

Thursday was Flo’s day off, and Lucille had agreed to meet her at Livingston Mall for lunch and some shopping. Shopping with Flo was always an experience. Lucille hoped she was up for it.