Unholy Matrimony (16 page)

“No. I thought you had one.”

Flo sighed. “There’s got to be a light switch somewhere.”

They began to feel their way across the darkened basement. Suddenly Lucille squealed.

“What now?”

“I don’t know. I felt something crawl across my face. A spider maybe.”

“Or a cobweb?”

Lucille swiped a hand through the air. She grasped something and pulled. The basement was flooded with light.

“Looks like it wasn’t no spider, it was the string attached to the light.” Lucille looked up at the ceiling, where a bare bulb was suspended.

“Thank heavens for that.”

They headed for the basement door and a set of long, dark stairs that led up to the first floor of the house. They opened the door at the other end and found themselves in the kitchen.

Flo whistled. “Nice setup Donna had here. This is how I’m going to do my kitchen when I get married.” She ran her hand down one of the polished granite countertops.

Lucille didn’t say anything. Hopefully in due time this idea of marrying Dr. Filbert Hacker would run its course.

Lucille pointed at the built-in kitchen desk. A calendar hung over it with appointments written in the squares. “I don’t think they’d keep the will in there.”

“Nah. I bet there’s a study of some sort. All masculine, with wood paneling and built-in bookshelves. This looks like that kind of house.”

The kitchen led to a massive family room with a custom-built entertainment center and the biggest flat-screen television Lucille had ever seen. The chairs and sofas were all covered in white fabric with colorful pillows tossed here and there.

“I wouldn’t go having no white in the family room,” Lucille said as she looked around. “First time you burn something on the stove, this here furniture would be all covered in grease and soot.”

“Donna probably didn’t cook all that much. I imagine it was take-out and four-star restaurants for her.”

“Still. I know when Frankie comes home his pants are sometimes a bit dirty. I wouldn’t want him sitting down on no white couches, that’s for sure.”

Flo followed Lucille over to a doorway that led to another room.

“This here looks like it might be the study,” Lucille said.

She felt along the wall for the light switch and flipped it.

Suddenly Led Zeppelin’s “Whole Lotta Love”
came blaring out of hidden speakers all over the house, sounding as loud as a jet engine.

Flo’s hands flew to her ears. “Turn it off,” she yelled over Robert Plant’s wailing lyrics.

Lucille lunged for the switch and flipped it, but nothing happened.

“Turn it off, Lucille!”

“I’m trying, for heaven’s sake. It won’t go off.” Lucille sent up a prayer to St. Frederick, patron saint against deafness.

“There’s got to be another switch. We’re going to wake the whole neighborhood.”

“Well, you find it then.”

“The controls have to be here somewhere.”

“Maybe they’re in the family room. In that entertainment center thing.”

Lucille ran into the other room and looked around frantically. The television was obvious, but there were a half dozen doors that held who knows what. She started opening them randomly, turning any dials she came across. Finally she pushed a button and Led Zeppelin’s “Whole Lotta Love” trickled off to blessed silence.

Lucille’s shirt was sticking to her back and she could feel sweat dribbling down her sides. Her heart was going almost as loud as the CD player had been. She braced herself for a knock on the door and the police barging in shouting, “Hands in the air.”

They both stood, frozen like statues and barely breathing, waiting for the inevitable.

Finally, Lucille could stand it no longer. She was getting a cramp in her thigh and one in her back. “Looks like no one heard nothing.”

Flo rolled her shoulders and stretched her arms over her head. “Guess this is one of them streets where no one pays any attention to what’s going on at their neighbors’.” Flo let out a gusty sigh. “I really thought we was busted there.”

“Me, too.” Lucille put her hands on the small of her back and rubbed. “At least we’ve found the study. Let’s go see what’s in there.”

The silence felt almost as deafening as the noise from the stereo had been. Lucille kept thinking she heard footsteps, or breathing, or a car in the driveway, but there was nothing. They started in on the mahogany filing cabinet—it matched the wood paneling—opening each drawer in turn. They found a copy of the Grabowskis’ mortgage, bills for utilities, credit cards and doctor visits. Everything but a will.

“This is the last drawer,” Lucille said as she pulled it open.

“Let’s hope we find something in there, otherwise this whole thing has been a fiasco.” Flo studied her nails. “But I can’t imagine where else they would keep their will.” She waved a hand around the room. “This whole setup just screams organization. Looks like Alex isn’t the type to toss important papers on an end table or stuff them in a random drawer. I’m betting there’s a folder in here somewheres marked ‘will’ or probably ‘last will and testament.’” Flo shivered. “The thought gives me the creeps.”

“We’re all going to die someday, Flo.”

“Yeah, but I’d rather not think about it. I’ve got too much living to do first.”

Lucille got down on her hands and knees and began to rifle through the folders.

“I got it,” she yelled as she struggled to her feet. She put the folder down on the fancy wooden desk with its leather insert and opened it.

“Sheesh, look at the length of this thing.” Lucille fished her reading glasses from her pocket and put them on. “What kind of language is this here thing written in? What’s with all the wherefores and whereas and heretofores and all this other crap? How is anyone supposed to know what this means?”

“The lawyers do. That’s why we have to pay them. If it was all written out in plain English we wouldn’t need no attorneys.” Flo leaned over Lucille’s shoulder and squinted at the document.

Lucille scanned the dense paragraphs, running her finger down the lines of text. “I don’t see nothing in here about cutting Taylor out of the inheritance if he isn’t married.”

“So they didn’t go through with it.”

“Or, Babs just made it up. Because maybe she had something to do with Donna’s murder.”

“It’s a long way from keying someone’s car to tying a ribbon around their neck and strangling them.”

“Yeah, but maybe there’s more to it than meets the eye. Maybe Babs really was flirting with Alex, and Babs wanted Donna out of the way.”

“But why kill Alex then?”

“Because he’d taken up with that maid, Natalie? And when Babs found out, she went crazy-like.”

“Could be.”

“Bottom line though. It looks like Taylor didn’t have no reason to want his parents dead.”

“Yeah, seems like it.” Flo glanced around. “Now we’d better get out of here. This place is starting to give me the creeps.”

Lucille placed the will back in the folder and slid it into place in the drawer. “I’m with you. Let’s get out of here.”

They were turning to leave when a voice came from behind them.

“Not so fast. Not so fast.”

Chapter 16

Lucille gave a small shriek and looked at Flo in panic. Flo shrugged her shoulders. They both turned around.

The room was empty.

“You heard that, didn’t you?” Lucille asked Flo as she sent up a prayer to St. Christina, patron saint of the mentally handicapped.

“I sure did. But where did it come from?”

“I’m sure I don’t know. But I’m not sticking around to find out. Let’s get out of here.”

They started toward the door, when the voice stopped them again.

“Not so fast.”

“Okay, now I’m going crazy, I know it,” Flo said with her hands on her head.

“The voice sounded like it was coming from over there.” Lucille pointed toward the corner of the family room.

“Yeah, but unless it’s a ghost, I don’t see anyone.”

“Maybe it’s one of them newfangled alarm systems?”

“Yeah, with a recording of some kind.”

Lucille began to walk toward the corner of the room where she’d heard the voice. “Stop right there,” the voice said.

“Flo, look!” Lucille pointed toward an elaborate birdcage on a stand. A bright green parrot sat on a perch inside.

“Don’t tell me it’s a freaking bird!”

“Don’t tell me it’s a freaking bird,” the parrot echoed.

“That thing scared me half to death!” Flo said, pointing her finger at the bird.

“What are we going to do with it?”

“Do with it? I’m not going to do anything with it, Lucille.”

“But we can’t leave it here. It doesn’t have no water or food left, see.” She pointed at the empty containers in the bird’s cage.

“Ask me if I care. Let Taylor deal with it.”

“But he ain’t here, and from the looks of things he ain’t been here in a while.” Lucille pointed toward the kitchen. “The kitchen is as neat as a pin. Just as neat as Donna left it. If Taylor were around, don’t you think there’d be dirty dishes piled in the sink and crumbs on the counter?”

“True. But still, the bird isn’t our problem.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t just leave it here. I’m taking it with me.”

“Suit yourself.”

Fortunately Frankie was asleep in front of the television when Lucille got home. Louis and Mille must have turned in early, and Bernadette was locked in her room as usual.

She didn’t know what she was going to tell Frankie about the bird. She filled the bird’s water dish and made a mental note to stop by the pet store first thing for some bird feed. Meanwhile, she put the cage in the corner of the living room and pulled the cover over the top. Hopefully it would go to sleep and be quiet. They hardly ever used the living room, so it might be awhile before anyone noticed the parrot was there. Just so it kept its mouth shut.

Lucille was about to exit the room when she heard Frankie coming up the stairs.

He paused in the doorway, then went over to her and put his hands around her waist.

Lucille gave a quick guilty glance at the bird in the corner, but Frankie didn’t notice anything was different.

“I saw the doctor,” he said as he nibbled on her ear. “He gave me some of those pills.”

Frankie grinned, and Lucille felt a rush of warmth. She was pretty sure it wasn’t no hot flash either.

He trailed kisses down the side of Lucille’s neck, making her shiver. She slid her hands under his T-shirt.

“Oh, yeah, baby,” he moaned.

They went up the stairs hand in hand and tumbled into bed. For the first time in a long time, Lucille went to sleep without washing her face.

• • •

Lucille whistled as she made the coffee the next morning. Even the fact that Louis and Mille were already sitting at the kitchen table waiting for their breakfast didn’t bother her none. Lucille scrambled up some eggs and fried some bacon, still with a smile on her face. Louis gave her a funny look at one point but didn’t say anything.

She was pouring them a second cup of coffee when she heard Frankie come downstairs. She was about to start scrambling him an egg when she heard something.

“Pssst, Lucille.”

It was Frankie calling to her from the living room.

“Lucille. Can you come here?”

She dried her hands on a towel, turned the gas down under the pan and went out to the living room.

“What is it, Frankie, I’ve got your eggs on the stove—” Lucille stopped mid-sentence. She looked to where Frankie was pointing. “Oh.”

“It won’t go down,” Frankie hissed. “What am I going to do? It’s not supposed to last more than four hours. I could be permanently damaged.”

“Let’s not panic,” Lucille said even as she felt panic wash over her like a tidal wave. “We’ve got to get you to the ER. They’ll know what to do.”

Lucille was about to take off her apron when she heard, “Oh, yeah, baby.”

“Who the hell was that?” Frankie jumped and looked around the room.

“Oh, yeah, baby,” the parrot repeated. “Oh, yeah, baby.”

Frank advanced on the parrot’s cage and pulled off the cover. “Lucille! What the . . .”

“It’s just a bird, Frankie. I’m . . . I’m taking care of it on account of its owners are away.”
And never coming back,
Lucille thought to herself.

“Yeah? Well, tell it to shut up, would you? Do you realize, Lucille”—Frankie grabbed Lucille by the arm—“that that . . . bird . . . was listening to us last night? Who knows what else it heard.”

“Don’t worry about it, Frankie. We was upstairs, and it was down here. Now come on and get in the car.”

Lucille hustled Frankie out of the house and into the Olds. Of course she didn’t want to start. It took three tries to get her going.

“We’ve got to get you a new car,” Frankie said as Lucille tore out of the driveway. “They’ve got some good deals out there.”

“I don’t want no new car. This here one is just fine for me.”

“I don’t want you to get stuck somewheres, that’s all.”

“I’ve got that AA card you gave me. They’ll come tow me if anything happens.”

Frankie grunted.

Lucille drove through downtown Summit at breakneck speed, then shot up Beauvoir Avenue, a narrow street lined on both sides with cars, nearly sideswiping a couple of them.

In record time she had the Olds parked in the emergency parking lot and was waiting for Frankie to get out of the car. They were walking toward the entrance to the emergency room when Frankie suddenly stopped.

“What’s the matter?”

“I can’t go in there like this. What will people think?”

Lucille pursed her lips. “It’s too warm to put on a coat. I know!” she exclaimed. “Here.” She shoved her large red leather purse at Frankie.

“What am I going to do with this?”

“Hold it in front of you.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“You got any better ideas?”

Reluctantly Frankie took hold of the purse, and they made their way into the emergency room waiting area.

Fortunately the waiting room wasn’t too crowded—a couple of mothers with sniffly kids, an old woman with her walker parked next to her and a young man who kept jumping up from his seat to pace back and forth.