Hit and Nun (8 page)

Once again the Olds didn’t want to turn over. Probably the damp weather was causing her to seize up. Lucille was turning the key for the third time when Frankie came out of the house. He was going in to work late today. He leaned against the car, and Lucille buzzed down the window.

“I think we need to get you a new car, Lu. I saw one of them Mini Coopers on the road yesterday and thought you would like it. They’re as cute as a button.”

Lucille set her jaw. “I don’t want no Mini Cooper. The Olds is fine. She’s just cold on account of it suddenly turning so chilly.”

“I know you love her, but I worry all the time that you’re going to break down somewhere and be stuck.”

“We got AA, remember? I can always call for a tow if I need it, and we won’t have to pay.”

Frankie slapped the roof of the car. “If you’re sure . . .” He leaned in the window and kissed Lucille. “Good luck. Call me when you’re done, okay?”

“Sure, sure.”

Lucille turned the key, and this time the Olds started up just fine. She put it in reverse and backed out of the driveway.

She almost ran the red light at the corner of Springfield and South Street but managed to stop at the last second. She sat with her hands shaking on the wheel. She had to get a grip on her nerves or she was going to kill herself or someone else.

There were quite a few cars in the parking lot of the clinic when Lucille pulled in. She found a spot in the back and locked the Olds.

She first had to register at the circular reception desk, where several gals sat on swivel chairs doing paperwork or dealing with the computer. Lucille leaned her elbows on the counter and waited for one of them to look up.

The door opened and the smell of pizza drifted in. Lucille turned around to see Joey, from Rocco’s Pizza Parlor, approaching with a couple of pizza boxes in his hands. He glanced at Lucille and she was glad that he didn’t seem to recognize her.

One of the girls got out her wallet and handed Joey some money in exchange for the pizzas.

Lucille motioned toward the boxes. “How do you like Rocco’s pizza?”

“This is the first time we’re trying it.” She leaned closer to Lucille. “We used to order from Sal’s all the time, but when I called them, I was told the number had been disconnected.” She shrugged. “I thought they did pretty well. But I suppose it had something to do with Sal, the owner, being murdered.”

“We used to go to Sal’s, too,” Lucille said. “It’s a real shame about Sal. The police still haven’t figured out who did it. At least I haven’t seen nothing in the papers.”

One of the other girls swiveled her chair around so she was facing Lucille. “I think it was a jealous husband.” She turned and looked over her shoulder then beckoned Lucille closer. “He was having an affair, you know.”

“Who, Sal?”

The girl nodded. She fiddled with the hoop in her ear. “My girlfriend told me.”

“Really?” By now Lucille had completely forgotten about being nervous about the test. “How did she know? Did she work there?”

“Not at the pizza place, no. She cleaned for Sal and his wife once a week. That’s how she found out.”

“Any idea who he was having the affair with?”

“She didn’t know. At least I don’t think so. I didn’t ask her.”

“Do you think she’d mind if I called her and asked her casual like?”

“I don’t think so. She’s laid up with a broken leg and pretty bored. She was riding on the back of her boyfriend’s motorcycle, and they had an accident.” She shook her head. “You wouldn’t get me on one of those things.”

“Me, neither,” Lucille agreed. “Frankie—he’s my husband—had a third cousin once removed who had one of them bikes and managed to kill himself.”

The girl who had purchased the pizzas turned to look at them. “Maybe it wasn’t a jealous husband. Maybe it was Sal’s wife who was jealous. I know I’d kill my husband if I found out he was cheating on me. No way I’d stand for that.”

She looked too young to be married, Lucille thought. Like maybe she was still in high school. But everyone looked young to her these days. She supposed by the time she hit her eighties, she’d look at someone the age she is now and think they were young.

“That’s true,” the other girl said. “Maybe the wife got jealous and they argued.”

A nurse who was standing behind the desk turned around. She looked to be in her late thirties and had a clipboard clutched to her chest. “Everyone has always thought Sal married Tiffany out of pity. Because of that car accident. I still remember hearing about it. Some girl was killed and the driver of the car Sal and Tiffany were riding in went to jail.”

Sheesh, Lucille thought. Jail? “But if it was an accident,” Lucille said, “how come he went to jail? People have accidents all the time.” She sure as hell hoped she never got in an accident.

The nurse put down her clipboard. “They were drag racing. The police estimated they hit that tree going a hundred miles per hour.”

“So maybe Sal felt trapped after all these years with Tiffany. Especially if he didn’t really want to marry her in the first place,” Lucille said and they both nodded. “And he decided to spice things up a bit by going outside his marriage.”

“You should call my friend Melissa.” The one girl handed Lucille a piece of paper with a phone number and address on it. “Maybe she knows something.”

Just then another nurse came out and called Lucille’s name. Lucille felt like she was going to the guillotine—her heart pounding and palms sweating—but before she knew it she was back in the Olds and roaring out of the parking lot.

She figured she’d go over and visit this Melissa the receptionist had told her about. She couldn’t call her—she didn’t have one of them cell phones. The one Frankie got her fell in the toilet, and she was more than glad to be rid of it. She could barely make out the numbers on the thing, and when it rang, by the time she found it in her purse the person had already hung up.

If this poor girl was stuck at home with a broken leg, she’d probably appreciate something to pass the time. Lucille decided she’d go to the A&P and pick up some of those gossipy magazines like the
National Enquirer
and
People
. She knew when she was sick she didn’t want to read nothing too heavy.

Lucille pulled into the A&P parking lot, parked the Olds and went inside. While she was there, she ought to get some kind of snack to take with her. To ease the way, so to speak. She spied a bag of corn chips. Corn ought to be on her diet. Surely the cavemen grew corn. She knew the Indians did.

Lucille checked out with her purchases and headed back to her car. She sat there for a minute glancing through the magazines she’d bought. It looked like JLo had herself a new boy toy, and Jennifer Aniston was supposedly pregnant again. Lucille had to laugh. What the press was calling a
baby bump
was probably a good, healthy Italian meal—some stuffed shells, a little escarole soup, all followed by tiramisu for dessert . . . or it could be constipation. Lucille knew that she was always bloated when she got backed up.

She closed the magazines, put them on the seat beside her, and headed toward the Gales Drive apartments where this Melissa lived.

Lucille pulled up in front of one of the apartment buildings on the right side of Gales Drive and got out. There were a few dry leaves in the gutter—soon they would have all turned color and then they’d be all over the ground. The thought put Lucille in mind of Thanksgiving. She couldn’t wait for the turkey and all the trimmings. By then she should have lost enough weight to go off her diet.

She rang the bell of apartment number five and waited. She could hear a thumping noise, and then Melissa swung open the door. Her left leg was encased in plaster, and she was balancing on a pair of crutches.

“You must be Lucille,” she said, tottering on one leg.

“Yeah. Did your friend call and tell you I was coming?”

“She did. Said it was about Sal Zambino.” She stepped aside. “Come on in. I could do with some company. Being here alone all day is pretty boring. I used to think it would be great to have time off work to watch the soaps and some of those daytime talk shows, but I gotta tell you, it’s not all it’s made out to be.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know what you mean. That’s why I work part-time in the office over at St. Rocco’s. My Frankie didn’t want me to have to work, but with our daughter grown, I figured why not bring in some extra money? It always comes in handy.” She thrust the copies of the
National Enquirer
and
People
at Melissa. “Here. I brought you some magazines on account of I figured you were probably bored being stuck inside and all.”

“Thanks.” Melissa peered at the covers. “Do you think Jennifer Aniston is really pregnant? She’s got that new boyfriend and all.”

“Nah, I think she just ate a big meal.”

Melissa nodded. “I don’t think I can manage these and these horrible crutches. Can you throw them on the coffee table?” She pointed toward the living room. “Come in and have a seat.” she called over her shoulder.

Lucille followed her and got comfortable on the sofa. The television was on but the sound was muted. Some soap opera was playing that Lucille didn’t recognize. Must be a new one—she stuck with the tried and true herself.

She handed Melissa the bag of corn chips. “I thought maybe you could go for a snack.” Her own stomach rumbled, reminding her that she hadn’t had no breakfast that morning.

“Thanks.” Melissa put the chips on the sofa beside her.

Lucille looked at the bag longingly. Wasn’t Melissa going to open them? She should have bought herself some to have on the way home. She’d go back to the A&P after and get a bag for herself and maybe one for Bernadette. After all, since she was nursing, she had to keep her strength up.

“So I guess you used to work for this Sal Zambino, the guy who owned the pizza parlor over on Springfield Avenue,” Lucille said, still eyeing the chips.

“Yeah. I cleaned for him and his wife. That’s how I got this.” She gestured toward her cast. “Their damn cat tripped me, and I went flying down their basement stairs. They said they’d do right by me, but I haven’t seen a penny so far and now with Sal gone . . .”

Lucille nodded sympathetically. She couldn’t get her mind off the chips. How could Melissa let them just sit there?

“So your friend tells me that Sal was having an affair.”

Melissa nodded, her eyes getting wide. “I caught them once—what do they call it—in fragrance delicto.”

“In fragrance del . . . whatever you said. What does that mean?” Lucille suddenly forgot about the chips.

“I think it’s Italian for
caught in the act
.” Melissa shrugged.

“You don’t say! Who was the woman?”

“Some tacky bimbo. I didn’t recognize her. She wasn’t nothing special if you ask me.” She reached for a back scratcher that was sitting on the coffee table and stuck it down inside her cast. “Of course the wife has that scar on her face, and she walks kind of funny. But still . . .”

“I know what you mean. That’s no excuse for stepping out. For better or worse. The good with the bad. Those there are the marriage vows.”

Melissa flopped back against the pillows. “Except I heard she had the scar before he married her. Still . . .”

“That’s what I heard, too.” Lucille eyed the chips one last time. “So is there anything else you can tell me about this gal he was sneaking around with? What did she look like?”

“Dark hair. Dark eyes. I didn’t notice much—frankly, I was too embarrassed. I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me.”

“Do you remember anything else?”

Melissa scrunched up her face. “No, not really. Except there was a red Mustang parked in front of the house when I got there. If I’d of known, I’d never have gone inside, if you know what I mean.” She shuddered. “It was horrible. I mean seeing them like that . . .”

Lucille nodded sympathetically. “I can just imagine.”

Lucille gave one last glance at the corn chips and began to get up. “Listen, thanks so much for letting me stop by. I appreciate it.”

Melissa started to struggle to her feet, but Lucille stopped her.

“You sit, I’ll just lock the door in back of me.”

Melissa nodded.

“Thanks, again.” Lucille pulled open the front door to the apartment. The wind had picked up and nearly grabbed it from her hand.

She walked down the path and looked up at the sky. The clouds were darkening and it looked like rain.

That was something what Melissa had said about finding Sal and this bimbo in the clutch, so to speak. Had Tiffany walked in on them at some point herself? And got mad enough to stab Sal?

There was only one thing worrying Lucille. Flo had a red Mustang just like the one Melissa saw parked outside Sal’s house. She was pretty sure Flo didn’t have nothing to do with Sal—other people probably had red Mustangs, too. After all, they didn’t make this one special just for Flo.

But it still worried her so much that she forgot all about the corn chips on the way back home.

• • •

Bernadette was in the kitchen with Lucy when Lucille got home.

“How’s my little granddaughter?” Lucille said, holding out her arms for the baby.

Lucy gurgled and settled her head against Lucille’s shoulder. Lucille automatically started to rock from side to side.

“You know, holding a baby is like riding a bike. You never forget how.”

Bernadette grunted. Her arms hung limply at her sides, as if she didn’t know what to do with them when she wasn’t holding her daughter.

“How are you and Tony coming along with the deposit on a house?”

Bernadette shrugged. “Okay, I guess.”

“You guess? Any idea when you’ll be getting your own place?”

Just then Lucy began to wail.

“She’s hungry,” Bernadette said.

Lucille handed the baby back to her daughter. “Any thoughts on getting her baptized? We don’t have to go through a whole big rigmarole or nothing. Just take her over to the church and have Father Brennan perform the ceremony quick like. Just you and Tony, me and Frankie, Flo and Aunt Angela and Grandma Theresa and—”