Unholy Matrimony (13 page)

“What do you want with Alex?”

“Let’s just say the boss wants to have a word with him. About a debt he owes.”

“I don’t think your boss is going to be able to talk to Alex now.”

“Oh, don’t worry, he will. Because you’re going to tell us where he is, right?” He raised his fist threateningly.

“Oh, yeah? You think so, huh?”

The shorter one moved closer to Lucille.

“Okay, okay, don’t go getting all hot under the collar. It’s just that Alex Grabowski is dead,” she finished triumphantly.

“Dead?” the short one echoed.

“That can’t be,” the other one responded.

Lucille shook her head. “I got it straight from the horse’s mouth. Or at least from Detective Richie Sambucco.”

They both groaned.

“The boss is going to kill us,” the taller one muttered to the other.

“Yeah? Well, that ain’t my problem. Now the two of yous get out of my house. Go on, get out.” Lucille made a shooing motion at them.

They both headed toward the front hall.

“Listen,” Lucille said as she held open the door. “You find that kid Taylor, you let me know, okay? I need to have a word with him. He left my Bernadette standing at the altar. Just wait till I get my hands on him,” she called after the men’s retreating backs.

Lucille slammed the door shut and leaned against it, her hand on her chest. One of these days she really was going to have one of them heart attacks.

She was more shaken by the incident than she wanted to admit. She kept looking at the clock, but Angela hadn’t stopped by yet to bring back Louis and Millie. Besides, Lucille wasn’t sure she wanted to tell Angela about what had happened. Somehow Angela would turn things around and it would sound like it was all Lucille’s fault. Angela had been doing that to Lucille since Lucille was born.

She finally picked up the phone and dialed Frankie’s office. Janice, the secretary, answered on the fifth ring. She sounded kind of harried, as if they might be very busy. Lucille kept it short and sweet, although she and Janice had been known to pass the time gossiping whenever possible.

“Yo, Janice, it’s Lucille. Is Frankie there?”

“I’m sorry, Lucille,” Janice said breathlessly, “but Frankie is out on a job. Want me to give him a message?”

“Nah, that’s okay. I’ll give him a ring later. It’s not important.”

Lucille would have tried to prolong the conversation, but she could hear one of Janice’s other lines ringing in the background and reluctantly hung up.

She paced her kitchen—back and forth in the area between the refrigerator and the table. Two steps forward and two back. Those goons had upset her more than she wanted to admit. What was going on? Where was Taylor and who had killed Donna and Alex?

Finally Lucille could stand it no more. She grabbed the phone and dialed the number of the plastic surgery clinic where Flo was working. Flo always knew how to make it better. Even though they sometimes argued and sometimes even didn’t talk for a couple of weeks, in many ways Flo was more family to Lucille than her own family.

The phone rang half a dozen times before Flo’s voice came over the line.

“Yo, Flo, can I come over and see you? Something’s happened and I’m kind of upset.”

“Oh, goodness, Lucille, what is it?” Flo whispered. Lucille guessed maybe one of the doctors was nearby.

“Can I come and see you?”

“Geez, it must really be something. I hope Frankie’s okay. It’s not the baby, is it?”

“No, no, nothing like that. I’ll tell you when I get there.”

“Fine. I got a break coming up.”

“Okay, I’ll be there in about fifteen minutes.”

“Listen, can you stop by Starbucks and bring me a skinny triple shot half-caf venti iced caramel macchiato no whip and one pump mocha?”

“A what?”

“Honestly, Lucille, don’t you know anything?”

“I know when something sounds ridiculous. I’ve got a half a pot of coffee left. I’ll pour it over some ice, add a bit of milk and sugar and bring it to you. Okay?”

Flo sighed. “Fine.”

Lucille fixed a thermos of coffee for Flo, looking over her shoulder the whole time. What if those goons came back? A shiver went up her spine despite the fact that the kitchen was sweltering. Millie must have turned off the air conditioner while Lucille was out.

Lucille was glad when the door shut behind her and she was behind the wheel of her beloved Olds. She shot out of the driveway so fast that Mrs. Esposito, who was next door watering a bunch of plants that looked like they were ready for life support, actually jumped.

The clinic where Flo worked was right on Springfield Avenue. Lucille found it easily enough. It was a long, low building with elaborate white shutters and an absurd fountain tinkling in the small garden.

Lucille parked, walked around to the front of the building and pushed open the door. Plush sofas and chairs were carefully arranged in the lobby, and framed photographs of attractive women with unnaturally smooth faces, gigantic smiles and impossibly white teeth adorned the walls.

Flo was seated at a curved, polished wooden desk outfitted with a telephone that looked to Lucille like it came out of one of them futuristic shows on television.

“Give me a sec, would you?” she said when Lucille approached her.

“Sure, sure, no problem. You want this now?” She held up the thermos.

“In a minute, okay?”

“Sure.” Lucille wandered into the waiting room and took a seat in a deep blue velvet chair. She sank practically up to her chin. She looked around. There was a notebook on an occasional table alongside the chair. She picked it up and began to leaf through it. It contained before and after pictures of clients. Lucille had to admit, the doctors did some amazing work. She put her hands on either side of her face and lifted. There was a mirror on the far wall, and she went to stand in front of it. She did look better with some of the excess skin tightened, although her eyes looked kind of funny—squinty-like.

Suddenly Flo came up behind her. “You should consider having some work done.” She pointed at Lucille’s reflection in the mirror.

Lucille let her hands drop to her sides. “You gotta be kidding, right? It’s enough we can pay our mortgage every month with a little left over to put away for our golden years. Never mind me having plastic surgery.”

Flo examined Lucille’s face. “You don’t need surgery. A little Botox would do. Smooth out these wrinkles here”—she traced a line across Lucille’s forehead—“and here” —she touched the grooves that ran from Lucille’s nose to her mouth.

“Yeah, but I bet even that ain’t cheap.”

“I’m sure I can convince Dr. Hacker to give you a discount. He did mine for free.” Flo brushed a hand across her own forehead.

Lucille was starting to wonder what Frankie would think if she went ahead and did it. Maybe if she had a little work done, lost a few pounds . . .”

“How much of a discount?”

“I’ll ask him. Meanwhile, let’s go outside. I could do with a smoke.”

Lucille followed Flo out to the parking lot. There was a grassy area in back with a battered wooden picnic table. They sat down across from each other and Flo fished a cigarette out of her pocket. She lit it, took a deep drag, then twisted the cap off the thermos. She poured some out and took a long drink.

“Oh, that’s just what I needed,” she said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

“It may not be one of them drinks from Starbucks, but if you ask me, coffee is coffee.”

“So are you going to tell me what happened?”

Lucille took a deep breath and explained to Flo about the two goons who had shown up at her house.

Flo gasped. “Geez, Lucille, you could have been killed!”

Lucille’s hands started to shake again. “It was awful,” she admitted.

“You need a pick-me-up.” Flo took a last puff of her cigarette and stubbed it out on the bottom of her shoe. “Let’s see if Dr. Hacker can fit you in. It’ll be my treat.”

“I can’t let you—”

“Nonsense. It’s an early birthday present.”

Lucille was ready to protest some more but then shut her mouth. You just didn’t say no to Flo. It was impossible. She would end up going along with it sooner or later so it might as well be sooner so she could get home and start thinking about dinner. Hopefully Dr. Hacker would be booked solid and Lucille wouldn’t have to go through with it.

“Listen,” Lucille said as Flo drained the rest of her coffee. “Richie Sambucco asked me to do him a favor. A little ground work, so to speak.”

Flo raised an eyebrow.

“Seems he’s kind of thinking of asking you out. He asked me to see how you would feel about that.”

“Richie Sambucco?” Flo snorted. “I’ve got my eye on bigger things.”

“Richie’s a nice guy, Flo. You have a similar background, and believe me, that means a lot. And he’s got a good job and all. You ought to give him a chance.”

“Yeah? How much do you think a policeman makes compared to a plastic surgeon?” She jerked her head in the direction of the clinic.

“Well, sure, if it’s only money you’re after. But marriage is a partnership. You gotta like each other and respect each other. You need to have something in common.”

“Dr. Hacker likes to travel and spend money, and so do I.”

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

“Look, Lucille, I’ve spent my whole life pinching pennies. Raising a kid on my own, holding down a job, sometimes two. I want to take it easy for a change.”

“So what am I going to tell Richie?”

“Don’t tell him anything. I’ll let him down gently if he calls, don’t you worry.” Flo glanced at her watch. “And now I’ve got to get back to work.”

Lucille followed Flo back to the reception desk, where one of the nurses had been sitting in her absence. Flo sank into her chair and jiggled the mouse on her computer, which sprang to life, revealing a screensaver of a tropical island paradise with blue water and sparkling white sands.

“Let me see,” Flo said as she scrolled through a bunch of entries. “Bingo!” she announced, pointing a hot pink painted nail at the screen. “Dr. Hacker’s got an opening in fifteen minutes. I’m going to go talk to him now.”

And before Lucille could protest further, she was gone, her chair spinning aimlessly in a circle.

With any luck Dr. Hacker would say no and Lucille could go on about her business. She wanted to stop by the A&P and see if they had any decent eggplant. She thought a nice eggplant parmigiana would be good for dinner.

Flo reappeared trailing a man in a white coat. Lucille supposed he must be Dr. Hacker. She’d expected someone handsome, or at least reasonably good-looking, given the business he was in, but Dr. Hacker had enormous ears that stuck out from his head like flaps and a nose that started going in one direction then veered off the other way.

Lucille tried not to let her jaw drop. You’d think the guy would have had some work done himself. Maybe he was scared? Maybe he knew something they didn’t? All this wasn’t making Lucille feel no better about this whole Botox thing. If Flo hadn’t been standing right behind her, she would have definitely turned tail and run for her life.

Instead she found herself being escorted into a room and seated on what looked like a dentist’s chair. Lucille tried to lean forward but a nurse in blue scrubs gently pushed her back again. A cloth-covered tray alongside the chair contained a number of scary-looking needles. Lucille couldn’t stop staring at them. Finally she shut her eyes.

The doctor conferred briefly with the nurse then left the room. Lucille’s eyes flew open. “Where’s he going?”

The nurse gave a tight smile. “I’ll be doing the procedure. Dr. Hacker has surgery in half an hour.”

“Is this safe?”

The nurse smiled again. “I’m highly trained, don’t worry.” She leaned over Lucille and began pushing the skin on her face this way and that. “Raise your eyebrows,” she said.

Lucille did as she was told, and the nurse traced a finger across Lucille’s forehead.

“We’ll begin here, I think.” And she picked up the first needle.

Lucille clamped her eyes shut again. To her surprise she felt only the slightest prick. She opened one eye cautiously. The nurse was coming at her with another needle. Sheesh, how many more times was she going to be poked?

“Your name sounds familiar,” the nurse said as she jabbed another needle into Lucille’s forehead.

That one hurt, and Lucille winced.

“Like maybe I saw something about you in the paper.”

“Could be on account of the murder over at St. Rocco’s,” Lucille said. “Ma said the whole thing was written up in the
Star-Ledger
. She’s saving a copy for me, but I keep forgetting to go over there and pick it up.”

“Yeah, that’s probably it. What on earth is the world coming to? And then I heard the husband was killed as well.” The nurse held a cotton ball against a spot on Lucille’s face. “Some guy out walking his dog found his body in a bunch of weeds near the Passaic River over there off River Road someplace.”

“Really?” Lucille mumbled as the nurse poked and prodded at her mouth. Richie hadn’t told her that part.

“My husband is on the force,” the nurse confided, stabbing Lucille yet again. “Of course, he’s not on this case—he’s uniform—but he hears the talk, know what I mean?”

“What has he heard?”

“You know, it’s just talk. But at first they figured somebody had jumped the guy in order to rob him, you know? Maybe one of them gangs from over in Newark or Irvington.”

Lucille tried to say something but the nurse was pulling her mouth to one side.

The woman stood back and squinted at Lucille. She put her hand on Lucille’s chin and turned her head this way and that. “But it seems the guy still had his wallet on him, and it was stuffed with twenties. That doesn’t sound like some random killing to me.”

Chapter 14

“How was it?” Flo said as soon as Lucille emerged from the treatment room.

“I feel like a pincushion,” Lucille said, touching her face gently. The woman had said not to lean or press on her face too hard for a couple of days or the stuff might shift. Lucille could just imagine waking up with a giant lump in the middle of her forehead. She didn’t know why she let Flo talk her into this.