Hit and Nun (6 page)

Lucille didn’t have much time to think about that bit of news because her customer’s pizza was ready. She delivered the pizza—it had stuff like ham and pineapple on it. Lucille didn’t hold with these so-called Hawaiian pizzas. No self-respecting Italian would eat a pie with pineapple on it. It was a disgrace.

She headed back to the counter to wait for her next order—a couple of plain slices for two white-haired ladies sitting at a table in front.

Joey popped the slices into the oven to warm them, then picked up a ball of dough and began to stretch it between his hands.

“So how come you’re not working at Sal’s no more?” Lucille said, leaning her elbows on the counter. Her back was starting to kill her. When she got home she’d take a bath with some Epsom salts. That always helped.

“Sal’s is closed,” Joey said as he twirled the dough in the air.

“But just for now, right? Just till the funeral is over and all.”

Joey shook his head. “No. Tiffany’s decided to close the place for good. I needed to find another place to work. Fortunately, Rocky was looking for someone.”

Joey quickly spread tomato sauce on the pie and sprinkled on a good helping of grated mozzarella. He tilted the bowl toward him.

“Looks like we need more cheese.” He turned to Lucille. “You take over while I go grate some.”

“Me?”

“Yeah. Rocky said you had experience.”

“Sure, sure,” Lucille said. She hoped she wasn’t going to go to hell for lying. She’d have to be sure to get to confession this week.

Joey disappeared into the back and Lucille slipped behind the counter. She could feel the sweat breaking out. It sure was hot back here with those ovens going. She opened one of them and slid in the pizza Joey had just made like she’d seen him do. It slid off the paddle easily enough.

That wasn’t so hard, Lucille thought. She wiped her hands on her apron.

Nicole snapped her fingers. “I need a large with mushrooms and sausage,” she called to Lucille.

A large with mushrooms and sausage. Lucille stared at the ingredients spread out on the butcher block counter. She knew how to cook. She ought to be able to do this.

She grabbed a round of dough and began to stretch it the way she’d seen it done countless times. The circle began to get bigger, and Lucille’s confidence grew. She gave it a little twirl, and it stretched some more. This was actually kind of fun, she thought. She was pretty good at this—wait till she told Flo. Another little twirl and it was almost as big as the pan.

It was then that Lucille decided to go for the finale—she tossed the dough in the air the way Joey had done.

It came down and landed on her face.

“What’s going on?”

Rocky’s voice boomed loudly in Lucille’s ear, and she cringed. She was still peeling pizza dough off her face and picking it out of her hair.

“That one didn’t come out so good,” Lucille said.

Rocky’s face turned even redder. “You’re fired,” he shouted, pointing toward the exit.

Lucille scurried into the back room, picked up her purse and her top and ran out the door, half afraid that Rocky was going to throw something at her. She’d never been so glad to be tucked away safely inside the Olds. Fortunately it turned over on the first try, and she shot out of the parking lot and down the street, oblivious to the horns blaring behind her.

That hadn’t worked out so well. But she’d gotten some very interesting information, and it looked as if she was going to be able to keep the T-shirt.

Lucille pulled into her driveway, buzzed up the garage door and put the Olds away. The phone was ringing as she was walking into the house. It was Flo.

“Lucille? You want to grab a late lunch?”

“Sure.” Lucille looked at the clock and was surprised to see it was only a quarter after one. It felt like an eternity since she’d left the house earlier that morning.

“What would you like? Pizza?”

“Anything but pizza,” Lucille said vehemently.

“Okay, there’s a little sandwich shop down the street from here. Will that do?”

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

“I’ll meet you there in ten, okay?”

Lucille had hung her leather jacket over one of the kitchen chairs. She put it back on and went out to the car.

Flo was waiting for her when she got there. She had on a short, black leather skirt and suede high-heeled boots. Lucille couldn’t begin to imagine wearing an outfit like that. She went for comfortable styles herself, with elastic waists and nothing that needed ironing or dry cleaning.

“What on earth is that you’re wearing?” Flo said when she saw Lucille. She pointed at Lucille’s chest.

Lucille looked down at her T-shirt with the grinning caricature of Rocky Abruzzo on it.

“Let’s get our sandwiches, and then I’ll tell you all about it.”

Lucille ordered a Reuben sandwich. She figured she was fine with the rye bread, corned beef, Swiss cheese and sauerkraut, which was nothing but cabbage, after all, and therefore a vegetable, but she might be breaking her diet just a bit with the Russian dressing. She doubted the cavemen had any of that back in their day. But smelling pizzas all morning had stirred up her appetite, and she was starving.

“Okay,” Flo said as they settled into their seats. “What’s the deal with the T-shirt? I thought you guys were big fans of Sal’s?”

“Sal’s is closed.”

“No kidding. Closed like forever? Or just till Sal is in the ground?”

“Forever. I heard it from the guy who used to work there. Tiffany has closed the place and is leaving the business.”

“That’s really odd,” Flo said, picking at the chips that came with her sandwich. “She’s still going to need money, right? Unless they have a ton of cash socked away.”

Lucille stopped with her sandwich halfway to her mouth. “Maybe Sal had a nice big fat life insurance policy, and Tiffany decided to help things along so to speak.”

Flo pointed a finger at Lucille, “You know, you could be right. She always seemed very cold to me. I can picture her killing Sal to get the insurance money. Everyone always said Sal only married her out of pity after that car accident.”

“Yeah, and maybe he had someone on the side.”

“And Tiffany got nervous thinking Sal might dump her for someone else.”

“I’d say that makes her a prime suspect.” Lucille took a bite of her sandwich and wiped some grease from her chin with her napkin. “But we got another suspect, too.” She pointed to the picture on her T-shirt. “Rocky Abruzzo.”

“He the guy that owns that other pizza parlor? The one across the street from Sal’s?”

“Yeah. Get this, while I was working there today—”

“Whoa.” Flo held up a hand. “Don’t tell me you applied for that part-time job.”

Lucille nodded. “And I got the job, thank you very much.”

“So are you going to quit your job at St. Rocco’s?”

Lucille squirmed a little in her seat. “Not exactly.” She explained to Flo about the pizza.

Flo started to laugh.

“It’s not funny,” Lucille said, crossing her arms over her chest.

Flo wiped her eyes with the corner of her napkin. “I would have loved to have seen that, Lucille. I told you it wasn’t a good idea.”

“Yeah?” Lucille glared at Flo. “Well, I got some good information while I was there. So how about that?”

Flo quieted down. “Okay, tell me what.”

“Someone claimed to have found a roach in their slice of pizza at Rocky’s. Rocky thinks Sal set it up to put him out of business. They had to close for a week on account of the Health Department wanted to do a full inspection.”

Flo whistled. “That would make me pretty mad if I was Rocky. And I can see him stabbing someone. Richie says it looks like the killer used some kind of kitchen knife.”

“Really? Well, Rocky’s got plenty of those around.”

“But so does Tiffany.”

Lucille frowned. “True. Looks like we got ourselves a couple of suspects.”

“We? What do you mean by we?”

“You and me. Who did you think?”

“I don’t know, Lucille. Last time we almost got killed. And the time before that, too.”

“Don’t tell me you’re chickening out.”

“I don’t have nine lives like a cat, Lucille. Why don’t we let the police handle this one? Besides, what’s it to you?”

“I told you—Ma is good friends with Sal’s mother, and she’s all upset that the police are getting nowhere on the case.” Lucille glared at Flo.

“Yeah? Well, Richie said they expect a big break any day now.” Flo fiddled with the last bit of her sandwich. “Oh, all right, count me in.”

Lucille held up her hand and they did a fist bump.

“By the way,” Lucille said as they walked out to their cars, “how’s it going with Richie?”

Flo frowned and leaned against the trunk of the Olds. “Okay, I guess. There’s just one problem.”

“What’s that?” Lucille fished her keys from her purse.

“Richie is getting too serious. We went to the mall the other day, and he dragged me over to a jewelry store to look at the rings in the window.”

“But that’s great, Flo. Richie will make a great husband.”

“There’s just one problem, Lucille. I don’t know if I want to get married. Or at least I don’t know if I want to marry Richie.”

“Why on earth not? He’s a good guy.” Lucille didn’t understand Flo sometimes. She had a habit of looking a gift horse in the mouth.

“He is a good guy, but is that it? Is that all there is? Me settled down with Richie in his condo. Living on a cop’s salary and cutting coupons and pinching pennies. Maybe a trip to Vegas for some big anniversary. Life staying the same year after year. Like you and Frankie.”

Lucille bristled. “What’s wrong with me and Frankie?”

“Nothing, nothing, don’t go taking offense. It’s just that I’m still young. I’ve still got life ahead of me.”

“I keep telling you, you’re middle-aged now, Flo, like me. And let me tell you something else—a guy like Richie doesn’t come along every day. Here’s your chance to settle down. To have someone to go to bed with and wake up to in the morning. Someone to hold your hand when you’re scared and hug you when you’re sad. Believe me, if you don’t snatch him up, somebody else will.”

“You’re probably right, Lucille, but I just don’t know.” Flo glanced at her watch. “I’d better get back. I’ll call you later,” she yelled over her shoulder as she walked toward her car.

• • •

Lucille pulled into the parking lot of the A&P. She needed to pick up a little something for dinner. It had been nice going out with Frankie the night before—it seemed as if they hardly ever had time to spend alone no more.

She really didn’t feel like making a meal tonight. She was tired—spending the morning at Rocky’s Pizza Parlor had worn her out. She stifled a yawn as she picked through a bunch of tomatoes. They were as hard as bocce balls. How was a person supposed to make a decent meal for their family when that was all they could find?

She’d been upset with the way Flo was talking, but now she thought maybe she understood it. Flo didn’t want to have to rush home from work every night to cook dinner and look after a husband. The way things were now she could do what she wanted, get take-out, microwave one of them frozen dinners—although they didn’t look as if they would feed a bird, let alone a grown woman—or skip dinner altogether and spend the evening watching television and painting her nails.

Still, when you got in bed at night, sometimes them sheets were awful cold—it was nice to have a warm body to snuggle up to.

Lucille walked farther down the produce aisle and checked out the eggplants—nice and firm, and the stems were fresh-looking and green. She’d make some eggplant rollatini. It was one of Frankie’s favorites.

The baby was crying when Lucille walked into the house. Bernadette was in the kitchen with her, trying to get her to nurse. Lucy’s little face was all scrunched up and she was as red as a beet from crying.

“I don’t know what’s wrong.” Bernadette looked at her daughter helplessly.

“See how she’s drawing her legs up?” Lucille pointed at the baby.

“Yeah.” Bernadette looked doubtful.

“She’s probably got gas. I’ll make her some fennel tea.”

“What on earth is that?”

“You boil some fennel seeds in water, strain it, add a bit of sugar and then let it cool. It’ll help with the gas.”

Bernadette continued to look doubtful.

“Look, my mother gave it to me, I gave it to you, so there’s no reason not to give it to little Lucy.” Lucille stood with her hands on her hips. “And by the way, missy, when is the baby going to be baptized, huh? I was raised in the church, you was raised in the church and so was Tony. So what’s all this about not wanting her to have a christening?”

Bernadette stood with the baby in her arms, rocking back and forth. “I don’t want to talk about it right now, okay?”

Lucille opened her mouth, but just then the phone rang. She glared at Bernadette and grabbed it from the hook.

“Yeah? I mean, hello.”

“Is this Mrs. Mazzarella?”

“Yes.” The voice wasn’t familiar. Was this one of them sales calls? Lucille wondered. She didn’t need no magazine subscriptions, and she and Frankie didn’t want to change their cable service or lower their credit card rate.

“This is Dr. Rosendrantz’s office.”

Lucille felt a strange sensation in her stomach. The same kind of feeling she got when something didn’t agree with her.

“The doctor has reviewed the report from your recent mammogram,” the woman continued, “and she wants to do some further testing. It’s nothing to be concerned about.”

Like hell it wasn’t, Lucille thought.

“She’s ordered some more views of your left breast. Just to rule anything out. Can you be at the radiology clinic for an appointment at ten a.m. tomorrow morning?”

“Yeah, sure.” Lucille couldn’t remember if she was scheduled to work or not, but it didn’t matter. She had to get this done with right away or she would go crazy.

“Please don’t worry. It’s just routine. In ninety percent of cases like this it turns out that nothing is wrong.”

Ninety percent? Lucille thought. How about one hundred percent? She hung up the phone and started to cry. She had cancer and would die before ever seeing little Lucy baptized.