Confession Is Murder (12 page)

She was on her way to Commonwealth Avenue, over behind the library, to see the Postemas. She hoped Mrs. Postema still lived there and hadn’t retired to Florida or nothing. Her husband had retired last year—Lucille remembered seeing something about it in the
New Providence Press
. He worked for some plastics factory down in Perth Amboy, and there’d been a nice write-up about him—his service during World War II, his model train collection, and, most important, his involvement in the Knights of Columbus.

Mrs. Postema was a secretary in the attendance office over at the high school. She and Lucille had got to talking all the times Lucille had had to call Bernadette in sick. Between Bernadette’s allergies and her inability to get up in the morning, Lucille and Mrs. Postema had spoken a lot.

Lucille came to the corner of Springfield Avenue and South Street and turned right. She was going to stop in at Wayne’s Bakery first and pick up a nice cake since she hadn’t had time to make anything. They did a German chocolate cake that was almost as good as homemade. Lucille could feel her mouth watering already.

The Postemas were home, or at least it looked like they were. A Chevy Nova was pulled up right to the garage door, and there was a Ford Neon right behind, bumpers nearly touching, in the small driveway.

Mr. Postema opened the door wearing an old cardigan and a pair of leather bedroom slippers. He had a high forehead and a slightly receding hairline that made Lucille think of one of them college professors like in the old movies.

Lucille held out the cake. “Is the missus home? I’m just popping in for a short visit. Got to get back to work in an hour.” Lucille made a big show of glancing at her watch. She hoped Mrs. Postema remembered her. They’d only met in person the once at Bernadette’s graduation, and then there had been dozens of parents milling about.

Mrs. Postema came to the door and hovered in back of her husband. “What is it, Hans?”

“Looks like we got company, woman. Friend of yours.” He gestured toward the open door.

Mrs. Postema peered around her husband at Lucille. “From the high school, right? Louise?”

“Lucille, it’s Lucille. I brought you a cake.” Lucille hoped Mrs. Postema would put on some coffee to go with it. She was starving all of a sudden. Must have been all the fresh air and exercise.

“Come on in, Lucille.” She ushered Lucille into the foyer and closed the door in back of her. “Hans, why don’t you take this into the kitchen.” Mrs. Postema took the cake from Lucille and handed it to her husband.

“So, how you been? Still working in the attendance office at the school?” Lucille followed Mrs. Postema into the living room and looked around.

The furniture was what she thought was called Swedish Modern. Or maybe it was Danish, she couldn’t remember. One of those Scandinavian countries at any rate. Very simple in strange colors like turquoise and brown. Funny combination. She liked warmer colors herself. And stuff that was comfortable to sit on. She fidgeted around on the sofa, trying to find a soft spot, but the thing was unyielding. She didn’t care so long as they gave her the information she wanted. And a piece of cake. She had a real yen for a piece of German chocolate cake.

“Oh my, yes, I’m still over at the high school. My Hans has retired, but I’ve sill got a few good years left in me.” Mrs. Postema chuckled, and the knot of gray hair at the back of her head bobbed up and down. She had real blue eyes and white skin that made Lucille think of pastry before it’s been baked.

“And you? You were helping out at St. Rocco’s, weren’t you?”

Lucille nodded. “Yeah, you know it brings in a little extra, and every little bit helps.”

“How’s your daughter? Beatrice, was that her name?”

“Bernadette. She’s called Bernadette. After her paternal great-grandmother. She’s got herself a boyfriend now, kid name of Tony Jr. And she’s working over at CVS, the one here in New Providence, not the one in Summit.”

“Is she continuing on at school?”

“Yes, yes, taking a couple classes over at Union County College.” How strange, Lucille thought. That almost made Bernadette sound busy.

Mrs. Postema had a quizzical look on her face, and Lucille didn’t blame her. It was kinda weird her dropping in like this. She wished Mr. Postema would bring in the cake. Pretty soon she’d have to get back to work.

“So, I thought I’d drop by, you know, and say hello. Mr. P, here, he’s in the Knights of Columbus, isn’t he? Because my nephew, Gabe, is thinking of joining up. But he needs to know how much time it’s gonna take ’cause he works for the New Providence Police Department, and he can’t do nothing that’s going to interfere with his career.”

Mrs. Postema was nodding, but she still had a funny look on her face. “Let me just get Hans for you, then. Hans?” she called out toward the kitchen.

Lucille was listening carefully but she didn’t hear no rattling of cups and saucers and plates. What was taking the man so long? Mrs. Postema should have seen to the cake herself. Probably he didn’t know where nothing was.

“Yes?” Mr. Postema came around the corner from the kitchen. He had a sandwich in his hand—looked like ham and Swiss on whole wheat to Lucille.

“Lucille has a question for you, dear. About the Knights of Columbus. She has a young nephew who is interested in joining.”

“Yeah, Gabe, my nephew Gabe.” She could hardly tear her eyes away from Mr. Postema’s sandwich long enough to look him in the eye. “We’d ask my brother-in-law, Joseph Salmona, he was big in the K of C. His wife, Connie, said he went every Wednesday night without fail. But you may have heard that he passed away recently. So I thought of you ’cause I remember reading about you in the paper that time when you retired.”

Mr. Postema took a big bite of his sandwich, chewed carefully, and swallowed before answering. “That’s funny. You said your brother-in-law was in the Knights of Columbus? In this parish?”

Lucille nodded. She noticed he had some crumbs down the front of his sweater. Mrs. Postema shouldn’t let him walk around with his sandwich like that. She was going to have to vacuum when he was done.

“That’s not possible, I’m afraid. First off, our meetings are held on Mondays. I never miss them. I’ve been a member for over forty years, and I rarely miss a meeting.”

Mrs. Postema was shaking her head. “That’s right, my Hans never misses. That’s my quilting group night, so it works out perfectly, you see. Even if he did stay home, Hans wouldn’t have any company because I’m off myself.”

“Furthermore,” Mr. Postema continued, licking mustard off his little finger, “I’ve never heard of your brother-in-law. Joseph Salmona, you said?”

“Yes, that’s his name.” Lucille nodded.

“I’m sorry, but he must belong somewhere else. There’s no Joseph Salmona that I know about.”

• • •

“St. Rocco’s Church,” Lucille said into the telephone. She was back at her desk in the church office, wishing the phone would stop ringing so she could think about what she’d just learned—how Joseph was never a member of the Knights of Columbus like he told Connie. But everyone and his Aunt Fanny seemed to pick today to call up about arranging a baptism, funeral, or wedding or to find out whether they’d left their gloves/umbrella/scarf/prayer book in church on Sunday.

She held the telephone receiver against her shoulder as she screwed the cap off her bottle of Coke. She’d meant to press the button for “diet” on the soda machine but had forgotten, and she couldn’t stand seeing it go to waste. Besides, this Atkins thing wasn’t working anyway, so what was the point?

“May I speak with Father Brennan please?”

“What do you want to talk to Father about? A wedding, a funeral . . . ?” Father Brennan hated it when they passed calls on to him without first getting some information. Lucille thought he ought to talk to just anyone as a matter of course, but he didn’t see it that way. Said he was too busy.

“I need some advice.”

The voice was whispery, and Lucille had to press the phone to her ear to hear. The cap came off the bottle, and the soda squirted out. She wiped the drops off her shirt and fumbled in her desk drawer for a tissue. “You want to give me some idea what it’s about? So I can tell Father, that is.” Lucille hated quizzing people, but she hated it worse when Father Brennan got ticked at her when she didn’t.

Lucille listened for a couple of minutes. She took a glug of her Coke. “So, basically, what you’re saying is, your husband’s running around with some other gal, drinks half his paycheck away each week, and leaves you alone every night to deal with your four kids?” She listened again. “Oh, and you got one on the way?”

Jeanette had been leafing through the latest copy of the
Advocate
and sipping a cup of coffee, but Lucille noticed she wasn’t turning the pages anymore.

“The other gal is pregnant, too?”

Jeanette had given up all pretense of reading and was staring at the telephone in Lucille’s hand, repeatedly dunking the last quarter of a doughnut into her coffee. Lucille wondered how long before a piece broke right off and disappeared into Jeanette’s cup.

“And you’re wondering if God would consider it a sin if you left the son-of-a—” Lucille caught herself just in time. “Well, if you want to know what I think—” She looked up to see Jeanette’s lips tighten. “I think you’d better talk to Father Brennan. He’d be the one to advise you—from a religious standpoint, that is.” She paused. “But, frankly, woman to woman, I say you should leave the shmuck.” She pushed the button to transfer the call and slammed down the receiver.

Jeanette was staring at her, her mouth opening and closing like a fish. Lucille felt a rush of satisfaction and stared right back.

“You’re not supposed to do that.”

“Yeah, so what?”

“Well . . .”

Lucille looked at Jeanette and shook her head. She was wearing one of them housedresses again, with bare legs and a pair of sneakers with the laces taken out. She hadn’t said anything about Lucille turning up at her house that morning. Did that mean she had a guilty conscience?

Lucille looked over at Jeanette again. It just wasn’t possible. Joseph had been a good-looking guy. A lot of girls noticed him at first, back when they were in school, but none of them ever seemed to go for him. Of course he was kind of dull, always wanting to stay home and watch television. Not like her Frankie. Frankie had that dangerous edge that attracted girls like a magnet. Lucille thought of that time down the shore, under the boardwalk . . . She could feel her face getting hot and held the chilled can of soda up to her cheek.

Of course, as you got older, dull and dependable didn’t seem so bad after all. Especially when there was a mortgage to pay and children to feed. So maybe someone besides Connie
had
found Joseph attractive . . . and maybe that’s where he was spending his Wednesday nights. For a moment Lucille almost hoped it was true. Not that she didn’t like Connie or nothing, it was just that she always seemed so . . . demanding. She remembered that time at Sunday dinner when Connie made Joseph go all the way back home to get her some hand cream. The kind Lucille offered her wasn’t good enough—she needed this special stuff she got in some fancy store over at the Short Hills Mall. Of course Joseph jumped right up and did it, too.

Which was all well and good, but how was she going to find out if Joseph was seeing someone else? They would have kept it real secret-like.

She drummed her fingers on the desk, then tapped them against the side of her soda can. The phone rang again, but this time Jeanette grabbed it. She probably didn’t want to miss out on nothing interesting, Lucille thought, seeing as how she would normally let it ring half a dozen times before picking up.

The phone—that was it! Joseph and this woman had to get in touch somehow. And if she couldn’t call Joseph at home, she’d have to call him at work or on his cell phone. And maybe Janice, the secretary and bookkeeper over at JoFra, had heard something. Maybe she’d even taken a call from the Mystery Woman, as Lucille now thought of her.

She’d go on over there tomorrow and chat with Janice. She didn’t have to go into work until the afternoon. She could take Janice one of them muffins she liked from the health food store. Although why anyone would want to eat one of them things, Lucille didn’t know. But Janice had gotten on this health kick after seeing some nutritionist on
Oprah
.

Lucille finished tidying up her desk and looked at her watch. Ten minutes to go. She was exhausted on account of not being able to sleep last night. Tonight she wasn’t gong to make nothing special for dinner—she had some leftover lasagna in the freezer that would do them just fine. She put her handbag on top of her desk and poked around for her car keys. Shit! She’d forgotten all about the Olds being in the shop. Flo was picking her up at a quarter after the hour, so she wasn’t going nowheres fast.

Jeanette was watching her, so she pretended to shuffle some papers around on her desk. She could hear each tick of the clock in the quiet room. Seven minutes more and she’d be out of there. She’d go wait for Flo outside. Maybe the air would wake her up a little.

Lucille was slipping on her jacket when she heard footsteps on the stairs. It wasn’t Father Brennan—a light was still shining under his closed door.

“Going somewhere?” Detective Sambuco stepped off the last stair as Lucille was pushing in her chair.

Lucille jumped. “No. Yes. It’s five o’clock, and I’m going home.” They both glanced at the clock, where the hands pointed to five minutes before the hour.

“Mind if I ask you a couple of questions first?” Sambuco perched on the edge of Lucille’s desk. Lucille could smell the cold air on him along with the musky scent of his aftershave. He rubbed his hands together briskly.

Lucille pulled out her chair and sat down.

“I won’t keep you too long, I swear.” He put a hand to his chest.

Lucille nodded and leaned back in her chair. Sambuco felt a little too close for comfort—especially in their small office space with its low ceiling and towering stacks of paper everywhere. Jeanette was staring at the both of them, not even pretending to work.