Confession Is Murder (2 page)

“Just trying to get some of the facts straight.” Gabe made a halfhearted salute with the wrong hand. “Sir.”

The uniformed officers turned and watched the man walk down the aisle.

He had a pretty good swagger himself. Lucille knew it well. She’d been watching it since they were both in ninth grade. Just her luck Richie Sambuco would show up. She’d been seeing him around town lately but usually across the street or down the block. And she always made sure to turn in the opposite direction.

He came toward her, and Lucille stepped backward until she was pressed against the side of one of the pews.

“Hey, it’s Lucille, isn’t it? Lucille Capobianco? I’d know you anywhere.”

“It’s Mazzarella now. Like mozzarella but with an
a
.”

“So you and Frankie got married after all, huh?” He grinned at Lucille, and she could feel her face getting hot. His hair was still black with only a bit of gray at the temples, and he’d put on a few pounds, but to Lucille he didn’t look much different than he did back in high school. He still had the kind of suppressed nervous energy that made her think he ought to consider switching to decaf. She watched his hands as he tugged at the collar of his shirt, and she blushed again.

He turned his back to her and bellowed toward the men securing the scene. “What on earth are you clowns doing? The guy had a heart attack, for chrissake. Is he even dead or what?”

They turned around and stared at him. One of the men came over and whispered something in Sambuco’s ear.

“What is it? What did he say?” Lucille could feel her own heart pounding so hard she was afraid she was going to have a heart attack, too. “Is Joseph going to be okay?”

“I’m sorry, Lucille.” Sambuco put a hand on her shoulder. “They did what they could.”

Lucille could feel her lower lip trembling, and she bit it to keep it still.

“Aw, come on, don’t cry.” Sambuco put an arm around her.

Lucille stood stiffly, breathing in the scent of his aftershave—same stuff he used to wear in high school. She felt hot, but this wasn’t no hot flash. She pushed Sambuco away.

“I’ll be okay. I just got to get used to the idea that Joseph is . . . is . . .”

Sambuco swiveled around. “All right, all right, get on with it,” he yelled to the men. “Maybe this’ll turn out to be more than it looks,” he added under his breath.

“Gabe.” Sambuco swiveled around again, his face turning a dark red. “Pay attention, for chrissake.” He shook his head. “Flat-footed oaf is going to contaminate the scene.”

“Contaminate? You mean we might get sick—” Lucille hadn’t bargained for this, if she could get sick . . .

“So, Lucille.” His voice dropped down real low, and he draped an arm around her shoulders. “It’s been a long time . . .”

She’d make a quick prayer to St. Aloysius Gonzaga, patron saint against pestilence. It couldn’t hurt.

Sambuco gave Lucille’s shoulders a squeeze. “Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

Lucille edged out from under Sambuco’s arm, and her leather jacket creaked as she drew it closer. Frankie’d given it to her back when they were in high school. Of course now she wore it with elastic-waisted pants instead of tight-fitting black jeans. It always gave her a sense of security. Except now. Being so close to Richie Sambuco was making her nervous even after all these years.

“It was when I came to do the flowers. I noticed the curtain in the confessional was crooked, and I went to fix it.” Nothing criminal in that. She worked for the church, didn’t she?

“And then?

“Well, then Joseph fell out. He’s my sister-in-law’s husband. Connie. She’s Frankie’s younger sister. Only sister, come to that. He looked like he’d fainted or something. I thought maybe it was his heart. Working with those chemicals all day long, you know.” She began to cry and once again fished the paper napkin out of her pocket. She wiped her nose and stuffed it back in her jacket.

“Chemicals?”

“Yeah. Joseph and my Frankie have a business together. JoFra Exterminating. ‘You got ’em? We’ll get ’em,’ they always say.”

“So, Frankie’s killing bugs for a living, is he?”

“Pest control. It’s called pest control. And he and Joseph, they’re doing real good.” So there, Lucille thought. Just because Richie was some fancy detective now.

“What was he doing in church on a Friday afternoon? He real holy or something?”

“I think I can help here.” Father Brennan glided into view. His ginger-colored hair was balding a little on top—like a miniature monk tonsure. “We’d hired JoFra Exterminating to do some work for us.” He smiled. “The church may welcome all God’s creatures, but not all the parishioners do. So we called in JoFra.”

“JoFra? Sounds like some kind of hair-care product.”

Lucille stiffened. “It’s for Joseph and Frank. This here’s Joseph.” She gestured toward the body, which was now partially hidden by men in coveralls. “He and Frankie have been partners for—”

“Was he working alone?” Sambuco pulled a piece of gum from his pocket, put it in his mouth, chewed briefly and snapped it loudly.

“He had his assistant with him,” Father Brennan said.

“Tony Jr. He’s been with them for a couple of years now. Helping out.” Lucille twisted her wedding ring around and around. “He’s really Anthony Baldini, Jr., but everyone calls him Tony Jr. He’s my friend Flo’s boy. You remember Flo, don’t you?”

Sambuco let out a long, low whistle and shook his hips suggestively. “Who could forget Flo?”

Lucille gave him a dirty look. “Anyway, Joseph wanted to make him a partner, but Frank thought they ought to wait and see because—”

“Where is he now?”

Lucille looked around, but she didn’t see anyone—just the other policemen going about their business.

“I think he must have left.” Father Brennan gestured toward the open door. “I didn’t see their truck in the lot.”

“I can’t imagine why he would have left Joseph here alone. Maybe he went to get them some lunch. I always make my Frankie’s lunch for him, but Connie says that Joseph likes to get something out, and besides, she don’t want to spend her whole—”

“Did you touch the body?” Sambuco cracked his knuckles, and Lucille jumped.

“No. Yes. I mean, I had to see if he’d fainted or something so I kind of tapped him on the shoulder—”

“Where was he when you entered the church?”

“In the confessional. He must have taken sick in there.”

“The curtain was closed, you said?” Sambuco moved over toward Joseph, and the uniformed men parted to let him through.

“Yeah, that’s how come I didn’t see nothing at first.” Lucille followed right behind him.

Sambuco squatted down next to the body and looked it over. Lucille hunkered down beside him. She wanted to be able to tell Flo everything.

He turned to her and rested a hand on her knee. Lucille stood up and scurried backward. “Must have been his heart, huh?”

He didn’t answer. “Was this here when you came in?” He pointed to a canister with a hose and spray nozzle that was lying outside the confessional.

“As far as I know. Like I said, I didn’t touch nothing.” Lucille took a closer look. “That’s Joseph’s equipment. My Frankie uses the same stuff. They took a course over in New York City and got licensed and everything.”

“It was his heart, I presume?” Father Brennan bowed his head solemnly.

“What do I know?” Sambuco got up and began to walk away. “Maybe it’ll turn out to be murder.” And he cracked his gum loudly.

Murder. The sound of the word followed Lucille all the way out to the parking lot. Father Brennan was letting her go early under the circumstances. There was still some filing to do, but he was going to ask Jeanette to take over as soon as she got back from lunch.

Lucille shivered, and it wasn’t because of the increasing bite in the late October air. Suddenly it was all too real. Joseph was dead.

She hurried to her car, looking over her shoulder all the way, and eased behind the wheel. Slipping into her 1987 Olds was like coming home, and she gave a sigh of relief. White exterior, red leather interior, who could ask for more? Frankie wanted to get her a new car, one of them SUV things, but she didn’t want one. The Olds was good enough for her.

She popped in her tape of Little Richard singing “Lucille”—her fifth copy. Frankie kept having to find her new ones, she played it so often. But she hardly heard it as she peeled out of the parking lot and made a right turn onto South Street. She didn’t even notice, until she looked into the rearview mirror, that she’d knocked over the statue of St. Francis of Assisi. Now he was sprawled in the driveway, the bunnies, birds, and deer looking on sadly.

All she could think about was Joseph. Dead. It was becoming all too real, and the thought made her teeth chatter even though she had the heater going full blast.

All she wanted to do was go home and tell Frank about it. Have him make it all better the way he always did. Her Frankie. When he put his arms around her, all her troubles disappeared. There was only one problem.

Frankie was gone. She threw him out yesterday.

Chapter 2

Lucille could hear the organ reaching a crescendo as she neared the church. The double front doors were already closed, and she swore as she quickened her pace. She hadn’t meant to be late, but there’d been the problem with her dress. It had been a year since she’d worn it last, and now she couldn’t get the zipper closed. She finally got it halfway up the side, where she fastened it with a safety pin. As long as she kept her arms down, no one would notice.

She ought to go on a diet. Everyone at the beauty parlor was going on and on about Atkins—the shampoo girl claimed to have lost twenty pounds on it. Lucille couldn’t tell where the twenty pounds had come off, but of course she didn’t say anything. Just oohed and aahed like everyone else. The diet sounded easy enough—eggs, steak, butter, cream. She’d done pretty well at breakfast—a couple of eggs over easy and a few pieces of bacon. But then there was that tiny piece of coffee cake left in the box. She had to eat it. It wasn’t her fault—it looked so lonely sitting there all by itself. Anyway, the rest of her breakfast was pure Atkins, so surely she would still lose plenty of weight. Boy, would Frankie be surprised when he saw her new figure.

She reached for the door and tried to ease it open, but it was stuck. She tried again, then with both hands. Finally it came flinging open, and she nearly tumbled back down the steps, wishing she wasn’t wearing a pair of blasted heels. The vestibule was dark, and Lucille could hardly see as she stepped in.

Unfortunately they were just about to wheel the casket forward, and Lucille ended up between it and Father Brennan. He gave her a very stern look and made a flapping motion with his hand, but there wasn’t anything she could do. The pews were packed, and there weren’t any seats.

She followed the casket down the aisle. There were some titters from a couple of teenage boys on the right-hand side, but everyone else pretended not to notice. Her best friend, Flo, was sitting in the second row and managed to push the old lady next to her aside just enough for Lucille to squeeze into the vacated seat. More like half a seat—she had to wiggle a bit to get into the space. The old lady threw her a dirty look, and Lucille shot off a quick prayer to St. Quirinus, patron saint against evil spirits, before turning her attention to the service.

Flo was dressed all in black—black spandex. She liked to think of herself as having “kept her figure,” but Lucille figured the spandex had something to do with it. They used to make girdles out of it, after all, back when women wore stuff like that. Flo had on a leopard-print scarf for accent, and in light of the solemnity of the occasion, had confined her eye shadow to a somber brown.

Connie, Joseph’s widow, was in the front row looking thinner and paler than usual. Her hair was perfect as always—Rita at the salon said she’d managed to fit Connie in even though they were booked solid. Frank was next to Connie on one side, and Lucille’s mother was on the other, sitting with her arms crossed over her chest. Connie had on a dark gray suit that Lucille had never seen before.

“Psst.” Flo poked Lucille with her elbow. “What’s with Frankie?” She gestured toward the front pew.

“I’ll tell you later,” Lucille whispered. It was just unfortunate that at that moment there was a lull in the service and the church had gone completely quiet. Father Brennan’s head swiveled around like the girl’s in
The Exorcist
, and Lucille sank further down into her seat.

The church was nearly full—Joseph had been well liked. Lucille looked around discreetly. Her daughter, Bernadette, had gotten there ahead of her and was seated with Tony Jr., Flo’s boy. He was a nice kid, but he looked like a turtle the way his head stuck out and his chin receded.

Lucille sighed. Bernadette hardly ever talked to her anymore. She spent most of her time plugged into one of them CD players and only came out of her room for dinner or to go to school. And she’d gone and had one of those earrings put in her eyebrow, although Lucille wondered if you could really call it an “earring” considering.

Everything had changed, and she wasn’t even sure how it had happened. She should be up front with Frankie, not wedged in next to Flo. But that had been her decision. Frank didn’t want to leave—she’d made him. She felt her resolve weaken, but then she thought of what he did . . . She stuck her chin out, squared her shoulders, and dashed a hand across her eyes.

Father Brennan started swinging the incense around, and Lucille began to feel a little queasy. She never could stomach the stuff. Flo began to cry, silently, but Lucille could feel her shaking since they were wedged into the pew as tightly as a bunch of rolled anchovies in a can. Lucille was surprised. They’d all been friends way back when, but she didn’t think Flo and Joseph had been particularly close.

Frank had introduced Joseph to his sister, Connie. It was the perfect match. Joseph doted on Connie, treated her like a princess. Lucille glanced over to where Connie was sitting. She seemed to be taking it well. But that was Connie. She’d never allow herself the luxury of crying in public. She was always so perfect—Lucille didn’t know how she did it.