Hit and Nun (12 page)

“What are we going to tell the police?” Flo asked, ending the call and dropping the phone into her lap. “Richie is going to be furious if he finds out we’ve been playing detective again.”

“We just tell them the truth. We stopped by to make a condolence call.”

“But why did we look in the garage window? That seems kind of fishy to me.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll think of something.”

“Well, that’s a relief.” Flo grunted. “I think I hear sirens.”

“Me, too. They should be here any minute now.”

Moments later, two police cars pulled into Tiffany’s driveway, one in back of the other. The doors flew open and two officers jumped out. Lucille thought the short, heavyset one was the same guy who had been at the bank the night she and Flo had followed Nicole. She hoped he didn’t recognize them.

Both of them were sweating slightly even though the breeze had a cool edge to it.

“The dispatcher said you found a body,” the heavier one said.

“Yeah. In the car in the garage.”

Both policemen peered through the window of the garage. One of them pulled the radio from his belt and squawked some numbers into it. He turned to Flo and Lucille. “Detective will be here any minute.”

“Please don’t let it be Richie,” Flo whispered to Lucille.

An unmarked car pulled up to the curb and the door opened. Flo groaned.

“I know those shoes,” she said. “It’s Richie all right.”

Sambucco strolled up the driveway shaking his head. He pulled a pack of gum from his pocket, unwrapped a piece and popped it into his mouth. He was smiling, but it wasn’t one of them friendly smiles, Lucille thought.

He stood in front of them shaking his head. “Okay, who let you two out of the loony bin? Sheesh, every time I turn around, Lucille, you’re finding another dead body.”

Lucille bristled. Was that her fault?

“And you.” Sambucco turned to Flo. “I suppose you’re in this up to your neck with your best friend here.” He jerked a thumb in Lucille’s direction.

Flo stood up straight and looked Sambucco in the eye. “We came to pay a condolence call to express our sympathies to Tiffany on the loss of her husband. Is that against the law or something? Because if so, I certainly didn’t know about it.”

For a minute it was a standoff with the two of them staring at each other toe to toe.

“No, no,” Sambucco said finally but he didn’t sound convinced.

“Okay, then.” Flo gave him one last piercing look then turned away.

Uh-oh, trouble in paradise,
Lucille thought. She hoped this didn’t hurt Richie and Flo’s relationship none.

Sambucco cracked his gum. “So you two just happened to look in the garage?”

“Yes,” Lucille said in a rush. “On account of Tiffany didn’t answer the door, and we thought that maybe her bell was on the blink because I remembered that time when we thought Ma wasn’t home, but it turned out—”

“I assume that’s Tiffany in the car. What made you think she was dead?”

“Well, she wasn’t moving, was she?” Flo still had that pissed-off look in her eye.

“Looks like a possible suicide to me,” Sambucco said, moving away.

By now the patrolmen had gotten the garage door up and were waiting by the car for Sambucco. Lucille decided not to get any closer. She’d had her fill of dead bodies lately.

They heard another siren in the distance, and soon an ambulance was crowding into the driveway in back of the patrol cars. One of the officers rushed over and waved the rescue squad away. It looked like they were right and Tiffany wasn’t going to the hospital—she was going to the morgue. Lucille made the sign of the cross and whispered a quick prayer to St. Margaret of Antioch, the patron saint of the dead.

Flo and Lucille watched as Sambucco went to the front door and tried the handle. To everyone’s surprise, the door swung open.

“Come on,” Lucille said to Flo as she began to hurry toward the open door.

“Where are we going?” Flo huffed as she trotted alongside Lucille.

“To check out the scene, what else?”

“Well, listen to you, little miss detective.”

Lucille and Flo stopped at Tiffany’s front door and peered around the edge. The hallway was empty, and they tiptoed inside.

Sambucco stepped out of the kitchen, blocking their way. “Where do you two think you’re going?”

“Nowheres,” Lucille said, fanning herself with her hand. “I was beginning to feel a little faint so Flo suggested maybe a glass of water would be a good idea.” Lucille pretended to sag against the wall.

“I’m afraid I can’t let you touch anything until we confirm what happened. It looks like suicide, but we’ve got to follow protocol until we get the official verdict.”

Lucille fluttered her eyelids and swayed to and fro. She could see Sambucco from under her lashes—he was biting his lower lip. She gave a soft groan.

“All right. The two of yous can go have a seat in the living room. But don’t touch nothing, okay?”

“We wouldn’t dream of it,” Flo said, pushing past Sambucco.

He scowled at them as they went by, but then one of his men called him and he turned on his heel and walked back down the hall.

Flo and Lucille perched on the sofa, which was covered in an elaborate gold and white brocade fabric protected by a plastic slipcover. There was a Sacred Heart of Jesus statue on a small table across the room with a white memorial candle next to it. Lucille’s mother used to burn one of them on her dresser in memory of Lucille’s father. Every once in a while she and Frankie would have to go over and clean the ring of soot it made on the ceiling. One Christmas they bought her an electric candle, but she was having none of it. Lucille made a mental note to remind Frankie they needed to go over there and give the ceiling a fresh coat of paint.

From where she was sitting, Lucille could see into the kitchen. She was itching to check if Tiffany had left her purse in there. They could hear Sambucco out in the hall talking to someone.

Lucille poked Flo, stood up and started to tiptoe toward the kitchen. Sambucco’s voice suddenly got louder, and they both froze. But his voice retreated again, and they made it into the kitchen safely.

“See, I told you,” Lucille hissed in Flo’s ear, pointing to a large black leather handbag on the kitchen chair.

“You’re not going to—” Flo said, but Lucille had already opened the purse and was rummaging around inside.

She pulled out a slip of yellow paper triumphantly and showed it to Flo.

“You know,” Lucille said as she and Flo stared at the figure on the deposit slip, “I think Sambucco is wrong about this here being a case of suicide. I think Tiffany let someone in the house—that’s why the front door was open—and they somehow got her into her car and left her there in the garage with the motor running.”

“Yeah,” Flo said.

“Because why would Tiffany go out and leave the front door unlocked? And why would she commit suicide when she’d just come into half a million dollars?”

They heard footsteps in the hall and they both jumped.

“We’ve got to get out of here.” Flo grabbed Lucille by the arm.

“Take it easy. That hurts.” Lucille pulled her arm away.

Just then Sambucco strode into the room. He stopped short when he saw Flo and Lucille. “What are the two of yous doing in here?”

Lucille began to sidle toward the sink. “Getting a glass of water. My throat’s gone all dry.” She gave a couple of coughs.

Sambucco scowled. “I thought I told you not to touch nothing.”

“We haven’t,” Flo reassured him. “And we won’t. Right, Lucille?” She turned to Lucille.

“Right. Right-o. Right-e-o. We’re on our way out anyways. Come on, Flo.”

She linked her arm through Flo’s.

“Good. And don’t touch nothing on the way out,” Sambucco called over his shoulder to their retreating backs.

The front door was already open, and Flo and Lucille slipped outside gratefully.

“Phew, that was close,” Flo said, wiping her forehead.

“Richie didn’t have no cause to be so cranky.”

Flo shot a glance at Lucille. “We were disturbing his crime scene. He does have a job to do, after all.”

Lucille blew a piece of hair off her forehead. She really needed to make an appointment with Rita for a cut. She’d missed her regular appointment on account of having to go for that mammogram. The thought made her stomach turn over, and she pushed it out of her mind. She would think about it later.

“Yeah, but going by what he said, he doesn’t think it’s a crime scene. He thinks Tiffany committed suicide.”

“True. But once we tell him about the deposit slip, I’m sure he’ll change his mind.”

Lucille stopped short and grabbed Flo by the arm.

“Ouch, Lucille. What’s gotten into you?”

“Don’t go telling Richie about no deposit slip. Then he’ll know we’ve been snooping.”

“But if it helps him solve the case . . .”

Lucille shook her head. “Just give me a day or two. I think I’ll have it figured out by then.”

Flo looked doubtful. “Okay, have it your way.”

“Yoo hoo!”

They both turned to see a woman coming up the walk. She was wearing a pair of denim capris, a faded blue sweatshirt and had a pair of clippers in her hand. There was a smudge of dirt on her right cheek.

“Yoo hoo,” she called again. “Is everything okay?” She was slightly out of breath as she came abreast of Flo and Lucille. “I was working in the garden clearing out some leaves and I saw the police pull up and then the ambulance . . .”

“Are you good friends with Tiffany?” Lucille asked.

“Well . . .” The woman hesitated. “We’re neighbors. I wouldn’t say we were good friends, but she was always willing to loan me a cup of sugar if you know what I mean.”

“I hate to tell you this.” Lucille looked around but Sambucco was nowhere in sight. “But Tiffany is dead.”

The woman gasped and put a hand to her mouth. “Oh, no. Was it some kind of accident?”

“Kind of.” Lucille put up a hand to shield her eyes from the sun, which had popped out from behind a cloud.

“No wonder she didn’t answer the door when that woman rang. I suppose she must have already been . . . you know . . .”

“What woman?” Lucille asked as casually as possible.

“I didn’t recognize her. You don’t think she . . .”

Lucille shrugged. “We don’t know. The police won’t tell us nothing.”

“What a shame.” The woman shook her head and her chin quivered. “First her husband and now . . .”

“What did this woman look like? The one who rang the doorbell?”

The woman frowned. “Ordinary.” Her face brightened for a moment, and she snapped her fingers. “She was wearing a T-shirt, although if you ask me, it’s a bit chilly for that, but maybe she left her jacket in the car. But the T-shirt had a picture of a man on the front and said something about pizza. And she had a big tattoo on her arm”—she pointed to a spot on her own arm—“that peeked out from under the sleeve.”

Nicole! Lucille thought.

“So she rang the bell, and no one answered?” Lucille glanced at Flo.

“That’s right. At least I don’t think anyone did. I was on my way out for an appointment and had to get going. But if Tiffany was already, you know, as you said . . .”

The woman lingered for a few more minutes, but when there was nothing more to see she said good-bye and made her way back down the walk toward her own house.

“That had to be Nicole,” Lucille said as soon as the woman was out of earshot.

“Nicole?”

“She’s the waitress over at Rocky’s Pizza Parlor.”

“What would she want with Tiffany? It couldn’t have been about a job since Sal’s is closed.”

“I don’t know,” Lucille said, turning to look back at Tiffany’s house. “But maybe she rang the bell again, and Tiffany did answer the door, only the neighbor had already gone by then. The door wasn’t locked so Tiffany most likely let someone in. Me and Frankie always keep the front door locked since we never go in or out that way.”

“True.”

“And maybe Nicole had some beef with Tiffany that we don’t know about.”

“You could be right. They do work for rival pizza parlors.”

“See?”

“So what do we do now?”

Frankie was already home when Lucille got there.

“What are you doing home so early?” She slipped off her jacket and slung it over one of the kitchen chairs.

Frankie was sitting at the table reading the paper. “My last job rescheduled so I thought I’d call it quits and come home.”

“Is the baby napping?”

“Nah. She was fussing so Bernadette took her for a walk.”

“That always calms her down. The fresh air is good for her. Makes her little cheeks all pink and rosy.”

“She is a cutie, isn’t she?” Frank smiled. He folded up his newspaper. “Listen, Lu, you given any more thought to our Vegas trip?” He reached out and drew Lucille closer.

So now it was
our Vegas trip
? Frankie made it sound like it was a done deal. He must really be worried that she had cancer and was going to die. And his losing his faith. Was that on account of this whole thing? Anger that God might have given her this disease?

“I don’t know, Frankie. I still think we should put the money aside in case we need it. We just got through paying for Bernadette’s wedding. It would be nice to have a little something in the bank for a change.”

Frankie grabbed her hands. “Think about it, okay? Promise me? You know, Lu, when I married you, I vowed that I would give you a good life. And what have I managed so far? Not much.” He swept his hand around the kitchen. “A house we still owe money on, a couple of measly vacations at a cheap rental down the shore, you driving a car that’s ready for the junk heap.” He shook his head. “Heck, I wasn’t even able to give you more than one kid.” He looked at Lucille. “Let’s do this. Let’s live a little.”

“None of that’s true, Frankie. You’ve given me a good life. All I’ve ever wanted.” She turned toward her husband and shook her finger at him. “And don’t you go talking about the Olds like that.”

Frankie laughed. “All right. But promise me you’ll think about it, okay?”

“Sure, sure.”