Confession Is Murder (25 page)

“The one thing? What about the house, the Toyota Camry, the vacation to Puerto Rico, the clothes, the jewelry?” Flo said.

“Those things didn’t matter. If I’d had a baby I wouldn’t have cared about any of those things.”

Flo snorted.

Connie rounded on her. “I killed Joseph, you know, and I can kill you too.” She pointed the gun rather unsteadily at Flo’s head. “Whether you kill one person or two or three, it doesn’t make any difference.”

“Yes, but there can be what they call extending circumstances,” Lucille said. “That will make a difference with the jury.”

“I’m not going to jail.” Connie swung the gun around to point at Lucille. “I’m going to run away somewhere where no one will ever find me. And I’m taking Bernadette with me. She told me about the baby and how she didn’t really want it. So she’s going to give it to me, and I’m going to take care of it. I’m going to have the child Flo cheated me out of.”

Lucille glanced at Bernadette, but she just shrugged.

“Why don’t you tell us what happened after you talked to Flo at the Clip and Curl? You went over to the church, didn’t you?” Lucille put a hand on Connie’s arm. She had to calm her down, keep her talking. Then she’d be able to get the gun away from her.

Connie took a ragged breath. “Yes. I thought I would go talk to Father Brennan. I didn’t know what else to do. I drove over to the church and parked in the lot. That’s when I noticed Joseph’s truck there. I’d forgotten he’d said he was going to be doing some work over at the church. It made me mad all over again. I wanted to go and scream at him, force him to admit the truth after all these years.” Connie looked down at her plate.

“He was in the confessional, spraying for bugs. It seemed perfect. Him being so obsessed with sin and all. I didn’t mean to do it. I didn’t even plan to do it. He always wore a mask, particularly on account of his fragile heart. He took it off when he saw me come up. I grabbed the nozzle of the poison canister and held it up to his face. It didn’t take much. He closed his eyes and kind of sagged against the wall in the confessional. I thought . . . hoped . . . he wasn’t really dead. I didn’t know what to do.” Connie started to cry again. “Suddenly I wasn’t so mad at him anymore.

“I raced home as fast as possible. Then I waited. When the police came to say he was dead, I knew I’d killed him.”

Connie was sobbing now, but she was still clutching the gun tightly. Lucille didn’t think it was a good time to make a move. All this was wearing Connie out. Pretty soon they’d be able to take the gun with no fuss and call the chief to come on over.

“I figured no one would know it was me. I was wearing gloves on account of its being pretty cold that day, so there weren’t any prints to worry about.” She turned to face Lucille. “Then you told me about that old lady who always sits in the back of the church making that stupid novena. I couldn’t remember whether I’d seen her or not, but I couldn’t take any chances. I followed her home from church one day and got her name off the label by her bell.” Connie gestured toward the oven. “I made her a cake and took it on over. She didn’t think anything of opening the door to me. She had a cold and wasn’t looking too good. It was easy. I held a pillow over her face until I . . . I’d . . .”

“Until you’d killed her?” Lucille said. Suddenly Connie wasn’t just Connie anymore. She was a killer.

“Don’t say that word,” Connie screamed. Her eyes looked funny, Lucille noticed. Mad. “I wouldn’t have had to do any of it if it weren’t for Flo here.”

“It’s late, Connie, why don’t you sit down and have another nice piece of—”

Bernadette groaned, and they all turned to look at her.

“What is it?” Lucille half rose in her chair.

“My stomach.” Bernadette had her hands over her abdomen. “It feels all crampy.”

“Is it your stomach, or lower down?” Lucille started to get up.

Connie swung the gun around and pointed it at Lucille’s head. “Sit down.”

Connie was going too far, Lucille thought. Bernadette needed her attention, and no one, not even someone with a gun, was going to keep her from her baby.

She ignored Connie and stood up.

“I mean it, Lucille.”

Lucille pushed Connie aside and went over to where Bernadette was doubled over on the breakfast stool.

“Where does it hurt?” Lucille felt Bernadette’s forehead.

Bernadette pointed to her lower abdomen.

“That’s not your stomach. You could be having a miscarriage.” Lucille looked at Connie. “We got to get her to the hospital.”

“No one is going anywhere.”

“You want we should lose this baby?” Lucille had her hand on Bernadette’s shoulder.

“She can’t lose it.” Connie waved the gun around wildly. “It’s my baby. It was meant to be. It was sent to me to make up for everything.”

Lucille and Flo glanced at each other. Flo rolled her eyes.

“Then let us take her over to Overlook and have them check things out.” Lucille was helping Bernadette into her coat.

“No one’s going anywhere.” Connie grabbed Bernadette’s arm, and Bernadette whimpered.

This had gone far enough, Lucille decided. It was time to let Connie know what was what.

“I’m taking Bernadette to the hospital, and no one’s going to stop me.” Lucille pushed Connie aside, finished buttoning Bernadette’s coat, and started shrugging into her own.

“I’m with you, Lucille.” Flo stood up and stared down at Connie. “And you can’t stop me.” She shoved Connie’s shoulder.

“You’re not leaving.” Connie’s face had begun to sweat, and her hands were shaking. “No one’s going anywhere.”

“Yeah?” Flo stood with her hands on her hips. “Make my day.” She shoved Connie again.

“I’ll kill you. I swear I will.” Connie waved the gun around.

Flo held up a hand. “Put that thing down before someone gets hurt.”

“No,” Connie screamed. She held the gun up to Flo’s chest with both hands and closed her eyes.

Lucille lunged at Connie. The gun jerked and a bullet ricocheted off the molding around the window, leaving a deep gouge in the wood. Connie stared at it. “Look what you made me do.”

“Shit, I didn’t know that thing was really loaded.” Flo had gone very white.

Bernadette screamed.

“What’s the matter?” Connie swung the gun in her direction.

“It hurts. My stomach hurts.” Bernadette was doubled over again.

Connie hesitated, then backed up with the gun still held out in front of her. “Okay. We’re leaving now.” She began to inch out of the room with the gun aimed at Bernadette’s head. “Come on, Bernadette.”

Bernadette glanced at Lucille, and Lucille nodded. Better to humor Connie until they could grab the gun, seeing as how they had no idea how many more bullets there might be.

Connie stopped at the front door and paused with her hand on the knob. She motioned toward Bernadette. “You follow me.”

“No,” Bernadette wailed.

“I’m going to count to three. One . . . two—”

Just then the front door crashed open and knocked Connie sideways, sending the gun flying from her hands and skittering across the polished floor of the foyer.

Lucille, Flo, and Connie all grabbed for the gun, and Connie’s elbow caught Lucille in the eye. She was probably going to have quite a shiner—she was seeing stars just like in the cartoons.

Connie lunged for the gun, but Lucille managed to kick it farther down the hall. They both went after it. Lucille pushed Connie aside and did a belly flop on top of it. She struggled to her feet, pulled her top back down, and with quivering hands pointed the gun at Connie.

They all turned toward the entrance.

Cousin Louis stood weaving on the doorstep and blinking at the light, the smell of liquor from his breath mingling with the cold night air. “Ssssss’it time for dinner yet?” He hiccoughed.

Chapter 21

“I hope they go easy on her.” Lucille turned to Flo as Connie was led to the waiting police car. The flashing red light flickered across their faces.

“So do I.” Flo was pale and shaken.

Lucille stared at her.

“No, I mean it. I feel sorry for her. Whatever I have, I managed to get by myself. She had to hope someone would give it to her. And you know, Lucille, I haven’t been unhappy all these years. I had my son, my job; I’m saving for a trip to the Caribbean.”

Lucille didn’t say anything. She’d never known Flo to be so philosophical before.

“Well, thank goodness it’s all over.”

“Yes.”

Flo began to cry.

• • •

Lucille was waiting by the door when Frank arrived. His hair was rumpled, as if he had just woken up. She felt her heart thump at the sight of him.

He stood on the doorstep uncertainly. “I came right away. On account of Bernadette.” He ran his hands through his hair, smoothing it into place. “How come you didn’t tell me nothing before—”

“Come on out to the kitchen.” Lucille motioned for him to follow. “I’ve got some coffee going. I don’t know about you, but I could do with a cup.”

Frank took his usual place at the table and leaned on his elbows with his head in his hands. Lucille wanted to go over and touch him, but she was afraid. Maybe he didn’t want her no more?

Frank looked up. “I don’t know what’s happening, Lu. Bernadette’s pregnant, Connie’s—”

“Let’s just pray she don’t lose the baby.” Lucille poured steaming coffee into a mug and placed it in front of Frank. “Go ahead, it’s decaf.” She poured herself a cup and put the pot back on the stove. “The doctor said we’ll just have to wait and see. It could go either way.”

“You got anything to eat? I’m starved.”

“I didn’t get a chance to go to the store. I could make you some pasta with a bit of butter and cheese—”

“Anything—anything’s fine with me.” Frank waved a hand.

Lucille felt a prickle of irritation. He hadn’t even asked her if she was okay. So maybe he was pissed about Richie Sambuco, or maybe he was in love with Betty . . . Lucille felt her heart bang hard against her chest. Still, under the circumstances, it would be natural to ask.

“You know what, Frankie, I’m kind of tired on account of everything that happened tonight. Why don’t you put on the water while I put my feet up for a bit.” Lucille pulled out a chair and sat down. Her heart was beating fast, and her hands were shaking a bit. If Frank couldn’t see her as more than just someone to cook and clean . . .

Frank looked up, startled. “Never mind. I’ll have something later.”

Lucille felt a twinge of guilt but willed herself to stay put.

“I don’t know what’s come over you, Lu. Keeping all this stuff from me like Bernadette being pregnant, and Connie—”

“I just figured it out about Connie tonight. Give me a break, okay?”

“How could she do something like that? She and Joseph were crazy for each other. He gave her everything.”

“Everything but a baby, and then she found out about Joseph being Tony Jr.’s father. I think it twisted her mind or something.”

“Yeah, Connie was used to getting what she wanted. I remember that time she wanted a horse, and my parents said no.” Frank shook his head. “She went crazy. Took a pair of scissors to Ma’s dresses. They didn’t know what to do.” He took a slurp of his coffee. “There any milk?”

Lucille gestured toward the corner of the kitchen. “In the fridge.”

“Maybe they should have taken her for therapy or something, but they weren’t the sort to go in for all that psychology crap.” Frank opened the refrigerator and got out the milk carton.

“Here.” Lucille held out her mug. “Pour me another cup, would you. While you’re up.”

Frank poured coffee into Lucille’s cup and she wrapped her hands around the warm mug. She felt very cold and tired all of a sudden. “Dom said the lawyer will most probably plead insanity. Then Connie’ll get the help she needs.”

Frank sighed. “Yeah. Kinda late, though, if you ask me.”

Lucille looked down at her coffee and then up at Frank, who was leaning against the counter, cup in hand. They were going to have to talk about it eventually. She opened her mouth and then closed it again. They had always been so open with each other, so how come she couldn’t bring herself to ask him the question that had been on her mind for days now?

“Listen, Frankie—”

“Lucille, I—”

“I want you to come back. Ma told me about the money. I don’t care about that no more. I just want you to come home again.” Lucille looked away so she wouldn’t have to see his face.

“I don’t know, Lu. What about you and Richie Sambuco? I always knew there was something between the two of yous—way back when we broke up that time. And then the second my back is turned . . . I don’t know if I could—”

“Richie don’t mean nothing, Frankie. Nothing. What you saw was just me being friendly-like. On account of he’d lost his wife and all.”

“But you kissed him!” Frank stared at Lucille.

“On the cheek, Frankie, on the cheek. Nothing else happened, I swear it.” Lucille crossed her fingers behind her back and said a prayer to Mary Magdalen, patron saint of penitent women. Although she wasn’t sure just how penitent she felt. Richie had shown her she was still a woman—desirable, attractive. There were just some things Frank didn’t need to know.

Frank had that mulish look he got when his pride had taken a beating. He could get pretty stubborn. Lucille felt a tingle of fear. “What about you and Betty, huh? Talk about someone’s back being turned.”

Frank laughed. “Betty’s just some kid, for chrissake. So I’ve seen her around a couple of times. So what?”

“Yeah?” Lucille put her hands on her hips. “Gil over at the dry cleaners told me he saw the two of yous having dinner all cozy-like at Marco Polo.”

“That’s bullshit. Okay, maybe we did get a bite to eat, but that was it. Honest, Lu.” Frank turned around with his hands held out.

“Then why would Gil say something like that—”

“Because he’s got the hots for you himself! Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed how he flirts with you every time we go in the shop.”

Lucille laughed. First Richie, now Gil. She’d had no idea she was such a femme fatale.

They stared at each other. One of them had to do something—say something—or who knew what would happen? Lucille sat up a little straighter. Let Frankie do it. Why did she always have to be the one to give in?