Chapter 3

 

Lucille yanked open the door to the Impala. Maybe Louis wasn’t dead. Maybe she could do that CPR stuff like she’d seen on TV. They said it was real easy. You didn’t even have to blow in the person’s mouth no more—just pound them on the chest.

Louis slid sideways in his seat, nearly tumbling out of the car. Lucille put both hands against his shoulders and shoved him upright. What was she going to do? She didn’t have no cell phone—she’d dropped the one Frankie had insisted on buying her in the toilet. And good riddance to it, she thought. It was too complicated—it even took pictures. If she wanted to take a picture she’d buy herself a camera.

She let go of Louis but he started to slide sideways again. Maybe she could shut the door and run back to the church to get help. But she didn’t want Millie coming out of church and finding her brother dead with a bullet hole in his head.

Before she could move, the doors to the church flew open and organ music drifted out. It swelled to a crescendo and then trickled off. People began meandering out of the church—some stopping on the steps to chat.

A woman headed toward Lucille and the Impala. She was leaning heavily on a cane. Lucille called to her. “Can you give me a hand here?”

The woman looked in Lucille’s direction and then stopped abruptly. She caught sight of Louis and began to scream.

Father Brennan must have heard because he came rushing out of the church. His heel caught on the hem of his cassock and he nearly tumbled down the steps. Lucille held her breath as he flailed his arms in the air trying to catch his balance.

He finally righted himself and hurried over to where the woman stood. She was no longer screaming, but her face had gone so white Lucille was afraid she was going to faint. She sent up a quick prayer to St. Valentine, patron saint against fainting.

“What’s going on?” Father Brennan asked, putting his arm around the woman’s shoulder and glaring at Lucille.

Lucille glared back. It wasn’t her fault she found cousin Louis dead in his own car.

“I didn’t have nothing to do with it.”

The wind blew Father Brennan’s hair, and Lucille noticed his bald spot had gotten bigger. Everything felt surreal—like she was in some kind of slow-motion movie. Father Brennan helped the woman to her car, where Lucille could hear him telling her to sit and wait for the police.

“Is that Louis?” Father Brennan asked when he returned. He peered at Louis’s head. “Is that a gunshot wound?”

“Yeah. And do you want to give me a hand here?” Lucille was still propping Louis up to keep him from sliding out of the car to the ground.

“Let me call the police first.” Father Brennan pulled a cell phone from his pocket and punched in some numbers. “They’re on the way,” he said, ending the call.

Minutes later the first patrol car barreled into the parking lot and skidded to a stop near where the Impala was parked. Two policemen jumped out.

Lucille squinted at them. She didn’t recognize either one of them. She was relieved that Gabe hadn’t been on duty, although it would have been nice to see a familiar face. She was beginning to feel a little wobbly. A nice piece of cake would help—she needed something with a little sugar in it to perk her up.

One of the officers started to walk back toward his car.

“Want to give me a little help here?” Lucille was still holding Louis upright and she was getting tired.

The officer traded places with her, and Lucille rolled her shoulders, flexed her hands and pulled down her top.

The second officer was walking back toward them with a roll of black-and-yellow crime tape in his hand.

“Sambucco’s on his way,” he muttered to his partner.

Lucille wanted to groan. What was Richie going to think—her finding another body like this?

Father Brennan was standing slightly apart, his hands clasped in prayer, his lips moving silently. The one officer who was propping Louis up pushed on him slightly in an effort to get the body to stay upright.

“Don’t move anything,” the other officer snapped. “Sambucco will kill you. Remember what happened last time?”

“Yeah, but I can’t stand here forever holding up a corpse.”

It wasn’t a corpse, it was cousin Louis, Lucille wanted to shout. She felt tears forming in the corners of her eyes. Louis was family. So what if he had lost all the money his parents had left to him and his sister, leaving them with nothing to live on—you didn’t turn your back on family.

“Are you okay, Lucille?” Father Brennan put a hand on Lucille’s arm.

“Yeah, I’ll be okay. It’s the shock. Maybe if I could get something to eat.” She’d start her diet tomorrow, Lucille decided. No one could be expected to diet under these circumstances. She’d dash into the A&P and grab a coffee cake. It wouldn’t count—it was medicinal. Besides, the way her heart was beating in her chest, she must be burning tons of calories.

“I’m afraid you can’t leave the scene,” the officer stringing up the tape said. “Not till Detective Sambucco says it’s okay.”

“Yeah? Well, I hope he gets here soon. On account of I’m about to faint.”

The officer looked at Lucille in alarm, but then his head swiveled to the entrance to the parking lot, where they could hear the purr of a car’s engine.

“He’s here now,” the officer said with a look of relief as Sambucco pulled up in back of Louis’s Impala with a sharp squeal of his brakes.

He took his time getting out of the car—adjusting his leather jacket and pulling up his collar before sauntering over to where Lucille and the other cops were standing.

“So,” he said when he finally reached them. “What have we got here?” He transferred the toothpick in his mouth from one side to the other. “Another dead body?” He looked at Lucille. “You some kind of Typhoid Mary?

Lucille bristled. “It’s not a dead body, it’s cousin Louis.”

Sambucco whistled. “Poor bastard.” He examined the corpse carefully, chewing thoughtfully on the toothpick. He pointed to Louis’s head. “Looks like a hit.”

Lucille was confused. “Hit?” She wondered if Richie was losing his touch. “No one hit him. They shot him.”

Sambucco sighed. “I meant a hit like when the mob hires a gunman to kill someone.”

“No!” Lucille exclaimed. “No one would want to kill cousin Louis.”

“Someone did kill him,” Sambucco pointed out. “And they must have had a reason. This doesn’t look like a bullet gone astray.”

Lucille heard footsteps approaching and turned around. Millie had come out of church and was staring at the car.

She began to scream.