Confession Is Murder

Cover

Confession Is Murder

For middle-aged Jersey girl Lucille Mazzarella, only two things in life really count—her family and her friends. When her brother-in-law’s body falls out of a church confessional, everything she holds dear is threatened, especially when the police arrest her husband for the murder.

Plagued by hot flashes, a thickening waistline, a mother addicted to the home shopping channel, and a sexy old flame who’s come back to town, Lucille really has her hands full. And while she may not know much about solving crimes, this traditional churchgoer with very modern attitudes knows that with some prayers, some fast thinking, and some even faster talk, she might just be able to nail the killer and restore order to her life.

Title Page

Copyright

Confession Is Murder

Peg Cochran

Copyright © 2012, 2013 by Peg Cochran

Material excerpted from Unholy Matrimony copyright © 2014 by Peg Cochran

Material excerpted from Berried Secrets copyright © 2015 by Peg Cochran

Cover design and illustration by Dar Albert, Wicked Smart Designs

Published by Beyond the Page at Smashwords

Beyond the Page Books

are published by

Beyond the Page Publishing

www.beyondthepagepub.com

ISBN: 978-1-937349-81-3

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

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Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Excerpt from Unholy Matrimony

Excerpt from Berried Secrets

Books by Peg Cochran

About the Author

Chapter 1

Holy shit!

Lucille jumped back as the man slid out of the confessional and landed at her feet. Maybe he’d fainted—like people used to back when you had to fast before Communion?

She shifted the vase of dead flowers she was carrying to the crook of her left arm, bent down, and patted his shoulder gently. Nothing. She shook him again, a little harder this time. No response. He was wearing dark blue work pants and some kind of red cap. She couldn’t see his face, but there was something about him that seemed kind of familiar.

She poked him with her toe, and he plopped onto his back.

Joseph! Lucille dropped the vase, and shattered glass and fetid water spewed across the marble floor. She tiptoed around the mess, knelt beside him, and shook him gently. Come on, Joseph, wake up. Are you sick or something?

His head lolled to one side.

Something was wrong. She had to get an ambulance—call a doctor—dial 911.

Lucille hoisted herself to her feet. Sheesh, she couldn’t hardly kneel down no more without her knees getting all stiff. She turned and ran out of the church, arms pumping. She could see Father Brennan in the distance, coming down the path between the rectory and the church. The wind tugged at his cassock, swirling it around his ankles. Lucille waved, and he motioned back, moving at an infuriatingly slow pace.

She stopped for a moment to catch her breath.

Yo, Father Brennan, come quick, she yelled. Yo. Father Brennan, you’ve got to come right now. It’s my brother-in-law, Joseph. He’s sick or something. We’ve got to get help.

She ran back into the church to check on Joseph again. And make sure the whole thing hadn’t been a figment of her imagination. She’d been rather nervy lately what with everything that had happened with Frank and all. Maybe her mind was playing tricks on her?

Lucille skirted the puddle of water and broken glass and knelt beside Joseph. She shook him again, but he still didn’t move.

What was taking Father Brennan so long? She ran back to the door and nearly screamed when he appeared in front of her. It gave her the creeps the way he ghosted about in those rubber-soled shoes of his—reminded her of the nuns back in grade school and how they would suddenly just be there. And of course it was always when you were doing something wrong.

What is it, Lucille?

Lucille’s mouth flapped open and closed but no words came out. Father Brennan kept staring at her with those watery blue eyes of his, his eyebrows raised so high they threatened to disappear into his receding hairline.

Lucille pointed mutely toward where Joseph lay sprawled outside the confessional. It’s Joseph. I think he’s ill. You’ve got to do something, Father. Call an ambulance. Quick.

Father Brennan knelt beside Joseph and felt his neck and wrist. He shook his head. There’s no pulse.

There’s got to be, Father. Try again. Please.

I don’t think there’s anything we can do for him now except pray. But he got a cell phone out of his pocket and punched in 911.

What am I gonna tell Connie? They’re celebrating their nineteenth anniversary this month. Lucille paced up and down along the back of the church. Paper. That’s what I heard you’re supposed to get someone for their nineteenth, but I thought that was kind of stupid, so I popped into RSVP Gifts and picked out the cutest little—

Lucille ground to a halt. Father Brennan was staring balefully at her. Are you sure he’s dead? She sniffled and pulled her black leather jacket more closely around her.

Father Brennan nodded.

Shit.

Father Brennan crossed himself and gave her the same look he did the time she knocked over the table with all the Virgin Mary statues on it.

Lucille, may I remind you, we’re in the Lord’s house.

It’s just that I don’t know how we’re going to break this to Connie. She began to cry. She rummaged in her pockets, but all she found was the dirty paper napkin she’d used to clean the windshield.

Let us pray, my child. Father Brennan clasped his hands and bowed his head.

St. Aldegundis, Lucille said and crossed herself.

I beg your pardon?

St. Aldegundis, she repeated. Patron saint against sudden death. I mean, it looks like it was sudden, don’t it?

Father Brennan sighed and began moving his lips silently. Lucille bowed her head, although all she could think about was poor Joseph lying there and Connie—what was this going to do to her?

After a few moments Father Brennan looked up. I’ll be right back. You stay here and make sure no one comes in.

Who, me? Lucille was already edging toward the door. I’m starting to feel a little faint here—

Father Brennan steered her toward a pew. Sit down, and you’ll be fine. Pray the Rosary; it will calm you.

Lucille sat in the pew and made the Sign of the Cross. She didn’t have a rosary, but maybe she could count on her fingers. She began the Apostles’ Creed. Halfway through she got all confused and had to start over. She couldn’t help but think about the awfulness of it all, and saying the Rosary wasn’t helping none. Dinner—that was the ticket. Think about dinner and what she would make. A nice eggplant parmagiana perhaps? She was mentally going through her refrigerator, wondering if she’d need to make a stop at the A&P, when she heard sirens in the distance.

Joseph lay between her and the door, and she started to cry again as she edged past him, eyes averted. She got to the entrance in time to see three police cars pull into the church parking lot. Must be the whole lot of them, Lucille thought as she watched them swing into position. New Providence was a quiet town, given that it was in New Jersey—today was obviously even quieter than usual.

A tide of blue rushed through the door, and Lucille pressed back against the wall as five policemen swept past and gathered around Joseph. She edged closer and craned her neck, but all she could see were broad blue backs. She wondered what they were doing—maybe they were trying some of that CPR stuff? Maybe there was still some hope?

A sixth policeman came up the church aisle and stopped in front of Lucille.

Okay, ma’am, you want to tell us what happened? How you came to find the body, that is. He shifted from one haunch to the other, his hand caressing the butt of his gun.

Sheesh, Lucille thought. Like everyone didn’t know he was her nephew. Oh, come off it, Gabe. I used to diaper your cute little butt when you were a baby.

The other officers laughed, and Gabe reddened furiously.

Besides, it’s not a body, it’s your Uncle Joseph. He must have had a heart attack or something. Lucille tried to peer around Gabe. What are they doing over there, anyway?

Gabe motioned with his head. That’s our new defibrillator. We can shock the victim ourselves instead of having to wait for the ambulance.

Shock them? Why would you want to do that? Lucille hoped no one would ever find her passed out on the floor and try to do that to her.

Sometimes it gets the victim’s heart going again.

Lucille made the Sign of the Cross. They’d better get Joseph’s heart going again, or else she didn’t know what she was going to tell Connie.

The squeal of a siren echoed around the church parking lot, and everyone turned toward the door. Two men with a stretcher muscled their way in and trotted down the aisle to where the police were gathered around Joseph. A third rescue worker followed, carrying a square black box and panting a little. Lucille recognized him as the fellow who worked behind the meat counter at the A&P.

They pushed their way through the cordon of police and knelt beside Joseph. They were doing something, but Lucille couldn’t see what it was. Not that she wanted to—she always made Frank change the channel whenever one of those hospital programs came on.

Lucille looked around. Wait till she told Flo about this. It was just like TV—cops swarming all over the place. There was a cute one who was stringing out lines of yellow police tape. He had a nice swagger. Lucille watched him go about his business. She liked a man with a bit of a swagger when he walked.

What the hell is going on here? The voice was deep and authoritative.

They spun around. A man entered the church. He was silhouetted against the light from the door, and Lucille had to squint to see him.

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