Free Confession Is Murder by Peg Cochran Page B

glad to tell you. And then you go back and ask your boss just what is he going to do about it, huh?” He thrust his face at Lucille’s, and she backed up as far as she could considering she was already teetering on the top step.
    He turned around and marched back into the house. Lucille was right behind him. This was looking very promising. She could imagine this fellow attacking Joseph in a fit of rage. She might have this whole thing wrapped up before lunch. Maybe she ought to think about becoming a private detective? Seeing as how she was so good at it and all. She’d be bound to make more money than St. Rocco’s was paying her—and she was going to need it with Frankie gone. Although she didn’t want to think about that right now.
    No wonder they had ants, Lucille thought when she got a look at their living room. There were dirty dishes stacked on two TV tables in front of the sofa. It looked like the wife must have made them some macaroni and cheese for dinner last night and then got too tired to clean up. Or maybe she had to go out or something. There were crumbs all over the sofa too. There was no better invitation to a family of ants than crumbs, least that was what Frankie was always telling her.
    Lucille followed the man through the living room and out to the kitchen. She wondered if maybe he had some coffee going because she could sure use a cup. Some coffee cake would be nice too. Although maybe it would be better not to touch nothing in this place considering how dirty it was. There was still no sign of the missus—maybe she was out doing the shopping or something.
    An elaborate house of cards teetered on the kitchen table amid dirty coffee cups and crumpled paper napkins. Mr. Flanagan took a seat in front of it, lifted a card from the pile, and placed it atop the shaky structure.
    “That there is really something.” Lucille pointed at the cards. She sat down at the head of the table even though the fellow hadn’t issued no invitation yet—her feet were still killing her from working so hard at St. Rocco’s spaghetti dinner. “We might as well get started.” She had her pad in her lap and her pen at the ready. “So tell me, what did you think of JoFra Exterminating?”
    “Unreliable!” He slammed his hand down on the table, and the card structure quivered but held.
    “You mean they didn’t show up?”
    “Oh, they showed up all right. Like clockwork they were. Same fellow every Monday at 4:30—his last stop for the day.” He stabbed a stubby forefinger into the air in front of Lucille’s face, and she leaned back in her chair. “But he didn’t do nothing. The ants kept coming back and back.” He swept a hand around the kitchen. “All over the counters they were. Disgusting.”
    Well, no wonder, Lucille thought, considering the kind of housekeeping they went in for. “How do you know they didn’t spray or nothing? Seeing as how they was already here and all.”
    “I know because the fellow was too busy to do any spraying.”
    “Too busy doing what?”
    “Too busy screwing my wife!”
    “No!”
    “Yes.” He motioned toward Lucille’s pad. “Write that down. I want to see what his boss has to say about that.”
    “But how do you—”
    “I know all right. Don’t worry about that. They were here alone together, weren’t they? Being that I was at work”—he tapped the side of his nose and winked—“it was bound to happen.”
    Lucille shook her head. This guy was a real nutter. And if he’d gotten it into his head that Joseph was fooling around with his wife, there was no telling what he might do. What if he snuck over to the church on his lunch hour, killed Joseph, and then went back to work as quietly as you please? She was going to need to check his alibi. That’s what they always did on TV.
    “So you were working?”
    “I have to pay the bills, don’t I?” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “I got a mechanic’s job at that station on the corner of Springfield