by Laura Durham
A smile cracked the mystery man’s olive skin. “It’s been a long time, Leelee.”
“Leelee?” Sidney Allen repeated, his voice cracking.
Leatrice blushed. “No one's called me that in an age.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe it’s really Jimmy the Pencil after all these years.”
“Jimmy the Pencil?” Kate, Fern, and I said at the same time while Hermès yipped.
Leatrice seemed to remember we were in the room and cleared her throat. “Where are my manners? This is an old friend from another lifetime ago, Jimmy Pinnello.” She gestured to us. “Jimmy, these are my dear friends Annabelle, Kate, and Fern, and you already met my honey bun, Sidney Allen.”
Honey bun did not look amused. I didn’t blame him. The phrase “old friend” seemed suspiciously vague.
Jimmy extended his hand to each of us, lifting mine and Kate’s to his lips for a quick kiss. “A pleasure to meet you all.”
Kate giggled as she pulled back her hand, and I gave her a look. The name Jimmy made alarm bells go off in the back of my head, but I had too many questions swirling in my brain to say exactly why the name triggered some memory.
“Wait a second.” Kate snapped her fingers. “Wasn’t your husband named Jimmy?”
So that was why. Leatrice had been a widow for long before we’d ever known her, and I always got the feeling she’d been a widow for longer than she’d been married. My mouth fell open. If this was her supposedly dead husband showing up very not dead on her wedding day, I was officially quitting the wedding planning business.
“Leatrice,” I said, walking over to her and lowering my voice. “Do you want to tell me what’s going on? You do know we’re in the middle of a wedding day. Your wedding day.”
She patted my hand. “Of course, dear. I’m sure Jimmy was dropping by to say hello.”
“And Jimmy is…?” I prompted.
“An old friend,” Leatrice repeated. “Like I said.”
I looked over at the man in question. “So, not your husband?”
“My husband?” Leatrice let out a stream of giggles. “Don’t be silly dear. If I had a husband, I couldn’t exactly be marrying my honey bun, now could I? No, my Jimmy is long gone. ”
Sidney Allen relaxed visibly, and I let out a breath. I could scratch bigamy off my list of things to worry about for the wedding.
“Actually, Leelee,” Jimmy said, “I was hoping I could have a word with you.”
Leatrice bit the corner of her bright-coral mouth, her gaze flitting from him to Sidney Allen. “I’m not so sure now is the best time.”
Fern flounced over, still holding his can of hairspray and waved a hand at Jimmy. “As much as I love this wiseguy vibe you’ve got going on here, we’re on a schedule. I still need to work on Annabelle and Kate, and since Annabelle hasn’t had a proper haircut in months, it’s not going to be quick.”
“Hey,” I protested.
Fern pretended like I hadn’t spoken and continued to address Jimmy. “If you can have your little chat while I work on her hair, be my guest.”
“Anything you have to say to Leatrice, you can say to me,” Sidney Allen said, finally finding his voice.
“And us,” Kate said, touching the edge of her blue pillbox hat. “We’re her bridesmaids.”
Leatrice’s face had flushed pink. “Perhaps Jimmy and I should speak alone.”
As I stared at Leatrice, I realized I didn’t really know anything about her past. I’d known her since the day I moved to DC over seven years ago, but she was over eighty, so that sliver of time didn’t comprise much of her life. I also knew she’d been living in our apartment building for years before I’d arrived, but truth be told, I’d never thought to delve much into her past. Had she always lived in Georgetown? Probably not, but I didn’t know where she came from or where she’d grown up. Come to think of it, she never talked about her past.
Now that a bona fide person from her past was standing in front of me, I was struck by just how little I knew about my friend. Even though Leatrice was obsessed with true crime, detective fiction, and rooting out neighbors she was convinced were spies, it had never occurred to me that she’d be connected to someone named Jimmy the Pencil. I had a lot of questions.
“Leatrice?” I plucked Kate’s champagne flute from her hand and swigged down the rest of it. “I think you’d better explain what’s going on.”
Her shoulders drooped. “I’d hoped to take this to my grave.”
Kate scooted to the edge of the couch, straightening her hat as it slipped down her forehead. “I told you this was the best wedding day ever.”
Directing Sidney Allen to the couch, I motioned for Leatrice to sit next to him. Jimmy took the overstuffed yellow twill chair across from them, while I remained standing. Hermès hopped up and settled himself between Leatrice and Sidney Allen, narrowing his tiny black eyes at Jimmy the Pencil. Fern took up a position behind Leatrice and resumed teasing her hair.
Popping up, Kate grabbed her empty champagne flute from my hand. “I think we could all use a little something to settle our nerves. I know I could, and Annabelle just polished off my drink.” She hooked her arm through mine as she passed, pulling me into the kitchen. “Come on, boss. I know Fern stocked your fridge with more bubbly.”
“You really want to add alcohol to this situation?” I whispered once we were in the kitchen, and she began pulling cold bottles of champagne from my refrigerator door.
“This is the perfect situation for booze,” she said. “You should know. You just polished off my champagne.”
“It was my first drop of the day. Not my third glass.” I folded my arms over my chest. “You and Fern think every situation is the perfect time for a drink.”
She hesitated with a bottle in each hand. “You know, you might be right about that.” She motioned with her head to the empty flutes on the counter. “But in this case, it really calls for it. I mean when have we ever had a guy show up in the middle of getting ready and claim to be an 'old friend’ of the bride who needs to have a private chat with her?”
“Never,” I admitted.
“Exactly. This is either going to be really good or really bad. Either way, we’re going to need a drink.”
I wasn’t sure I agreed with her logic, but I was starting to feel like I’d need more than just the warm dregs of Kate’s champagne soon. I picked up as many champagne flutes as I could carry and followed her back out to the living room.
No one had moved, although Leatrice’s hair had evened out a bit, and Sidney Allen looked a bit more mollified since Leatrice sat next to him holding his hand.
“What’s a wedding day without champagne, right?” Kate asked, setting one of the bottles on the coffee table and peeling the foil off the top of the other one.
I passed out glasses then perched on the arm of the sofa. “So, who wants to tell me what’s really going on?”
Leatrice sat forward a bit, and Fern followed suit as he continued to tease the top of her hair.
“First of all,” she began, “Jimmy and I are just friends. We always have been.”
“We grew up together back in the neighborhood,” Jimmy added.
“And that neighborhood would be in . . .?” I prompted.
“Chicago,” Leatrice said.
Kate balled up the foil champagne wrapper and dropped it on the table, mouthing the word “Chicago” to me as she cocked an eyebrow.
I shrugged. I hadn’t known Leatrice was from Chicago either. She’d never mentioned the city once, as far as I could remember.
“You’ve never talked about Chicago,” Sidney Allen said, taking the words right out of my mouth.
Leatrice squeezed his hand. “I know, cupcake. I left so long ago, and I try not to think about it.”
Kate paused as she untwisted the metal cage from the top of the bottle. “Leatrice, did you have to leave Chicago because you’re really a fugitive?”
Leatrice let out a tittering laugh. “Aren’t you fun
ny? Of course not, dear. At least not in the strict sense of the word.”
“Then in what sense are you a fugitive?” I asked, coughing as Fern released a cloud of hairspray over the bride’s head.
Leatrice sighed. “I left Chicago to get away from my past.” Her gaze darted to Jimmy. “A past that included the wrong kind of people.”
I took in Jimmy the Pencil. “Do you mean the . . .?”
“She left the Mob,” Jimmy said. “No one leaves the family.”
My stomach clenched as I realized I was sitting across from a mobster. Sure, he may be old and seemingly harmless, but I was under no illusions that Mob bosses were nice gentlemen.
“Are you the head of the ‘family’?” I asked, rubbing my clammy palms on my jeans.
Leatrice let out another stream of laughter. “Jimmy? Oh, no. He’s the accountant.”
Now the name Jimmy the Pencil made more sense. My overactive imagination had been coming up with gruesome things you could do with a pencil to earn that nickname.
Kate held the champagne bottle between her legs and started twisting the cork with the hem of her cropped T-shirt. “So you were part of the same family?”
Leatrice looked down to where she clutched Sidney Allen’s hand.
“She was the boss’s girl,” Jimmy finally said.
Fern squeaked and dropped his hairspray. “You were a moll?”
“It was a long time ago,” Leatrice said, more to Sidney Allen than to anyone else. “I wasn’t much older than twenty.”
Sidney Allen stared at her, his mouth hanging open. At least Leatrice’s obsession with crime made more sense now, as did why she had her own police scanner. I’d always thought her interest was more detached fascination. It had never occurred to me that she’d ever had firsthand knowledge of crime and criminals.
“So you left at some point?” I asked.
“When Frank was named the new head of the family, I knew I couldn’t stay,” Leatrice said. “We’d grown up together, and dating him had seemed natural, but the deeper he got, the more I knew the life wasn’t for me.”
“But Frank didn’t want to let her go,” Jimmy said. “So I helped her leave and made sure there was no trail for him to find.”
Leatrice smiled at him. “I always worried he’d find out how you helped me.”
Jimmy gave a brusque shake of his head. “He never suspected. I just did the books after all.”
“How is Frank?” Leatrice asked, the corners of her mouth tightening.
“Dead.” Jimmy met her eyes. “That’s why I’m here. Now that his son’s taking over, it’s time for me to get out.”
“I take it Mob accountants can’t just retire?” I asked.
“Not this one,” Jimmy said, twisting the brim of his hat. “I know too much. I think this new hothead boss wants to take me out. He’s not as reasonable as his father.”
I couldn’t help glancing at my door. Should I be worried about Mob hitters showing up?
Jimmy leaned his elbows on his knees. “Leelee, you vanished for over sixty years, and Frank never tracked you down. I need you to help me do the same before they find me. You know they’ll be on my tail, and they won’t be looking to take me alive.”
The cork shot out of the champagne bottle with a loud pop, and Jimmy whipped a revolver out of his waistband. We all screamed, Hermès let out a torrent of yips, and Fern dropped to the floor behind the couch.
I put a hand to my hammering heart as Jimmy lowered the gun.
“Sorry about that,” he said. “Old habits die hard.”
Fern poked his head over the back of the couch and waved to Kate. “Why don’t you be a love and pass me that bottle?”
Chapter 3
“Are we sure we believe all this?” Kate asked me once I’d pulled her back into my Wedding Belles home office and closed the door.
We’d left a slightly shaken Fern to finish Leatrice’s hair with his brush in one hand and the bottle of bubbly in the other. Jimmy the Pencil had put away his gun and had agreed not to produce it again, but Sidney Allen had refused to leave nonetheless. Not that I felt Sidney Allen was especially threatening, but I was glad to have someone aside from a slightly tipsy Fern and an overwhelmed Leatrice to keep an eye on the geriatric goodfella.
“I think it’s too crazy not to believe,” I said, stepping over pale-pink favor boxes left over from a June wedding. “And it explains a lot of things about Leatrice.”
Kate flopped down into my black leather swivel chair. “There are simpler ways to explain an old lady’s fondness for Perry Mason than she used to be a Mob boss’s girlfriend.”
I attempted to pace a small circle over the favors and file folders strewn on the floor. As soon as Leatrice was married, I needed to do a serious cleanup in my office. Actually, I needed to do a serious scouring of my entire apartment, but I pushed that thought out of my mind and tried to focus on the matter at hand. “Have you gotten a good look at Jimmy? He looks like he stepped right out of an old gangster movie.”
Kate spun in my chair. “That’s what I mean. He’s too authentic. Are we sure he isn’t one of Sidney Allen’s performers?”
I stopped and narrowed my eyes at Kate. “You think the groom arranged for a strange man to burst in and ruin his wedding day?”
Kate shrugged. “Maybe he’s getting cold feet.”
“Sidney Allen may be an entertainment director, but even he isn’t that dramatic. Besides, Leatrice would have to be in on it, and I know for a fact she doesn’t have cold feet. As unbelievable as we might find it, she can’t wait to get married to her 'love muffin’.”
“If I didn’t know how gaga Leatrice is for her fiancé, I’d say we were being punked,” Kate said. “There isn’t a reality show where wedding planners are punked, is there?”
“You’re asking me about reality shows? I don’t even watch The Bachelor.”
“Which is a shame. It makes all our couples seem completely normal by comparison.”
“Even if there was a crazy reality show that punked weddings, Leatrice would never do that to us.”
“I guess you’re right,” Kate said, eyeing the large, clear plastic bag of custom M&Ms perched on my desk. “It just seems so crazy to think of Leatrice with a past, especially a past that includes her being mixed up with the Mob.”
I knew what she meant. I’d only known Leatrice as an old lady with most of her life behind her. I’d never taken the time to think about the long life she’d had before I met her. My cheeks burned with shame that I’d never bothered to ask her where she’d grown up or what life had been like growing up in the forties and fifties. Most of the time, I was annoyed that she was such a busybody and dismissed her obsession with crime as another one of her many quirks. Just like I rolled my eyes at her vintage clothes and oddball outfits. It served me right to be shocked. Leatrice hadn’t gone to great lengths to hide her past. Sure, she’d never mentioned it, but none of us had ever asked.
“Why shouldn’t she have a past?” I said. “Come to think of it, if anyone would have a crazy past, it probably would be Leatrice. She’s in her eighties and still has more energy than either of us; she knows an awful lot about true crime; and she’s really good at disguises.”
Kate grabbed the customized M&Ms printed with a past couple’s names, digging her hand in and then holding it out to me. “But a moll? Do you think she was involved in actual crimes?”
I gratefully took several brightly colored “Andrea” and “Matt” M&Ms and popped them into my mouth. “Leatrice is all about solving crimes and catching bad guys. And this Jimmy the Pencil says she ran from the Mob, which makes me think she didn’t want anything to do with being on the wrong side of the law.”
“But maybe that’s because she’s trying to make up for a dodgy past,” Kate said, then lowered her voice to a whisper. “You don’t think she’s killed someone, do you?”
“Of course not. Just because she dated a Mob boss doesn’t mean she went around whacking people.
Plus, Leatrice said she was really young.” I gave Kate a pointed look. “I don’t know if any of us would want to be judged by stupid things we did in our teens and twenties.”
Kate gave me a side-eye glance. “I may have dated a lot of men, but even I haven’t gone out with a Mob boss.”
I didn’t say that 'Mob boss’ might, in fact, be the only category of men she hadn’t dated. “We shouldn’t judge her before we know the whole story. Besides, I don’t know much about molls, but I don’t think they were involved in crime. “
Kate shook her head. “I don’t know, Annabelle. She’s almost killed people before.”
“To save us,” I reminded her. “And it was always a bad guy.”
“I’m just saying, we don’t really know Leatrice like we think we did,” Kate said through a mouthful of M&Ms. “And if this crazy story is true, how do we know this is her only big secret?”
“You think she’s got more in her past than being a former moll and being on the run from a Chicago Mob boss?”
Kate opened her arms wide. “Nothing would surprise me at this point.”
The door swung open, and we both jumped. Leatrice stood in the doorway in her Wonder Woman bathrobe, with her dark hair teased into a voluminous Mary Tyler Moore flip. A bird’s nest complete with a fake blue bird was attached to the top of her head, and a short veil sprung from the back of it.
“I stand corrected,” Kate said.
Leatrice touched a hand to the nest. “Fern said it was very Sex and the City. What do you think?”
“I think I’m cutting off Fern’s HBO,” Kate muttered.
I stuck my head into the hall to look for Fern, but it seemed he had remained in the living room. The pop of another champagne cork confirmed my assumption.
“Fern says he’s ready for one of you,” Leatrice said, her eyes darting between us. “But before you start, I wanted to tell you what I’ve decided.”
Kate and I exchanged a glance as Leatrice stepped into the room and pulled the door so it was halfway closed.
“I know this is bad timing,” Leatrice began, “but I think I have to do it.”
