Page 34 of Working for the Mob

“What about food? I guess we’ll just eat sandwiches for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. And for dessert, let me guess, another sandwich?”

“At this point, I’d be alright if you starved,” Lucy said.

???

We walked out of the store five minutes later and twenty cents poorer. I spent the whole walk to Mrs. Jenkins convincing Lucy to turn around and head home, but she remained determined. Luckily, East Chester sat only a couple streets down from our rental on Elm.

Lucy marched up the steps of Mrs. Jenkins' cute cottage, and knocked on the door. A black lady with sharp eyes and graying hair opened the door. Her flowery dress almost matched the horrible wall paper behind her.

“May I help you ladies?” she asked, with a grumpy frown.

I knew coffee and sweat stains covered our clothes, but we weren’t the ones wearing faded bunny slippers at three in the afternoon.

“Hello Mrs. Jenkins, I’m Lucy, and this is my sister Genevieve,” Lucy said.

“I know who you are. You’re the one who knocked the teeth out of that ticket booth worker’s yap,” she said, and pointed a gnarled finger at me. “I also heard from Miss Dunham that you told Virginia Brighton to go to hell, in front of the entire town. And that both the Necci boys are going after you.”

I bit back a quick retort and tried my most innocent smile.

“I don’t think any of that is true,” I said.Especially the part about the Necci boys.I silently reminded myself to put a muzzle on Miss Dunham.

“If you please, Mrs. Jenkins, we came here because we heard you had bread yeast for sale,” Lucy said.

“And who told you that?” Mrs. Jenkins asked, her eyes narrowed. “I don’t just give out this yeast to anyone, you know.”

I tried not to look pleased. Maybe we could save our money, and return the rest of the ingredients to the supermarket.

“You know, Mrs. Jenkins, I really like your dress,” Lucy said, and I arched an eyebrow. “Where did you buy it?”

“Buy it?” Mrs. Jenkins asked, caught off guard. “Oh no, I make all my dresses myself.”

“You’ve done a lovely job on it. You must be quite the accomplished seamstress,” Lucy said.

Mrs. Jenkins swelled at the compliment and stood taller than before. A smile replaced her frown. “My mother always said that I could sew before I could walk. I buy all the materials myself.”

“That’s incredible. Do you have more?” Lucy asked, and Mrs. Jenkins smiled even wider.

“I’ve got a couple closets full. Would you like to see them?”

“I’d love to.”

“Come on inside, then,” Mrs. Jenkins said, and opened the door to allow us in.

An overwhelming aroma of mothballs greeted us at the door, as well as a pungent, acidic scent I couldn’t place. As I looked around the house, I made a note not to touch a thing. Unwashed pots sat on top of the stove and dishes were stacked in the sink. A piece of clothing draped across every piece of furniture, and an open box of cereal lay on its side on the coffee table.

I jumped when something brushed my leg, and when I looked down, the acidic odor’s owner clicked; cat urine. A white and orange tabby cat rubbed its back on my leg and meowed at me eagerly.

“Cats,” I said, and all my sinuses closed. “I’m allergic to cats.”

I sneezed and Mrs. Jenkins’ frown returned.

“That’s just Pumpkin. He won’t hurt anyone,” she said.

“It’s not that, it's just …” I sneezed again. “I can’t …”

“Why don’t you wait outside?” Lucy said, and patted me on the back. “I’ll be right out.”

I surveyed the room again – would it be alright to leave Lucy alone with a lady who lives like this?

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