Tea for Two (2 page)

CHAPTER TWO

To Know Him is to Love Him

Man is by nature a political animal.

Aristotle

A couple of days after Victoria’s call, Mama popped her head in my office and whispered, “The men in suits are here. . .and they’re asking for you.”

“Men in suits?” I looked up from my work, intrigued by her words. “Huh?”

“Secret Service.” Her eyes widened and she took a couple of steps inside the room. “And no, I’m not kidding. Not even close.”

I rose, and my hands began to tremble. “Secret Service? Like, the Secret Service, Secret Service?”

“The real deal. They’re at the front door. If Rosa hadn’t been cleaning out Guido’s cage, we wouldn’t have noticed them.” Mama’s voice quivered and she lowered it to a whisper. “But it’s kind of hard to miss a bunch of guys in black suits wearing sunglasses at nine in the morning, you know?”

“Well, yes. . .but, Secret Service? Don’t they usually fly under the radar? Why would they tell you who they are?”

None of this made sense. Wouldn’t Victoria have warned me the Secret Service guys were on their way? A girl should have a heads-up for something that important.

I rose and smoothed the wrinkles out of my blouse, then gave my appearance a glance in the mirror. Hmm. I needed to touch up my lipstick, but maybe they wouldn’t mind that.

I followed Mama into the front hallway and my breath caught in my throat when I saw six—no, seven—men in black suits standing there. Maybe she’d misunderstood. Maybe these guys were funeral directors, lost on their way to a convention or something.

“Bella Neeley?” The one closest to me pulled off his sunglasses, revealing bight blue eyes. I’m Agent O’Conner, with the Secret Service.”

Okay, then. . .not a funeral convention.

“I’m Bella Neeley.” The words came out a bit squeaky. Probably nerves. “How can I help you?”

“We’re here to scope out the place before the DeVine wedding. You’ll be seeing us come and go over the next few weeks. We need top security clearance due to the current political climate. I’m sure you understand.”

“Oh, Club Wed is perfectly safe,” I said. “We’ve never had an incident here.” I paused and my nose wrinkled. “Well, unless you count the time my Uncle Laz caught Bubba’s eyebrows on fire. But that was totally an accident. Accidents happen.” I offered a strained smile.

Agent O’Conner pulled out a notepad and scribbled something down. “Who is this Uncle Laz? Is he currently on the premises or was he incarcerated after the incident?”

“Oh, no sir, not incarcerated. He’s free as a bird. He and Aunt Rosa just got back from Italy a few weeks ago. They had a terrific second honeymoon. Speaking of which, my husband and I just arrived home from a Mediterranean cruise a couple of weeks ago, ourselves.”

“You’ve been traveling in the Middle East?” Agent O’Conner quirked a brow. “What was the nature of your visit?”

“The nature of it? Like I said, it was a second honeymoon. D.J. and I—D.J. is my husband—anyway, D.J. and I went to Santorini, Italy, and Spain. Oh, and Turkey. We were supposed to get off in Turkey but with the current unrest, well, you know. We had to stay on the ship.”

“This D.J. fellow—will he be at the wedding?”

“Oh, sure. He’ll be running sound.”

“We’ll need to clear the sound equipment,” O’Conner said. “In fact, we’ll need to clear every square inch of this place. I hope you realize the seriousness of this process, Mrs. Neeley.”

“I do.” Sort of. Until five minutes ago I had pretty much thought of the DeVine wedding as a fairly typical event. That had certainly changed.

“Just so you understand, Mrs. Neeley, our assignment here will include setting up security posts, making inspections, providing safety and/or emergency response, if necessary. We will service the facilities and surrounding areas on the night of the wedding by monitoring and operating various pieces of communications equipment, along with other advanced technologies that will help us detect and/or identify high-risk items or people. We are also authorized to make arrests. Do you have any questions?”

Um, yeah. I had about ten, but couldn’t seem to remember them right now. And my heart was suddenly
thump-thumping
so loudly I couldn’t hear anything the man said.

“You’re here to protect the bride?” I asked, my voice probably too loud. “Or the groom?”

“Technically, Title 18 U.S.C. 2056a7 authorizes the U.S. Secret Service to protect spouses of major Presidential and Vice Presidential candidates within 120 days of the general Presidential election. As the election is not for several months, the time frame does not fall within those boundaries. So, to answer your question, we are here to protect the groom.”

“You’re saying the bride’s on her own?” I offered what came out sounding like a weak laugh.

“Do we have reason to be concerned about her well-being, Mrs. Neeley?” He gave me a penetrating gaze.

“Heavens, no. I’m just making light conversation.”

“We don’t make light conversation.”

Okay then.

“And just for the record, the wedding locale is top secret. Even the guests won’t know the location until the day of the ceremony. We expect your full cooperation in keeping this event on the down-low.”

“But the vendors. . .won’t they have to know?”

“The ones who need to know will know.” He gave me a stern look. “Got it?”

“Um, got it.”

We spent the next hour and a half going over every square inch of Club Wed. So much for getting my work done this morning. Who were these guys, to think they could just show up unannounced and interrupt my workday? Oh yeah. They were the Secret Service. And I’d better do everything they demanded.

After going over the building with a fine-toothed comb, one of them—the tallest fellow in the dark suit—pulled out a small camera and began to take pictures.

“I wish I’d known you were coming,” I said. “The room is filled with stuff I brought back from the Middle East.”

“Middle East?” He turned to face me, his eyes narrowing to slits. “Could you elaborate?”

“Yes. I’d be happy to elaborate. We went on a cruise and I found the most gorgeous items. Thought they’d be perfect for centerpieces. Want to see them?”

“I want to see everything you brought home from the Middle East, but first I have a question: Did you meet any strangers?”

“Oh, lots of strangers. There was this great guy we met on the ship. . .his  name was Abdul Something-or-Another. We really liked him a lot. He and his wife live in Egypt. Or maybe it was Kenya. Is it terrible that I can’t remember?”

“Did this Abdul Something-or-Another give you any packages, Mrs. Neeley?”

“No. Nothing. Just a lot of great conversation.”

“Mm-hmm.” He continued snapping photos, then turned his camera on me. I wasn’t sure if I should pose or give him a mug-shot face.

I opted for the “What do you think you’re doing taking my picture without asking?” pose.

He didn’t seem to notice or care.

“Okay, Mrs. Rossi, we need to see your identification.”

“It’s Mrs. Neeley. And what sort of I.D. do you need? Driver’s license?”

“Yes. And passport. And birth certificate.”

“Huh? You need to know if I was born in the USA?”

O’Conner grunted. “We will also need security clearance on every person who plans to work the DeVine wedding—from the local vendors, the ones we might have overlooked, to the servers. Can you provide us with a list so that we can contact them individually?”

“You really mean you’re going to clear every single person working the wedding? Seriously?”

“Yes Ma’am. Every. Single. One.”

“Ack.” I led them to my office, where I attempted to piece together a list.

“Well, let’s see. . .Hannah will be the photographer. At least, I think she will. Victoria hasn’t specifically asked for her yet, but I usually use Hannah or her husband Drew to do the shoot.”

“Do the shoot?”

“Right. Wedding shoot. Pictures.” I held up my hands, as if holding an imaginary camera. “Click, click.” A forced smile followed on my end, but he didn’t play along. He just kept scribbling in that notepad of his.

“My friend Scarlet is doing the cake. You’ll totally love Scarlet, by the way. She does great work. She’s married to Armando, my brother. He’s doing sound with D.J..”

“Armando Rossi? We’ve already run a check on him.” O’Conner pursed his lips. “Doesn’t have the cleanest record in the state.”

“I know, I know. . .he has a bit of a history, but he’s walking the straight and narrow now. He and Scarlet are expecting a baby. But that reminds me, Mama and Pop will be here.”

“Cosmo Rossi.” The agent nodded. “He checked out fine. So did your mother, Imelda. To be honest, Mrs. Neeley, you’re the one we’re concerned about.”

“M-m-me?”

“Yes.” He flipped through the pages of his notepad, finally landing on one that drew his undivided attention. “According to our research, you were arrested not once, but twice, over the past several years.”

“Not true!” I put my hand up in the air, completely flustered by this accusation. “There was that one time—really, it was just a misunderstanding. Brock Benson thought he was protecting me from the paparazzi. How were we supposed to know they were police officers?” I gave him a scrutinizing look. “See now, if everyone dressed like you, it would be a lot easier to tell. But these officers weren’t as believable. Anyway, the whole city rallied behind us and the charges were dropped. That’s what happens when folks realize there’s been a misunderstanding. They forgive and forget.”

“We know all about it, Mrs. Neeley. Now, about your arrest in Splendora.”

“Whoa, Nellie.” I shook my head. “Let’s set the record straight. I did
not
get arrested in Splendora. Just because I rode to the jailhouse in the back of the patrol car does not mean they locked me up. Again, the whole thing was a misunderstanding. I tried to explain to the officer that I hadn’t stolen the almond extract from the Piggly Wiggly. It fell into my purse. He just took me in for questioning, that’s all. He wanted to appease the store manager.”

“Right.” O’Conner gazed at the tablet. “No charges were filed. I see that now. I’m sure you can understand our concerns. Mr. DeVine is running for president of the United States. We need to make sure he’s not surrounded by any suspicious characters.”

“Suspicious characters, eh?” Uncle Laz popped his head into the office. “Did Bella tell you the story of how the Rossis have ties to the mob?”

I groaned and leaned my head down onto my desk. “It’s. Not. True.” I looked back up, my gaze shifting to Uncle Laz, who beamed like he’d just landed a role on a television sitcom. “My uncle Sal was in the mob, but he’s dead now.”

“They took him out?” Agent O’Conner scribbled in his notepad.

“No.” I groaned. “He died of natural causes. And he wasn’t technically my uncle.”

“Sal Lucci was my brother from another mother.” Uncle Laz squared his shoulders and puffed out his chest. “Never had a closer friend.”

“And your best friend was in the mob?” The Secret Service guy stared with great intensity at my uncle. “Tell me more.”

Laz took a few steps into the room and I could literally feel the Secret Service guys stiffening their backbones. “Well now, you see. . .once upon a time old Lazarro Rossi—yours truly—was a bit of a scoundrel. To say I was a heavy drinker would be putting it mildly. We lived in New Jersey at the time, and I was on my way home one night when suddenly, from out of nowhere, I had a Damascus Road experience.”

“Damascus Road?” O’Conner looked up and I could read the confusion in his eyes. “Isn’t Damascus in the Middle East?”

“Yep.” Laz nodded and his eyes filled with tears, something that often happened when he shared his story. “See I was blinded by a bright light, just like the apostle Paul in the book of Acts.”

I shook my head. “What he means to say is, he was stumbling out of a bar in a drunken stupor and landed in the middle of a street late at night. A city bus was headed right for him.”

“As I said, a bright light.” Laz squinted, as if seeing it all over again. “Back in those days, I was a vacuum cleaner salesman.” He shifted his gaze to the Secret Service man. “For real, I mean. It wasn’t a cover for anything else. Anyway, I sold a vacuum—a Kirby, model 516—to Sal. . .and the rest was history.”

“He pulled you into the mob?” O’Conner asked.

“No. He pulled me into the bar. We were there together the night I saw the light. It took several years before he saw it too, but he did. Before he passed, praise the Lord.”

“Sir, are you saying that your friend Sal Lucci was hit by a bus, as well? Is that how he died? If so, I would hardly call that natural causes.”

“Oh, no. Not at all. Sal passed years later. He died with his hands and heart clean as a whistle, washed in the blood.”

“Washed in blood?” O’Conner took to scribbling again. “Mob hit? His old life caught up with him?”

“No, his new life caught up with him. He died a happy man. And along the way, we even got Guido saved.”