Tasting the Apple

by Sherilyn Decter

“I grew up in Bethlehem. My father worked at the steel mill there before he died. But our town got hit, too. I lost an aunt and a couple of cousins to the flu,” says Edith.

  The whiskey helps soften the memories.

  “It was bad here,” says Henry. I can still hear the way my mother moaned when they carried my brother out of the house. I was maybe sixteen? A man. I should have been tougher. But the sight of Art, dangling in my father’s arms, my mother keening behind him as they carried him out to the wagon to take to the mortuary. My sisters were crying, too. I just ran, Edith. Ran as far as I could.” Henry pulls in a ragged breath.

  “Then what?”

  “I found a bar and drank myself blind. I beat up some poor sap for just being alive when Art wasn’t. The coppers came and dragged me off him. And that was the second time I got sent to juvie.”

  “Tell me about your brother. Tell me about Art.”

  “A sweet kid. Wasn’t very big. The last of us kids. Ma babied him. He followed me everywhere. He was so clever, Edith. None of us had much schoolin’. I don’t think the girls went past third grade, but Art, he could already read the best of all of us. He loved stories about kings and queens and such. And if there was a dragon in it, so much the better,” says Henry.

  The glass is blurred, his tears welling. “We’d play dragons out on the street. He’d be King George, and I’d chase him until he killed me. He was such a great kid.”

  “You don’t have kids of your own?” asks Edith.

  “Not that I know of. Maybe someday. Maybe someday. A sweet little boy, like Art.” Henry’s tears flow. Edith is alarmed. She pats his arm. Men don’t cry.

  “Here. I have something that will fix you up.” She pulls out her blue vial.

  Henry leans forward. The white powder seems to be the theme of the evening. He wipes his face with the back of his arm and drains his glass in one swallow. He eyes the thin powdery line hungrily.

  Edith does a line. Henry does a line.

  “Better?” she asks.

  He rubs his nose. “Yeah, better.”

  Chapter 26

  E ducation and retraining have seen significant effort since the end of the Great War. Initially, it was the men coming home that needed to build new skills but, with more women moving into the workforce, coupled with advancing technology, there is a dramatic push for commercial training in 1920s Philadelphia. The idea of Night School was introduced to meet that need.

  Maggie gazes at the lights shining through the windows of the large central building at Drexel University. She’s trembling. Today, both she and Tommy had gone back to school. She clutches a cloth bag that contains her notebook, a pen and pencil, and a snack that Tommy has packed for her. To eat at recess, Mother. In case you get hungry.

  She’d been full of confidence when she’d come by Drexel University’s Admissions Office earlier in the week to sign up. The hallways had been crowded with young men and women, chattering about history, science, and literature. They were what she hoped she’d eventually become: smart, self-assured, self-reliant.

  Now, almost at the point of no return, Maggie’s not so sure she’s making the right decision. She manages the boarding house just fine without special schooling. She certainly doesn’t need to add classes and homework to her already busy days. She could easily find a job in a store, or maybe an office. Either would help toward her loan payment. Turn around, get a refund on the tuition, borrow a book on accounting from the Public Library.

  “Is this one of those modern practices I’ve missed out on?” The question comes from behind her.

  Maggie turns. “Inspector. What are you doing here?”

  “I thought I might walk you to school on your first day. I think it’s strange enough that classes are at night, but are they outside, too?” Frank is smiling. “Or are you planning on going in?”

  “I am. I am. I’m just catching my breath. You know, I look a lot older than the rest of these students,” Maggie says, nodding to the groups making their way up the front steps.

  “True enough.”

  “And they haven’t been out of school very long. They probably haven’t forgotten everything they ever learned, like I have.”

  “My dear, these young people can’t hold a candle to you. You’re smart, determined, hardworking, experienced. You know why you’re here and what you want to get out of these classes. They won’t see that kind of commitment from the other students. Any teacher would be thrilled to have you in the classroom.”

  “You think so?”

  “I know so. Now go on, you don’t want to be late for the first day, I mean ‘the first night’ of class. I’ll be waiting for you. You can tell me all about it on our way home.”

  “Thanks, Inspector. I appreciate it. You’ve been the one gently pushing and pulling me through many of the changes in my life. I’m glad you’re here tonight.”

  Frank tips his hat. “All part of the service. Now, off with you.”

  Maggie smiles, and climbs the stone steps to her future.

  The classroom is reasonably full by the time Maggie finds the right door. She makes her way to one of the few empty desks at the front of the class. As she takes her seat, she looks around the room. There are about forty people, mostly her age, some younger. There are three women and Maggie. A tall, skinny man with glasses and ginger hair sits at the larger desk that faces the students. He rises.

  “Good evening everyone. Welcome to Principles of Accounting. My name is Professor Galway. In this course we will study both general as well as technical accounting principles and practices, including business law and related subjects. I encourage you also to become active in the Business Club which consists of a group of students like yourselves, as well as graduates of this class who are in the Applied Accounting and Cost Accounting programs.”

  Maggie opens her notebook and picks up her pen. I’m actually here. She writes the course and the professor’s name neatly at the top of a clean page. Professor Galway turns and starts writing on the chalkboard. The first lesson has begun. Maggie starts taking notes furiously, unsure about what is essential and what is not, but determined not to miss a thing.

  Chapter 27

  M aggie hopes she’s not late for lunch with Edith. She glances at the clock in the lobby at Green’s Hotel, then hurries toward the restaurant, marveling that it was two years ago that she stepped into the hotel for the first time, during the investigation into Oskar’s disappearance. Now, they greet her like a regular. Thank goodness for Edith picking up the tab each time; Maggie wishes she could reciprocate.

  The house orchestra in the Garden Café plays in the background as Maggie crosses the crowded room to join Edith. White lattice over dark green walls, a sparkling fountain, planters full of lush ferns and flowers: heaven. As Maggie rushes to sit, Edith leans in with a conspiratorial grin and says, “Don’t ask what’s new.”

  Playing along, Maggie does a quick look around the room and also leans in. “Why not?” she whispers.

  “Because everything is new.” Edith says, sitting back with a happy smile on her face.

  “Tell me everything,” Maggie says, accepting a menu from the waiter.

  Edith waits until they are alone again. “Oh, Mags, I went on a date.”

  “With Mickey?”

  “No. With a fella I met at a party.”

  Maggie is torn. Edith is so happy, almost glowing. Gangsters don’t take kindly to their wives going on dates with other men. “Details. I need details, Edith.”

  “We caught the flick Curses! The new Fatty Arbuckle movie. I figured a comedy would be safe enough.”

  “Does he know who you are?”

  “Of course. He knows I’m married to Mickey. I made sure of that. But he doesn’t care. He’s not afraid of Mickey. Even so, I met him in front of the movie theater. Oh Mags, we had the best time. I laughed so hard. But I wouldn’t go for a drink after, just in case it was one of Mickey’s joints. Instead, we went to Child’s and had ice cream, and talked a
nd talked.”

  There are stars in Edith’s eyes. “It sounds great. It also sounds dangerous. Are you crazy, Edith? You know what Mickey will do if he finds out? When he finds out?”

  The topic is dropped while the two women order. Once the coast is clear, Edith leans in close.

  “There’s nothing to find out. We just went to a movie. Nothing happened. Nothing will happen. Trust me. I just had really a good time. And it’s been ages since I laughed that hard. Or since somebody listened to me like that. Like everything I said was precious. Maggie, he calls me Edie. Like, Eeeeee-dee. I swoon every time he says my name.”

  “Oh sweetie, be careful. Are you going to see him again?”

  “Not right away. Mickey’s back from Atlantic City tonight. But maybe the next time he leaves town, we’ll go to the movies again.”

  “So, tell me all about him.”

  “I think maybe you met him that night at the Club. He’s very good looking. Italian, with dreamy eyes. He has a mustache just—like Valentino. He comes from a big family.” Edith pauses and, for the first time, looks around the room guiltily. “And Maggie, he’s a cop.”

  “No. Oh, Edith, you can’t. You must be crazy.”

  “I know. I know. But Mags, I lie awake at night thinking about him, and wake up in the morning thinking about him. I haven’t felt like this in ages and ages.”

  “Sleepless nights are not caused by simple movie dates, Edith. Get your head on straight and make sure you know what you’re doing. I think you’re playing with fire.” Maggie’s smile for Edith takes some of the sting out of her words.

  Edith pouts, and then sighs. “What about you, doll?” The waiter has appeared with lunch, although Maggie has lost her appetite with Edith’s news.

  She adjusts the napkin in her lap. “Well, I have news, too. I went back to school. I’m enrolled in the Evening Diploma School at Drexel.”

  “Wow. Good for you. What are you studying?”

  “Accounting. I’m going to keep the books for people who own small businesses. I can do them at home. That way I can earn some extra money and still be around for Tommy and my lodgers.”

  “Accounting? Wow. I always knew you were a smart cookie. Is it hard? I’ve never had a head for numbers myself.”

  “It’s been a while since I’ve had to study, so that part is hard. But I like it, sitting in class, learning new things.” Maggie smothers a yawn.

  Edith stops and really looks at her friend. “Mags, you look done in. Is everything all right?”

  “Sure Edith, just tired. I’ve got lots of homework. I stay up late reading and then don’t sleep well. And then there’s the usual.” Maggie shrugs. “Lots of laundry, and housework. I’m stretched a bit thin right now.” And it feels like I could snap.”

  “Well, I think going back to school is exciting. Although the topic seems a bit dry.”

  “The professor makes it interesting.”

  “Ahh, the professor. A good teacher is hard to find.” Edith leers.

  Maggie swats at her hand. “It’s not like that. Professor Galway is just so smart. And patient.”

  “Well, not too patient, I hope?” Edith winks.

  Maggie blushes. “Tell me about the Fall Frolic. Did they make you co-chair?”

  Edith narrows her eyes. “No. Apparently I’m not quite ready yet. Those dames…”

  Maggie pats her arm. “Their loss, Edith. You plan marvelous events. Maybe it’s time you took on other projects.”

  Chapter 28

  F rank paces in front of the fireplace, waiting for Maggie and Joe to finish the dishes. Joe had mentioned he has news about the brewery pipeline, but couldn’t elaborate further; too many people in and out of the kitchen.

  Maggie and Joe enter the living room, coffee cups in hand.

  “Finally,” Frank says.

  “Spill the beans, Joe. I’m dying of suspense,” Maggie says. “What did you find?”

  “It took a bit longer than we thought, but we got the warrant to examine the books and search the premises of the brewery. There are detailed records of quantities of raw ingredients producing so much beer. And the sales record in the ledgers showed how much ‘near-beer’ they are selling. And as your informant had said, there was quite a discrepancy, for which neither the owner, nor the brewmaster, had a reasonable explanation.”

  “So what did you do then?”

  “We traced the lines to the sewer. Unless they were literally dumping the beer down the drains, we knew where the pipeline starts.”

  “Yes. Yes. This is all information that we knew. Where did it go?” Frank mutters, still pacing.

  Maggie coughs discretely into her fist in the hopes of getting the Inspector to settle.

  Joe looks around the room. “Is there a window open, Maggie?” He shivers.

  “And then, Joe? What happened next?”

  “While we were looking through the books and interviewing the staff, we had officers investigating a possible terminus for the pipeline. Your list was a great start that we expanded on. Within a six block radius, which is the very furthest distance we thought the beer could travel, we identified eight different locations that could function as a distribution point.”

  “Criteria, man,” Frank says.

  “And your criteria, Joe? What kind of space were you looking for?”

  “It needed to be on a direct sewer line to the brewery. It needed to have some kind of facilities for truck transport. And it needed to be discrete. For example, it would raise questions if trucks were seen going in and out of a person’s private garage. We identified two trucking companies, a service station, three warehouses, a taxi company which had several empty bays in their service garage, and a furniture manufacturer.”

  “I bet it was the service garage. Close by, easy access, no questions raised with traffic in and out,” Frank says to Maggie. His eyes are alight with excitement.

  “And what did you find? Was it the service garage?” asks Maggie

  “Yes. And the furniture manufacturer. The beer pipeline branched off in two directions.”

  “Oh my, isn’t that something. Two spigots.” Frank chortles with glee, rubbing his hands and finally sitting.

  “Two. That’s amazing, Joe,” says Maggie.

  “When we looked at the sewer maps, the city clerk had mentioned that there had been some work done about six months ago. We followed up where the construction was done and, sure enough, found that was where the brewery pipeline had split. We added the dye to the vat and, tah-dah, blue beer two blocks away.”

  Maggie claps her hands, delighted with the story. “That’s great police work, Joe. Will there be charges laid?”

  “Oh yes. With the brewery. With the two distribution depots, and with the city workers who laid the pipeline. I have a feeling that there may be more pipelines to surface yet.”

  “Congratulations, Joe.”

  “Well, it’s because of your informant, Maggie. Colonel Butler was quite impressed. Is there a chance that we can meet this shadowy figure?”

  Maggie looks at the Inspector. He indicates a negative.

  “I’m afraid not, Joe. He wants to remain in the shadows a bit longer.”

  “I thought as much. Any chance he might have more information? Or be prepared to work with us?”

  “What does he have in mind, my dear?” Frank asks.

  “What do you have in mind, Joe?”

  “Well, we would like to find out who is tipping off the speakeasies about the Enforcement Units raids. We know it has to be someone inside, but the colonel is sick thinking that it might be one of our own from Enforcement Unit Number One. Does your informant have any connections to police personnel?”

  The Inspector and Maggie both smile.

  “I think we could manage that, Maggie,” Frank says. “Suggest that we target a couple of specific saloons, to monitor who calls the speakeasy with the warning.”

  Maggie suggests this to Joe, who nods.

  “Suggest to Joe
that we only deal with places owned by one specific bootlegger at a time. That will minimize the number of potential informants,” Frank says.

  “I think we want to minimize the possible outcomes as much as possible. What about limiting it to one bootlegger at a time. For example, target a couple of the joints that Boo-Boo owns. Or Mickey Duffy.”

  “That sounds like a reasonable approach. I’ll go through our lists and discuss it with the colonel. We have some active investigations going on that may impact our final selection.”