by Molly Tanzer
“But I can’t see how that solves anything,” said Fin. “If we want to avoid Mafia entanglements, buying less from them doesn’t . . .” She trailed off as everyone stared at her like she had her head on upside down. She had been willing to battle a bit, but resisting a rout was beyond her strength. “So . . . when is this party again?” she asked.
“We hadn’t decided,” said Bobbie, “But I’m thinking Saturday. It’s only Monday; that’s plenty of notice for everybody.”
“This Saturday?” That was the night of Rocky’s reading at the library that Fin had been so looking forward to.
“Is that a problem?” Bobbie was looking at Fin keenly, like a terrier who’d heard a rat scrabbling beneath the floorboards.
Fin felt embarrassed, her face hot as she spoke. “It’s just, I had plans that night. Could we do Friday or Sunday?”
“What did you want to do?” asked Bobbie. She spoke as if she were genuinely curious, but there was a sharp, hostile look in her eyes that didn’t make Fin feel as though her friend was being sincere.
“A local poet is doing a reading. From his next book,” said Fin, still red-faced. Even to her own ears, it didn’t sound so very important. “The local Literary Society is hosting him.”
“A local poet . . . is reading from a book?” said Bobbie, as if she’d never heard of poets, or books, or reading. “And on a Saturday night! Imagine that. Who knew anyone would schedule such a thing, and that people would want to go to it.”
“They’re expecting a crowd from the city . . . the librarian said to come early to make sure I got a seat,” said Fin, not bothering to mention that she was a person who wanted to go, and that’s why they were discussing it to begin with. She looked to Jimmy, but he was smiling blithely, as if they were having some other, completely different conversation.
“It takes all kinds, I suppose,” opined Edgar.
“Is it so important?” asked Bobbie. “It’s only that the Terrys are having a party on Friday we’re all going to, and Sundays are never as popular for a big bash. No one wants to commute into the city on Monday morning with a hangover. Enough of our set are still beholden to the workaday world that they’ll blow us off, and then where would we be?”
She spoke lightly, but Fin could tell from Bobbie’s stiff posture and the way she wouldn’t meet her eyes that there was only one correct answer.
Fin decided to go along with it. It was just easier that way. Plus, Bobbie had only just warmed up again after that exchange they’d had at the first party. The truth was, she’d rather miss Rockmeteller’s reading than go back into the doghouse.
“I can easily skip it,” said Fin, calling on her finishing school charm to sound as sincere as possible.
“Are you sure?” said Bobbie, but as she stood up before Fin nodded, it was obvious her concern was for show. “I suppose I should go call Rose, then. We’ll need the liquor soon.”
“I’ll come in too,” said Edgar, standing up as well. “It’s getting so damn hot out here.”
Jimmy slapped his thigh and rose. “This is gonna be great,” he said. “I just know it. Better than that awful funeral the Irvings threw last week.” Fin wondered if it had been an actual funeral; she hadn’t gone. “Well, I’d better go and hit up Oscar,” said Jimmy. “I guess I could just drive over to see him. Be nice to get out of the house. Say, Bobbie . . . you sure you should be calling Rose? On the phone, I mean?”
“Are you worried that the Mafia’s had the wires tapped, or the feds?”
Fin sat listening to the bugs and the birds and the breeze now that no human voices interrupted them. It stung a bit, how neither her friend nor her husband had acknowledged her as they left. Bobbie was often one to be swept up in a moment, but Jimmy’s rudeness was new—though he was often oblivious, he had never before failed to be gentlemanly toward her. He’d always held doors for her; put a hand on the small of her back as they crossed the street. Little gestures like that had been one of the things she’d first liked about him. Leaving without saying farewell or kissing her goodbye was nothing short of a shocking change.
The thing was, Fin wasn’t shocked.
She’d known her marriage was in trouble, but now she began to suspect it was already over. Like a mosquito from the marshlands, the thought buzzed and whined around her skull, soft but impossible to ignore.
In The Demon in the Deep, Miss Depth had been so changed by grief and fear that she’d summoned a demon. As a child, Fin had been unable to comprehend that sort of desperation, but now that she was an adult it was easy for her to understand.
To really know the truth . . . For that, it might be worth summoning a demon, if it were possible.
5
Ellie sat at the kitchen table, staring in despair at the stacks of bills and coins. She’d dumped out the wallet containing Lester’s college fund, had counted every single penny, and no matter how she’d tried to make it work, there wouldn’t be enough to send her brother to school in the fall. Even with as hard as they’d been working, they’d be a full fifty dollars shy of the estimate given to them by New York Medical College.
It didn’t help that five of Ellie’s clients had cancelled their regular orders over the past week and a half. Sometimes the demand for her product decreased—mostly after some traveling preacher came through town with a message of temperance and redemption—but usually her clients didn’t go to such meetings.
They’d all been dodgy about it too. Not a one of them had looked Ellie in the eye as they told her they didn’t require her services any longer. Even more bizarre, only two people on her fairly long wait list had been excited to hear she could now accommodate their needs. The rest had also blown her off with mutters and headshakes.
Ellie’s spirits were low as she returned the cash to the wallet and set out along the familiar route through town to get to her skiff. She’d been working so hard—and yet apparently, it hadn’t been hard enough.
Not that she minded hard work. In fact, staying busy made it easier to forget about Walter Greene and everything that had happened that strange night. But working so hard just to fail . . . That felt like a blow, and she’d had enough of those recently.
Her bruises might have faded a bit, but that night had wounded Ellie in other, deeper ways. Her mind kept wandering off, returning to what she’d seen, what she’d felt, distracting her from everyday concerns and making her miserable.
Gabriel knew something was wrong, but she’d been unable to tell him more than what she already had about the incident. It was strange, keeping something from him, but she couldn’t see how to even begin the conversation.
“Hey, Ellie!”
Rope in hand, Ellie looked up from untying her skiff to see Oscar Fenton jogging up to her. His face was so red and he was puffing so hard that Ellie wondered if he’d hustled all the way from his garage over on Ireland. “Glad I caught you,” he wheezed. “I got—gotta proposition for you.”
“You know I’m an engaged woman,” she said, turning her back on him. Experience had taught her not to give Oscar too much of her time or her attention. He always took kindness the wrong way.
“Not that kind of proposition.” Oscar took another few steadying inhales.
“Whatever it is, there’s no need to give yourself a heart attack,” said Ellie.
“It’s good. Really good.” He finally stood up. “I found a new client for you.”
Ellie felt the touch of hope like a fresh breeze on a hot day, but decided to play it cool. “A new client, huh? Well, I’ll have to talk to my supplier about that.”
“This won’t be a regular commitment. Just a one-off. Fifteen cases of”—he winked broadly—“by Saturday night.”
Ellie gawped at Oscar. “Fifteen cases!” They might as well ask for a hundred.
Then again, she had some extra stock from all her cancellations . . . she’d just have to get SJ to consent to sell her a bit more. Consent, of course, meaning agree to charge an exorbitant fee on top of what El
lie usually paid. And of course, Oscar’s commission would reduce the figure, so these buyers would have to name a pretty big number for Ellie to even consider the job.
“They gave me half up front,” said Oscar.
He looked left and right so obviously that any cop in the area—well, any cop who didn’t buy from Ellie—would have sidled up to see just what was going on, but Ellie forgot her irritation when he presented her with a thick stack of bills. Even with SJ’s inevitable price gouging and Oscar’s commission, taking this job would secure Lester’s future. They’d even have some money left over that they could save toward next year’s needs.
“All right,” she said, swiping the bills off his palm and pocketing them. Oscar didn’t protest, meaning he’d already skimmed his bit of cream off the top. Even better. “Where’s the handoff?”
“Guy lives on Ocean Avenue,” he said, and gave her the address. Ellie was pleased to hear they had their own dock. It would make delivery a lot easier. “Says he wants to make a big splash with the neighbors. Getting a bunch of other liquor elsewhere, too.”
“More than fifteen cases? I guess he does want to make a splash.” Ellie favored Oscar with a rare smile. “Hey—thanks for this. I really appreciate it.”
“Oh yeah?” Oscar leaned forward, as if she might reward him with something more than words, and Ellie was reminded of why she was always so wary of him.
“Yeah,” she said, and jumped on board her skiff without another look at him.
Ellie loved the Great South Bay with all her heart, but just the same, she knew it wasn’t her friend. The bay was too mercurial for friendship. That stormy night had been a good reminder of its temper.
Now, however, the bay was in a fine mood. The water was smooth and dark; above it, the pale blue of the late afternoon sky was flecked here and there with wisps of white cloud. No wind stirred the little hairs on Ellie’s neck or the trees on the bank as she motored toward SJ’s. A few birds cried and soared above; more floated in the shallows or rested, their legs tucked up under their fluffy bodies as they sat on the shore. Off in the distance, a dolphin surfaced, and then another, before they both disappeared.
Ellie killed her motor before she turned into the narrow, overgrown inlet close to SJ’s shack. Quietly she glided up to the rickety dock that was completely hidden by low branches and long grass—even knowing where it was, Ellie had to sniff around for it a bit in late summer, when the leaves grew thick. She tied up carefully, making sure her skiff would not drift into sight, and darted up the rough path.
A bit of steam puffed out of the structure’s chimney. Otherwise, there was no other sign of human presence—no sound, no footprints, nothing. Ellie quietly knocked a special knock.
The shack wasn’t that big, but it took SJ a long time to answer the door. That wasn’t unusual—SJ liked to make sure Ellie knew who called the shots.
Not that Ellie ever forgot; she’d known SJ a long time. The local one-room schoolhouse had been integrated, so they’d grown up together, in a way. Ellie had always admired SJ’s ability with math and science, two subjects that had never come easily to her. That’s why Ellie had been confused when she’d overheard their teacher talking to another about SJ. He’d said it was “a shame” that she was so bright. Ellie hadn’t understood what he meant; she’d only been about ten years old.
But as time wore on and Ellie had watched SJ struggle with her limited options for further education or employment, Ellie had come to realize what he’d meant. Finding lucrative, satisfying work had been difficult enough for Ellie; for SJ, also being black had meant that moonshining ended up being the most rewarding and lucrative profession available for someone as scientifically minded as she was, though the job’s necessary paranoia had sharpened her already barbed tongue and caution had made her even less inclined to be sociable.
SJ enjoyed the work, too, and the good money she earned at it. All of her distributors, including Ellie, were able to charge a premium for her safe, high-quality liquor. It even tasted pretty good, which was almost unheard-of—but that was “pure chemistry,” as SJ liked to say.
When the door to her shed finally swung open SJ didn’t say hello—she just nodded at Ellie and turned away. Ellie saw why—there was another woman in the room, to Ellie’s surprise, standing by some complex piece of distilling equipment. She was also black, and very pretty, with big dark eyes and a thoughtful expression. Unlike Ellie and SJ she was not in coveralls, but rather a pink calico dress.
“Hey,” Ellie said to both of them, feeling awkward, though she didn’t know why.
SJ grunted in response, and then nodded at the five crates that were waiting for Ellie. Beside them was SJ’s enormous crossbow. Ellie had once remarked that a gun might be a more modern weapon for self-defense only for SJ to scoff at her and ask if she thought a firearm was a good idea around a bunch of high-proof liquor.
The other woman was much friendlier. “How do you do,” she said. “I’m Georgia.”
“Ellie. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Likewise.”
SJ was of course allowed to have friends over any time she might like, but both of them seemed vaguely embarrassed, as if they’d been caught doing something wrong.
“So, SJ . . . I need to ask you something,” said Ellie, jumping right in to cover the awkwardness. “It’s a bit of a favor, but the money’s good.”
“You have my attention.” SJ didn’t look up, but she was clearly listening.
“So, Oscar—” She paused for SJ to snort. “I know, but he met a guy who’s looking to buy fifteen crates of booze for some big party this Saturday night.”
“Do you want me to leave?” asked Georgia. SJ shook her head.
“Ellie will be going in a moment. Won’t you, Ellie?”
Ellie stared at SJ in genuine confusion. “You aren’t interested?”
“I can only provide you with what I always do. I’m not going to let my other customers go thirsty just because some rich fool wants to get liquored up with his friends.”
“It’s a lot of money.” Ellie withdrew the stack of bills. “He paid half up front.”
SJ deigned to look up, and at the sight of all that cash she definitely made tracks over to Ellie, adjusting her glasses to see it better.
“No need to pay anyone that much for moonshine,” she said, and Ellie agreed. “Is there a catch?”
“I don’t think so. Oscar seemed to think the buyer was loaded.”
SJ crossed her wiry arms, making a dark slash against the pale blue denim of her coveralls. “Loaded he might be, but not sauced. No deal.”
“SJ, please?”
“You can give up those two cases of the good stuff I’ve put aside for your impending nuptials, but that’s all I can offer on top of what’s sitting right there in the corner.”
Ellie winced, but at least she’d already paid for said “good stuff” . . . no way SJ could upcharge her. And Gabriel would understand. At least, she thought he would. He knew she had to do what was right for Lester.
SJ looked surprised at Ellie’s hesitation. “You’re considering it?”
“You know I’ve never been the best at math, but two more cases to sell is two more cases to sell.”
“I can’t see why you’d give anything up for some folks you don’t know and never even heard of.”
“Because I’m trying to send my brother to college. If I make this sale, I can.”
Ellie had never spoken of her family’s struggles to SJ. Their casual childhood acquaintance had turned into a business relationship, not a friendship. But given that SJ’s brother, Aaron, was Gabriel’s bookkeeper, and go-to guy for fine carpentry work, she’d figured SJ knew most of the story. As it turned out, that wasn’t the case.
“Smart kid, huh?” This level of interest from SJ was shocking. Ellie nodded.
“Yeah. He got a scholarship—wants to be a doctor.” Worried SJ would think Lester idle, Ellie added, “He had the polio, so he has some troub
les. He’s a hard worker, though, and his mind . . .” She snapped the fingers of her right hand.
“All right, all right. In that case . . . I guess I can spare two extra cases.”
Ellie did a quick mental calculation . . . If she shorted her clients just this once she could make up at least some of the difference with the “special reserve,” and all the excess she had stashed at Gabriel’s house. With the case of liquor she’d gotten from Greene the night of the storm, that was pretty close to fifteen.
That storm . . . The memory of the crazed man, the boat, and how exactly she’d come by that liquor oozed its way into her mind. Ellie closed her eyes, but she only managed to see the scene more clearly that way.
“Don’t think I’m not gonna charge you extra, though. Maybe your kid brother needs to get to college, but I got needs too.”
Bless SJ’s sharp tongue. Ellie forced a smile and waggled the wad of bills at her, her spirits somewhat higher now. “I can pay, no problem.”
“Put that away; no one wants to see that.”
“Not even you?”
“What the fuck do you mean by that?” SJ had been slowly thawing, but all the ice melted at once to reveal a volcano beneath.
Ellie took a step back, unsure what she’d done. Her eyes flicked to where Georgia stood, but the other woman’s expression was just as tough to read. “I just . . . you said you’d charge me a tidy bundle . . . ?”
“I know what I said.” SJ turned on her heel—literally, since she was barefoot—and went back to her equipment. “Come by Friday. I’ll have it all for you then.”
“How much for the extra?”
“Whatever I decide. Now get the hell out of my sight.”
Ellie offered an unanswered farewell to SJ and Georgia before grabbing a crate of clinking bottles and heading through the door. She set it down instead of taking it down to her skiff, electing to shift all the stock outside in one go so she was out of SJ’s hair as quickly as possible.