Speakeasy, Speak Love

by Sharon G Clark

  Chapter Twenty-three

  EXCESSIVE BANGING ECHOED in her bedroom, and Fiona groggily opened her eyes.

  “Get up, runt. I have work for you to do,” Jimmy announced from the other side of her door.

  Sunny rushed from Brigid’s room, ready to play her part as a lover, should the need arise. Fiona shook her head. Sunny sat down at the end of the bed. Fiona glanced at the clock. It was only a couple minutes after six in the morning.

  “What the hell, Jimmy?” she hollered. “I’m not working for Eldon today.” Not to mention she’d only gone to bed little more than two hours ago, a fact Fiona suspected Jimmy was well aware of.

  Another heavy thump sounded. The chair she’d placed under the doorknob vibrated but didn’t budge. “You’ll fucking do what you’re told when you’re told. Get your ass out here in ten minutes, or I’ll break this door down and beat you with it. Do I make myself clear?”

  Yeah, crystal clear you pecker-head. Aloud she replied, “I’m coming.”

  “Glad the little bitch is good for something.” Jimmy guffawed, his meanness forgotten in his crudeness. “Hurry it up.”

  Fiona sneered at the door. “Disgusting creep,” she mumbled. Sunny gave her a sympathetic smile. Reaching across the bed, Fiona caressed Sunny’s cheek. “I can make every effort to keep him away from you, but I can’t stop his garbage talk.”

  “I know. Better get ready,” Sunny said. “It’ll be worse for you if he has to wait.”

  Tossing back the covers, Fiona got out of bed and hurriedly dressed in her Finn guise—not the fancy suit for chauffeuring. She pulled the chair away from the door. She reached out to Sunny, placing a hand on the back of her neck. “You’ve been patient, Sunny. We won’t be much longer in leaving this town.”

  Furrowing her brow, Sunny asked, “Miss Margaret, too?”

  She couldn’t answer that question. Margaret stated she would, but the more nights Fiona drove her and the Hartwell’s to various clubs, the less certain Fiona was of Margaret’s intent. More often than not, Margaret had exited these establishments a bit tipsy, alerting Fiona they’d been down to the speakeasy parts of the businesses. On the positive side, Margaret had only once strayed from Eldon’s businesses.

  Since Fiona was only the lowly driver, she’d been outside with the car when the three had hastily exited the Cuckold Beasts, barely long enough for a drink. Not that she was complaining. Fiona much preferred when they stayed with establishments where she had some knowledge of either the managers or the employees. And, now, she wanted to respond to Sunny with some assurance, but couldn’t.

  “She’s been invited, but I just don’t know, honey.”

  “Fall’s coming soon, and you believed we’d go about now,” Sunny reminded.

  Fiona raked her fingers through her hair, pushing the locks into some semblance of neatness. “Look okay?” she asked.

  Sunny nibbled her lower lip. “Bruises are at the yucky yellow stage. You’ll need to go back to smudging with dirt soon.”

  Dropping a kiss on the top of Sunny’s blonde head, Fiona started for the door. “Thanks for keeping an eye out for me, sweetie. Be good today, and I’ll see you—”

  “When pecker-head allows it?” Sunny said. Her tone innocent, but the mischievous sparkle in her eye belied it as such.

  Fiona snorted. “Yeah, until then.”

  She found Jimmy pacing in the kitchen.

  “’Bout Goddamned time. I need you to wait in the office of The Fishing Net.” He shoved a brown paper wrapped bundle, about the size and shape of a brick, toward her. “A woman, Jane, will be there at seven o’clock. Give this to her.” He handed her a key. “Unlocks the office door.” She pocketed it. “Then you do whatever else until nine when I need you to run your old delivery route. Your temporary replacement has been screwing up, and I haven’t anyone to fill in.”

  A myriad of questions buzzed through her head, but Fiona mostly ignored them. It was safer that way. The package couldn’t be life-saving medicine. The woman’s name was Jane, and she conducted business too early in the morning for legality’s sake. And after Terry, there was no way Fiona was going to ask about what may happen to the temporary driver. Too much knowledge was a dangerous thing to both her sanity and her life.

  “Any special message for Jane?”

  “If there were I’d’a told you so. Don’t push me. Get your ass going. Time’s wasting.”

  A short time later, Fiona let herself in the restaurant with her set of keys. She left the back door to the kitchen ajar so she’d hear anyone entering, and Jane would know someone was here. Using the key Jimmy gave her, Fiona entered through the door with the frosted window, the word office stenciled in the center. The room was small and held too much furniture for its size. There was a small three-by-three barred window facing the alley, a dingy yellow towel covering it. A desk placed in front of the window faced the door and sat flush with the wall to the right, an armless desk chair pushed against it.

  On top of the desk lay three metal in-boxes, each overflowing with papers and manila folders, an ashtray heaped with ash and spent cigarette butts, a few pencils and pens haphazardly placed as if tossed. Against the left wall, three metal four-drawer file cabinets, their tops also cluttered with piles of unfiled papers and folders. The wall with the door had a chair in the corner, a cardboard box of what appeared to be soiled towels and table linens on the seat. A simple clock hung on the wall, letting her know she had fifteen minutes before the seven a.m. meeting time.

  Fiona moved behind the desk, pulled out the chair, and sat down on the worn leather. She reached for one of the pencils, intent on using it as a distraction, but stopped herself when she noted the grease and dried food caking the item. Instead, Fiona began lifting the corners of papers in the center inbox, finding receipts and invoices from various businesses clumped together, with no apparent timeframe separating them into any reasonable filing system.

  “Damn, Owen,” she mumbled, “how the hell do you find anything in this mess?” It appeared he hadn’t actually accomplished anything for a while. She frowned, realizing she hadn’t seen Owen around since Eldon’s meeting with Dwyer. Fiona shook her head, not wanting to focus on the implications. She gave up riffling through the paperwork and started pulling out desk drawers. A couple were empty, the center one had more dirty writing instruments and an opened pack of cigarettes, a silver Zippo, and pack of mints. She wrinkled her nose and closed it. The largest and last drawer to investigate, on the lower right-hand side, had a lock. Fiona tugged at it, not expecting it to budge, but it slid with only a minor squeak of protestation.

  Considering the size of the drawer, it was strange that the only contents were two thick leather-bound volumes resembling the standard register for accounting. Fiona pulled them both out and lay them side by side. She opened them, scanned the entries, and began comparing them against each other. In no time at all, Fiona had concluded one volume represented the restaurant’s accounting of incoming and outgoing expendables. The other, though nearly identical, reflected the true reckoning of funds. Someone was skimming from Eldon. But who? And, why keep these books together? If a person were going to steal from their employer, would it behoove them to secure the volume away from prying eyes and exposure?

  What appeared to be the case hit Fiona like a punch to the gut. Jimmy. Only he could be responsible if he had access to the damaging records and this office. Had he intended this as a trap? Having her caught with both volumes? For all intents and purposes, these notations went back way before she’d started working for Eldon, negating her duplicity with doctored books. But, would that really matter when shown in the light of day? Did Eldon know this was still going on, even after killing Terry?

  Fiona felt nauseous. Whether a set-up or not, Fiona didn’t intend to be caught unawares. Shoving the registers back in the drawer, Fiona exited the office and locked the door behind her.

  Leaning against the locked office door, Fiona tried to appear bored and sleepy—
not too hard there—as she waited for Jane. It wasn’t long when a heavy-set, middle-aged woman with greying hair, her bosom the size of cantaloupes leading the way, entered through the back door. Fiona pushed herself off the door. “Jane?”

  Jane appeared mildly surprised, raising a single eyebrow. “I’d have met you in the office.”

  Feigning confusion, Fiona said, “This is the office. What I’m supposed to give you was handed to me by Jimmy, not from in there.” She tilted her head toward the door. Then, she pulled the package from her pocket and handed it to the older woman.

  “I see.” Did she? Had Fiona scuttled the plan Jimmy had made? Jane accepted the package. She inhaled deeply, her massive breasts rose like the cresting of a boat on the swells of a turbulent sea. Fiona stifled the urge to laugh when an image of an infant, nestled in her cleavage while Jane breathed, flashed in her mind. Talk about a joy ride, Fiona thought, wrestling her gaze from bosom to face. “Thank you. I won’t keep you any longer.”

  “You’re welcomed,” Fiona said simply. “Have a good day.” Jane turned to leave, and Fiona followed, locking the restaurant behind her. She managed to get into the delivery truck without incident, pulling away from the building only after Jane made her way to the sidewalk and turned right onto the streets filled with the waking of the day’s business.

  “Managed to dodge another bullet,” she mumbled, “both figuratively and literally.”

  FOR THE FOURTH night in a row, Fiona waited for Margaret and friends to wind down their frolicking so she could drive everyone home. She was exhausted.

  Each morning Jimmy made certain she rose at dawn, complete with excessive door pounding, to conduct a busy schedule of errands and deliveries. She didn’t dare complain to Eldon, not knowing if he was already aware, and considered it part of Fiona’s duties.

  Also, she didn’t comment to Margaret, since she was having fun. It was good to see the happy, exuberant Margaret, even if they spent little to no time alone anymore. Besides, complaining to Margaret might translate as jealousy of Mark. Not that that could ever happen since, other than the amount of time he shared with Margaret, Fiona witnessed little in redeeming qualities in him.

  She’d considered flirting with Janice, but feared the attention would backfire. Janice apparently was known as the love ’em and dump ’em character. Of course, Fiona didn’t have the heart, or the comfortable ease, to disrespect Margaret that way. No one would know since outsiders saw a young boy and his sophisticated employer’s sister. But she’d know. Her heart belonged to Margaret, whether she reciprocated or not.

  Tonight Fiona parked in the backdoor delivery spot of Fishing Favors, making it easier for Margaret and friends to enter and leave. Plus, no one would question Finn Cavanaugh’s presence as one of Eldon’s employees. Music drifted out from the upstairs restaurant, a few casual diners—hired for this purpose—ate dinner, danced to a quartet of musicians, and chatted; while, downstairs in the sound-proofed basement, the real crowd laughed, drank, danced, and was entertained by Fatima and the girls.

  Fiona had hung around the dressing room for a while, catching up with the people who’d accepted her from the beginning. The problem was, they knew her too well, could tell how the strain of her insecurity concerning Margaret affected her. She loved their support, but didn’t want them thinking less of Margaret and the perception of feigned attentions. Molly hinted earlier, having spotted Margaret in the crowd, at her upset of toying with Fiona’s tender heart. Much as she denied having a tender heart, or alienation of Margaret’s affection, Fiona couldn’t hide all her emotion from her face or her friends.

  So, she’d decided to bide her time in the cool night air. Clattering of pots, utensils and the like from the kitchen resonated into the night letting her know she wasn’t alone—even if feeling a tad lonely. This was hard for her. Fiona needed to know if she delayed her departure needlessly, waiting for something, someone, with no intention of running away with her. She should put her foot down, demand an answer, and adjust her plans accordingly. Part of Fiona feared Margaret wouldn’t leave; and, as long as the question lay unspoken, hope existed, and hope was all Fiona had anymore.

  The night was still early, just this side of midnight, and Fiona considered pursuing the habit of smoking to pass the time, remembering the opened pack in the manager’s office. But she’d wasted no time giving Jimmy back the key. Also, to do so would give away being inside the office if she acknowledged the pack’s existence. Nasty habit anyway.

  “Finn,” Margaret’s voice rang out in the night, sounding tipsy. Fiona turned to see her three charges gliding out the kitchen door. Margaret tilted her head, listened to the music for a moment, and rushed to Fiona’s side. “Dance with me, Finn.”

  “Why do you insist on leading the riffraff on?” Mark groused from ten feet away.

  “Finn isn’t riffraff,” Margaret defended, hands on hips, appearing suddenly sober. Had she been drinking? Or was it all an act for the Hartwell’s benefit?

  “Really? Then why’s his face covered in bruises and scars telling otherwise?”

  “You don’t know anything, Mark.”

  Impulsively, Fiona placed a hand on Margaret’s shoulder. “You don’t have to defend me,” she said, meeting Margaret’s gaze. A painful blow landed on her jaw, rocking her head back, and forcing her a step backward, more from surprise, than any real force. “Sonofa—”

  “You jerk,” Margaret shouted, as she slapped Mark hard across the face. “You’ve just added to Finn’s bruises with a stupid move like that.”

  “Filthy scum shouldn’t have touched you.” Mark covered the red mark left from Margaret’s palm. From the way he swayed, Fiona knew Mark was thoroughly inebriated. “I get tired of the rabble insinuating themselves into the good graces of those of us with better upbringing and resources.”

  Janice walked passed Mark and close to Fiona. “Let me see.” She reached up to gently clasp Fiona’s chin, tilting to examine her jaw.

  Catching the fury glinting in Margaret’s eyes, Fiona pulled her face out of Janice’s grip. “I’m fine. Little girls have hit me harder.”

  “I’m sure they have,” Janice said, smiling. She stepped back. “Give Meggie her dance, Finn. I’ll make certain Mark doesn’t interfere.”

  The soft notes of a song Fiona was unfamiliar with wafted through the night. Margaret strode close, took Fiona’s left hand in her right, placed her left hand on Fiona’s hip. “Please?” she asked, her gaze pleading as they met Fiona’s.

  Helpless to deny Margaret anything, Fiona led her into a dance. Mark was correct. Fiona was out of her league. But holding Margaret in her arms felt so right. Their steps matched perfectly, their nearly even height fusing them in all the appropriate places. She hoped the music played forever. Her nerves jangled, Fiona became acutely aware of her perspiring palm. “I’m sorry, I’m sweating on you.”

  “Oh, Finn, I don’t care. Plus, gloves remember?” Margaret breathed, her warm breath skimming across Fiona’s ear. “How do you always make me feel safe?”

  Fiona knew it as a rhetorical question, but she responded anyway, nestling her lips against Margaret’s ear so not to be overheard. “My sole wish is to care for you. I wish it could be forever.”

  “One day soon, it will be.” Fiona quickly squeezed her eyes shut, reveling in the moment, learning her one hope would become a possibility—in time. “I want to kiss you right now.” Fiona missed a step, and Margaret said, “Much as I’d like to drop Mark a peg, I won’t give him the opportunity to berate you anymore.” All too soon, the song ended, and Margaret pulled away. “Thank you, Finn. You can take us home now.”

  Fiona stood speechless for a moment to catch her breath and then helped the women into the car before slipping behind the wheel and driving off. As expected, Fiona dropped the Hartwell’s off, left Margaret at the front door, and drove to the servants’ entrance.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  MARGARET WAS SO focused on replaying her dance with Fion
a in her head, it took a moment for her to realize she wasn’t alone in her room. She recognized Sunny sitting in a chair with her arms folded across her chest, in the corner of the window. “Sunny, what’s wrong?”

  The young girl glared at her. “Why are you doing this to him?” To protect Fiona, Sunny also maintained the masculine pronoun. Sunny, Brigid, and Margaret agreed it the best way to prevent an accidental slip.

  Margaret was at a loss as to what she had done. “I don’t understand.” She pulled the elbow length gloves from her left hand, then her right, tossing them on the dresser. “What have I done?”

  Sunny didn’t meet her gaze, lowering her head and focusing on the floor. “Jimmy bangs Finn awake before the sun’s up after Finn’s just gone to bed only minutes before. You keep Finn out all night when Jimmy’s worked him all day.” Sunny lifted her curly blonde head, swiped away at tears running down her cheeks. “Miss Margaret, what will happen to us if Finn gets sick? How can he protect us, protect himself?”

  Hurrying forward, dropping to her knees in front of Sunny, Margaret clasped the girl’s hands in her own. “Oh, honey, I didn’t know.”

  Sniffing, and then curling her lips into a snarl, Sunny said, “How could you? You get to sleep after you come home. The help doesn’t have the same luxury.”

  Margaret flinched. “I deserve your anger, Sunny. But I hadn’t ignored the situation on purpose.” She wiped away the fresh tears from Sunny’s face with the pad of her thumb. “Eldon told me Finn would work on my schedule. Jimmy wasn’t supposed to be able to order him around.”

  “What if something happens, Miss Margaret? What if someone shoots Finn again and…you know?” Sunny’s shoulders shook with her renewed sobs. “Why can’t we leave now, before Finn dies? Or is flaunting your conquest more important?”