Maddy hated to admit it, but Jeffers had a point. Unlike the first time he’d propositioned her, he seemed to have an answer for every argument she made. Still, there was one question she’d yet to ask.
“If this is all so easy to do, with no chance of getting caught,” she said, “then why do you need me?”
Jeffers smiled, his eyes narrowing; to Maddy, he looked like the cat about to eat the canary. “I’ve got lots of reasons,” he said, “not the least of which is that folks trust you. If you were part of a place where they could have a drink, I reckon they’d think that it can’t be that wrong.”
Maddy wasn’t buying his line. Frowning, she said, “There are lots of other people in town you could say the same thing about.”
Jeffers laughed. “You might be right, but ain’t none of them got a cellar as big as I’m bettin’ this place does.”
He was right; the mercantile had plenty of room in the cellar. But she remained suspicious. “Why do you need so much space?”
“ ’Cause I’m hopin’ lots of folks will be thirsty enough to buy what I have to sell,” he explained. “Besides, I’m gonna need someplace safe to put the liquor.”
“Now wait,” Maddy said. “Even if I agreed to this crazy idea, I couldn’t allow much alcohol to be stored down there. It’s too dangerous! We’d just be asking to get caught!”
“I told you not to worry ’bout that!” Jeffers shot back, his infamous temper momentarily showing through. Taking a deep breath, he swallowed it back down, his unconvincing smile returning. “It ain’t like I’m gonna be fillin’ the whole cellar. My source ain’t gonna be regular, like the fella bringin’ you shoes and hammers. It’ll be a couple a bottles here, a case there, maybe two or three at a time—just enough so’s that we can make some decent money, nothin’ more. But we’ll need to keep it in the cellar to keep from havin’ to haul it ’round any more than we have to.”
“You’re asking an awful lot of me.”
“Don’t you fret none,” he said. “You’ll get paid for it.”
Maddy knew she was running out of arguments. Even now, her eyes kept darting back to the stack of bills on the counter. She had to admit, it looked like an awful lot of money. Each night when she balanced the store’s ledgers, she was reminded of how dangerously close she was coming to losing the business. It wouldn’t take much, a missed payment here or there, and everything her father had worked all his life building would be lost.
How would I ever be able to face my father and sister? How could I live knowing I might’ve had a chance to prevent it?
But even though she was desperate, she still struggled against her principles; the only question now was which one would win out.
“There’s one more thing you might want to consider,” Jeffers said, interrupting her thoughts.
“What’s that?” Maddy asked.
“You should think ’bout Silas,” he answered, surprising her. “I ain’t seen him in a long time, so I reckon he ain’t too well off. Takin’ care of him must be hard, even somethin’ of a burden, though I expect you wouldn’t ever put it that way.” Tapping his finger next to the pile of money, he added, “A bit of this would sure go a long way toward makin’ sure he got the care he needed…it might ease whatever worries you got floatin’ round that pretty head of yours.”
Ever since her father’s condition had worsened to where he could no longer work at the mercantile, Maddy had told almost no one how bad his arthritis had gotten. Colton was a small town where word traveled quickly. Just the fact that Maddy was operating the mercantile in her father’s stead was worthy of gossip. Still, Maddy, Helen, Dr. Quayle, and Reverend Fitzpatrick had abided by Silas’s wishes and remained silent about his problem. But Jeffers was no fool; it hadn’t been hard for him to piece it all together and imagine the difficult predicament Maddy was in.
Maddy could have become angry at Jeffers for trying to manipulate her into doing what he wanted. But instead, his comments made her look at things exactly as he’d intended. The truth was that she would’ve done anything for her family, even if it meant going against the law. But if she was going to stick her neck out, she decided that she’d do so on her own terms.
“All right,” she said, “I’ll do it, but I have one condition that isn’t open to negotiation.”
“Name it,” Jeffers answered.
“If you want to have a speakeasy in my place of business, I’m going to be a part of it. From now on, I’m your partner.”
Maddy closed the door to her father’s room behind her and leaned her head against the frame. At the end of the hallway, a lamp shone beneath a darkened window; the light flickered through the wetness she wiped from her eyes. This was the moment of every night she hated the most, the time that nearly made her sick to her stomach.
Once again, I’ve lied to my father.
After Maddy had agreed to Jeffers Grimm’s plan to use the mercantile’s basement as a speakeasy, she’d needed to come up with a reason to explain her nightly absence. She hated having to lie about it, but she couldn’t imagine her father would approve of what she was doing. Even if he knew how badly the store was struggling, he would never have agreed with her decision; he was a man of such high principles that he would rather lose everything than choose to do something illegal.
The only other choice she had was to let Jeffers have his run of the mercantile basement, and that was something she would not do. And so, she’d needed to come up with a believable story.
In order to explain why she was spending most evenings away from home, Maddy had chosen to tell her father she was going to church. She’d said that Reverend Fitzpatrick was putting together a new choir and that he’d asked her to join. She’d always loved to sing, so Silas had believed her. He hadn’t shown the least bit of suspicion. In fact, he’d been quite encouraging; she wondered if he didn’t hope it would lead to her finding a man to marry.
But for years now, ever since he left, Maddy had been determined to put all thoughts of love out of her heart. She’d had suitors, men from town who came by the mercantile and showered her with compliments, but by her actions, a lopsided smile or timely frown, they soon realized she was a hopeless cause. But that did nothing to stem her father’s hopes, and so he took hope from her story of the church’s choir. Thankfully, he was always asleep when she came home from the speakeasy, and never asked prying questions over breakfast.
“Are you getting ready to go?” a voice whispered.
Maddy looked up to see Helen looking out through a crack in her door.
She nodded.
“You better get going or you’ll be late.”
Since Maddy had come home from the mercantile, Helen had only left her room to come to dinner. She’d mumbled her way through the meal, obviously still angry about what had been said in the storeroom, looking at her sister with hooded eyes. After Maddy had taken their father his tray, she’d considered knocking on Helen’s door and admitting to giving Pete the flour but decided against it; if Helen was going to act so childishly, she might as well stew about it a bit longer.
Though she and Helen had their disagreements, Maddy depended on her sister for help. While Maddy was gone, it would be up to Helen to care for their father, to comfort him if his arthritis flared. While the sisters had fought over helping Pete and his family, they had no such argument over whether their father should know about the speakeasy; they had no choice but to lie together.
“He’s listening to the radio,” Maddy said.
“I’ll check on him in a bit,” Helen said, and then added, “Be careful,” the same advice she gave every night her sister left for the speakeasy.
“I will.” Maddy smiled faintly before heading down the stairs and off toward another night she could never have imagined.
Chapter Four
WHEN MADDY ARRIVED at the mercantile, a handful of people were already milling around outside. It was nothing obvious, no one was standing in a line, but they were there nonetheless. An
affectionate couple stood across the street arm in arm; a man glanced absently in the storefront window at a display of paint cans and brushes; another struck a match, bringing its flaming tip to his cigarette and puffing hard.
Maddy knew they were all waiting for her. Helen had been right to worry; she was running late.
“Evenin’, Maddy,” a voice called from the darkness.
“Good evening,” she said politely in answer, hurrying around to the rear of the building.
Beside the mercantile’s back door, visible in the light of a flickering bulb, was a pair of cellar doors. Maddy opened them and made her way down the steps into a gloomy darkness. Digging in her pocket, she retrieved her keys; Jeffers had installed a pair of heavy-duty locks, insisting that the only people who should have access to the speakeasy be the two of them. Maddy had agreed, although she figured he was just being paranoid.
Inside the cellar, Maddy flipped a light switch; a couple of years earlier, her father had wired the room with a couple of bulbs. The light was faint, so Maddy had added a few oil lamps. The basement was twice as long as it was wide, with two rows of support beams running its length. At the far end, the storeroom had been fitted with another set of padlocks. The ceiling was low; Arthur Pendergast, one of the tallest men in Colton, had to walk hunched over to keep from hitting his head. The ceiling and walls had been covered in an intricate white tin; Silas had purchased a large amount, but none of it had sold, so instead of throwing it out, or selling it at a loss, he’d decided to put it to good use. Maddy could only imagine how disappointed he’d be to discover what it was decorating now.
The little stock that remained in the cellar, mostly items too large to fit in the upstairs storeroom, had been placed in a far corner. In the newly opened space, chairs and tables had been set up; in the beginning, there’d only been three, but the unanticipated success of the speakeasy had soon made more necessary. Along one wall, empty crates had been stacked three high to create a makeshift bar; just looking at it unnerved Maddy; because of its length and the dark color of the crates, it reminded her of a coffin. Behind the bar, bottles of whiskey, rum, gin, and absinthe stood beside glasses waiting to be filled. An empty cigar box served as a cash register. At the opposite end of the bar, a record player had been hauled down the stairs to offer some extra entertainment; it was missing one of its legs, but Jeffers had propped it up with a couple of books.
Maddy sighed.
I still can’t believe I agreed to this…
Shaking her head, she grabbed an apron from behind the bar, pulled her red hair back into a knot, and started getting ready for business.
“…and no sooner were the words out of my mouth, pert’ near the whole damn room burst into laughter, judge and jury included! Hell, my memory ain’t what it used to be, but I think even the poor guy on trial snickered a bit!”
Seth Pettigrew leaned back in his chair so far that Maddy was convinced he was about to tip over. She held her breath as his hands windmilled the air, his droopy eyes wet with tears, as he kept cackling at his own joke. But then, just as she expected him to topple backward onto his head, he somehow managed to right himself. Lurching forward, he brought his nearly empty drink down onto an empty nail crate with a loud crack. If he realized he’d been in any danger, it certainly didn’t show.
“Funniest damn thing you ever saw!” he declared.
“Did you win the case?” Maddy asked.
Seth paused, his eyes narrowing, a laugh frozen on his face. “You know…I can’t say I remember…,” he said before hooting even louder.
For nearly three decades, Seth Pettigrew had been Colton’s only lawyer. He’d traveled back and forth to the county seat in Dewey, trying cases of trespassing, arson, divorce, drunken fights, theft, the time Felix Balizet got so bent out of shape at his neighbor that he tried poisoning his dog, and, on a couple of infamous occasions, even murder. Seth had kept accused men from prison and sent others to the gallows. Like most law practitioners, he’d won memorable cases and lost others. He was well regarded by the people of Colton, who, in general, overlooked his greatest flaw.
He was a bit of a drunk.
Whether it was in a tavern, as he was sitting in his office generously pouring from a bottle he kept in the bottom desk drawer, or when he was imbibing an impromptu dose of liquid courage from his flask before entering the courtroom, almost everyone in the county had seen Seth drink at one time or other. Those remaining few who hadn’t surely couldn’t mistake the mess of burst blood vessels that colored his nose and cheeks a bright red. But Seth was a happy sort of drunkard, a backslapper always ready with a story and smile, who managed to do his job even when inebriated. After he’d retired from practicing law, handing over his practice to his oldest son, Seth had been able to drink more in earnest, no longer needing to pretend to sobriety. When Prohibition was passed, a few good-natured wagers had been made around town as to how long it would take for him to lose his wits. He’d done his best not to show it, but going without a drink began to take a toll. Maddy had no way of knowing it, but by agreeing to help Jeffers she had been the answer to Seth’s prayers.
Swallowing what was left of his whiskey in one gulp, Seth ran a wrinkled hand over his stubbly chin and then up through his thinning, grey hair. A low, loud belch rumbled from his ample belly.
“By God, would I like to get the stupid bastard who thought up this Prohibition nonsense into a courtroom,” he declared. “By the time I was done with him, the damn fool would be run out of town on a rail, tarred and feathered, and whatever other punishment I could come up with! Only problem is, with the number of folks here tonight, it might take some work to find an impartial jury.”
Maddy looked out from behind the bar. More than a dozen people filled the speakeasy; their conversations, bits of laughter, the clinking of their glasses, and the smoke that billowed from their cigars and cigarettes mixed with the fast-stepping music playing on the record player.
Jeffers watched over the cellar from his place by the door, casting a cautious eye on everyone who came down the cellar steps. Sumner Colt, an enthusiastic crony with a gaunt, pinched-up face and an unpleasant habit of licking his lips, sat in a chair beside Jeffers. Karla Teller cleaned empty glasses from the tabletops and took them to a washbasin at the far end of the bar to clean them. Maddy didn’t know the girl well, but Jeffers had told her not to worry; Karla was a bit dim-witted, too slow in the head to go blabbing around about what they were up to.
“Now how about another drink,” Seth said, holding out his glass.
“Don’t you think you’ve had enough for one night?”
“Why, I’m as right as rain!” he argued, thrusting one pointed finger into the air as if he were addressing a jury; unfortunately for him, the swiftness of the gesture unsettled him, making him wobble so precariously in his chair that he had to grab hold of the makeshift bar to stay upright, clinging to it as if he were adrift in turbulent seas.
“Still care to disagree with me?” Maddy smiled.
“I’d hate to have to take this matter up with Jeffers.” Seth frowned.
“Even if you managed to make it all the way to the door without falling down,” she explained slowly, staring into his bloodshot eyes, “you should know by now that Jeffers doesn’t tell me what to do, especially not in my cellar.”
When Maddy agreed to Jeffers’s plan, she’d had one condition; the speakeasy couldn’t be open without her present and behind the bar. Simply put, she didn’t trust him. She wanted to be the one handling the money, serving the drinks, and making sure that no one got out of hand. To her surprise, Jeffers had readily agreed. So far, there hadn’t been a single problem.
On the rare occasions when someone like Seth had a bit too much, Maddy immediately cut him off. Jeffers had applauded her good sense; the last thing he wanted was for there to be drunks out roaming the streets of Colton, causing problems and raising unwanted attention. No matter how much Seth protested, she knew he’d get nowhere with J
effers; he’d never contradicted her decision. The former lawyer would have to go without.
But that didn’t mean he’d stop arguing his case.
“One more drink isn’t going to kill anyone.” Seth said, smiling easily. “Besides, that way you’ll still have the joy of my company.”
“You can’t sweet-talk your way into another drink.” Maddy shook her head.
“I’ve got it!” he suddenly declared, snapping his fingers as if he’d just had a brilliant idea. “How about you pour me half a glass of whiskey and I’ll pay you as if you filled it? That way, we both get what we want. What do you say?”
Maddy sighed. She knew that Seth would keep badgering her until she gave in; he’d be relentless. It’d be easier to give him what he wanted. Besides, if he became too rowdy, Jeffers wouldn’t let him leave until he sobered up.
“And that’s all you’ll ask for? You won’t be pestering me in fifteen minutes to give you the other half?”
“I solemnly swear,” Seth lied, placing his hand on an imaginary Bible.
“Don’t give me a reason to call you a liar.”
“My dear, I believe I’d be offended if I wasn’t so thirsty!”
When Maddy placed the drink in front of him, Seth was so happy that he patted her on the hand and said, “Compromise is the solution to all of life’s problems, the doorway through which all good relationships are built. Someday, you’ll make some lucky fellow the happiest husband in Montana!”
Maddy flinched; Seth hadn’t meant anything by them, but his words cut her deeper than a knife.
Maddy had loved Jack Rucker with all of her heart, but now, whenever she thought of him, of what they had shared, of what all she’d lost, she couldn’t help remembering each of their firsts.
The first time she’d ever laid on eyes on Jack had been the day he and his family arrived in Colton. Maddy was eleven years old. It had been a rainy, unmemorable October day, the air clutching and crisp, pushed by an insistent wind. She’d come to the mercantile to be with her father, but because of the weather there’d been no customers. With growing boredom, she’d taken to looking out the window.
By Starlight Page 4