Minnie blinked back tears. She couldn’t tell him that she’d already decided to decline the spot. How could she waste hours in frivolous entertainment when her family needed her?
Beatrice gently touched his arm. “It’s time to go. Blake has the car ready out front. I had him move it so the passenger door is at the end of the walk.”
“Dear Beattie.” He pecked her cheek. “Always making sure things are just so.”
Minnie couldn’t tell if her oldest sister was pleased or upset by his statement. Together, the sisters got him to his feet and onto the front porch. Minnie was surprised to see Peter waiting with Blake.
“We’ll take him from here,” Blake said, hurrying forward with Peter on his heels.
Peter gave Minnie a look of sympathy before assisting her father down the porch steps. She battled tears as they followed, Mother first with the blanket.
When they reached the car, Daddy held on to the roof. “Thank you, Blake. Peter—” he grasped Peter’s hand “—you’re a fine young man.”
Minnie’s throat nearly swelled shut, and she had to blink furiously so she wouldn’t burst into tears.
Daddy lowered himself onto the passenger seat, and then Mother tucked the blanket around his legs before getting in the back with Beatrice. Blake shut all the doors and got into the driver’s seat. Daddy leaned his head back and closed his eyes, his face ashen. A pang tore through Minnie, like ripping a piece of cloth in two. Her father was leaving. She might never see him again.
“Daddy!” She waved and called out as Blake pulled away from the house.
She and Jen ran after the car. The morning light gilded the Cadillac’s windows so she could not see inside. Blake honked the horn. Then he turned onto Second Street, and they were gone.
* * *
“Play along,” Sheriff Ilsley suggested. His steely gaze bored through Peter. “Galbini already trusts you. What we need is an insider.”
Last night’s visit to the sheriff’s office had led to this afternoon’s interview. Sheriff Ilsley had wanted to call in the prohibition agent from Grand Rapids before they discussed the situation further. Mr. Fallston arrived on the afternoon train. At least Pastor Gabe had come along with him again. Peter looked to him for encouragement. He didn’t like the sheriff’s suggestion one bit.
Neither did Agent Fallston. “Pearlman’s pretty far away for an outfit like Torrio’s to show any interest. They’re mostly getting their supplies close to home. But that doesn’t mean a change isn’t in the works. We’re counting on you to find out if it is.”
“Torrio?” That was a new name to Peter.
“The most powerful gang leader in Chicago. Capone is his next in command. Infiltrating their organization would be a coup.” Fallston leaned forward. “Can you do it?”
Peter looked from the tall, strong sheriff with his uncompromising stance to the comparatively meek federal agent, who looked more like an accountant than an officer of the law. If he had to put his faith in one or the other, he’d go with the sheriff every time.
He licked his lips, still recalling Minnie’s anguish this morning and her determination not to break down. He could not fail her. He glanced at Pastor Gabe. The minister had said Felicity nearly died because he didn’t trust the law. Peter couldn’t risk that. “This sounds dangerous. What if something goes wrong?”
“One step at a time,” Fallston said.
The sheriff shook his head. “Peter has a right to ask. In my experience, preparation is key. Prepare for any eventuality, and you’re likely to succeed.”
Fallston clearly disdained what he viewed as trampling on his territory. “We don’t even know yet if there’s any bootlegging involved. Once we have proof, we can make a plan. Until then, it’s wasted time.”
Peter did not need the two lawmen bickering between themselves when lives were on the line. “I want to prepare now.”
Ilsley nodded his approval. “Here’s what I suggest. First we measure the compartment. That should give us an idea if it’s even possible to transport liquor in it. If it’s too small to hold much, it wouldn’t be worth the trouble.”
“Unless it’s high-grade liquor from across the border,” Fallston countered. “Beer is transported in trucks. An automobile would most likely haul the expensive stuff. I’ll check with my cohort in Detroit to see if he knows of any connection between Chicago and suppliers there.”
“And I’ll make sure Hermann Grattan isn’t up to his old tricks.”
Most of this was flying right over Peter’s head. He recalled Mr. Grattan going to jail for bootlegging back when Peter first arrived in Pearlman. That was how Peter had ended up with Mrs. Simmons instead of the Grattans, who’d selected him at the orphan distribution. But the rest of the conversation didn’t make much sense. He was trying to concentrate, but all he could think about was Minnie.
The sheriff glared at Fallston. “It doesn’t matter what kind of liquor they’re hauling if it’s bootleg.” He turned back to Peter. “If it looks suspicious, try to get a job. Tell Galbini some hard-luck story, whatever it takes.”
Fallston added, “Guys usually start in delivery. You can drive. Galbini knows that. And you’re pretty big. Are you good with your fists?”
Peter balked. “I don’t fight.” Not since turning his life over to Christ.
“Too bad. Does Galbini know that?”
“Well, no.” Vince would remember him as a scrappy street urchin.
“Good. Let him believe you still like to fight.”
Peter glanced at Pastor Gabe. “But that’s lying.”
Fallston looked disgusted. “It’s playing a part.”
The pastor said, “You don’t have to lie. I suspect Vince wants you to join him. He wouldn’t have come here otherwise. What you need to ask yourself is if this is worth the risk.”
Fallston clearly did not appreciate the pastor’s interference. “Do you want us to keep Pearlman out of the bootlegging trade or not?”
Peter looked from one man to the other. “I don’t want anyone getting hurt.”
Sheriff Ilsley stepped in again. “These gangs don’t take no for an answer. You’re not going to be able to back out of this if Galbini thinks for a moment that you know what he’s doing.”
Peter swallowed hard. He’d already accused Vince. If Sheriff Ilsley was right, he was already trapped. He might be able to save Minnie, though. “What do I do?”
“See if you can get in as a driver,” Fallston said.
“And Minnie?” Peter had to make sure she was safe. “I gotta have your word that Minnie won’t be charged and that you’ll make sure she doesn’t get hurt.”
“You have my word on it from the county standpoint,” the sheriff said. “I’m sure Agent Fallston will agree to the same.”
Agent Fallston did not appear at all agreeable. “If she is an accomplice—”
“An unwitting one,” the sheriff interrupted. “If I’m reading Mr. Simmons correctly, you must agree to this stipulation in order to get his assistance.”
Peter nodded.
Fallston mulled it over for a few seconds. “All right.”
“Very well,” Pastor Gabe said. “Are you ready, Peter?”
Pastor Gabe was asking if Peter was ready to go, but as Peter stood he felt the impact of what he’d just agreed to do. In a couple of days, Vince would show up to pick up the car. Peter would have to ask for a driving job. What Vince said next would change his life forever.
The sheriff stood beside Peter. “You all right, son?”
Peter squared his shoulders and nodded.
“Good, let’s head on over to the garage and check out the size of that compartment.”
One last hope. One last chance. Peter prayed that when they measured, the compartment could only hold luggage.
&
nbsp; * * *
Though no taller than Minnie, Mrs. Eugenia Kensington always intimidated her. The woman led virtually every church and civic women’s group in town. Even Beattie found her formidable, and Mrs. Kensington was her mother-in-law.
The next day after work, Minnie stood on the porch of the Kensingtons’ imposing house with its huge columns and circular driveway, her knees knocking and her heart pounding through her rib cage while Mrs. Kensington stared at her in disbelief. Minnie had stated her case, but Mrs. Kensington had yet to accept it.
In the distance, Minnie heard the squeals and laughter of Beattie’s children, who were staying with their grandparents until their parents returned from Grand Rapids.
“I’m sorry,” she repeated for the fifth or sixth time.
Mrs. Kensington finally found her voice. “Do you know what you’re turning down? Other girls would give anything to have this opportunity.”
“I’m sorry. I want to. I really do, but I can’t make the rehearsals, at least not until Ruth and Sam get back from New York, and that won’t be until Sunday or Monday. I’d miss the first rehearsal, and you said we had to attend every rehearsal or lose our spot.”
“I see.” Mrs. Kensington’s sharp nose seemed to poke right into Minnie. “I suppose I could make an exception to the rule in your case, considering the extreme circumstances, but don’t let it happen again. Another missed rehearsal, and you’ll be cut. Understand?”
Minnie couldn’t promise to attend every other rehearsal. She had already committed to return to her old housecleaning clients when Ruth got back. That meant working on Saturdays. Then there was the work for Mr. Galbini. She was supposed to go to the garage tonight to help Peter put together the compartment. Another car might arrive tomorrow. And Ruth would expect her to continue her apprenticeship at the dress shop. Moreover, they’d have the housework to manage with Mother gone. No, she couldn’t promise.
“I—I think you should offer it to someone else,” she stammered out.
Mrs. Kensington’s gaze narrowed. “You intend to let your community down?”
Minnie tried to swallow, but her throat was dry. “I don’t have any choice.”
“Very well. I’ll find someone else, but don’t ever expect to receive another chance, Miss Fox.”
Minnie hurried off. The loss of her dreams hurt. Why must she always give up what she wanted? Beattie married the man she loved. So did Ruth. Jen got to keep her beloved job at the airfield. Whenever something interesting was happening there, she got to attend, while Minnie had to watch the dress shop. It wasn’t fair.
By the time she reached the motor garage, her mood had grown black. She pulled on the office door. It was locked. Peter was there, though, because the lights were on in the work bay. She pounded on the closed barn doors. As if everything else going wrong wasn’t bad enough, now Peter was shutting her out.
“Open up!” She banged with both fists until the wood door nearly shook off its hinges. The crush of fist against wood felt good. Painful. Mr. Peter Simmons would hear about locking her out. “I know you’re in there. I can see the lights on.”
He pushed open the door enough to admit one person. “Calm down. There’s no need to shout.”
“I wasn’t shouting.” She brushed past him and made a beeline for the car. “Let’s get this put together so it’s ready for Vince.”
He cringed, probably because she’d used Mr. Galbini’s given name, but she didn’t care. She walked over to the worktable where he usually piled the boards before assembly. The surface was empty.
She whirled around to face him. “Where are the boards? We’re supposed to put the compartment together. What have you done with them?”
“It’s done.”
“What? Done? When?”
“Yesterday.”
She rushed to the car and looked in the back. Sure enough, the seat was in place with no sign of the compartment underneath. “How could you? We were supposed to do it together.”
He wiped his hands on a rag. “I had some extra time, so I took care of it.” But he wasn’t looking at her. “I figured you were busy, with rehearsals and everything.”
The reminder of what she’d just given up stung. “I’m not doing the revue. All right? You ought to be happy. You didn’t want me to audition in the first place.”
He stared at her and swallowed. “Maybe not at first, but when you sang, well, you’ve got the prettiest voice I’ve ever heard. You deserve to be in that revue.”
“Well, I’m not.” She crossed her arms. “I already resigned.”
“Why? Because of the upholstery work? Don’t quit on account of that.” He waved at the car. “It might be the last one anyway. If not, I can do the work.”
“Then you don’t need me, either?” Angry tears burned in her eyes.
He looked stricken. “Of course I do.”
“No, you don’t. You just said you could do everything yourself. Well, fine. Do that.” Even though she knew she was being unfair, she couldn’t stop. The upheaval of the past few days had built to the point that she couldn’t stand it anymore. “See if Vince likes your stitching as much as he likes mine.”
“What do you mean? I can’t sew, and even if I could, I couldn’t do it as good as you.”
The words salved the wound a little, but she wasn’t ready to let go yet. “It doesn’t matter. I’m more than a seamstress. I’m going to be famous one day.”
He did not look pleased. Still, he said softly, “Maybe you will be. You can do anything you set your mind to.” He swallowed. “But you gotta know that I care for you.”
Minnie could not hear this. “Like a friend.”
“No. More than that. I’d give anything to take care of you the way you deserve.”
Maybe it was the look on his face. Maybe it was the earnestness of his words. But something broke inside her. Shattered. No one outside her family had ever said such a thing to her. Certainly no man had ever done so. Peter truly did care. Not a crush. Not something silly and insignificant. Though she’d guessed at his feelings for some time, hearing them spoken aloud scared her.
At first, she trembled. Then the tears came, so fast they blurred her vision. Embarrassed, she stumbled away, but she couldn’t find her way out and away from the confusing emotions. Instead, she fell apart right in front of him.
She felt his arms draw her in. That only made her cry harder.
He rubbed her back, whispered in her ear that it would be all right.
That took the fight out of her. She collapsed against his shoulder and wept. She had abused him, yet he didn’t scold. He just held her. Comforted her. Told her everything would work out. How strong he was. Such integrity. Peter would never betray her to anyone. He would never hurt her. His arms felt so right. Why hadn’t she noticed that before?
Chapter Fifteen
Peter could have held Minnie for ages, but sense kicked in. It was late. No one was around. If anyone did see her there with him, the gossips would tear her to shreds. Plus he had to keep her as far away from the car and Vince as possible. So after she wiped her eyes and blew her nose, he said good-night and saw her home.
The next morning was Saturday. Peter dreaded meeting Vince. Would his friend take one look at him and know he was working with the law? Though the compartment had measured out big enough to haul liquor, it wouldn’t hold more than a few cases. A case of whiskey might fetch a hundred dollars on the wholesale market. That wasn’t worth the risk, unless it was premium stuff. The hidden compartment intrigued Fallston, but he couldn’t come up with a logical use for it beyond cash or valuables. It was too shallow for more than a flask.
In the end, even Fallston conceded that the compartment was most likely for luggage, but the federal agent wanted proof. That meant Peter had to get into the operation—if there even was
an operation.
The day dawned cold and clear. Peter went to the motor garage early and slid open the bolt to the work-bay door. He was too nervous to stand around, so he slipped outside and paced out to the street, where he looked for Vince before heading back.
A watched pot never boils, Mariah would always say. Apparently watching for someone had the same result. After several looks, he huddled by the work-bay door. Maybe Vince wouldn’t show up. Maybe he’d worried for nothing. His palms sweated. His throat was parched. He walked out to the street and shot another look toward State Road.
Nothing but the glimmer of sun on frosted rooftops.
He stomped his feet to keep them from going numb and paced back to the garage. Had Vince gotten wind of the law’s involvement?
Peter hunched his shoulders against the wind and dug his hands into his pockets. How had he gotten himself into this, and how could he get out of it?
Only the memory of Minnie sobbing in his arms could distract him. She’d acted crazy last night, and he’d got plenty peeved. Then she broke down, and he realized she’d lashed out at him because she was worried about her pa. His heart about broke. He wanted to help. He wanted to tell her he’d take care of her if the worst happened. And he would. If he could get out of this mess.
At exactly eight o’clock, Vince pulled up next to the side of the garage in a recent-model Maxwell. He stepped out of the car, dressed in the usual dapper suit and jaunty fedora. “Hey, Stringbean! How’s business?”
Peter dug his hands deeper into his jacket pockets. “Slow.”
“That so?” Vince lit a cigarette and looked both ways down the street and then at the garage, as if expecting to see someone jump out at him. “Whatcha doin’ standing out in the cold?”
Peter’s pulse raced. Did Vince suspect something? After all, Peter had accused him of breaking the law. This was never going to work. He stared at the street, empty of traffic this early on a Saturday. “Looking for you.”
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