by Cathy Pegau
“This is some good stuff,” he said, hefting the whiskey. “My da was partial to Jameson’s, back in the day. He jokes that that’s who I was named for.”
Charlotte laughed and James winked at her. His demeanor sobered again when he considered the bottle and its mates.
“There’s a tax stamp,” she said. “At least Otto isn’t breaking that law.”
“No,” James said, slipping the bottle back among the others, “but black market booze in a dry territory will get him a nice long stint in the Valdez jail. The man who was here just now was Ken Avery, owner of the Tidewater. He supposedly has a back room for special events.”
“Very special, I bet.” Charlotte swept her light beam across the other containers. “I wonder if Otto has other things here.”
“Like what?” He set the lid crooked on the crate and placed the crowbar on the floor.
“I don’t know,” she said. “Whatever people feel they need that they can’t get here. What are you doing?”
“Making it look like someone broke in.” James took his flashlight back from her. “If I’m going to risk my job, I want to at least make it as realistic as possible. Once I get Blaine, we’ll secure this stuff, then go arrest Kenner.”
“I could stay here and watch the building.”
He shook his head and gently turned her toward the jimmied door. “I don’t want you anywhere near here now, Charlotte. We got what we need. I doubt Kenner will be back tonight. When I was watching last night, he did the deal, then went home to bed. We’ll leave things as is. Even if Kenner returns, Blaine and I’ll be here soon enough.”
Charlotte recognized an order when she heard it, even if he said it so very nicely. Besides, now that she thought about it, should Otto return and catch her, it was possible he’d do something unpleasant. “All right.”
James hesitated for a moment. “That was easy.”
“I’m not foolhardy, deputy. Every now and again I consider consequences.” Hadn’t he asked her to do that very thing more often?
“Glad to hear it. Now let’s get the hell out of here.”
After making sure no one was around, she and James left the warehouse.
“If my story is going to hold water with Blaine, we’ll have to leave the door unlocked,” he said quietly. “Should be fine for the next hour or so. I guess I owe you some new pins.”
Charlotte patted her pocket where she’d stashed the makeshift picks. “I think I can afford to sacrifice these for the cause.”
He chuckled quietly, then gestured for her to head back up the path they’d come in on. “Let’s avoid the road for now.”
Charlotte led the way, again using the moonlight to keep her on the packed snow path, walking single file until they reached the wider road. “Do you think all of that stuff in Kenner’s was contraband?”
“Doubt it. I’d guess you were right about him bringing in more supplies in order to do his own little hardware business on the side.”
They were passing Fiske’s burned building now, and Charlotte said, “I wonder if Lyle had known what Kenner was doing in the name of competition.”
“It wouldn’t surprise me,” James said. “Probably got him pretty riled too.”
“Do you think Lyle knew Otto was selling alcohol on the side?”
He shrugged. “Could be. Obviously Kenner has at least a few clients.”
Had Brigit obtained her liquor from Otto or some other source? Not that she’d ask, but she’d make sure to tell Brigit certain supply lines were drying up—no pun intended—now that James was on to Kenner.
“I’ll walk you home,” James said as they passed Main Street.
“You don’t have to.”
“I want to. Besides, it’s on the way to Blaine’s place.”
The next block was an icy slope that had no lights. Concentrating on their footing, they were about to turn the corner to Charlotte’s house when James took her arm and drew her back into the deep shadow of a thick spruce tree.
“What—”
“Shh. Look.”
He leaned forward and pointed own an alley between a double row of old cabins. A broad-shouldered man was peering into a window. After a moment, he headed their way.
James pulled her closer and around the trunk of the tree. Charlotte craned her neck to see. The man came out of the alley, looked up and down the snowy street. He moved away from them, checking behind as if he was afraid of being followed. Light from a house close to the street allowed her to see his face, and that he held something in his right hand.
“That’s Ben Derenov,” she whispered in James’s ear.
“Wonder what he’s up to?”
Ben disappeared down a side street.
“Come on.” James turned on his flashlight and went into the alley.
Charlotte followed. Mucky, trampled snow and bits of debris were all that was there. He stopped at the window where Ben had looked in. It was a ramshackle little log cabin, the chinking mostly gone, the interior dark. James cupped his hands around his eyes and peered through the cracked glass, just as Ben had.
“Do you see anything?” she whispered.
He shook his head. “This was Kermit Farley’s place. Don’t think anyone lives here anymore.”
“Where’s Mr. Farley?” The name didn’t sound familiar to her.
“Moved down to Sitka to be with his mother. He’s an ancient sod, so I can imagine how old his ma might be.” He said it with amused respect.
“I wonder what Ben wanted with him?”
James shrugged and shook his head. “No idea. Maybe he knew Kermit when he was a kid.” He gestured for her to head back to the street. “He wasn’t looking to be destructive or anything, so I have no cause to ask.”
In a few minutes, they were on Charlotte’s porch. James waited for her to unlock the door. She turned to him.
“Thank you for seeing me home, and for letting me help you search Kenner’s place.”
“I’m just glad I found you before Kenner did. You really shouldn’t have been there at all.” He was trying to admonish her, but the resigned look on his face made her think he wasn’t too terribly upset.
“If I hadn’t been there though, you would have had to make up some story about a potential thief. Besides, I had the right tools for the job.” She patted her hair.
James laughed. “True enough.”
“Be careful when you go to arrest Kenner,” she said, serious now. “He has a temper.”
“I will.” He touched his fingertips to the brim of his hat. “Good night, Miss Brody.”
“Good night, deputy.”
Neither of them moved. Was he going to kiss her again? Was he waiting for her to kiss him? The idea wasn’t unpleasant in the least, but it sent tremors through Charlotte’s belly. One chaste kiss in a series of chaste kisses wouldn’t be so bad, would it?
Charlotte raised up onto her toes and touched her lips to his. She lowered herself down, staring at him. No, that wasn’t bad at all, in fact, it was rather nice.
A slow smile curved James’s mouth. “Good night.”
“Good night.”
He bounded down the stairs, then turned up the street toward Marshal Blaine’s home.
* * *
Charlotte worked all morning at the Times office, waiting for word that James or Marshal Blaine had arrested Otto Kenner and confiscated the contents of his warehouse. But nothing came her way.
Had he gotten wind of their intentions and eluded them? Was the marshal waiting to make the arrest for some reason?
Maybe she’d better go see what was happening.
She exchanged her shoes for her boots, donned her coat and hat, then locked up the office. The sun had decided to stick around, brightening the sky to a brilliant blue and reflecting off the snow-covered mountains. With the clear skies, however, had come a distinct drop in the temperature. Charlotte covered her cold nose and mouth with her scarf.
The laundry sled whooshed down the street toward her
, returning from a delivery. Dogs yapped joyfully. The driver’s face was a white mask of frost. He called them to a stop in front of the laundry as Charlotte reached the federal building. The dogs yipped some more, but they seemed sad now that the run was over.
Laundry via dog sled. That definitely had to go into one of her articles for Modern Woman.
The outer door to the building was open, but the inner door to the marshal’s office was locked. Curious. Usually someone was there. Unless they were down at Kenner’s now making the arrest. She was half tempted to go to the warehouse and check it out.
No, James would be upset by the distraction. Best if she just waited for him to tell her about the outcome. She hated to wait.
Out of the corner of her eye, Charlotte caught a glimpse of someone running. Young Charlie O’Brien dashed across the street, headed down the side road toward home. Maybe Charlotte could talk to Brigit, see if she’d heard about anyone else having pawned items returned. While she was at it, Charlotte might ask about the black market dealings in town.
She followed the path Charlie took and made her way to Brigit’s front door.
Edie, the new girl, opened the door when Charlotte knocked. She was dressed to go out running errands, not for customers. “Oh. Hello.”
“Hello, Edie. Settling in all right?”
“Well enough,” she replied with an indifferent shrug.
Sensing Edie wasn’t interested in small talk, Charlotte asked, “Is Brigit available?”
“She’s getting Charlie some lunch. Go on back to the kitchen if you’d like.” Edie sidled past her to the walk. “My turn to collect the mail and do some shopping. So long.”
“Bye.”
Charlotte closed the door behind her and unbuttoned her coat. Charlie’s coat and boots were strewn across the entry in typical hurried child fashion. She hung up her own hat and coat in the closet and set her boots by the door. Wearing her thick wool socks, she padded into the parlor, then on through to the kitchen.
Charlie and Della sat at the table eating soup. Brigit was at the stove checking the contents of a pan. Both of the women wore simple skirts and blouses, quite unlike their typical evening attire. The aroma of toasted cheese and bread made Charlotte’s stomach rumble.
All three looked over at her. Charlie went back to slurping soup without much change in his demeanor. Della nodded a greeting.
Brigit smiled at her. “What a nice surprise. Have a seat, Charlotte. I’ll make you a sandwich, and there’s plenty of soup.”
She retrieved another bowl from the cupboard and set it by the pot on the stove.
“Thank you. It smells wonderful.” Charlotte took one of the empty seats.
The kitchen wasn’t large; the big butcher-block table and six chairs filled most of the space. The icebox and stove had seen better days, but everything was tidy and clean. Brigit ran a tight ship, no matter where things were happening in the house.
After setting a plate of sandwiches in the center of the table and a bowl of soup in front of Charlotte, Brigit sat down to join them. “What brings you here?”
Charlotte swallowed a bite of deliciously gooey toasted cheese and bread. “I wanted to ask you if you’d heard anything more about that situation we’d discussed at the office.” She gave Della a significant look, drawing her into the conversation. “Word of another return, or anything like that.”
Brigit and Della exchanged glances. Charlie ignored the women. Or seemed to be ignoring them. Best not to be too free with the topic around young ears. Though considering where he lived, Charlotte was sure he’d heard more questionable conversations than a typical ten-year-old.
Della shook her head.
“I haven’t heard anything either,” Brigit said. “Truth be told, I wasn’t exactly asking questions.”
“I hadn’t expected you to.” Charlotte smiled. “Just wondered if you’d heard anything in passing.”
“Sorry.”
“There’s something else I wanted to talk to you about, Brigit, but it can wait until after lunch.” The topic of Otto Kenner and his black market dealings were not for all to hear. Especially since there was no confirmation of his arrest.
Brigit’s dark eyes held hers for a moment, then she smiled back. “Of course. We’ll finish here, then go into my office.”
When everyone had their fill of soup and sandwiches, Brigit hurried Charlie back to school. Charlotte stood with them in the entry as he put his winter gear on. He started to dash toward the door, but Brigit called him back. She bend down and pecked him on the cheek. He made a face, though Charlotte saw the happiness in his eyes. He loved his mother and she loved him.
“Have a good day, and remember to tell Miss Atkins I can make cookies for the party next week.”
“Okay. Bye. Bye, Miss Charlotte.” He was out the door before Charlotte could respond.
“That boy.” Brigit chuckled quietly and shut the door. She was still smiling as she turned to Charlotte. “Come on in and make yourself comfortable.”
She led the way into her office. Charlotte settled into one of the cushioned chairs before Brigit’s desk. Brigit took the other. Papers and ledgers occupied the desktop and the chaise.
“Sorry for the mess,” Brigit said, waving her hand absently. “I’m reorganizing my stock portfolio. My financial adviser in Ohio sent me some information on a few companies. Wading through that has been a challenge.”
“I wouldn’t have any idea of where to start.”
Charlotte’s father kept track of an investment account that was in her name, and she supposed an independent woman like herself should be in charge of her own finances. Truth be told, she wasn’t interested in all of that. Besides, Father enjoyed “playing” with her money and was quite good at it. For now, she lived off what she made working and was doing well enough. At some point she’d get involved, but not yet.
“It can be a challenge,” Brigit said. “But you aren’t here for that. As I said, I haven’t heard about anyone else having their pawned goods returned.”
“I’d expect if anyone has they’d be much like Della, wanting to keep it quiet.” Charlotte was sure the only reason Della came to her was because Brigit insisted. Few others would have cared to let her or the marshal’s office know about the illegal operation. “I wonder if someone else will take Lyle’s place?”
“I’m sure someone will, if they haven’t already. It’s amazing how quickly a niche is filled. People are keen to jump on opportunities.” Brigit laughed. “Hell, the establishment of the entire Alaska Territory—this country—was based on grabbing an opportunity, wasn’t it?”
Charlotte smiled. “It sure was. There’s another niche that may be opening soon.”
Brigit cocked a slender eyebrow. “Really?”
“When I was here the other day, I couldn’t help but notice you served me some very fine whiskey.” She kept any accusation out of her voice, because she wasn’t accusing Brigit of anything. “Without naming names, could you tell me how you acquired it?”
Brigit didn’t say anything for a few moments, but sat back, her legs and arms crossed. “You and I are friends, Charlotte, and I’d like us to stay that way.”
“So would I.” What was she getting at?
“Things we discuss here, they’re between you and me, not to be shared casually.”
Did Brigit think Charlotte gossiped or passed on information without agreeing to it first? “Of course not. Unless someone’s in dire straits or under physical threat, we keep each other’s confidences. Do you think I wouldn’t?”
Brigit shook her head. “No, no, of course I trust you. But I know as a journalist you’re obligated to get to the bottom of things.”
“I’d never write or speak about anything involving you without your permission. If I do feel the need to tell the marshal’s office anything, I’d clear that with you as well. And I’d never use your name or anyone else’s, Brigit. I swear.” As a reporter, her promise to keep anonymous sources anonymous wa
s crucial. As a friend, breaking a confidence was completely unacceptable.
“I appreciate that.” Brigit’s shoulders relaxed and she smiled. “Not that I had doubt, but admitting to breaking several territorial statutes is difficult.”
“The breaking or the admitting?” Charlotte asked, grinning.
Brigit laughed. “A bit of both. Despite being only two men, the marshal and the deputy are incorruptible and make engaging in criminal activity a challenge, which is a good thing, really. I recognize the fact that my continued operation is purely at their whim. Any hint that I’m involved in anything more will see me in a Valdez jail cell or on a steamer headed south.”
“Michael says there’s talk of adding more policemen in the next few years.”
The local police consisted of two men as well, who mostly patrolled the main part of town. Even with four lawmen, they still had a hard time covering all of Cordova and the surrounding area.
Brigit nodded thoughtfully. “I guess I’d better be more careful. But you asked about my liquor supply. I’m assuming you want to know how I, and other places, get their booze when Alaska is a dry territory.”
“I figured you might bring it in yourself, but smuggling a personal bottle or two on board a steamer won’t satisfy your customers.” Charlotte’s former landlady, Mrs. Sullivan, had her sherry, and Charlotte was sure other people managed to either sneak in or make their own. Making, then selling, larger amounts of alcohol seemed to be the greater concern of the lawmen.
“I do have friends and visitors deliver what they can, but you’re right,” Brigit said. “My business requires more quantity and variety than that.”
“A black market.”
Brigit nodded but didn’t say anything.
“Can you get more than alcohol?” Charlotte asked.
The madam tilted her head, an amused grin curving her lips. “Are you looking for something in particular?”
“Not me. I was merely curious. What other things might you find being offered?”
Brigit thought for a moment. “Certainly booze is the most popular, from what I hear. There’s also cigars and cigarettes, loose tobacco. Condoms.”