“Hank will take me,” she said finally. “I thank you, officer. For coming. And giving me the news.”
Alice could hardly say it was her pleasure. She inclined her head. “If there is anything you need, do not be afraid to contact our department.” They were paying no more attention to her, so she took her leave and headed back toward the station. At least it was almost quitting time. She was ready for today to be over.
Chapter Four
“Who does this, Hank?” Irene clung to him and looked up at him with those deep dark eyes as if he had the answers. He had no answers. He had some guesses, but no answers. He gently removed her fingers from his lapel and sat her down in the chair. Two of the children were standing there, staring at him, wanting him to make it better. He couldn’t make it better. He didn’t want people relying on him, especially kids. He didn’t want to be the one to ruin their perception of human nature. But then again, with their father murdered, maybe it was too late to worry about that. He also didn’t want to be the hero. Right now, he didn’t have a lot of choice. He was the only person in this house who was still capable of thinking clearly.
“Ernst,” he said to the boy. “Can you make tea? Do you know how?”
“I can do it,” he said, with a stoic nod of his head. Tomas would be proud of that boy, Hank thought, swallowing over the lump that had arisen in his throat.
The little girl trailed after him, with offers to help.
“Was it Chiggy?” Irene asked him, in her thick accent. “I no trust him. He no good. I no like Tomas involved with him.”
“Jiggy’s okay,” Hank said, perching on the edge of the davenport. “I don’t think it was Jiggy.”
“Someone who work for Chiggy?”
Hank wasn’t sure how much Irene knew about what Tomas’s involvement with Jiggy entailed. He didn’t want to tell her things she didn’t need to know. The police were going to be asking more questions, and he supposed that was a necessary evil if they were going to catch whoever did this. But he didn’t want them nosing around Jiggy’s operation. The less Irene knew about it the better.
“I don’t think Jiggy had anything to do with it. You didn’t tell the cops about Jiggy, did you?” He wasn’t even going to mention Vincent Salerno to her. He’d look into that himself, but there was no reason to get Irene involved.
“No. Maybe I should. I could tell that lady cop.”
“Don’t tell anyone. Tomas never even saw Jiggy today. There’s no reason to bring him into it.”
Irene didn’t look convinced.
“You trust me, don’t you, Irene?”
It was a long moment before she answered. “I trust.”
Ernst came back into the room carrying the tea tray. Sari had a plate of rye bread. Why not? A little nourishment would be good for all of them.
“Where’s Kristof?”
“Upstairs,” Ernst answered. “Should I go get him?”
“Does he know?” Hank had visions of having to break the news to a seven-year-old that his father was dead.
“He knows,” Ernst said. “That’s why he went upstairs.”
Hiding in anger. That Hank could understand. “I’ll go talk to him.”
There were three doors at the top of the stairs and only one was shut. It wasn’t hard to figure out that was the door Kristof was hiding behind. Hank took a deep breath and knocked. There was no answer, but he let himself in anyway. There was respecting privacy, and then there was being the adult in the room.
The boy sat on his bed, ramrod straight, his fists on his knees. He jumped up when he saw Hank and ran to him. “Where’s Papa?”
Hank frowned. He thought the boy knew. Maybe he just didn’t want to accept it?
He lowered himself to one knee, putting his face even with the boy’s, and gently put one hand on his shoulder. “Your Papa won’t be coming home anymore.”
“But I want him.”
“I know,” Hank said. Damn, he hated this. Why did men have to leave families behind to suffer? He thought of the picture, stuck in the mud of the trenches, of two smiling children. It was all that had been left after their father was blown to bits. Who had to break the news to them? He brought his attention back to the boy in front of him. “You and your brother are going to have to take care of your mama and sister. Can you do that?”
The boy took a big breath. “I can get a job. I’m small, but strong.”
“I don’t think you’ll have to do that just yet,” Hank said, touched by the boy’s bravery. “Your papa wanted you to get an education.”
“I can read. But I can work for you. I can shuck scallops. Papa taught me how.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Hank wasn’t sure whether to smile or cry at the offer. For now, he did neither. “But you have to stay here for now. Your mama would worry if you were out at sea for weeks at a time.”
The boy nodded. “Like she always worried about Papa.”
“Yes, like that.” Hank tousled the boy’s hair. “There is tea and bread downstairs. Come down and eat.”
“Is there jam?”
“I’m sure we can find some.”
Downstairs members of Tomas’s crew, and their families, were filling the living room. Irene was in good hands for now, she didn’t need him hanging around. He promised her he’d be back in the morning to take her to the funeral home. He didn’t want her spending more time with the police than necessary. She might slip and say something she shouldn’t.
Hank looked out across the causeway and back toward Sewaren and the marina, across the swampy edges of the Woodbridge River. He took a deep breath of the sea air and started walking. Tomas Nagy was dead. Who had killed him and why? Jiggy came first to mind. He’d been known to use intimidating tactics quite freely, and everyone knew it was important to stay on his good side. He couldn’t imagine Tomas running afoul of him, and besides he didn’t think Jiggy had it in him to shoot someone outright. That wasn’t his style.
Another runner? Besides him and Nagy, there were plenty of other skippers supplying Jiggy, but they tended to leave each other alone, and it seemed unlikely that Nagy, of all people, would have made one of them mad. He was truly one of the good ones. And that was worrisome, because Hank did have a tendency to piss people off. He normally didn’t care, but if someone was shooting fishermen, or more specifically fishermen who doubled as smugglers, he didn’t like his odds.
His long loping strides took him across the bridge and into Sewaren. Before long he was walking up the path to his parents’ large house with its view of the Arthur Kill and Staten Island. From time to time he thought about getting his own place, but he spent so much time out on the Mary B that there was no point.
“Is that you, Henry?” his mother called from the sitting room, where she was sitting and embroidering. A perfect model of a last-century woman.
“Yes, Mother.” He would have liked to go up to his room without having to make conversation with anyone, but that clearly was not to be. He stepped into the room, feeling immediately oppressed by the abundance of lace and knickknacks.
“I was expecting you much earlier. Didn’t the Mary B get in several hours ago?” Mother looked up from her embroidery and studied him. She was always studying him, worrying about his state of mind, ever since he’d come back from the war. Ten years was a long time to undergo scrutiny.
“I had some things to take care of before I got home.” He wondered if she’d heard about Nagy. For someone who, on the surface, led a very sheltered life, she often got wind of the news before anyone else in the family. The woman would have made a remarkable spy.
“Did you have a good run?”
“Seven and a half tons,” he answered.
She nodded appreciatively. “Your father will be pleased.”
He started to edge back out of the room, but she wasn’t done.
“There was quite a bit of commotion down by the marina earlier. Do you know anything about it?”
“I wasn’t there at the tim
e,” he hedged.
“I heard a man was killed.”
He sighed. He should have known she would have heard.
“Yes, the skipper of the Katinka. Tomas Nagy.”
She shook her head, mournfully. “A fisherman, of all things. I thought all risk of you being shot was finished when you came home from France.”
He forced a smile and bent to give Mother a kiss on the top of her head. “Don’t worry about me. Whatever happened to Tomas has nothing to do with me.” He wished he could be sure he was telling the truth.
“Be sure it doesn’t.” She gave him a watery-eyed smile. “Dinner will be soon. Wash up.”
Hank took the stairs two at a time and retreated to his boyhood bedroom. It had not changed much since those days. Same red-and-blue coverlet on the same twin bed. Same collection of books and odds and ends on the shelf. The only reason they weren’t covered in dust was that Rosie was very thorough in her house cleaning. He picked up a baseball and tossed it from hand to hand. Why the hell had someone killed Tomas Nagy? Would he be next?
The door to his room opened, and he turned to glare at his younger brother. Douglas still lived at home too, but he didn’t have the excuse of being at sea half the time, he worked in the office for their father. He liked the easy life that staying at Chateau Chapman afforded him.
“Don’t you knock?” Hank growled.
“Figured if I did, you’d ignore me.”
“I would have, too.” Since Douglas didn’t seem to be closing the door and leaving, Hank sighed and put down the baseball. “What do you want?”
“Come out with me tonight to the Land and Water Club. There’s a dance.”
“No.” There wasn’t anything to even think about. He hated crowds. They made him nervous. He hated silly chattering females primping and fawning over him. He hated making small talk among rich bastards who just wanted to brag about their latest acquisition. He realized most of them thought of him as a rich bastard too, living here on Cliff Road, the son of a ship owner. But he was just a working stiff, out on his boat half the year.
“Yes.”
“What the hell? Get out of here.” Hank turned his back on his brother. Douglas knew he hated that kind of stuff, why would he pressure him to go? But he didn’t hear the door close. He didn’t hear footsteps leading away. “Why?” he finally asked.
“Because people are going to be talking about the Nagy murder, and you might find some clues.”
He spun on his heel to face his brother. “What do you know about it?”
“Not enough.” Douglas remained annoyingly calm. “I know he’s dead. I know he was shot. It happened sometime after he unloaded at Martin’s, but I don’t know why. And I want to. Don’t you?”
“Yes, I want to know,” he admitted. “Damn it, I want to know.”
“Then get dressed and we’ll go down. Besides, being in civilized company occasionally can only be good for you.”
Hank could hear the smirk in his brother’s voice.
“Civilization is overrated.”
“Undoubtedly.” Douglas was unruffled. “White tie.”
“Damn it,” he muttered, but he knew Douglas was right and if he wanted the scuttlebutt on what was going on, the club was the place to get it. They might be a bunch of rich bastards, but they were well-informed rich bastards.
“But why do you want to go?” he asked. “What’s the real story?”
“I met a girl.” Douglas actually blushed while he said it.
Hank sighed. He should have known. Douglas was constantly falling in love on the slimmest of pretense. A girl smiled at him, talked to him, handed him his change in the store. Sometimes a combination of all three.
“And?”
“She works at Christensen’s Department Store.”
So it was the handing the change that did it this time.
“She said she’d be at the club tonight. It’s my chance to get to know her better. But it would look weird if I showed up on my own, as if I really went there to meet her. It’s better if I’m there with you, and just happen to run into her.”
“Okay, fine.” He didn’t like many people, but he did like his little brother. He’d do almost anything for him, including getting dressed up and going out when what he’d really like to do is stretch out and take a nap.
So instead of sitting down with two weeks’ worth of back issues of newspapers and a cup of coffee, which was his alternate relaxation plan, he found himself shaving and getting ready to go out.
Mother was not happy that he would not be having dinner home.
“We haven’t seen you in two weeks, the least you could do is eat with us.”
“Why don’t you and Father join us at the club?” Though he would really have rather had dinner at home.
“It would be unfair to Rosie, she’s made such a lovely dinner.”
“I’m sure she has. Why don’t you come down after you eat,” Douglas said in his smooth and ingratiating way. “You can still be there for the dancing.”
Mother waved the suggestion away. “The dancing is for young folks like you. Last time I tried to do those modern dances I threw my back out.”
“They are not all the Charleston, Mother.” Douglas kissed her on the cheek. “There are still some relatively tame dances.”
She smiled at her boys and patted Hank on his freshly shaved cheek. “Maybe you’ll meet someone you want to make a life with.”
Hank smiled at her but said nothing. He wouldn’t inflict himself on some unsuspecting woman. The night terrors he woke up with were not something he wanted to share with anyone. He would never get married, but he let his mother have her dreams.
“It wouldn’t kill you to settle down,” Douglas said, as if he had read his mind. There was a pleasant breeze off the water as they walked down Cliff Road toward Holton Street and the club.
“It’s just not for me.” He had never told Douglas of the things he had seen and done in France. Only five years separated them, but they were five years that made the difference between living through hell and keeping your innocence. He wasn’t taking that away from Douglas. And he certainly wasn’t inflicting his agony on someone else.
He could enjoy a nice dinner at the club, though, and maybe learn something about what happened to Nagy. He’d leave the romance to Douglas.
Chapter Five
Alice clocked out and headed home, walking with Mark, since they lived around the corner from each other. It really was a beautiful spring evening. Hard to believe a murder had taken place in their quiet town only hours ago.
“I know exactly what I’m going to do when I get home,” she said as they turned down Pearl Street.
“Let me guess.” Mark grinned and gave her a sideways glance. “A long hot bath and a good book.”
“You know me too well.” She laughed and stopped to smell some wild roses that bloomed near the road.
“It’s what you always say you want at the end of the day,” he pointed out.
A train chugged into the station, air brakes squealing as it came to a stop across the street from them, effectively halting conversation for a moment. When it had pulled out again, they were nearly to East Park Avenue, Mark’s street. “Do you think we’ll catch the murderer?” she asked.
“We’ll catch him.” Mark turned down his street and looked over his shoulder at her as he continued. “There’s only so many places to hide.”
There’s the whole damn ocean. After all, the murder had taken place near the marina. There was no reason to think the murderer had stayed around. But she preferred Mark’s way of thinking. She bid him goodbye and walked the one block further to Green Street and her own house.
She stepped onto the porch and felt her shoulders relax. Her house, where she had grown up. Her sanctuary.
“I’m home!” she called to Mama as she stepped over the threshold.
“Did you have a good day at work, dear?” Mama came from the kitchen to greet her. She asked every day. She
really didn’t want to know the nitty-gritty of police work, whether it was typing reports or telling a widow her husband had been killed. She just wanted to make sure Alice was satisfied with her life. Alice wasn’t particularly satisfied with her life, but she didn’t want Mama to worry.
“It was fine,” she answered, forcing a smile. “I’m going to go draw a bath.”
“Already done.” Mama touched her cheek. “I know what my girl likes.”
“Thank you, sweetheart.” Alice hugged her. “You are a gem.”
She went up to her room and stripped out of her uniform skirt and jacket and blouse. She pulled off her stockings and wrapped a dressing gown around herself before slipping down the hall to the bathroom with its clawfoot tub full of steamy water. With a sigh she slipped into the tub and let the cares of the world slip away.
Mama had added a bit of lavender oil to the tub and it was heavenly. She closed her eyes, but instead of blissful scenes, she saw the haunted look in the eyes of the young widow. How unfair life was. That woman with her three children, left to the turns of fate. How would she support herself? How lucky they had been when her father died that the police department was willing to give her a job. Too bad they couldn’t do that for Irene Nagy.
She opened her eyes. Why couldn’t they? If Irene couldn’t type, she would teach her. Then there would be someone else to do the typing up of reports and filing, the work she had been stuck with for years. She wanted more. Maybe this way she could get it, plus they’d be helping the family. A family who desperately needed help. Yes. That’s what she’d do. She’d suggest it to the chief on Monday.
That settled, she relaxed back into the tub again, until the water started to cool, and her skin had pruned up and she knew it was time to get out. She was just drying off and slipping back into her dressing gown when the bathroom door flew open.
“Marty, really!” she exclaimed, catching her breath. “You shouldn’t burst in on people like that.”
“Guess where we’re going tonight!” Her little sister grinned broadly, showing slightly crooked teeth and deep dimples.
“We are going nowhere.” Alice slipped past her into the hall. “I’ve had a long week and I want to relax. At home.”
The Rum Runner Page 4