The Whiskey Tide (64 page)

     
"I find it — Do stop fidgeting, Phinneas. What on earth is the matter with you? — I find it hard to understand why you'd traipse off to engage in work any common seaman could do if you own a business."

     
Her challenge hung in the air. Did he really have a business? Why didn't he look, and act, more like a gentleman? She began to squirm before the steadiness of Joe's gaze.

     
"I see no shame in honest work," he said softly. "I grew up on a fishing boat. And a man would have to be blind not to want to spend time in your niece's company. You don't know what lovely is until you've seen her face turned into the wind. Or what an argument is until you've tried to reason with her."

     
That drew a few chuckles. Joe's eyes met Kate's.

     
"If she asked me to take a rowboat to China with her, I'd most likely do it. I even asked her to marry me once, but she had the good sense to say no."

     
Silence gripped the room. Kate's words stumbled, following her racing heart.

     
"If you — I wouldn't be — so sensible again."

     
She never knew exactly how they reached each other, only that their swift but thorough kiss there in that room filled with onlookers healed all pain between them.

     
"Marry me, Kate." Joe's chin pressed hard against her hair.

     
"Yes. A thousand times yes."

     
His heart beat reassurance in her ear. His arms encircled her. The force which held them together was as fierce and as natural as the tides of Fundy. All at once she recalled where they were. Her eyes flew open. She saw the stunned expressions; felt the brow-arching silence. But Joe was smiling.

     
"Mrs. Hinshaw, may I have your permission to marry your daughter?"

     
Mama's mouth opened, but no words emerged. As time wound to a standstill, there was pounding at the door.

     
"Police! We've got the house surrounded. Open up!"

     
Paul Garrison was the first to recover enough to move. Four police streamed in as he opened the door. Mama was on her feet.

     
"What is the meaning of this?"

     
"There's a boat at your dock filled with liquor."

     
"I don't—"

     
"Who's Phinneas Taylor?"

     
Uncle Finney's eyes bulged. Heads had turned. "Er...."

     
"The receipt from Canada has your name on it," said the policeman in charge in a voice of steel.

     
"Uncle Finney, how could you!" Rosalie held a handkerchief to her lips. Kate could see it was hiding a smile.

     
"Wasn't it enough you let other thugs land their boats here without caring two cents if it got us in trouble?" asked Aggie indignantly.

     
"I'm sorry, Mama," Rosalie said as their mother looked stunned. "We didn't want to upset you. Mrs. Cole saw them and told Kate. We didn't know what we should do. We supposed — I know this sounds awful — we supposed he was bribing someone on the police."

     
"This is preposterous!" their uncle bellowed.

     
The drama which Kate had orchestrated seemed to be happening apart from her now, she was so dazed by the sea change that had hurled her into happiness.

     
"He said he wanted to buy the
Folly
," she said. "He asked to test it while I was away. I never imagined...."

     
"I haven't
been
anywhere!" Uncle Finney looked wildly around for support. He made no move to accuse Kate, fearful now of her capabilities. He caught sight of a policeman hanging back in the hallway. "What the hell–?" He broke off.

     
The laggard policeman shifted nervously. It was O'Malley. Joe, his hand resting lightly on Kate's neck, began to grin.

     
The police captain looked from O'Malley to Uncle Finney. "You two know each other?"

     
"No!" they both insisted.

     
The captain's eyes narrowed. "We'll sort this out at the station. The driver from the empty truck we caught starting down to the beach may want to tell us who hired him."

     
Uncle Finney paled. Aunt Helène was weeping.

     
"Theo and our lawyer and I will be right down to get you," she assured her husband. She beat a retreat toward the hall.

     
"Phinneas, how could you?" Mama's tone held newfound contempt as she started to see her brother's true colors.

     
The captain's gaze lingered briefly on Kate and Joe standing there in their sailing clothes. It moved to Mrs. Cole and he gave a faint shake of his head, dismissing suspicion.

     
"I apologize for this embarrassment," he said to Mama as Uncle Finney was escorted out. "The rest of my men will be gone as soon as they've removed the liquor."

     
The room had the feel of a theater where an actor has forgotten his lines.

     
"My dear, would you like us to leave?" asked Mrs. Finer.

     
"No, please." Mama resumed her role as hostess. "I can't promise more entertainment, but I can offer more coffee."

     
"I'll make sure Aunt Helène's all right." Rosalie gave Joe a welcoming smile as she passed.

     
"Miss Hinshaw, perhaps you and your young man should go make sure your boat isn't damaged in the unloading," Mr. Finer said with a twinkle.

     
Mama's intake of breath suggested she had forgotten the drama before this latest one. "Mr. Santayna... Joe... the answer to your question is yes. Will you join us for dinner tomorrow? Perhaps Arliss could come as well."

     
Joe smiled. "Mrs. Hinshaw, we'd be delighted."

***

     
They had come in the front door. They went out the back. As soon as it closed they held each other, unable to speak.

     
"Kate, I love you with all my heart," Joe said at last. "I can't offer anything you deserve right now, but I swear I'll make you proud of me."

     
"I already am."

     
He kissed her with an intensity which hadn't been possible in the pale confines of the parlor.

     
"Good heavens!" Kate said suddenly. "I forgot Mrs. Cole."

     
"She was having a fine time. I half think that old judge has his eye on her." Joe chuckled.

     
Arms around each other they walked down the beach stairs.

     
"I was thinking we could elope," Kate said. "Not steal Rosalie's thunder."

     
"It can't be too soon by me."

     
"Will your family be upset that you're marrying me?"

     
"They won't know what to make of you, but they'll treat you the best they know how. And the aunties are going to be in seventh heaven."

     
The beach below them was lighted by battery lanterns. Half a dozen men, some in uniform, unloaded crates of liquor and dragged it on handcarts up a makeshift ramp toward a waiting truck. They sat down and watched. Joe held her close.

     
"Look at all that liquor," he marveled. "A drop in a flood. In a tide. And we've been part of it."

     
"I wonder how many of those crates will make it downtown."

     
They laughed as one. It was like a dream now, the things they had done. What tales they would tell their grandchildren. About sailing dark, and pirates and storms, and how the whiskey tide swept them together.

The End

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Meanwhile, enjoy a sample of NO GAME FOR A DAME, the first Maggie Sullivan mystery. It follows the list of my other titles.

M. Ruth Myers

Books by

M. Ruth Myers

No Game for a Dame

Tough Cookie

A Touch of Magic

The Whiskey Tide

(as Mary Ruth Myers)

A Journey to Cuzco

Costly Pleasures

Friday’s Daughter

Captain’s Pleasure

NO GAME

for a

DAME

 
M.Ruth Myers

   The guy with the bad toupee strolled into my office without bothering to knock.  His mustard colored suit set off a barstool gut and a smirk that told his opinion of private eyes who wore skirts.

   “Maggie Sullivan?”

   I kept filing my nails.  “Who’s asking?”

   “You’re bothering a friend of mine.”

   My legs were crossed on my desk.  I have great gams.  Sometimes I don’t mind displaying the merchandise, but Mr. Hair wasn’t my cup of tea so I sat up.  I blew some filings off my pinkie onto the afternoon edition of the
Dayton Daily News
where a column predicted the French and the Brits would likely let Hitler have the Sudetenland.  The wrong step to take with a bully, I thought, but no one had asked me.  I made a couple more swipes with the emery board before I acknowledged my visitor.

   “Lose the stogie if you want me to listen.”

   I saw his jaw tighten.  He didn’t like being told what to do.  He looked around, saw the ashtray on the file cabinet by the door, and stubbed out his smoke.  A top-of-the-line Havana by its smell, so the guy had money.  Or knew people who did.

   “Who’s the friend?” I asked.

   “Elwood Beale.”  He stood with his legs spraddled trying to look tough.  Maybe he was tough.  “Says you’ve been sniffing around asking questions.  Mr. Beale don’t like that.  Him being a businessman with a reputation to consider and all.  Could give people the wrong idea.”

   “I thought businessmen liked to advertise.”

   The eyelids of the man in front of me lowered to half staff.  “People who stick their noses in things get them busted.  Even broads.  Woody thought maybe you didn’t know that.”  Leaning over he planted his hands on my desk and gave a grin as phoney as Houdini’s chains.  “Woody treats girls right.  Furs.  Favors.  Might take a fancy to a cute little brunette like you, smart mouth and all.”