Authors: M. Ruth Myers
Kate shook her head. Her lashes were damp.
"I need to go ashore to make a phone call. To the police. I'm going to tip them a boatload of liquor is landing at half past eleven tonight and where they can find it. It's my uncle who paid for this load. I'm tired of him letting other rum-runners use our beach — tired of him pulling every underhanded trick in the book on us."
"And you've got something that ties him to this load," Joe guessed slowly.
"The receipt from the warehouse. They put his name on it."
"And you'll tack it up where the police can find it."
"Yes. I've already spread the word Uncle Finney was buying the
Folly
— taking it out for a trial run."
The plan was so undeniably Kate that Joe threw back his head and whooped with mirth. "Kate, it's brilliant!"
She laughed in shy embarrassment, like in the days when they first knew each other.
"If I could make just two suggestions?"
She hesitated, then nodded.
"Make the call from one of the little places south of Portsmouth. And let me be the one to row in and make it. I'm not so likely to be noticed. Plus half the Salem police are probably on the take. I can ask for a couple I'm pretty sure aren't. Don't worry — I won't give my name."
For several seconds he thought she might refuse. Her lashes were damp again, and her eyes unhappy.
"If you're sure you're willing, I'd be grateful. Joe... I don't know how I can ever repay you."
"No payment needed between friends, is there?" He almost managed a smile.
Forty-six
Though the silence between them persisted, it had changed now. It was compassionate silence, the muteness of people who knew they had hurt each other and that it couldn't be put right. The few words they spoke took care not to wound further.
Night fell, and a bare hour later they slid past the tiny islands known as Ma and Pa Baker into home waters. Kate held her breath. They were inside the three-mile limit now, a shadow gliding under moonless skies, but as vulnerable as a fish swimming into a net if spotted. The
Folly
slid into its home dock. Billy jumped out to tie up. All identifying traces of them had been removed. Kate wedged the receipt with her uncle's name on it between two cases of liquor where it couldn't be missed. She joined the others on the dock, the last to step ashore.
And then Mrs. Cole lost her nerve.
"Kate dear, you really don't need me," she said. "I believe I'll just go on home."
It was perhaps the single thing Kate hadn't anticipated.
"Mrs. Cole, I can't possibly bring this off without you! We need to make an entrance. And — and you're my alibi!"
"I'll still be your alibi, but I've never been good at parties. I'll forget everything I'm supposed to say."
There wasn't time to argue. Soon the police might start to arrive, getting into position to nab rum-runners they expected to land two hours hence. Kate had tailored her return to the house to include Mrs. Cole. It was too late to improvise now. She'd never sound as credible as she needed to sound.
"Joe, come up to the house with us. Please!" she said desperately.
These last few hours he'd studied her from time to time as if to find the answer to some puzzle that eluded him, but now he shook his head. His shoulders had a downcast slump and his voice was weary. "I've done... what I had to do, I guess. Don't ask more of me."
"I know I've no right to ask it, but — Mrs. Cole will come if you do, won't you, Mrs. Cole? We'll do the talking if you'll just play along. She's got a yacht from her boatworks tied up at her place. We're going to say we've been out on that. My uncle's at the dinner party Mama's having, and he'll be flabbergasted of course—"
"A dinner party?"
Joe's anger erupted. "Look at me, for Christ's sake! How I'm dressed. I'm not going to make a spectacle of myself—"
"Why would you make a spectacle? You look like you've been on a boat. We all do." She covered her face with her hands as her nerve retreated and her plans collapsed. "Please."
Joe hesitated. He gestured impatiently to Clovis and Billy. "Clear out before the police come. I'll see the ladies up to their doors and get home on my own."
He took Mrs. Cole's valise and Kate's small bag and gave the women a nudge up the beach stairs. "Mrs. Cole, will you play the part you promised to play if I agree to be a trained pony?" he asked when an eternity had passed.
"Yes, I-I suppose so."
"The last thing I'd ever ask you to be is a trained pony." Kate's voice broke.
Joe looked away. His throat worked. They climbed in silence, moving quickly. "If I do what you ask, will you give me five minutes alone with you when it's over?"
They were at the top now. Kate bit down on her lips, relief overshadowing all other thoughts.
"Yes. Anything."
"Okay." Joe's jaw set. He looked grimly at the cars of Mama's dinner guests lining the driveway. "I'll put these bags in Mrs. Cole's yard." He dropped them over the hedge where its foliage would hide them and was back at once. "What kind of engine on the boat at your place, Mrs. Cole?"
"One of yours. One you modified."
"And how far have we been?"
"To Bar Harbor."
"You make a first-rate smuggler, Mrs. Cole. You're fast on your feet. Smugglers have to be smart in the parlor too, though. I'll bet your grandfather's grandfather charmed ladies out of their shoes. It'll come naturally to you once we're inside."
Tears of gratitude stung Kate's eyes. He had given Mrs. Cole courage, and as they stepped through the front door, she thought she felt him touch her own arm in reassurance.
"Hello, Mama!" Kate sang gaily to the group having coffee and dessert in the parlor. Her sisters were there of course; Aunt Helène and Uncle Finney; the Garrisons; Judge Lowe and his wife; the Finers; nice old Judge Kirby. "Sorry to burst in. I'd forgotten you were having guests. We're just headed to the back parlor for, um, celebratory lemonade."
Some of the guests chuckled at her euphemism.
"How did the engine work?" Aggie asked, playing along.
"Splendidly." Mrs. Cole's voice was weak but determined. She wore her hair in a schoolgirl plait, the only style she could manage unassisted. "We've had the most marvelous trip!"
Mama was looking confused. Uncle Finney's eyes bulged and his mouth moved like a landed fish.
"Mrs. Cole is our neighbor." Mama hesitated, looking at Joe who stood stiffly silent. "And this is Mr. Santayna. Won't you all join us? There's some of Peg's lovely angel cake. And coffee — or something stronger if you prefer."
The invitation was exactly what Kate had expected. But Mrs. Cole seemed suddenly incapable of further speech. Joe saw it, and as if a switch had tripped, his dimples appeared.
"Mrs. Cole is awfully fond of angel cake. If you'll excuse our disreputable appearance, we'd be glad to join you."
Kate saw shocked expressions on the faces turned toward him. Except for Paul Garrison and Mr. Finer who assessed him with interest, those faces held gradations of disapproval. Joe's hair needed trimming. His sleeve was darned. There were traces of motor oil under some of his nails. He was being judged by that — and condemned — because she'd subjected him to it. She'd begged for his help and he'd given it, knowing the consequences.
Ignoring the antipathy directed toward him, he swept a chair into place for Mrs. Cole and another for Kate.
"Little Zenny Bayliss," Judge Kirby chuckled as more introductions were made. "I came to your birthday party the year you got your first pony. You've been on a trip, have you?"
"Up to Bar Harbor." Mrs. Cole, her cheeks pink, took a bite of the cake Rosalie had handed around. She swallowed rather too quickly. "On one of my boats. From my boatworks, that is. We were testing an engine."
Uncle Finney gave signs of being greatly unsettled. He knew something was amiss but had no idea which way to turn.
"Still as spunky as ever," Judge Kirby beamed. "I don't suppose you remember how I untied your hair bow and you nearly twisted my nose off."
"Mrs. Cole, I envy your fortitude," said Judge Lowe's wife. "I don't believe I could endure being at sea so long, even on a very large steamer."
"I expect it requires plenty of fortitude being a judge's wife," Joe suggested.
Mrs. Lowe laughed, as much pleased as embarrassed. "How nice of you to say. It does, actually."
"And what is your function — Mr. Sultana, is it?" questioned Marguerite Garrison, who was a bit of a snob.
"Santayna," Joe corrected easily. He had gone to stand by the fireplace, practically inviting inspection. He balanced the china plate in his hand with effortless grace. His grin held devilment. "I guess you could say my 'function' is protecting the ladies from roughnecks worse than I am."
Mrs. Finer chuckled, and as though she was helpless to stop it, Marguerite Garrison's mouth curved too.
"Mr. Santayna stretches the truth insinuating he's a roughneck. He's not only an excellent captain, he's as decent and intelligent a man as ever breathed!" Kate's voice rang.
Joe's gaze met hers. His grin spread and his eyes grew bluer. She couldn't — didn't want to — look away.
"He makes engines," said Mrs. Cole. "He has a contract with my company. Kate was accompanying us as I've hired her to manage my business interests—"
"Kate!" exclaimed Mama. "You never said a word."
"We've only just worked out the details."
Were there ever second chances? Kate felt weak as she watched Joe take Marguerite's empty cake plate and hand it to Rosalie, who stacked it on the dessert trolley while Marguerite fairly melted at his attentiveness. Time was crawling. Where were the police? As minutes and conversation inched on, Kate stood and set her plate of untouched cake with the others.
"You're the one who accompanied my niece on her other sailing expeditions this past year?" Aunt Helène asked in chill tones, the only woman in the room Joe hadn't half charmed.
He hesitated, alert to dangerous waters.
"When she was showing her boat to prospective buyers?" he said carefully. "Yes. I accompanied her."