It took every ounce of Henry’s willpower to keep from pulling Betty close as they slowly danced their way around the dance floor. Keeping her at a distance, instead of within a loving embrace like the one that Lane held his wife in, was supposed to keep his body from reacting to Betty’s nearness. Supposed to because that was what he’d told himself, but it appeared, that just like not caring for her, keeping his body from reacting was impossible. Everything about him craved her even when she was nowhere near. Up close, within inches, his desires were so strong, his pulse pounded so hard it echoed in his ears.
“Did you complete your baking today?” he asked.
“Yes. Did you learn more about Elkin?”
Her eyes looked even bluer beneath the black hat with one long feather stuck in the side of it. And her face. It was so lovely. He never got tired of looking at her. “I did,” he said, trying to keep his wits about him. He’d never felt like this before and now, to add to his confusion, he also felt guilty over what had happened between them. She’d do anything to protect her sisters, see that they were happy, and he’d used that for his own gain. There was no pride in that. There was no pride in wanting something he could never have, either.
“Will what you learned be helpful?” she asked.
“Yes.”
She kept glancing at her sisters. Both of whom were on the dance floor. Patsy’s head was on Lane’s shoulder, and Jane was flirting so heavily with the man she was dancing with, the batting of her eyelashes could have caused a windstorm inside the tavern.
Her sisters were both attractive, but Betty, she was beyond beautiful. Henry’s insides roiled, because he knew if he gave himself an inch of slack, his tenacity would dissolve and he’d end up doing more than pulling Betty close. He’d kiss her. Like he had this morning. Despite his best efforts, he hadn’t been able to control himself then, and may not be able to now. He should have told Lane the women couldn’t join them tonight. But Lane was right, anything out of the ordinary could make Elkin question if they were onto him, and Lane being anywhere without Patsy right now was out of the ordinary.
Lane had been so crushed when his wife and baby daughter had died during the train robbery that Henry had been shocked to learn he’d gotten married again. Until he’d seen Lane and Patsy together. They were in love. Deeply in love.
That a man who’d never experienced love could recognize it in others also amazed him, and made him wonder what that meant.
“Do you think he’ll come here tonight?” she asked.
Henry gladly let his thoughts shift. “No,” he said, mainly so she wouldn’t worry. This whole thing with Elkin didn’t make any sense. It was all so random. He’d scoured through all the records of past cases, but hadn’t been able to find a solid thread between the cases where information had been slipped. The crimes hadn’t even been committed within the same crime families, and in several different states. The only thing that did make sense was that a major bust of a supply ring had happened last year, and within weeks, Burrows had arrived in California. He must have planned on taking over for that supplier, and Elkin had to have known about it and wanted in on it.
“Then why are we here?” she asked.
“Because Lane said Patsy was afraid Jane would sneak out anyway.”
She nodded. “That’s true. I was worried about that myself.”
“Why do you take on so much responsibility for them?”
“Because they are my responsibility. I’m the oldest.”
A shiver rippled down Henry’s spine, not from anything she’d said. It was the two men entering the speakeasy.
“Henry?”
Catching her attempting to twist far enough to glance in the direction he was looking, Henry pulled her unresisting body close. He couldn’t let Elkin see him, recognize him. Not until the time was right.
He kept their heads close together, almost as if they were kissing, while cutting through the center of the dance floor, making a beeline for Lane.
Once beside them, he pulled her close again while tapping Lane on the shoulder. “He’s here. At the bar.”
Betty’s head snapped up. “Who’s here?”
Henry had no choice but to answer. “Elkin.”
She didn’t move her head, but her eyes shot to the bar. “The short one with glasses?”
Henry’s spine stiffened. “Is he looking this way?”
“No, I just see the side of his face,” she said. “Is he looking for Lane?”
“No. He’s peddling Minnesota Thirteen from the stolen shipment.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because it fits everything I’ve been piecing together,” he said. “I just need the proof.”
The music ended and he released her waist as she let her arms fall away from his shoulders. Before he realized what was happening, she shot around him. He reached to grab her arm, but missed, and then spun around to follow her.
Lane grabbed his arm. “Elkin doesn’t know you’re alive, and from what you’ve told me, it needs to stay that way.”
Betty was already on the other side of the dance floor, approaching the bar.
Lane pulled on his arm. “Turn around. I’ll keep an eye on her.”
Henry’s jaw was clamped so tight, his back teeth stung.
“He can’t do anything to her here,” Lane said. “And, if we are right, and he knows who she is, he’s going to try to draw me into it. It’s exactly what we want.”
No, it wasn’t what Henry wanted. He didn’t want her involved at all.
“Come on,” Lane said. “We need to step off the dance floor. If she’s anything like her sister, she’ll get the information out of Elkin faster than anyone else, including an undercover FBI agent.”
Henry turned around so his back was to the bar, and stepped off the floor beside Lane and Patsy.
“She’ll get the information,” Patsy said. “Betty knows more about Minnesota Thirteen than most of the men in this room. She’d researched every kind of alcohol at the joints when we started sneaking out, and set down rules as to what we could and couldn’t drink.”
“She did?” Lane asked.
Henry knew the answer. She’d given him a copy of the list.
“Yes. One of us going blind was a sure way to get caught,” Patsy answered. “Minnesota Thirteen was the only hard alcohol Betty deemed safe, but none of us liked the taste of whiskey. We didn’t like the taste of beer, either, so all we ever drank were fruit drinks or an occasional glass of wine or champagne.” She shrugged. “Most of the speakeasies we visited didn’t serve wine or champagne.”
“No, they don’t,” Jane said as she stepped up beside him. “What’s Betty doing talking to the guy wearing a pair of cheaters?”
“That’s Elkin,” Patsy said. “Betty’s going to see if he’s selling stolen whiskey.”
Henry looked at Lane, who grimaced and shrugged, and then settled his gaze on the bar again. This had not been a good idea and he hadn’t imagined he’d agreed with it.
“Ducky,” Jane said.
Henry didn’t comment. For someone who’d never had siblings, he had to admit that he found the way these three girls had stuck together, in everything, pretty amazing.
“I was just telling Henry about how Betty researched all sorts of alcohol when we started sneaking out,” Patsy said. “How she knows all about it.”
“She did,” Jane said. “And she researched all the joints we could go to, and the ones we couldn’t. If they had extra rooms, for—” She cleared her throat. “You know, we weren’t allowed to set foot in them. Or any that had recently been raided, because if they’d been raided, that means they are run by the mob,” Jane continued. “Those are the only ones that get busted, and that’s because there are other things going on at those joints than just people having a good time.”
Henry had known all that from Betty, but he was more impressed by how she’d laid down the law to her sisters. In his opinion, Jane and Patsy could be a handful, and Betty must have had her work cut out keeping them in line anywhere they went. “What’s happening?” he asked Lane. “What’s she doing?”
“Talking,” Lane replied. “Elkin is answering, whatever she’s asking. He’s nodding and smiling.”
Henry twisted slightly, just enough to get a quick glimpse of Betty, and Elkin. They were indeed talking. Smiling.
Jane stepped closer and plopped a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll stand right here, so it looks like the four of us are sharing chin music.” Tilting her head, she asked, “You can see beneath the rim of my hat, can’t you?”
“Yes,” he answered. He appreciated her insight. She’d positioned herself just right, so he could see Betty, but to anyone looking their way, it would look like he was whispering to Jane.
“So, what are they doing?” Jane asked.
“Still talking,” he, Lane, and Patsy answered at the same time.
“Well, ducky. I’m the odd man out,” Jane said. “Keep telling me what’s happening.”
“He’s writing something down,” Patsy whispered. “Now he gave it to Betty.”
Elkin had given her a slip of paper, and Henry’s hand balled into a fist as he watched Elkin touch her wrist. She didn’t pull her hand away, nor did the way she smiled up at him waver.
“What’s happening now?” Jane asked.
“They are still talking,” Patsy answered.
Henry’s last nerve was about to snap when Elkin released her wrist. Betty then stepped around him, to his side, so if he did look this way, she blocked his view, and then walked beside him, toward the door. The other man followed. Henry’s entire body was tight with tension. He was fully prepared to clear the entire dance floor while crossing the room if she stepped out the door with Elkin.
She didn’t, but remained standing there, beside the door, with one hand discreetly held up at her side.
“She’s telling us to stay put until the coast is clear,” Patsy said.
Henry bit his lip to keep from saying he’d figured that out. Her sisters were trying to be helpful. Not trying. They had been helpful. If they hadn’t been here, he would have stopped her before she’d made it to the bar, and Elkin would know he was alive, and after him.
The seconds dragged on like a sea snail trying to slime its way across the sand, back into the water. Henry had to force himself to remain still.
When Betty finally dropped her hand and started walking toward them, he shot forward, right through the dancing couples crowding the dance floor.
He grasped her arm. “What were you thinking?”
She looked at him and grinned. “I was thinking that you needed proof, and that I could get it.” She waved a slip of paper near his face. “And I did.”
He cared more about her than he did any information. “I didn’t ask for your help.” He wasn’t mad at her for helping; he’d just been scared that something could have happened to her.
“Yes, you did.” She flashed him a smile. “Oh, wait, that was when you thought I was more than a coincidence.”
He bit his tongue at the sassy grin she flashed him, as well as the wink.
“So, spill!” Jane hissed as they all sat down. “What happened? What did he say?”
Henry’s neck muscles tightened as he glanced at the excitement shining on the faces around the table. This was the most unorthodox team he’d ever worked with. Three flappers, a newspaper reporter, and him, an FBI agent. No one in the agency would believe this. No one in the agency had better learn about this. He’d be fired for bringing so many civilians in on an undercover case.
“I told the bartender that my sister and brother-in-law had just gotten married, and that I want to throw a party in their honor, but that I only want Minnesota Thirteen and have been having a hard time finding it,” Betty said, leaning over the table. “I made sure the mole heard me.”
“Oh, I like that name,” Jane whispered. “The mole.”
Henry pressed a hand to his temple and the sting of pain at how she’d exaggerated the word mole to sound like a monster in a story told to a child. “What did he say?”
“He asked me how much I wanted. I told him ten cases.” Betty shrugged as she looked at him. “I wasn’t sure how much you’d need for evidence, but assumed that would be sufficient.”
She’d assumed right. One or two cases could be picked up here or there, but not ten. Only a supplier could provide that many. “Ten cases would be sufficient, and expensive,” Henry answered.
“That’s what he said,” Betty replied. “I told him money was of no concern, and that I might be having another party soon, and would need more then.”
She was good, making Elkin think she had no idea who he was, or that he knew Lane.
Handing him the slip of paper, she said, “Here’s the address. I’m to meet him there night after tomorrow. Nine o’clock, with six hundred dollars.”
“Six hundred dollars!” Jane exclaimed. “Baloney!”
“That’s what he said,” Betty replied, biting on her lip as she looked at him. “Six hundred dollars.”
“I have the money.” Henry picked up the slip of paper. “But you aren’t meeting him.”
“I have to,” Betty argued. “When I told him that I’d have someone with me to help me load it in my car, he said no, that he’d help me load it.”
She would not be meeting Elkin, but Henry wasn’t going to argue that point right now. He examined the address on the paper, then handed it to Lane. “Do you know this place?”
“That’s the railroad district. I know the general area, but not this exact address,” Lane said. “It’s north of the warehouse district by a few miles, but along the shoreline. You can’t miss it. There are trains and trucks everywhere. There are some docks there, too.”
Made sense. The rail yard would be the perfect place to unload and hide an entire shipload of whiskey. Henry took the slip of paper back and put it in his pocket. He’d check out the area tomorrow and have a full plan in place by the next night, including who would take Betty’s place.
“Are you going to be able to arrest him?” Betty asked.
“Why wouldn’t he?” Jane asked her sister.
“Because the FBI doesn’t arrest bootleggers,” Betty explained.
“She’s right,” Henry said. “Normally, we don’t.” It was confusing for those who didn’t know the specific departments under the justice system. “Bureau of Investigation agents are assigned to gather facts and evidence for the Department of Justice in what are considered federal crimes. Fraud, treason, espionage. Over the past few years, with the increase of criminal gangs expanding across state lines, there have been a large number of racketeering cases that we’ve, the Bureau, become involved in because of multiple jurisdictions.”
“What’s racketeering?” Betty asked.
“Various activities most often conducted by the mobs. Smuggling, counterfeiting, and certain aspects of bootlegging. Prohibition laws have numerous loopholes. It’s not illegal to consume alcohol, but it is illegal to sell, manufacture, or transport it. Mobs are making millions of dollars by being middlemen. They purchase the supplies needed to manufacture the alcohol, then give it to someone who actually makes the brew, private citizens, whole blocks of them. These people will make and bottle the moonshine. The mob will then distribute it to the speakeasies, under the pretense that no funds were exchanged for the alcohol. That any monies paid by the tavern to the establishment, meaning the mob, were for the protection of their business. The speakeasy is who actually sells the product. The mob, the middlemen, the establishment, as they often call themselves, actually broke no laws.”
Betty nodded, yet frowned. “What about Elkin? If he sells me the whiskey, then you can arrest him because he’s not a middleman, he’s the seller?”
It was a complex system, but everything within the government was complex. “Yes, I have the authority to arrest him, but for selling ten cases of whiskey, he’d merely get a slap on the wrist. A local judge could release him the next day. The intel, or information that I need to gather on him, is his part in obtaining the whiskey he’s peddling. If he’s smuggling it, transporting it, that is a federal offense and I then could detain him, arrest him, and transport him to Washington, DC, for the attorney general’s office to press federal charges against him.”
“So we need to find out where he got the whiskey he’s selling,” she said, rubbing her chin.
He could imagine that the thoughtfulness he saw on her expression right now was how serious she’d looked when searching out safe alcohol and speakeasies for them all to visit.
“Yes,” he answered. They might as well know the rest. It was no longer a secret. “Vincent Burrows was trying his hand at racketeering when he was arrested. Rather than having people brew whiskey for them to distribute, mobs out east, where Burrows was from, steal shipments of alcohol from Europe, from the Caribbean, from wherever a ship is sailing in from. It’s cheaper to steal it than to make it, and for the most part, it’s better quality, so they make more money.” He’d been working on one of those cases when he’d been duped by Scarlet. He looked at Betty, with her eyes so big and bright and shining. He couldn’t believe he’d ever compared the two. “Minnesota Thirteen is the most sought-after whiskey in America right now because it’s twice distilled, which is why it’s safe to drink.”
She nodded. “I know. And I know it’s shipped by rail, up through Canada and then down the West Coast by ship, and to ports beyond. It is known worldwide. Some call it Canadian Whiskey, but it’s not. It’s made in Central Minnesota, and called thirteen because that is a variety of corn that has a short growing season and is used to make the whiskey.”
Henry nodded. She had done her research. “Burrows had gotten his hands on a few cases of it and started peddling it around town. Then, for some reason he decided to cut it, half and half with his own brew.”
“We saw his still,” Patsy said. “At the docks. Both Lane and I.”
“He might have been thinking he could make even more money that way,” Henry said. “By filling bottles of half Thirteen and half his own brew.”
“Except that it tasted so awful, no one would buy a second supply from him,” Lane added.
“Or,” Henry said, which was what he thought happened, “he only had a few cases. Not a full shipment. And was trying to make it stretch until he got more.”
“You think Elkin has that full shipment, don’t you?” Betty asked.
Henry nodded. “I think he was behind stealing it, and undercut Burrows.” Some of the things that had never made sense were starting to click. Elkin wasn’t just a mole to the FBI, he was double-crossing the mobs, too. Playing things from both ends.
Betty shook her head. “What I don’t understand is, if Minnesota Thirteen is made in Minnesota and shipped everywhere, why aren’t prohibition agents stopping that? The trains and the ships?”
With his mind circling, Henry answered her question, “They are, and confiscating it, but who do they arrest? The train engineers? They don’t know every item that’s been loaded onto the cars. Neither do ships. The captain of the cargo ship I was put on didn’t know I was in one of those barrels marked as flour. There were hundreds of them, most of them full of flour. There aren’t enough agents to be at every train depot and ship dock in America, checking every box, barrel, and crate.”
“This is all very interesting,” Jane said. “But ultimately, what’s our next step?”
Henry knew what his next step was—making sure Betty did not meet Elkin as she’d arranged. If Elkin was double-crossing both the FBI and the mob, he would try to get rid of anyone who knew him, so he couldn’t be ratted out on either side. That was why he’d talked to her tonight, and had given her an address—it was a trap.
Betty couldn’t believe how exciting this was. How thrilling. Being with him always had been, but this, actually helping him. It was... Well, she could fully understand why Patsy had been so adamant about becoming a reporter.
Being a reporter didn’t appeal to Betty; she didn’t even know how to type, but helping Henry solve his case did appeal to her. She’d always liked learning about things, places, people. When she and her sisters first started sneaking out, and she’d spent those first few weeks on bar stools, talking to the bartenders about the different beverages they served, and the local joints, she’d enjoyed it. It had been out of necessity. She didn’t want either of her sisters to end up blind from drinking widow-maker juice or end up in jail because the joint they were at had been raided.
Safety first had been the first item in her plan when they’d embarked on their nighttime adventures. She had made sure that the rules, the plans, she put in place for her and her sisters kept them all safe.
Now Henry’s safety was what she was concerned about. So, the first thing she had to do was get a good look at that address, before it was time to be there.
“It’s getting late,” Henry said. “We better call it a night.”
They all agreed and Jane chattered nearly the entire way to the abandoned house.
Betty didn’t mind. Having her sister there kept her from thinking about other times she’d walked down this tunnel with him.
Henry walked them all the way to their backyard, to the trellis.
As Jane entered the window, and Betty grasped ahold of the wood to start her climb, Henry stopped her. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
Warmth filled her. “At the house?”
“Yes,” he said.
“All right.” She couldn’t pull her eyes off his, and her lips tingled as if waiting for his to touch them.
He released her hand and stepped back. “Good night.”
She swallowed at the wave of disappointment that washed through her, but nodded. “Good night.”
As soon as she entered her room, Betty wrote down the address that Elkin had written on the paper she’d given Henry.
Twirling the pencil between her fingers, she glanced at the calendar on the wall, then lifted it down. She stared at the little mark she’d made when she’d had her last monthly, and counted forty weeks. May. The second week. That was when her baby would arrive.
May. It seemed so far away and right around the corner at the same time. So far away before she’d be able to hold her baby in her arms, the one thing she had wanted since she was a little girl dreaming about being a grown-up.
There wasn’t much time before everyone would know she was pregnant and everyone would be able to count. Her father would be enraged if she, her baby, created a scandal.
When she was here, in her bedroom, alone, she believed marrying James was her best option, her only option, but when Henry was near, she couldn’t even consider marrying James because Henry... Henry was who she loved.
It was time she admitted that. Her heart had decided that she would love him for the rest of her life, and no matter how hard she tried, her heart wouldn’t let her change that.
Henry was also who made her want more—in so many ways. Ways that didn’t fit with her. When she was with him, she was impulsive and risky. That wasn’t her. It was thrilling and exciting, but that wasn’t her. It was like he turned her into someone she was not.
James wouldn’t do that. He didn’t do that. He would let her be who she was. He would provide her with a home, near her family where she could continue to look out for her sisters and help her mother, while obeying Father’s rules.
Was that truly what she wanted? Obeying Father’s rules until the end of time?
It would be safe. Orderly.
Babies needed that.
Tears burned her eyes as she replaced the calendar, hung it on the nail, and dressed for bed. Another wave of sadness washed over her as she tucked the green dress in her hope chest. That would soon be over, forever. Nights out. James had never gone to a speakeasy, never gone dancing. He’d told her that. Her life with him wouldn’t be exciting, but it would be predictable. No surprises. No rule breaking.
She crawled into bed and cried herself to sleep, and awoke in the aftermath of dreams that had made her heart race. They’d been about Henry.
She tried to erase them as she dressed and prepared to see him again, at the house she would clean. Once again, that reminded her of how different she was from her sisters. Both Jane and Patsy despised chores. She didn’t. There was satisfaction in having things clean, neat, and tidy.
She’d had another dream last night. Or maybe it had been a memory.
Because she did remember it. How she’d cried when Aunt Joan had been forced to go to the convent. She had been pregnant, and Betty would forever remember hearing her parents talk, about how the baby would be taken away as soon as it was born and given up for adoption.
She and her sisters hadn’t even been able to say goodbye to their aunt. She’d just been gone one morning when they woke up, and they’d never heard from her again. Weren’t allowed to even ask about her.
The tears fell faster as she thought about her mother, and how that had to have hurt, to never see her sister again.
Tears fell for herself, too, how she had to marry James. It was her only answer.
Her stomach revolted, and she ran for the bathroom.