Nine

The bluefish came to shore while Joe was on the rum trip.

"Three days' worth," Vic related with satisfaction, stretching his legs in front of the sofa, "and plenty of 'em."

"Like the buggers couldn't wait to jump in our nets," said Drake from the chair where he sat reading the sports section of the paper. "They was that many."

Joe experienced mild disappointment that he'd missed this phenomenon that occurred only once a summer.

"Bet young Mike had a heck of a time," he said.

They were in the living room, his uncles with suspenders loosened and the tops of their white union suits for shirts as they relaxed at the end of the day. From the kitchen came the sounds and smells of Aunt Irene starting supper and the raising of Arliss' voice: "Keep out of Nana's way now, or I'll send you upstairs."

"Boy damned near fell in the water excited when he heard it was bluefish," Vic chuckled. "Almost sixty dollars we made off the three days. Not good as last year, but not bad considering how low the prices have been around here."

"A good take," Joe agreed, feeling guilt at what his take over the same three days had been.

"Out!" Arliss fussed in the kitchen.

A moment later her four-year-old emerged with the two-year-old in tow. The toddler was wailing. They climbed the stairs. Flouncing in their wake came Rose and Cecilia, Vic and Irene's two youngest. Rose was fifteen and starting to feel self-important, and Cecilia was just enough younger to get her goat. They were quibbling over a hair ribbon.

"Sebastian wasn't worth spit," Vic said crossly. "Soppy over some girl."

The doorbell rang. On their way to the front stoop, Rose and Cecilia answered. Joe recognized the light voice before Rita Pacheco stepped in.

"Hi, Mr. Santayna. Hi, Joe." She hung back with a demureness Joe knew was pretended. "Is Mrs. Santayna at home? I stopped to borrow a recipe."

"Irene!" Vic yelled. "Company."

Rita Pacheco reminded Joe of fruit just waiting to be sampled. Breasts round as melons pressed against the fabric of her pale blue dress. Her lips were red and moist. She had a habit of sliding the lower one in and out to wet it, which she did now as her eyes connected with his. Joe grinned inwardly. Rita was a knockout, even in the sedate little dress that advertised she'd come from Mass.

His aunt emerged from the kitchen wiping her hands on the muslin apron that tied around her neck.

"Hello, Rita. Your pa's not worse, is he?"

"No, mending good. I just stopped to see if I could get your recipe for that rhubarb pie. Thought it might cheer him up if I made one."

"Now there's a good daughter. Come on through."

The women disappeared into the kitchen, Rita's slender backside swaying. Joe watched appreciatively. There was a spark to Rita. She went to church regularly, kept house for her father and two older brothers, but she wasn't above having a drink or two down at Finnegan's. He'd seen her there and other places. She flirted, but she seemed to stay on the right side of respectability. She might be fun, Rita might.

"Her old man's foot's still too swelled for him to go out," Vic said. "Claims his boys made a mess of things with the bluefish. Didn't get hardly any. But you know what a bad-tempered old cuss he is."

Joe nodded and finished the bottle of beer at his side. He'd known the Pachecos all his life. While he was overseas, though, little Rita had grown up.

"I'd say the girl might be fishing some herself," Drake suggested flashing a grin that revealed a gold front tooth. "Came around with some other excuse while you were away. Seemed real disappointed you weren't here."

The two uncles chuckled. Joe took it with good humor.

"Don't think she needs to do any fishing. She's got men lined up."

The kitchen door opened and Rita reappeared calling back thanks to Irene.

"Nice to see you all," she said to the men. "You going to hear the band down at that new place Saturday, Joe? I hear they're pretty good."

The Irish aunties' training was prompting him to get to his feet for a lady. He stood and stretched slightly. If he went in to relieve himself after Rita left, his uncles wouldn't accuse him of fancy manners.

"Yeah, I thought maybe I would. Want to come?"

Her delectable lower lip thrust in and out. "Sure. I'd like that."

"Pick you up at eight."

"Okay."

She sent him a smile from eyes that held a tantalizing hint of knowledge. Her hips moved fluidly as she walked toward the door. When it closed behind her, Drake was grinning. He shook his fingers and blew on them as if to cool them.

Joe ambled into the bathroom, then went into the kitchen. Arliss was slicing tomatoes, her baby on her hip. Irene, plump, with merry hazel eyes, was draining boiled potatoes at the sink. Joe draped an arm around her.

"Something extra for groceries," he said kissing the air by her ear.

She stared in surprise at the ten dollar bill he tucked into her pocket.

"Where did you get that?"

"Poker game.”

"Joseph Santayna, didn't I raise you any better than that?"

But she was smiling.

***

"Kate! Wake up!"

Kate struggled to open her eyes. She was being shaken as vigorously as Peg beat egg whites for angel food cake.

"Kate! Mama's on her way up. Do slip on your gown. And remember — she thinks you've been sick with spots and a fever."

Rosalie hauled her half to a sitting position and Kate stuck her arms up blearily for a cotton nightdress to be pulled over her underwear. It had been almost dawn when she climbed the stairs from the beach. She had vague recollections of dropping her clothes and kicking them under the bed... of Rosalie creeping in. Bits and pieces came back. Some story they had concocted about Kate having measles.

The door flew open. Mama stood framed there. Her shoulders sagged with relief as Kate smiled at her wanly.

"Oh... you do look as though you're recovering." Mrs. Hinshaw gave a small laugh. "They told me you were, but I couldn't stand it a day longer. I had to see for myself."

"I'm fine," Kate said thickly. "Just sleepy. I can't seem to catch up." She had no idea what time it was, nor even what day of the week.

"Her fever's broken," Rosalie said.

"Yes, I see." Mrs. Hinshaw stroked a hand gently over Kate's cheek. "And left you needing a bath," she said wrinkling her nose. She brushed the hint of a kiss onto Kate's forehead. "My serious little Kate. You never complain. Do you ache anywhere?"

Kate buried her hands in the sheet to hide the shreds of cloth wrapping both palms, where the skin was raw and bleeding. She shook her head.

"Could you eat some broth, do you think? Or a coddled egg?"

"When I wake up," Kate mumbled rolling onto her pillow, and thinking she'd much rather have several slices of Peg's roast beef, and mashed potatoes with good brown gravy.

When she opened her eyes again it was dark out, and as if to punish her lie to her mother, every muscle in her arms and legs ached. Rosalie sat embroidering in the lamplight.

"Awake to stay?" she smiled putting her needle to rest. She uncovered a plate that held a ham sandwich and Kate ate ravenously. "We flushed the coddled egg down the toilet. I'm not sure it was good for the plumbing, but Aggie said we ought to get rid of it or you'd be stuck with invalid food again tomorrow."

She bit her lip. "Kate — your poor hands. I was afraid to even try and tend them. What happened?"

Kate smoothed back hair that was sticky with salt. "It's from trimming the sails. The trip was so much longer than I was used to that I got blisters."

Rosalie was mystified at the explanation. Even as a child she had never shown any interest in athletic pursuits. She had been a willing passenger, unlike Theo's sisters who squealed and were 'fraidy cats, in the small sloops which were part of summer. But Rosalie had never taken a sail line.

"Would you like me to draw your bath?" she asked.

The water felt heavenly to Kate's overtaxed body. She soaked with relief. How, when she was accustomed to working on deck, could the trip have taken such a toll on her, she wondered with awe? And she hadn't even helped unload the crates of liquor into the small boats that met them offshore.

When she returned to her room, Aggie was curled on the foot of the bed.

"Tell all!" she demanded.

Rosalie put her embroidery aside. "Yes, do. Mama's down going over some bills with Peg."

In answer, wrapped in her bathrobe, Kate dropped on the bed beside Aggie. She reached over the edge and felt for the trousers she'd shoved out of sight. The touch of cloth sent fire through the newly exposed cuts scoring her palms. Wordlessly she spread a fan of fifty-dollar bills before her sisters.

Rosalie's fingers flew to her mouth.

"Seven hundred dollars, plus a bit in small bills," Kate said steadily.

"Kate, you wonderful thing!" Aggie fell back laughing. "That will help a bit, won't it?"

"You are wonderful." Rosalie's eyes were bright with tears.

Their praise embarrassed Kate. She folded the money and stuffed it into the bottom of a pasteboard box that held her biology notes.

"Now here's an idea," she said returning to the bed and tucking one leg under her. Her palms stung. She stared at them, almost losing her nerve. "The thing is, this money won't begin to clear up the troubles we have. It might buy time, but we're still likely to lose the house.

"On the other hand...." She took a breath. "If I brought down liquor we owned, we could make a much bigger profit than I did just transporting it."

Rosalie's eyes grew wide. "Are you suggesting that you — that you make another trip?"

"Two hundred dollars would buy us some time with the mortgage, surely. With the other five hundred I could buy two hundred fifty cases of booze. After cost and expenses we'd clear close to two thousand dollars, and the time after that we could make seven or eight thousand."

"No." Rosalie sounded hoarse. "It's too dangerous."

"What are we going to do then? Just let go of the house?"

Her little alarm clock ticked loudly. Tick-toc tick-toc. Tsk-tsk tsk-tsk. From a photograph frame on her bureau, her father regarded her with a smile.

Uncharacteristic despair escaped in Rosalie's sigh.

"I don't know.... We're so upside down. Mama's pretending to be calm, but she's beside herself. She's thinking of letting Peg go."

Kate took the words for agreement.

"We'd have to concoct another story for her. Maybe I could be visiting a friend. The trickiest part will be finding a buyer...."

"I can get one." Aggie spoke quickly. "I know a guy who works for one of the big cheeses." She lounged back, reveling in their astonishment. "I'll talk to him."

***

The Troll Club was crowded, couples toddling shoulder to shoulder on the small dance floor, girls sitting on their dates' laps at tables. Aggie was conscious of men's eyes following her as she and Harry Peale bobbed with the other dancers.

"Do let's go somewhere else," she coaxed. "This is too crowded." The man she was looking for wasn't here.

Peely was baffled. They'd already been two other places. Aggie gave him a squeeze to reward his good behavior. The narrow mustache he'd recently cultivated had been gathering for protest. Her squeeze diffused it.

"I know a swell little inn," he whispered.

Aggie smiled mercilessly.

"You're an absolute encyclopedia, Peely."

He'd been eager as a six-year-old on a picnic when she'd hinted she wanted to go dancing tonight. He tried to press closer and Aggie let him.

"An encyclopedia. Yeah. Let me show you some pages."

"Take me somewhere else and buy me a drink first. This place waters its gin."

Without waiting for Peely to answer she ducked under his arm and began to wiggle her way from the dance floor, her body moving to the music. And that was when she saw Felix Garvey step out of a back room.

Satisfaction quivered through Aggie. She had spent half an hour reasoning out which nightspots were most likely to attract Felix Garvey. Expensive, more exclusive than the places her crowd and Peely's usually went. She'd seen him once at Percy's Place, so they'd started there. But she'd started to worry as the evening wore on without any sight of him. Now she relaxed and celebrated her own cleverness.

"I've changed my mind," she said to Peely. "I want another drink."

"But—"

"So be a peach and catch the waiter while I go powder my nose."

Bemused, Peely made his way back to the table they were sharing with two other couples. One of the girls there left the chair they'd been saving and returned to her date's lap. Aggie stepped out of sight long enough to draw a folded note and a dollar bill from her beaded handbag. She pressed them into the hand of a passing waiter.

"Give the note to Mr. Garvey, will you?"

The waiter looked impassively around at the man in the white suit. Accustomed to delivering messages, Aggie thought, congratulating herself again on her capabilities.

She couldn't see Felix Garvey from the table where she sat with Peely and the others. Not without staring. It was on the other side of the dance floor, over her shoulder. She chattered and drank the gin which Peely had bought her — which really wasn't watered at all. She tried to play calm and not fidget, but as one new song started and ended and then another, the certainty which had been so delicious started to melt.

Finally she was forced to dance again with Peely. Nervously she maneuvered him to where she could chance a glance at Felix's table. Indifferent to the redhead who was with him, he gazed blandly at the dance floor, watching no one. Certainly not her.

Humiliation drenched Aggie. If she failed and had to tell Kate and Rosalie that she couldn't find a buyer, she couldn't bear it. Peely was smothering her with the ridiculous innuendoes he thought proved him such a ladykiller. How was he ever going to be a vice president in his father's bank when he was such an idiot? Back at the table she sat on his lap and wanted to scream.

"What d'ya say you and I go start a fire somewhere?" Peely breathed in her ear.

Aggie's arm was stiffening to push him away in annoyance when a smooth voice spoke behind her.

"Hey, pal. You don't mind if I dance with the lady, do you? Teach her some new steps?"

Aggie turned and felt a tremor, anticipation mingling with indefinable fear, an elixir more potent than overproof gin. Felix Garvey drew her up by the wrist and she followed him, unable to speak.

"Who sent you?" he asked when they reached the dance floor.

"I'll tell you that when you tell me you're interested."

Her heart was hammering. Her skin was on fire where he touched her. His eyes regarded her without feeling. His thin lips considered and then formed a smile.

"What makes you think I'd be interested in a business deal?"

"Word gets around."

He didn't plaster himself against her like Peely. The arm encircling her excited her with its coolness. Aggie felt the thrill. This was what she wanted, to match wits with a man like this, not someone like Peely with his pale ideas of seduction.

"And maybe you're just some little tramp looking for a way to meet me. Thinking I'll be good for a couple of dresses if you catch my eye."

His words almost made her catch her breath in. The insult and the snippet of truth.

"I know of a boat and a crew bringing booze down from Canada. They're hunting a customer," she said evenly. She'd show Felix Garvey she didn't throw tantrums or burst into tears like some silly showgirl. That she had guts.

This time she had startled him. She saw the pinprick reflex in his eyes and smiled. His fingers tightened.

"Do you, now? Whose boat?"

"A relative's. Are you interested?"

"I might know someone who would be. How big a boat?"

"Big enough to carry a thousand crates a trip."

"Maybe we should go somewhere and talk about it. Thursday night. I'll pick you up at half past nine. Where do you live?"  Aggie hesitated. It was his turn to smile.

"What's the matter? Afraid?"

"Of course not." Pangs of uncertainty gnawed Aggie's stomach. It couldn't harm anything, could it? He was interested. "Anyone in the booze business would be an idiot not to be prudent," she said boldly.

He laughed.

"I live out past The Willows. On Salem's Neck." She gave the address.

"What's your name? Your real name." His smile continued, but the line of his jaw held warning. "My acquaintances wouldn't do business with anyone they couldn't check."

Again Aggie felt a glimmer of doubt but nudged it aside.

"Aggie Hinshaw. Oliver Hinshaw's daughter."

If her father's name meant anything to him, he showed no reaction.

"Go back to your boyfriend," he said releasing her before the music stopped. "Nine-thirty Thursday."

She'd never been dumped on the dance floor before. She shrugged to show it didn't bother her. It was going to be the berries seeing Kate and Rosalie's faces when Felix Garvey called for her in his swanky car.