The Rum Runner Read online

  Maybe he could stop rum running. He didn’t need the money.

  The thing was, he didn’t do it for the money.

  The peaceful silence of the night was broken by the creak and whir of a bicycle on the old dirt road leading to the marina. He opened his eyes and sat up straight, peering into the moonlit night to see who was coming this way. The sound stopped by his dock and he heard the clunk of the kickstand being put down. He put his hand on his pistol. If Salerno was coming for him now, it would be a foolish move. He had nothing on board to steal, not even fish.

  Light footsteps approached his boat and stopped. His heart beat quickly.

  Whoever it was climbed his gangplank and started onto the boat.

  “I should warn you, I’m armed.” His voice sounded loud and ridiculous in the silent night.

  “So am I,” came Alice’s calm voice. “I don’t plan on shooting you, though. I hope you return the favor.”

  His hand shook in relief as he put the pistol in his pocket and stood up to greet her. “What are you doing here, skulking around my boat?”

  “Hoping to find you, actually,” Alice said with succinct matter-of-factness.

  He took her hand to guide her the rest of the way across the gangplank. Her hand was warm and soft in his.

  “How did you know I’d be here?”

  “Call it an educated hunch.”

  “And why did you want to find me?” He rather wished it was because she, as a woman, wanted to spend time with him, as a man. He suspected, however, that it had more to do with the fact that she was a cop and he was a fisherman who might be able to tell her more about Salerno and his pirates.

  “Was Nagy a rum runner?” she asked without prelude.

  “Yes,” he answered. It would come to light before long. It was one thing to withhold information, but he wouldn’t want to be accused of outright lying to her.

  “And that’s why he was killed?”

  “It would seem like it.” He sighed. If they were going to have a long conversation, they might as well go someplace they could sit. Problem was there wasn’t exactly a drawing room he could bring her to. “Let’s go to the dining room. It’s more comfortable.” He led the way and then lit the lantern on the table and waited for her to sit on the bench seat. “Can I get you a cup of coffee or anything?”

  “No, thank you,” she answered, looking around the cramped room. “If I have a cup of coffee at this hour of the night, I’ll never sleep.”

  “I seldom sleep anyway.” Maybe she didn’t think this was a more comfortable option. To him the dining room said relaxation and refreshment, but maybe she only saw the Formica-topped table with the thin strips of wood designed to keep everything from sliding around while they ate. What the hell kind of life was he living, at thirty, that the best place he had to bring a lady was to this cramped little dining area?

  “You should drink less coffee.” There was a bit of a touch of humor in her voice.

  If only that were the problem.

  “Undoubtedly.” He slid onto the bench next to her. “What do you want to know?”

  “What can you tell me?”

  “Touché.” He laughed. He should have known she was no fool. “I can’t tell you for certain who killed Tomas or why.” He situated himself so they weren’t touching, even though he’d really like to be touching her. “I can make a guess, but I wasn’t there. I’ve no proof.”

  “And what’s your guess?”

  “What do you know about pirates?” It wasn’t as much a non sequitur as it sounded like.

  She tapped her fingers on the table top and he noticed her nails were short and neatly trimmed, with no lacquer on them. It suited her. She was a no-nonsense kind of woman.

  “Frankly, I was ready to relegate them to the history books. I don’t know too much about modern pirates.”

  He wished he could relegate them to the pages of the history books.

  “Modern pirates are much like historical ones. They take what isn’t theirs. And sometimes get quite nasty when thwarted.” Like shooting people.

  “So common thieves.” She looked him straight in the eye and his blood tingled.

  “More or less.” Why did they have to be talking about pirates? He needed his own place. With a proper sitting room.

  “Calling them pirates lends them an air of romance they don’t deserve.” Alice gave a definitive nod as if that settled that.

  Be that as it may, they were what they were. He didn’t care what they were called as long as they left him alone.

  “Do you think pirates might have been involved in Nagy’s death?”

  “I suppose anything is possible. But don’t even think of taking on the pirates on your own.” He realized he sounded rather authoritative when he had no right to. “Please. I beg you. I know these people. They will not respect either the title of police officer or that you are a woman.”

  At first, he thought she was going to argue with him, but she screwed up her face in thought. “Fine. I have a better idea. If I put a stop to the rum running in town, then the pirates would have no reason to come around here, would they?”

  He wasn’t sure what to say to that.

  “You don’t think I can do it?” She challenged him.

  It was more that he thought she probably could, or at least make a good effort at it. He knew the reason he and the other rum runners thrived was that the law didn’t look too hard for them.

  “I’m sure you can,” he said softly. “Are you sure you want to? You could make some pretty powerful enemies.”

  “I wouldn’t be much of a police officer if I were afraid of people not liking me. Especially criminals. It’s part of my job.”

  They were sitting so close together, he could feel the warmth from her body on his. Why did he have this desire to protect her? She clearly didn’t want or need his protection, yet he wanted to reach out and take her in his arms and keep her safe from harm.

  She turned to him, and their faces were inches apart. He reached up and touched her cheek and she didn’t recoil at the touch, instead she sighed and closed her eyes.

  He moved toward her and kissed her quickly, light as a butterfly’s wings. When she didn’t object, he moved his hand to the back of her neck and pulled her closer to him, kissing her long and deeply. Feelings coursed through him that he hadn’t thought he’d ever feel again.

  After forever he pulled back from her.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “I’m not,” she answered.

  “I should escort you home.” He wanted to simply escort her to his bunk, right on the other side of the wall. But he was still enough of a gentleman to know that was a bad idea.

  “If you must,” she whispered.

  Damn it, he must. Mustn’t he?

  Chapter Eleven

  She couldn’t get the kiss out of her mind. It was all she could think about as she lay staring at the ceiling, not sleeping, Saturday night. It was all she could think about during Mass at St. James Church on Sunday morning. And now, sitting at her desk, she could still imagine she felt his lips on hers even as she slipped paper into her typewriter to begin typing up the reports.

  He’d pushed her bicycle as he’d walked her home from the marina Saturday night. Not able to hold hands because of the bicycle, not able to see each other because of the dark, they’d been able to talk. At first it was just silly small talk, but before they had crossed the causeway they were talking about their hopes and dreams.

  She told him that she’d love to have a home of her own, overlooking the water, with a picket fence, and a child, perhaps a son named Sean after her father. He’d told her about wishing he could spend all his time at sea.

  “I’ve never even been on a boat,” she’d admitted. “Other than a ferry ride. Or, you know, just now when it was sitting at dock.”

  “We’ll have to remedy that sometime.”

  She’d rather glowed at the thought of that and was glad he couldn’t see how pink her
cheeks undoubtedly were.

  “But wouldn’t you have to come ashore sometime?” she’d asked as they came to Berry Street and her thoughts automatically went to Irene Nagy, mourning her husband in their rented house.

  “Now and then, I suppose.” He was silent for a moment until the Nagy house was past them. “Might be nice to come home to a little house with a picket fence, overlooking the water, and a son named Sean.”

  She knew it was just talk. They barely knew each other, but her heart leapt in her chest anyway. It was the closest to someone saying they’d like to spend their life with her that she’d ever come. She wished she could see his face, so she could tell if he were serious or just humoring her. Or maybe it was better she couldn’t. This way she could dream.

  And dream she had. All day Sunday.

  But in the bright light of day she’d wondered if she’d been too forward going out to his boat like that. She rather wished he’d stop by the house, but he didn’t, and she didn’t go back out to the marina. What had it all meant? Anything? She knew one thing, the kiss had awakened something in her, something that she thought was dead or long asleep. Her skin had tingled, and warmth had flowed through her, and all she could think was that she wanted more. Oh, so much more.

  Was it a foolish hope?

  Certainly, it was and the sooner she banished it the better off she’d be. For now, she had to get her head out of the clouds and concentrate on work. She had to tell the chief about the lead she had picked up in the Nagy case. If he let her, she’d investigate Salerno on her own, but at least she could make sure he had the information. The other thing she had to do, when he came into the office, was ask if he would consider hiring Mrs. Nagy.

  Now it was just her and Rawlson in the office, though; the chief and Mark had already gone out on patrol before she made her way to her desk this morning.

  It was closing in on lunchtime before they came back, a man in handcuffs between them. Murphy dropped a scribbled paper onto her desk as he passed. “Type this up, Grady.”

  She glanced at it. His handwriting wasn’t much better than Mark’s.

  John O’Connor. Murder of Tomas Nagy. Apparent motive: common theft.

  Mark was getting the criminal situated in the holding cell, and the chief was pouring himself a cup of coffee from the percolator kept on the electric ring. Alice got up and followed the chief into his office.

  “What is it, Grady?” he asked, not unpleasantly. He was always in a good mood after they caught a perp.

  “I had a tip about the Nagy murder this weekend.”

  He grinned and gave her a helpless shrug. “A little late to help us at this point.”

  “That’s just it. I don’t think it was simple robbery.”

  “Nagy had just been paid. And when the body was found he didn’t have the money, so there’s that. Witnesses saw this man running from the scene. And he confessed. Said it was robbery gone wrong. I know you want to solve the big case, Grady, but this one’s already been solved. There will be others.”

  “But—”

  “Hey, Chief, got a minute?” Rawlson called from the open doorway.

  “Yeah. Better get that report typed up, Grady,” he said, and she knew she’d been effectively dismissed.

  She sat down at her desk and typed the report, but something didn’t seem right. It was too easy, too convenient. Or was she just hoping for something more exciting?

  Why would Hank have told her about Salerno and the rum running if he didn’t think that had something to do with it? She had to believe it did, but how could she ever prove it? And would anyone listen? After all, they got the man who shot him. Case closed. Why did it leave her with an unsettled, unfinished feeling? Was it just because she didn’t solve it herself? Maybe that’s all it was, a bit of professional jealousy.

  She typed up a few more reports and went back into the chief’s office.

  “I’d like to do something to help the Nagys,” she said without preamble.

  “We caught the guy who shot him. Isn’t that good enough?” he asked, shuffling some papers around on his desk.

  “I was thinking that perhaps we could hire Mrs. Nagy to be a typist here.”

  The chief gave her a paternal smile. “Tired of typing up all the reports?”

  “I can do so much more. You know I can.”

  He gave an almost imperceptible nod. “Can she type?”

  “I don’t know,” Alice admitted.

  “Does she want the job?” he asked, picking up his coffee cup and taking a sip.

  Again, she had to admit she didn’t know.

  Murphy sighed and pushed the papers to the side. “Give me a few minutes to run over the budget and see if we can justify hiring someone. Then, and only then, you can go find out if she even wants the job.”

  With a lighter heart Alice went back to typing up reports. At least she might be able to make a little bit of difference to the family.

  Half an hour later, Murphy came out to her desk. “We’ll make it work, if she wants it. I’d have to interview her, of course. She has to be at least somewhat suitable for the job for me to justify it. Why don’t you go talk to her? See what she thinks. See what else the family needs. Maybe the department can sponsor a spaghetti dinner for them or something.”

  Alice had to restrain the urge to throw her arms around Murphy’s neck. Instead she grinned at him. “Thanks, Chief.”

  With a spring in her step which matched the warm May breezes, she walked around the corner to the Nagys’ house. Once again it was the little girl who answered the door. “Is your mama here?”

  “She’s in the kitchen talking to some of Papa’s crew,” the girl said. “Come in.”

  Mrs. Nagy was sitting at the table with Snake and Patsy, who Alice practically regarded as old friends at this point. They were deep in conversation, but looked up, surprised, as she entered. Alice noted the fine china teapot on the table; it was not what she expected to see on the table of the wife of an immigrant fisherman. In fact, the whole kitchen was outfitted in modern appliances and looked fresh and sharp. Fishing was apparently a much more lucrative business than she had thought. Of course, that was not the only business Tomas Nagy was involved in. But regardless of how Tomas made his money, Irene must be concerned about where money was going to come from in the future. Alice hoped her news would help in that regard.

  “Yes?” Irene’s face took on a guarded look. She pushed her teacup away from her, as if it had suddenly lost its appeal. “What is problem?”

  Patsy reached out and gave the widow’s hand a comforting squeeze.

  “Was it wrong man?”

  Was it the wrong man? Interesting question, and from her point of view entirely possible, but no point in worrying Irene. “No, the killer is safely locked behind bars. I’m actually here for another reason. May I speak to you privately?”

  “Yes, of course.” Irene stood and led Alice into the living room; the little girl stayed close by her mother’s side, looking up at Alice with her big brown eyes.

  “I realize it may be presumptuous of me,” Alice began, “but I thought you might be concerned about income, with Tomas gone.”

  “The fishermen are very generous,” Irene said, her hand resting gently on her daughter’s head. “The Chapmans are buying the Katinka. That helps.”

  “That is good.” She looked around the tidy living room. Perhaps her help wasn’t actually needed here. She’d offer anyway. “We need a typist at the police department, and I was wondering if you had those skills and would like the job?”

  She didn’t want the woman to think she was offering charity. People could get awfully bent out of shape about that.

  But instead of Irene appearing insulted, tears pooled in the corners of the woman’s eyes.

  “You are offering a job?”

  “If you’d like it. And of course, you’d have to meet with the chief and he’d have to agree you are suitable.”

  “Of course, of course.”

>   “Can you type?” Alice asked, hesitantly.

  Mrs. Nagy shook her head sadly. “No. But I could use job.” She looked around her house as if for inspiration. “You have one of those machines? I learn how before meeting your chief?”

  There was an old typewriter in the attic. She’d used it herself to learn to type when she was in high school. No one used it now, and no one would care if she loaned, or even gave it outright to Mrs. Nagy.

  “I do,” she said. “And I can give you lessons. I’ll come by after dinner today and we can start. Is that good?”

  “Is very good.” Mrs. Nagy took Alice’s hands between her own. “You are good person. Thank you. You like cup of tea, maybe?”

  She really should get back to work, but at the same time, she also wanted a chance to speak to Snake and Patsy. If she could earn their trust, maybe she could find out more about rum running and pirates. A cup of tea might be just the thing.

  “Thank you very much. That would be lovely.”

  Mrs. Nagy turned to lead her back into the kitchen but stopped. “I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.”

  How had she never introduced herself?

  “I’m Officer Grady. But, please, if I am going to teach you to type, call me Alice.”

  “Alice,” she said in acknowledgment and smiled at her. “And I am Irene.”

  Back in the kitchen she introduced Alice to Snake and Patsy.

  “We’ve already met.” She took the fourth seat at the table.

  “Ah, yes,” Snake said, a smile lighting his face. “You make a lovely cup of coffee.”

  “One of my many skills,” she said lightly, then let her tone grow serious. For after all, these three people had suffered a serious loss. “Let me say how very sorry I am about what happened to Mr. Nagy. At least the police have arrested the killer.”