Speak Low (Speak Easy 2)

“And he’s still in Ohio?” asked Janssen.

“As far as I know.” A hidden drop of sweat rolled down my chest.

“Gentlemen, I think you’ve taken up enough of Miss O’Mara’s time, and I should return to the store. You’ve searched the garage and found nothing of interest. Why don’t you wait for Mr. O’Mara to return and talk to him yourselves?” Martin had an open, honest face, and with his neatly combed hair and polished spectacles, he looked like the dentist he was studying to be, not someone engaged in criminal activity.

Thomas ignored him. “Miss O’Mara, when do you expect your father back?”

“Oh, probably within a day or so. Shall I have him contact you when he returns?” I spoke sweetly, coating the lies with sugar. The sun was at my back, which meant it was shining directly in their eyes, and the brims of their hats weren’t keeping their faces too cool. I could tell Janssen wanted to finish with me and get in the shade as quickly as possible.

But Thomas spoke up again. “One more thing. Does this guy look familiar to you?” He reached inside his coat pocket and pulled out a photograph—a mug shot. I leaned forward and pretended to scrutinize it.

“Have you ever seen him around here, maybe talking to your father? Could he be a customer at the garage?”

The young man in the photo was perfectly familiar.

“No,” I lied. “I have no idea who that is. Never seen him before.”

I had to find Joey. Immediately.

#

After reassuring Martin that everything was OK—which, in fact, it was not—I swiped a pack of cigarettes from behind the store counter, raced home, and called Joey’s mother’s apartment, where he was staying. His older sister Marie answered and said he wasn’t home but she’d tell him to telephone me as soon as he returned. I replaced the receiver on the hook and chewed my nails, trying to think of where he might have gone. It was warm and stuffy in the house, and my head felt sweaty in the hat, so I tossed it aside and opened all the windows on the first floor. Just as I finished, the telephone rang.

Eagerly, I raced for it and scooped up the earpiece. “Hello?”

“Tiny, there you are!” The voice was my best friend Evelyn’s.

“Evvy, I’m sorry we haven’t spoken in—”

“Days!” she exclaimed. “It’s been days, you naughty girl. You left the club Wednesday night before all the excitement and I haven’t heard from you since!”

“I know, I’m sorry. I’ve been…busy.” I actually hadn’t left Club 23 before the raid alarms went off—Enzo and I were upstairs in his father’s office, where I’d left my virginity, my sanity, and my purse. “Did you make it out OK? I heard it wasn’t really a raid, just a false alarm.”

“Oh yeah, we were fine. It was all very exciting, actually. Ted and I can’t stop talking about it.” The lilt in her voice told me she was dying for me to ask.

“Ted? That’s the guy you met that night?”

“Yes, and he’s wonderful. I’ve seen him every evening since, and he’s taking me dancing tonight,” she bubbled. “He’s so handsome and sweet and he loves the movies like I do, and he’s come into the bakery twice to see me.”

“I’m so happy for you, Evelyn. You deserve someone like that.” I scratched at a nick in the wooden telephone table with my thumbnail.

“So…” Evelyn prompted. “Tell me what’s new with Mr. Dangerous. You were right—he does look like a Hollywood film star. Have you seen much of him?”

Every inch. “Um, yes. It’s really kind of a long story, and I promise to tell you all about it when I have time, but I have to do something for Daddy before tonight, and—”

“Is he back, then?” Evelyn was one of the few people who’d known about my father’s kidnapping. With Joey’s help in negotiating with the River Gang, I’d managed to bootleg enough whisky to deliver the ten grand in ransom, but not without a huge amount of trouble involving men with guns—sometimes pointed at me.

“Yes. He was released yesterday.”

“Oh, thank God! Now things can get back to normal.”

A rictus smile stretched my lips. “I wouldn’t count on it.”

“You know what? You need to get another job, Tiny. The bootlegging business is no place for a girl.”

I sighed. How often had

Bridget said the same thing? But even though our operation was small, the money was too good to pass up, and it wasn’t like I didn’t have a plan. I’d been trying to pay for nursing school on my own for over a year. Daddy’s business ventures brought in decent dough, but he had a weakness for gambling and an aversion to anything that would hasten my departure from the house. “I’ll think about it. Let me telephone you tomorrow, all right? Have fun on your date.”