He shrugged. “I guess we can take our chances, stay well north of the city.” He rubbed the stubble on his jaw, and for one insane second I wondered what it would feel like against my cheek. “Lock the door behind me, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I stood in the doorway and watched him go down the front porch steps. “Hey, Joey?”
He turned around.
“Why are you doing this? I mean, I’m grateful,” I added quickly, “but I’m also curious. You’d cross those guys for me?”
“Hmm.” He came back up the steps and stretched his hands to the walls on either side of the door. “Maybe it’s because your dad was good to me when I needed help after my dad died. Or maybe it’s because I always felt bad about stealing your underwear.” He leaned forward, putting us nearly nose to nose. “Maybe I’m planning to steal all that whisky from the boathouse tonight.”
I rolled my eyes. “Fine. Be sure to shoot me when you’re done.”
“Maybe I’m just a nice guy, Tiny.”
“Maybe.” His full lips were so close, I couldn’t help staring at them, wondering what kind of kisser he was. They tipped up in a wicked grin.
“So how’s about a goodnight kiss?”
I shut the door in his face before my lips could answer otherwise.
Chapter Seven
Monday dawned cloudy and humid. Trying not to think about all the money I could be putting in my tuition stash after a day like today, I loaded the four cases from my house into the Ford and made my rounds. I sold all forty-eight bottles by telling our customers I wasn’t sure when I’d get another load since running near the river was getting dangerous and expensive. No one wanted to be without, so people were willing to buy a little extra to stock up.
By one o’ clock, I’d collected all money owed plus twelve dollars and fifty cents in tips. I went home, shoved the money under my mattress, and made lunch. After that, the girls headed to the library for the afternoon, and I drove over to the boathouse to load up Al Murphy’s cases. Joey was right about using a hearse—in my car, several of the sacks were visible because there wasn’t enough hidden space. Thankfully I only had one destination, and I was hoping Al would be around to help me unload. My back and my hip were hurting like mad.
The Murphys lived in a large old Victorian hidden behind a thick grove of pines, and they ran a speakeasy in the old carriage house at the back of their property. I parked in the drive, knocked on the massive front door, and Gladys Murphy answered it a moment later. A former showgirl, she was a tall middle-aged woman with unnaturally black hair, and she always penciled in her eyebrows overly-arched. It gave her a look of constant surprise, which my sisters and I giggled about whenever she came into the store.
“Tiny,” she said in her slight Southern accent. “Al’s been trying to reach your father.” Her forehead was wrinkled with concern.
“He’s out of town. Is there a problem?”
She wrung her hands and looked down the street in each direction. “Come in.” The hair at the back of my neck stood on end as I stepped into their elaborately furnished living room. I’d never seen the Murphys nervous about deliveries before. “Wait here. I’ll get Al,” Gladys told me. She peeked out the window before disappearing up the wide staircase.
I perched on a clawfoot chair and bit my thumbnail. The air in the room was stuffy and still, and the heavy drapes were pulled. Gladys returned a minute later, followed by Al, a portly guy with a thick head of red-brown hair and a mustache. He must have been shaving, because he had a speck of shaving cream on his neck and his collar was open.
“Tiny,” he said, coming forward with his hand out. “How’s your pop?”
“He’s fine.” I stood and shook Al’s hand but gave him a wary eye. “I’ve got your whisky. Eight cases.”
Al and Gladys exchanged glances and his Adam’s apple bobbed. “Uh…the thing is, Tiny, I can’t buy whisky from you anymore.”
“Why not? You always buy whisky from us! Has somebody offered it cheaper?”
“No, no. It’s not that. It’s—” He swallowed again. “I have to buy it from somebody else now.”
It took me a few seconds to comprehend what he was saying. “Or that somebody else will get mad?”
He nodded. “Your pop’s been my friend a long time, done a lot for me, but…”
“They threatened us.” Gladys’s voice shook. “They showed up here with guns last night and said they’d bring in feds, or maybe just blow the place up if we bought from anyone else.”
“Of course they did.” My skin itched with fury. Enzo—that son of a bitch. He asked me what speaks we supplied and I’d flat-out told him. This was my fault. And now I was stuck with eight cases of whisky, which I’d never be able to sell by tonight, so I’d have no cash to buy the rest of the whisky I needed to make five grand by tomorrow night. Daddy was as good as dead.
And maybe I was too.
Without a word to the Murphys, I bolted to the door and yanked it open, then flew down the steps to my car. Tears spilled over as I backed out of the drive and took off down the street.
“Shit!” I pounded the steering wheel. “Shit, shit, shit!” Now what was I going to do? Wiping my nose with the back of my hand, I drove to the boathouse and unloaded everything again. I barely noticed any pain in my hip; I was too busy panicking about Daddy and fuming about Enzo. How dare he trick me that way? And then kiss me that way?