* * *
Thatcher watched Hennessy hold open the backseat door of the town car for Croft and the bird dog. “Your mayor is the one who’s got a shadow.”
Bill looked over at the town car, then motioned Thatcher toward his own vehicle.
“I don’t mind walking.”
“I’ve got to go to the office anyway and finish the paperwork I started with Doc Perkins. But do you mind if I make a quick stop at home so I can give Daisy the stomach medication?”
“Not at all.”
Once they were on their way, Bill said, “As bodyguards go, Bernie couldn’t have hired a better one. Jimmy Hennessy—I doubt that’s his real name—was in the IRA. Fought in the uprising in ’17. Got a price put on his head for killing two British army officers. Outran his pursuers and made it to New York.
“Due to the large Irish population there, word got around, traitors talked, the city got too hot for him, he fled to Chicago. Same story there. Eventually he wound up here. All this is hearsay, you understand, probably embellished, but I believe the basics.”
Bill made a corner, then said, “Only one afternoon of illicit romance? Do you believe that version?”
“No. Why would Mrs. Kemp exaggerate her sister’s promiscuity in the wrong direction?”
“Exactly.”
“And why did Driscoll do the opposite and swear on the Bible that he was with Norma Blanchard only once?”
“We’ll ask him that tomorrow.”
“Why not now?”
“I want to see what evidence the Kemp house yields. When we confront Gabe with this, I want to be as well-armed as possible.”
When they arrived at the Amoses’ house, Thatcher said he would wait in the car. “Take your time. I’ve got a lot to mull over.”
Such as Laurel being a moonshiner, out of her league with big-time players like Landry and Croft, the Johnsons, and the unscrupulous couple at Lefty’s.
Jesus.
* * *
Bill found Daisy in bed, listless and complaining of stomach cramps. He asked if she’d eaten anything, but she hadn’t because she couldn’t keep anything down. “Have you been drinking?”
“No, Bill.” She reached for his hand and held it against her cheek. She was lying. He could smell whiskey on her breath, but he didn’t want to start a row. She wasn’t drunk, but she was obviously unwell.
He gave her half a dropper of the medicine. “Maybe it’ll ease the cramping so you can sleep. I won’t be long.”
“I love you.”
“I love you, too.” He kissed her forehead. Her eyes drifted closed. It scared him how fragile she looked. Almost lifeless.
Shaking off that thought, he left the bedroom and had almost reached the front door when the telephone rang. He went back to answer it and could tell by the background noise coming through the earpiece that his long and strenuous day wasn’t over yet.
Sixty seconds later, he strode to the car and climbed into the driver’s seat. “Thatcher, do you have a gun belt?”
“At the boardinghouse.”
“Then we’ll stop there first.”
“What’s happened?”
“That moonshine war I knew was coming? Well, it’s here.”