The Whiskey Tide (34 page)

     
"I'm going to go wash. If you're not up and dressed by the time I get back, I'll yank the covers off to get you moving."

     
Her eyes flew wide, still blurred with sleep, and Joe felt something shift inside him.

***

     
Forty minutes after Joe had wakened her, they were on a trolley rolling down Prince William Street toward Market Slip. Billy greeted them in high spirits.

     
"That cabin's sure a posh place to sleep when the door's closed good," he proclaimed. "Clovis plays a mouth harp, did you know? ‘If You Knew Susie’ and ‘Yankee Doodle’ and all kinds of songs...."

     
The first of the trucks from the liquor warehouse began to arrive. By half-past nine they were loaded, fueled and casting off. The sullen sky had exhausted its supply of snow. On the shores gliding past, whiteness lay thickly on forests of evergreens, creating scenes reminiscent of the approaching holidays. Light houses whose white towers had looked refreshing against summer's blues and greens rose in columns of ice from a bleak, frozen landscape.

     
They made good progress, pushing in case they were slowed by bad weather later. If the engine he'd modified came through this trip with nothing worse than a frozen fuel line, it was up to anything, Joe reflected with satisfaction.

     
Between Grand Manan and the mainland they had the company of lobster boats from the island. They bought four two-pounders from one of the boats and boiled them for lunch. By nightfall they had cleared Grand Manan, trading its shelter and the tides of Fundy for raw winds from the Atlantic.

     
"Were you an officer in the service, Joe?" Kate asked in the lazy interlude after supper when Billy was taking a turn at the wheel.

     
Joe hooted, unable to restrain himself. Clovis likewise doubled with laughter, a curious sound like the hiss of a goose.

     
"You have to have connections to be an officer, Kate," Joe explained recovering. "Or money." He felt bad about laughing, her expression was so serious. She'd supposed his year in college had counted for something, he guessed. "I was lucky to come out a sergeant." He grinned. "I lost my stripes twice — busted for insubordination."

     
Clovis sputtered again in delight. The source of their amusement was lost on Kate, but it infected her and she laughed too.

     
Still chuckling, Joe ambled down to the head. Funny, but the sight of Kate with her wind-whipped hair and nose red from the cold made him think about settling down. He thought of Rita, ripe and waiting. He had an idea Rita wanted nice things, and would hold a man's feet to the fire to see he provided them. It would probably do him good, a nudge like that.

     
From Vinalhaven on the coast curved inward, jutting out again at Cape Ann. They set a straight line between the two points, saving precious time and for most of the second day keeping them well beyond the three-mile limit, safe from arrest. They were better than fifteen miles out when it started to snow again, forcing Kate, who was at the helm, closer to shore.

     
"Don't worry. We have time to spare," Joe assured waking from a catnap and discovering the situation. "We'll follow Crane's Beach a bit and see if this stops. If not we'll stay five miles out. The boys waiting for our load won't appreciate standing around in this weather, but none of us planned it." He pulled his cap on and buttoned his coat.

     
They anticipated landing early tonight — nine-thirty or ten. But at ten they were just passing Gloucester, with the rendezvous point for this load still two hours away. The squall of snow had passed, but there were whitecaps. Illuminated in snatches of starlight, Kate's face looked pale but determined. Joe suspected she was longing for the sight of Ma and Pa Baker and her own waters. They hoisted sail and the engine went silent. It was too close to the rendezvous to risk having their passing sound noted by someone patrolling the shore, who might call and alert police in the next community.

     
"Hell's bells!" Joe exploded when they'd crept past Manchester and rounded the deserted island known as Great Misery. Peering at the mainland he could just make out two flashes... one... two... one. "There's a signal."

     
The others were silent. They knew what it meant.

     
"Surely the police aren't waiting around in this weather," Kate objected.

     
"They might be if they were tipped off. And they know extra booze comes in for the holidays."

     
Billy and Clovis had drawn near. The four of them looked at each other. The signal was a warning from men stationed several miles up from their rendezvous spot. It meant the schooner was to continue south, stay outside the three-mile limit for twenty-four hours, and land at an alternate spot the following night.

     
"By morning we could be stuck in another storm as bad as we had on the way to Saint John," Joe said grimly. "And the closer we get to Boston, the more Coast Guard activity there's bound to be."

     
"What should we do then?" Kate asked shivering.

     
They were barely a mile and a half from shore now, subject to arrest and easy to overtake with their engine off. Joe rubbed the growth of beard on his chin.

     
"There's some risk no matter what we do. Your dock's about as private as they come. We could tie up there. Billy and Clovis and I could come back tomorrow night and take the boat to the landing spot."

     
"And the
Folly
would sit there all day filled with booze?"

     
He could hear her dismay, not for herself but for her family. If their boat was nabbed at their dock loaded with contraband, there'd be a scandal.

     
"It's your call," he said. "I'm game to stay out another night if that's what you want."

     
He could hear her swallow. She stepped to the rope rail and gripped it, looking over the side.

     
"We'd be mad to stay out if there could be another storm brewing," she said quietly. "Land at our dock."

     
With nerves as tight as a backstay they traversed another forty minutes of wind-tossed waters. They were near enough to shore for a voice to carry now if the wind was right. Sitting targets. The outcrop marking the entry to the Hinshaws' cove was a welcome sight.

     
Almost as he spotted it, Joe felt the spot between his shoulders begin to prickle. The old warning of danger. Before he could react, over the slap of the water, he heard a splash directly abeam.

     
"Portuguese man!" The voice was scarcely louder than Clovis' hiss.

     
Motioning to Billy to take the wheel he moved to the side of the boat. He could see something move in the darkness. Oars splashed, inexpertly wielded.

     
"Portuguese man! There are men on the beach — police!"

     
Slack-jawed with disbelief he saw a rowboat, tossed almost out of control. Like the
Folly
it ran without lights. As it lurched to within a foot of the schooner a lantern hidden in the bottom of it revealed two figures. The one in front was Kate's elderly neighbor, Mrs. Cole.

Twenty-five

     
"Take us on with you and we'll make you safe," the old woman hissed gathering a coil of rope in her hand to throw it.

     
"Jesus, Mary and Joseph!"

     
Joe recovered in time to swing out under the lifeline and catch the feebly thrown coil. The jerkiness of his movements bore testimony to his distracted state. As he tied the rowboat Kate awoke from paralysis and ran to get a rope ladder. Mrs. Cole struggled to bring a basket with her as she climbed onto it. Behind her Tatia sat clinging desperately to an oar. Joe spoke soothingly and held out a hand, and a moment later the maid followed.

     
"Cut the rowboat free. Let it go," Zenaide gasped.

     
It was too dark to see Joe's expression, but Kate sensed his hesitation. Things were happening too quickly for reasoning. They were less than eight minutes from shore. With no moon, the dock and shoreline weren't visible yet, which with luck meant the
Folly
wasn't either, though that might change momentarily. With an indrawn breath Joe cut the rope.

     
Both women stood on board panting. "I haven't rowed for many years. Not since early in my marriage," Zenaide Cole said. Oddly, she sounded thrilled.

     
"Mrs. Cole, you may be in a great deal of trouble coming in with us if there are police," Joe cautioned dubiously.

     
"They wouldn't dare bother two elderly ladies coming back from an outing." She raised her voice then and it had a surprising timbre. "I'm afraid that was more excitement than we'd bargained for, with the winds coming up. An end-of-the-season picnic's always the best, though, don't you think?"

     
Kate was sure the words carried over the water. She and Billy furled sail.

     
"Clovis — when we dock, you and Billy tie up fast," Joe instructed softly. "Make sure you're off when the rest of us are. Get in the boat we left there and head back to town."

     
"It's a pity your little brother wasn't well enough to go with us," Zenaide resumed in clarion tones. "You're quite right to turn the lights off before you come in so they don't waken him, as ill as he's been."

     
The dock loomed out of the dark. Kate thought she caught a glimpse of movement on the beach and held her breath. Wood bumped against wood as Joe brought the schooner into position next to the dock. Billy sprang ashore and secured the mooring ropes. The stern of the vessel sat low in the water with its illegal cargo. There was no gangplank.

     
"Mind you have the picnic basket, Tatia," Zenaide admonished.

     
Kate's palms were sweaty in spite of the cold. She watched Joe lift first Zenaide Cole, then the basket she'd brought, and finally her companion onto the dock. Kate followed, hesitating while Clovis joined Billy. She needed to stall so the two could get safely away as Joe had instructed.

     
"It was a lovely dinner you provided for us, Mrs. Cole."

     
What if she shouldn't have spoken her neighbor's name? What if the basket were seized and there was nothing in it? Where were the men who were watching? WERE they being watched?

     
"It was you who was kind, offering to take us out when we craved a change of scenery," responded Zenaide. "Women our age have very few opportunities for entertainment."

     
Kate felt guilty. She vowed she would remember Mrs. Cole for this kindness. Joe was rubbing the back of his neck.

     
"I'll see you in safely," he said to the women.

     
Billy and Clovis were in a small rowboat tied to the dock. They lighted the bowlight and cast off. Still tensed for the shadows to explode with policemen, Kate led the way up the stairs. Her ears strained but caught not the least sound. What if Mrs. Cole had invented the men on the beach — or imagined them? Was it possible? At the top of the stairs she turned to see the rowboat, with its small bow light glowing, turn south along the coast.

     
They walked in silence to Mrs. Cole's house. Ignoring the kitchen door Mrs. Cole led the way to the front entrance. Joe opened the door and stepped in ahead of them.