By Starlight (2 page)

“That’s right,” Pluggett said, still looking at his papers. “We’ve received a report that someone’s smuggling in a lot of liquor in the area. The Canadians have their hands full and haven’t been much help, but the scuttlebutt they’ve heard indicates the rumors have merit. We don’t know if it’s one of the usual suspects or somebody new, but the decision has been made to check it out, and that’s where you come in.”

“But…but I thought I might be headed to Chicago,” Jack said. With the success he’d been having lately, he’d hoped to be one of the first the Bureau sent after Al Capone; if he had a hand in breaking up the biggest bootlegging empire in the country, who knew how far up the ladder he could climb?

“You’re going to Montana,” Pluggett explained, finally peering up at Jack. The look in Pluggett’s eyes made it clear that he wasn’t about to brook any disagreement.

Jack’s mind began working furiously, desperate to come up with something,
anything
that might change his assignment; based on Pluggett’s expression, he knew he’d have to tread carefully.

“Excuse my saying so, sir,” he began, “but all of the success I’ve had for the Bureau has come from working undercover. Most everyone in Colton will know who I am. I don’t know how I could get the results you want.”

“Oh, but you will,” Pluggett said with a grin.

“How?”

“Because you’re going to be hiding in plain sight.”

“Sir?”

“Just because everyone in that little speck of a town can fondly recall you running around in short pants doesn’t mean they have the foggiest idea what you do for a living,” he explained. “You hardly strike me as the sort who writes weekly letters to his family telling them what you’ve been up to. Am I right?”

Jack nodded. The truth was exactly that; within months of leaving Colton, he’d acted as if it had dropped off the map. There had been no letters, no phone calls, no telegrams, nothing. The only family he’d had in Colton when he left was his demanding father, his mother having died when he was only a boy, and Jeremiah Rucker was someone Jack had no desire ever to see again. There was only one person he missed…one person he now worried about…

“No one has any idea what you are,” Pluggett continued. “For all they know, you’re a shoe salesman or a schoolteacher. If you’re as good an actor as I think you are, they’ll believe anything you tell them, especially when they have something to gain from it.”

“Which is?”

“Money,” the Lieutenant answered. “I want you to go to Colton under the guise of a representative of a developer from Chicago looking to buy up land to build hotels on it or some such. You’ll work out the details on the way there. The way I figure it, folks will be telling you every last thing you’d ever want to hear in order to get a piece of that pie.”

“You want me to lie to them,” Jack said.

“Isn’t that what you do best?” Pluggett answered. “Besides, with your luck, it won’t take more than a day or two to learn where the liquor’s coming from and who’s behind it all. After that who knows, maybe you’ll get a crack at Capone.”

Jack brightened considerably at that. Maybe it would be as easy as the Lieutenant made it out to be. Maybe he’d be out of there within a week or so. Maybe a quick visit home wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe…

“Oh, there’s one more thing,” Pluggett said.

“Yes, sir.”

“You won’t be going alone. Agent Hooper will be accompanying you as a partner in the venture. Two heads are always better than one.”

Except in this case.

For the second time in minutes, Jack knew that his face betrayed his emotions. Ross Hooper was one of the most disliked agents working for the Bureau. Loud, overbearing, sloppy in dress and work; in short, a poor lawman. Jack had never been able to figure out how Hooper had managed to keep his job for as long as he had; the best guess anyone could come up with was that he had a relative much higher up the ladder.

“You’ll leave the day after tomorrow,” Pluggett said, effectively ending the meeting.

As he scooped up his hat and headed for the door, Jack wondered if his vaunted luck hadn’t turned into some kind of curse.

MADDY STOOD BEHIND
the long counter of her father’s store, Aldridge Mercantile, and ground her teeth. In these tough times, with men unable to find work, banks suddenly closing, and families being pushed off land they’d owned for generations, she’d had to confront all kinds of emotional customers. There were those who were already crying before they opened the front door, pushing hollow-eyed children in front of them. Some talked a mile a minute, while others mumbled, never able to make eye contact. Occasionally, someone would take his anger and frustration out on her, shouting so loudly that Maddy was certain it could be heard out in the street.

But there was nothing she hated more than when someone begged.

“Please, Maddy…I’ll pay you back. I promise…”

Pete Seybold stood on the other side of the counter, his hat clutched so tightly in his hands that his knuckles were bone white. Maddy had known him for years. A joke teller, he lived with his family just outside of town, a short distance from the lumber mill he worked at, a business now closed. The effect of that closure on Pete was obvious. His face was gaunt, his cheekbones prominent, his cheeks peppered with a growth of silvery whiskers. His eyes were pleading, wet, brimming with tears.

“Times are a bit tough is all,” he kept on, afraid that if he left too long a break in their conversation Maddy might fill it with something he didn’t want to hear. “I’ve been hearin’ ’bout some work down in Smulders. Talk is they’re lookin’ for experienced lumber men. Soon as I’m hired, I’ll pay you what I owe.”

Maddy pursed her lips. If rumors like this one about jobs looking to be filled were food, there wouldn’t be a hungry family a hundred miles in every direction. Even if what he said was true, the competition would be tremendous. The odds of Pete getting work were one in a hundred, at best.

“I know times are hard,” Maddy began, holding Pete’s gaze, determined to show him that she meant every word, “but they’re hard for everyone, me included. The mercantile has bills of its own that need to be paid. If I don’t have the money for them, I’ll eventually have to shut that door for good. I just can’t afford to extend credit.”

“I’m not asking for much,” he pleaded, growing more desperate. “Just a bag of flour. Enough to feed my family, is all.”

“I’m sorry, but the answer is no.”

Outside, a peal of distant thunder rumbled over the low hills before washing against Colton. The glass in the tall windows of the mercantile shook slightly. It wouldn’t be long before the summer squall broke, swelling the rivers and muddying the earth.

Pete’s features were creased by an angry frown. “Your father wouldn’t have turned me away in my time of need.”

“My father isn’t here!” Maddy snapped, her voice faltering a bit more than she liked. “But if he were, he’d make the same decision I am!”

Maddy was thankful there were no other customers in the store to hear her outburst; she thought that it was inappropriate, even unbecoming, especially for a woman. Regardless, she also knew she was in the right.

However, it appeared that her sister disagreed. Helen had been placing an order of buttons into the chest of drawers from which they were sold, her head turned slightly to help make certain she heard every word; a long time had passed since she’d put a button away. Maddy could see that Helen was frowning; for a moment, she wondered if her sister might get involved, but she held her tongue.

Maddy took a deep breath to help regain her composure. “I wish there was something I could do for you, Pete, but I can’t give you anything on credit. When you get working again, come back and I’d be happy to sell it to you.”

“That’s…that’s the way it’s gonna be then?”

“I’m afraid so.”

Pete nodded slowly. A lone tear streaked down his cheek before he angrily wiped it away, looking ashamed that it had fallen. Maddy wondered if she’d have to listen to him scream at her, ranting and raving at how unfair everything was, how she should be ashamed of herself, and worse. Instead, Pete quietly made his way to the door like a beaten man. Just as he opened it, the dark clouds above began to let loose, a teasing rain blowing against the glass.

“I suppose it was too much to hope for,” he said without turning. “But what else is a man to do when he’s at the end of his damn rope?”

Without waiting for an answer, he stepped out into the growing storm.

For the last two years, nearly every one of Maddy’s days had been spent in the Aldridge Mercantile, struggling not to make too big a mistake as she tried to eke out a living for herself, Helen, and their father.

Built on a corner lot of Colton’s Main Street just opposite the bank, the mercantile carried many of the things needed for small-town Montana life: pairs of shoes; big jars full of sweets; nails and the hammers to pound them; women’s dresses; and bags of flour, oats, and beans. Maddy had heard about stores in faraway places like Denver, St. Louis, and even New York City that sold only expensive dresses, fancy plates and silverware, or pounds of chocolate, but such a place was unimaginable in Colton.

Silas Aldridge had built his business out of simpler ideas: a good item for sale for a fair price, each one sold with a smile. By ordering the hard-to-find product, allowing only the occasional perishable to go to waste, and investing some of himself into each and every person who walked through the door, he ensured that the mercantile thrived. Though his wife had died young, Silas brought up both of his daughters to understand that rewards came from hard work. But then, out of the blue, everything had changed.

When Silas had first fallen ill, there didn’t appear to be any reason to worry. Over the years, he’d begun to feel a dull pain in the joints of his hands and his feet if he stood on them for too long, but suddenly the pain had become nearly unbearable. Dr. Quayle had assured Maddy that it would all soon pass, that her father just needed some rest, and that he’d be right as rain.

Instead, things had only grown worse.

The pain became so intense that Silas could get out of bed only for short periods, then only with assistance, and finally not at all. No matter what the doctor prescribed, nothing seemed to help. Often, Maddy would wake in the night to hear her father moaning, his sleep as unsettled as his days. He began to slowly wither away before her eyes, losing weight along with his vigor, no longer the larger-than-life man he’d been when she was a child.

In order to keep food on the table and a roof over the family’s head, Maddy understood that she needed to step in at the mercantile. In her father’s place, she had to run things until his health improved. In the beginning, she’d been terrified, nervous that she’d fail, and struggled to never let it show. Her father wrote to vendors and farmers, any supplier the store used, explaining that he was temporarily off his feet and that they should deal with Maddy when they called. She worried that many of these men, as well as customers, would find it odd to deal with a woman, but her fears had proven to be pleasantly unfounded.

Even in the midst of the Great Depression, with more and more families struggling to make ends meet, Maddy kept the business profitable. Surprising even herself, she found that she had an eye for business. She bought and sold goods shrewdly, purchasing items her father would have passed on, turning down others she felt would languish on the shelves. Maddy made the hard decisions without emotion, knowing where her ledgers stood to the penny. Most days were rewarding, even a little bit fun.

And then there were days like this one…

Maddy watched as Pete Seybold sat in his truck in front of the store, his head in his hands, the rain pounding down, drumming incessantly on the roof. Rainwater cascaded down the mercantile’s windows, distorting her view, but she thought she saw his shoulders shaking and that he was crying. Even as thunder roared and lightning flashed, he gave no sign of leaving, instead choosing to wallow in his misery. The streets were deserted; no one would step into such weather. She thought about running out and tapping on his window, asking him to come in from the storm, but she was probably the last person in all of Montana he’d listen to.

Maybe if Helen asked…

In many ways, Helen couldn’t have been more different from her older sister. Four years younger at eighteen, Helen bore little physical resemblance to Maddy; her midnight black hair was cut short, her skin pale and soft, and the features of her face sharper but no less attractive. Helen always seemed to have her head in the clouds, dreaming of a life far different from the one she lived. She’d never been interested in school, had to be cajoled into doing her chores, and was always reciting bits from stories she read out of an old issue of
Glamour Confidential
, a gossip magazine she’d sent away for.

Still, Helen had done her part in helping to care for their father; she might grumble about taking him his meals, wiping his brow when he was having a bad spell, or sitting by his bedside and listening to a radio show when she’d rather be in her room pining for a more glamorous life, but she did as she was asked. Silas often remarked that Helen was the spitting image of her mother, praise the young woman cherished.

Helen had also been a great help at the store. She put away stock, swept the floors, and occasionally waited on customers, though she wasn’t particularly patient; when someone hemmed and hawed about their purchase, Helen had a bad habit of drumming her fingernails on the counter. Some of Colton’s young men liked to come in and try to sweet-talk her, but she disdainfully ignored them; she’d set her sights much higher.

Maddy walked the length of the counter toward the small storeroom in the back. She’d sent Helen to take an inventory of their pens and pencils so that she could place an order, but what she found when she entered was far different from what she’d expected.

Helen stood beneath the stockroom’s lone bulb, working determinedly. She’d cut open a twenty-five-pound bag of flour and was scooping some of it into a smaller sack. She glanced up when Maddy entered, but didn’t stop.

“What are you doing?” Maddy demanded, already dreading the answer.

“I’m helping Pete and his family,” Helen replied.

Maddy quickly crossed the small room and grabbed her sister by the arm; the small sack tipped over, spilling a bit of flour and sending the scoop clattering to the floor. Helen immediately yanked herself free and turned, frowning, ready to argue.

“Don’t you start going against me,” Maddy began, her voice strained. “I told Pete that I wasn’t extending him credit for flour and I meant it. The last person I expected to defy me was you.”

“I’m not just going to stand by while that man and his family starve!” Helen shouted, her dark eyes dancing. “You’d have to be blind not to see that he’s suffering! All he wants is a little something for his family to eat!”

“That doesn’t mean we should give it away.”

“He said he’d pay us back for it. Once he gets that job down in Smulders he’ll be able to give us the money he owes.” When Helen saw the way Maddy frowned, she angrily asked, “Are you calling him a liar?”

“I’m not saying he’s doing it on purpose,” she answered, “but you know as well as I do that even if there are jobs to be had, there’ll be a line of fifty men trying to get one. Times are tough for everyone. Who knows how long it’ll be before he gets hired? Besides, if we start giving Pete credit, what happens when Charlie Kierscht asks, or Al Spratt, or George Erskine? Are you going to let them all have some flour, farming equipment, or clothes? When would it ever end if there’s a line of desperate men standing outside the door before we open?”

“And what would be wrong with that?” Helen shot back. “If it meant that their children could sleep at night, it’s a price worth paying!”

“Not if it means that we suffer in their place.”

“Pa would’ve given Pete what he needed!” her sister shouted.

“Only if he could have afforded it.”

The truth was, things at the mercantile were more precarious than ever; when Maddy balanced the books each night, she saw how much things had changed. Times in Colton were tough. Families threatened by the loss of a job or foreclosure were spending less, buying only the essentials. Maddy did her best, cutting corners wherever she could, but it didn’t stop her from worrying.

But there
had
been a recent turn in their fortunes…

“We’re not that bad off,” Helen said, thinking the same thing. “Not anymore,” she added, pointing a finger toward the floor.

“Stop it! Don’t say another word about that!” Maddy shouted, raising her voice for the first time. “We agreed never to talk about that here!”

“Why not? It’s not as if half the people in town haven’t been there once or twice. Didn’t you say Reverend Fitzpatrick was there two days ago? If
he
doesn’t mind, there’s no reason we should have to be so quiet about it!”

“Because it’s wrong, that’s why!” Maddy argued, fearful that someone might hear. “If Jim Utley caught wind of it…”

Helen folded her arms across her chest. “If you honestly believe that the sheriff doesn’t know what you and Jeffers are up to, then you’re an even bigger fool than I thought.”

Maddy didn’t know how to answer. “We can’t give that flour to Pete,” she finally said, no longer wanting to argue.

“We could,” Helen disagreed, “but you choose not to.” Angrily, she barged past Maddy, stopping when she reached the door. “I don’t know how you can be so heartless,” she spat. “If I thought the way you do, I don’t think I’d be able to sleep at night!”

Without another word, Helen left the mercantile, hurrying into the rain as she slammed the door behind her, leaving Maddy to close up for the night.

When Maddy locked the door to the mercantile at four o’clock, the storm had blown off to the east. The bright afternoon sun drifted in and out of the trailing clouds, reflecting off of the puddles of water covering the town. A fitful breeze teased at the trees and scurried along the ground, filling the summer air with the fresh smell of rain.

Pete Seybold still sat in his truck.