“Ladies,” Albert said, rising. “You’ll please excuse my hasty departure. Miss Francine, do have a wonderful birthday,” he said, turning toward her. Then he looked at my sister and, with a twinkle in his eye, said, “And as far as your tardiness is concerned, Miss Strickland; I’d be willing to bet that your employer will be a tad late himself. Ladies,” he said, “I bid you adieu.” Albert bowed slightly and walked away.
“Well, I swear, Olivia,” Francine said, with eyes agog. “Is he always that debonair?”
“Somewhat, I guess,” Olivia replied, her eyes following her boss as he walked toward the bar.
“I bet a couple of belts under his belt helped, too,” I wryly remarked as I watched Albert take the empty bar stool next to Scott’s.
“Lord, but that fella comin’ in to do business with Mr. Doxley sure is dreamy,” Francine said in a breathy voice.
“He’s a fly boy,” I replied. “And a criminal.”
“How’d you know that?” Olivia asked.
“I hear talk. He’s a bootlegger. He flies the stuff in. Rumor has it he keeps company with that Gertrude Lythgoe.” The girls looked at me as though I was speaking Italian. “You know, the Bahama Queen,” I said, figuring they’d certainly know who she was by her moniker. They still looked confused. “Lordy, do y’all close your eyes to everything goin’ on in this town?” I took a deep breath and continued. “Gertrude Lythgoe runs a liquor business out of Nassau. ’Course you know the stuff is legal there. She runs it in here, but has help doin’ that. By sea, she has Bill McCoy, for one, and by air, she’s probably using Scott Monroe. She’s one vicious lady. To my way of thinking, anyone keeping company with her is just as bad, if not worse.”
Francine leaned in so as not to be heard. “Who’s she sellin’ booze to in this town?”
“Let me put it to you this way, Francie,” I replied. “Any business in the hospitality industry that’s thriving—be it a hotel, dance club or restaurant – you can pretty well bet your bonnet that booze is bein’ served there, and I don’t mean the legal complimentary one-drink-with-dinner kind of thing.”
“No foolin’?” Francine asked, wide-eyed.
“Every one of ’em?” Olivia asked thickly. By now, she was very well fortified.
“Lord! Do y’all keep your heads buried in the sand? What’s bringing in the cash is stocking booze by the barrelful!”
“For land’s sake,” Francine said in a breathy whisper.
“And by air, too,” I laughed, looking over at Scott Monroe at the bar. Startled, I realized he was looking back, and I had the uncomfortable notion that he knew exactly what we were talking about.
Chapter 5
A Race against Time
The red and gold banners I strung across the veranda just the night before danced in the light breeze, creating a soft clapping sound. I wondered if they’d be an annoyance or add to the festiveness of the day. Checking my watch, I saw that it was 10:45 p.m. I only had fifteen minutes until the doors to the Helm would open and the guests would arrive to watch the first of the fall season’s boat races.
Daddy and Mama had been so busy for the previous two weeks that, other than seeing them at breakfast, we’d been like ships passing in the night. They’d been focusing all of their energy on making sure the races, and the Strickland Water Craft boats competing in them, were a complete success. It was crucial for their business that everything go off without a hitch. It was crucial for my grandparents’ hotel, as well, since they were the main sponsor of the event, and the races would occur right in front of the Spinnaker. Over the summer, the races had had a fair turnout of spectators, as well as boats competing in them, but our fall and winter races were the most heavily attended, and our biggest moneymakers.
“Well, crab’s off the menu today!” Peter Neilson said angrily as he walked up behind me.
Turning around, I saw that he looked quite frazzled. His eyebrows pinched together, and his hair, always perfectly combed in place, stuck up awkwardly as though he’d been running his hands through it.
“What do you mean ‘crab’s off the menu’?” I asked, smoothing his hair back down.
“This morning’s shipment from our usual distributor, St. Clair’s, stank! Literally! I told them to take it back and either bring us another load—and fresh this time—or we’d find someone else to supply us. And don’t you know that little peon of a man, Grady, who grates on my nerves I might add, told me that the Belvedere took a double load this morning, which included our order, so they gave us yesterday’s inventory! I asked him why he thought we’d be all right with that and he said he didn’t worry too much about it since the Belvedere paid twice the usual amount.”
“Son of a gun!” I mumbled under my breath. “Okay, rather than standing here fuming, call Jesse Weiss, over at Joe’s Stone Crabs, and see if he’ll sell us some crabmeat. He’s done it before. If he will, send one of the dishwashers over there to pick it up.” Immediately, Peter turned away to make the call. “And send one of Grandma’s spice cakes to Jesse,” I called after him. “He’s a fool about ’em.”
I walked toward the maître d’s podium at the front of the room, and as I did, I made myself take a few deep breaths. Though I wouldn’t let Peter see how irritated I was, I was beyond angry. It wasn’t the first time that Chick Belvedere and his employees pulled something like that. The owner of the Belvedere would stoop to whatever means were necessary in order to not just outdo the competition, but totally crush them, as well. I decided to have a little word with Chick once the race was over. In the meantime, it was my job to help Peter see that the running of the Helm went as smoothly as possible. Every table was reserved for the entire afternoon.
I checked the list at the podium to see who had a reservation, and much to my surprise, saw the name of Sam Smith (a.k.a. Buddy DeMario) on it. Also on the list were the Reverend Tine and his wife, Gladys, from the Methodist church we attended, as well as several wealthy business tycoons from the north, including Cyrus Curtis, the owner and publisher of the Ladies Home Journal, and the Saturday Evening Post. Mr. Curtis had a reputation for enjoying races of all sorts. Now that both dog and horseracing were available in Miami, he visited regularly in the winter. Scanning down the list, I saw Neil and Laura Aldriches’ names, and I felt the blood rush to my face. Though I appreciated their business, I knew that their presence was sure to distract me, and I needed to have my wits together to handle all of the many situations that were sure to crop up throughout the day.
“Can we come in?” A voice interrupted my thoughts, and I looked up to see Olivia peeking around the door she’d cracked open. “I know you’re not officially open yet.” She smiled.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I laughed as I pulled open the door. “Of course you can come in.” Standing behind her was Francine, as well Francine’s parents, Jim and Maven Hollister.
“Mr. and Mrs. Hollister! I didn’t know you were comin’ today. I thought you’d already left for Gastonia.”
Maven still had family in North Carolina, and planned to spend Thanksgiving with them. Francine, however, wasn’t able to get away. She worked as a switchboard operator and because she was one of the newer employees, she was required to work the holiday shift, which was one of the busiest of the year. Her parents had offered to stay home, but, as Francine told them, she wouldn’t be there much of the time anyway, so they’d agreed to go on. Mama had asked both Rusty and Francine to join us for dinner; Francine was coming but Rusty had already made other plans.
“We’re leavin’ for Gastonia