Anchor In The Storm Part 21

"Aye aye, sir. So the guy above Hobie's source-"

Arch whipped around. "Above Hobie's source?"

"Yeah. Looks like we've got at least three layers on board. Hard to tell. Everyone's secretive."

It really was a ring. Arch blew out a long breath.

"So the guy above him-he wondered why Hobie's use of the drug suddenly doubled, figured he was trying to put one past him. Hobie's a sneaky one. They told him to 'fess up or they'd cut off his supply. Roughed him up a bit."

Arch's breath chilled, and he leveled a gaze at Palonsky. "You can get out any time you want."

"Are you kidding, sir?" His gray-blue eyes danced. "This is the role of a lifetime."

"Still, say the word and you're out." Arch turned the telescope to the next s.h.i.+p. "Position three-three, distance six-nine-oh."

"Got it. And I got another name-Earl Kramer. He's Hobie's supplier."

"Kramer?" The c.o.xswain was experienced and respected. Hard to believe he was involved in this mess. "Who's above him?"

"Don't know. Best I can figure, there's one big shot, a couple middlemen like Kramer, and each middleman has a couple customers like Hobie. That's where Hobie made his mistake. He wanted to add a fourth layer-me. Only they don't like that. When they get a new customer, soon as they trust him, they introduce him to Kramer."

"Guess they didn't trust you." Arch winked at Palonsky.

"Leave the humor to me, boss." He waved toward the ocean. "Do your officer stuff."

Arch turned dials on the stadimeter. "Position two-one, distance one-three-five-oh."

So who was this big shot? Was it Doc? Or maybe Doc was clean, and the big shot was someone different, someone with a connection on sh.o.r.e, either at the Navy Yard or in Boston. And where was the connection to Dixon's Drugs, if there was one?

He took an invigorating breath of sea air. No tremor marred his movements. If he could break this drug ring and get his men to shape up, he might salvage his career-even boost it.

For the first time in months, hope stirred inside-for his career and with Lillian. An anchor for the soul.

No. He adjusted the dial and his att.i.tude. Hope in the Lord was the only anchor he could trust.

22.

Boston

Tuesday, April 14, 1942

Most people disliked working every other weekend, but Lillian loved having weekdays off to run errands.

She washed her breakfast dishes and set them in the rack to dry.

The phone rang.

Oh bother. Was Mr. Dixon calling her in to work? She went to the phone table by the door. "h.e.l.lo?"

"Do you have plans today?"

Lillian's heart bounced. "Arch? Hi. Mary said your s.h.i.+p came into town yesterday."

"Yes, and do you have plans today?"

Her fingers fluttered in front of her. Why was he asking? "Everyone is working but me. I-I'm going to the grocery and the dry cleaner."

"Would you rather go to the Red Sox game?"

She gasped. "Opening day?"

"Jim and I bought tickets yesterday, but Buckner a.s.signed him to the skeleton crew. Mary said you have today off, and Jim thought you'd enjoy the game. It starts at 1400. I could pick you up at 1200."

She leaned back against the phone table, her thoughts racing. Jim knew she loved baseball more than a woman ought to.

"Just as friends, of course," Arch said.

"Of course." The words caught in her throat. Why did she feel disappointed? And yet . . . opening day! "I'll be ready at noon."

The El train clattered over the Charlestown Bridge. Lillian smoothed her new dress, a light gray scattered with miniature strawberries, with a short-sleeved berry-red jacket. "I've never been to a Red Sox game. I've seen the Cleveland Indians play, but never on opening day. How exciting."

Arch leaned against the window in his dress blues and gave her a funny smile with only the corners of his mouth.

"I always wanted to play. Perhaps it's best I had my accident, or I would've been an even worse tomboy." She was babbling, but she didn't care what he thought of her. He had his Bitsy, and that was all right. She had a friend-and a trip to Fenway Park.

Arch s.h.i.+fted his position as the train descended into the tunnel on the far side of the bridge. "I'm sorry I didn't see you the last time I was in town."

"No need to apologize." She flapped her hand, pleased with her breezy tone. "Jim and Mary and I didn't mind. We knew you had a friend in town."

"But I do need to apologize. You're my partner, the Watson to my Holmes."

"I thought it was the other way around."

"Perhaps." His lip twitched. "Or the Laurel to my Hardy, the Abbott to my Costello."

"You're awful." She swatted him playfully on the arm. Oh dear, what had she done? Her cheeks tingled, but she scrounged around for her breezy tone. "How are things at sea?"

"Did you listen to the radio this morning?"

"No, I was . . ." She was trying on every outfit in her closet. "I was busy."

"Down around Cape Hatteras, one of our destroyers, the Roper, sank a U-boat right after midnight." He slashed his hand through the air. "Obliterated it."

"The first time."

"I thought Buckner would be angry someone beat him to the punch, but he's never been in such high spirits. Now he knows it can be done."

"What great news."

"North Station." He motioned for her to lead the way off the train, then they worked their way up stairs and through tunnels and onto the next train.

Lillian settled in her seat. "So, Watson, anything new in the case?"

"As Palonsky said, it broke wide open."

"It did?"

"He found out the name of Hobie's supplier-Earl Kramer-and he learned there are at least three layers. One man seems to be the source, he has a few middlemen, and each of them has several customers."

"My word." The ring was so extensive.

"We might have a lead on land. Palonsky says the men frequent a bar in Charlestown-the Rusty Barnacle."

"Barnacles get rusty?"

He laughed. "No, but it certainly sounds rough."

Lillian opened her purse and handed Arch a sc.r.a.p of paper. "I recorded all the suspicious prescriptions. It started in January '41. Here are the patient names. Do any look familiar?"

"No, although I don't know all two hundred men on the crew." He smiled and pointed to Opal Harrison's name. "No women in the Navy-although they're talking about starting a women's reserve as they did in World War I."

"Mrs. Harrison's one of the patients, but she's innocent. She's my upstairs neighbor, my piano teacher."

His eyes widened. "Your . . ."

"The other day, I saw a phen.o.barbital prescription waiting for delivery. I wanted to trace it, so I delivered it myself. It was Mrs. Harrison, so no progress made."

"Lillian." A furrow ran up his forehead. "Please don't do that again. It could be dangerous. If anything happens to you, Jim will have me keelhauled."

"It won't happen again." She tucked the list back into her purse. "Mr. Dixon wasn't pleased. The patients tip Albert, and if I make deliveries, I deprive him of tips. I don't want to do that. Albert's always kind to me."

"For once, I'm on Mr. Dixon's side." Arch nodded toward the window. "Kenmore Station. Here we are."

More tunnels and stairs, and then they emerged into the suns.h.i.+ne. Lillian drank in the spring air, so warm and light.

Arch squinted at the buildings, then motioned the way. "Now I'm even more annoyed I didn't see you the last time I was here. I'd rather have spent the evening discussing the case with you."

"It's all right. You had a friend in town."

Arch grumbled and led her across a street. "I wouldn't call Bitsy a friend."

"Oh." Did her voice sound all right-not too pleased, appropriately sympathetic?

"We dated in high school. I thought I loved her, thought she loved me. She comes from old money and wants to marry well. Specifically, she wants to marry the Vandenberg heir."

"But you wanted to join the Navy."

"Yes." His gaze roamed her face, then returned to the sidewalk, which was filling with fans. "She was furious, did everything in her power to dissuade me, but my mind was set. I want a simple life, free from the trappings of wealth . . . the trap of wealth."

She studied his determined profile. It took strength of character and will to make that decision. How could Bitsy have been so blind? "You made the right choice."

He stopped and looked at her with knee-buckling intensity.

"Hey, move it, fella." A man shoved past Arch on the sidewalk.

Lillian and Arch startled and continued on their way. They strode alongside a large brick warehouse, but everyone headed inside gates that looked like garage doors. "Is this it?"

"Doesn't look like a stadium, does it?" Arch's shoulder b.u.mped hers in the thickening crowd. "By the way, thanks for what you said about my decision. Bitsy didn't agree. Neither did Gloria or Kate or any other woman I've dated. To them, I was only a ticket to prosperity."

"I'd rather have a ticket to opening day."

He chuckled and handed their tickets to the man at the gate. "I can do that for you."

Lillian's insides squirmed. He was comparing her to his former girlfriends. What did that mean? Did she like it or not? And why was she letting her imagination run wild?

Arch stayed close to her side as they worked through the crowd toward their tunnel. "All of the women I dated were only interested in my money, my name-the outside, not the inside."

The crowd pressed into the tunnel. Up ahead, sunlight and the open field beckoned Lillian. "With me, it's different. No one has ever cared enough to look past the outside."

He flashed a mischievous grin. "Or you won't let them."

Her throat tightened. "I'm cautious. Nothing wrong with that."

"You've been hurt."

She'd wanted the sunlight, longed for the openness, and now she closed her eyes against it. "Can we talk about something else? Anything else?"

"I beg your pardon. It's none of my business," he said in a tight voice, and he approached a vendor selling pop and peanuts. "I'd like a c.o.ke and a bag of peanuts. What would you like, Lillian?"

"Just a c.o.ke, please," she mumbled. The stadium spread before her, rows of seats, emerald gra.s.s, players warming up, and how had she thanked Arch? By shutting him out. Again.

He headed down the stairs, his shoulders straight and stiff. What had she done? The man had opened up to her, and she'd been coldhearted and rude.