Page 49 of Working for the Mob

Henry and Lucy were seeing a lot of each other, which made me nervous. Henry was all charm and smiles, and he was definitely part of whatever operations Art ran. However, he had only been a gentleman to Lucy. Whichshouldbe my main concern.

“Have you ever been to a speakeasy?” I asked Lucy in the living room, once Henry left.

“Tons of times,” she said, without hesitation. “Haven’t you?”

No. I hadn’t. On weekend nights I would stay at home and read. If my father was home, we would sometimes play chess.

“Of course, I have,” I said, and turned to head to the bathroom.

I was already halfway down the hall when I heard Lucy scream loudly from behind me.

I sprinted back to the kitchen. “What is it?”

My heartbeat escalated when I saw her mask of horror. Did she leave a loaf of bread to burn in the oven? Was it a spider?

“We won’t have anything to wear. Our dresses still aren’t in.”

Chapter 15 – Genevieve

Even if the dresses were to arrive before Friday, I still wouldn’t have anything to wear to a speakeasy. All the dresses I picked out were for work. They were practical. They weren’t made to wear to a party.

And to Lucy’s disappointment, the dresses didn’t arrive on Tuesday. They didn’t arrive on Wednesday either. However, we did receive a surprise on Thursday.

The line ran out the door at the café as I brewed another pot of coffee. I didn’t know whether people ever became used to waiting customers in their restaurants. It reminded me of treading water in an ocean, fighting to keep my head above the surface. As long as one customer remained, so did the fight for survival.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” a voice said, and I turned to the sleepy eyes of Officer Brighton. His wife, Virginia, stood just behind him. She waved at me from behind his back.

“Hello officer. Can I get you anything?” I asked, wondering why they were here. Virginia usually came in with Meredith in the morning and Officer Brighton didn’t come into the café until lunch.

“Oh no. I’m here on official business. I have something I wanted to share,” he said, and I almost spilled the coffee I was holding.

“Did they catch the drifter?”

“No, not that,” he said, apologetically. “No, we got a phone call for someone looking for you.”

“For me?”

“Yep. Genevieve Baker, which is the name you gave me for the police report,” he said.

I racked my brain trying to think of anyone that would be looking for me.

“Who was it?”

“He said his name was ‘Hal Baker.’ He’s not family of yours, is he?”

A lump grew in my throat. My father had finally tracked me down. My doting father that had my whole future planned out until I pulled the rug from underneath him and ruined my life.

I wasnotready for that encounter.

“No, he’s not,” I looked at the coffee I was holding so the officer couldn’t see the lie in my eyes. “What’d you tell him?”

“I told him I had never heard of a ‘Genevieve Baker,’ and I took his number in case one showed up. I wanted to run it by you first.”

“Thanks for letting me know, but you don’t need to worry about it,” I said, and the officer nodded.

“Just wanted to make sure. I’ll see you around,” he said.

Would this work? Would he take the officer’s word and leave Lannington alone? Or would he come to town to see for himself, forcing an encounter I wasnotready for.

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