“Corrine’s not conniving, she’s candid. She isn’t lying about this. I’m sure of it.”
“I don’t believe she is either, Bill,” Thatcher said.
“No, me neither, really,” Bill said. “I questioned her myself.” He chuckled. “She was very outspoken about her feelings over Wally’s demise. And I wouldn’t put anything past Gert, including cold-blooded murder. Her greediness is legendary.” He stroked his mustache. “Only thing I can’t reconcile is why Corrine didn’t tell me about Gert’s tirade when I questioned her.”
“Probably because she feared reprisal. She didn’t feel free to tell about it until she had gotten away from there. Her intention wasn’t to implicate Gert. That’s my notion. But if Gert were to find out that Corrine had talked about it at all, she could still retaliate.”
“I’ll definitely follow up, but I’ll leave the girl out of it. I promise. Thank you for bringing it to my attention.”
“You’re welcome.” Laurel put on her hat. “If you gentlemen will excuse me, I need to get to work.”
The three of them left the stable together. Bill said, “Thatcher, we need to get to work, too. I’ll meet you at the car.” He struck out in the direction of the auto garage.
Thatcher asked Laurel where she’d parked.
“I walked over. I didn’t want it to look like—”
“Like you were coming to see me.”
She shrugged guilty. “People talk.”
“People can go to hell.”
He ducked his head under her hat brim and gave her a lingering kiss.
When he pulled away he said, “I’m making you a promise, Laurel.”
She looked at him quizzically.
“If I ever get you in bed again, you can count on finding out what you missed.”
* * *
Excited by Thatcher’s final words to her, but also shaken by what he had told her about last night’s unrest, the arrests, the shootouts, Laurel swiftly walked home. She planned to hastily gather supplies and then to drive out to the stills. She feared what she might find when she got there, and was equally afraid of finding nothing.
By the time she reached her house, she was winded, but when she saw Irv’s truck there, she ran inside. He was standing at the cookstove cracking eggs into a skillet. She rushed over and hugged him from behind.
“Ouch! Mind my arm.”
“Irv, I’m so relieved. My God! Last night—”
“Don’t have to tell me about it. I lived through it.” He flipped the frying eggs. “You want an over-easy?”
“No thank you. Are Corrine and Ernie all right?”
“They’re fine. Pissed off because we couldn’t do runs last night, just when we were rebuilding our inventory. By the way, I brought back crates packed with jars. I’ll help you carry them down to the cellar once I’ve had a bite and a rest.”
“Fine. Good. But what about last night?”
“We were all set to get both cookers going, but then we started hearing gunfire popping from every direction. Some of it might have been echoes, but there was enough of it, and close enough, to scare the bejesus out of us.
“We knew better than to light the fireboxes and become targets, so we scurried a distance away and took cover between rocks, huddled in the dark all night. Shootin’ would break out every now and then. Didn’t let up till almost dawn. We were glad to be alive to see the sunrise. Went back to the camp. Looked just like when we left it. They didn’t find us.”
He slid the eggs onto a plate, sprinkled both liberally with salt and pepper, and added a leftover biscuit. As he hobbled over to the table, he remarked, “Your color is hectic. What’s the matter?”
“What’s the matter?” She sat down across from him. “When you weren’t here this morning, I thought you’d probably stayed at the stills all night because you were tired of being cooped up for so long. But when I heard about last night’s ruckus—”
“Who’d you hear it from?” He mopped up egg yolk with half the biscuit and popped it into his mouth.