Suitor by Design Page 12

  Vince arrived early. Peter had just gotten into the Pierce-Arrow to drive it to the train depot when his friend strolled in the open work-bay doors.

  “A little late, Stringbean.”

  Peter stuck his head out the window. “You’re already here? The train’s not due for ten minutes.”

  “Came in early.” Vince tossed his cigarette butt on the floor and squashed it with heel of his shoe. “Hop out, and let’s have a look.”

  Peter slipped out of the driver’s seat and opened the rear door. “There it is.” He hoped his nerves didn’t show.

  Vince got inside and tested the seat. “Feels good,” he said while getting out. “Looks good, too. Let’s look at the compartment.”

  Peter circled around to the other side of the car and with a shaking hand opened the opposite rear door. This was the moment of truth. Once they pulled aside the seat cushion, Vince would see the repaired rip in the seat back. Together they pulled the cushion up and set it on the floorboards, revealing the cushioned luggage compartment.

  Vince checked the padding and whistled. “Better’n I imagined, kid. You and that gal of yours really know what you’re doing.” He ran his hand along the back wall of the compartment, mere inches from the repaired seat back.

  Peter waited for Vince to comment. When he didn’t, Peter showed how to access the hidden compartment by pushing on the front panel, which was spring-loaded.

  Vince whistled. “Nice job, kid. The boss’ll be impressed.” He stepped away, lit a cigarette and blew a cloud of smoke overhead. Then he dug in his pocket and pulled out the money clip. “What did we agree on? A couple hundred?”

  Peter’s stomach felt like squirrels were racing around inside it. He had to say something. Please, God, let Vince be disappointed enough to drive away and never come back. He swallowed the acid taste of the morning’s cup of coffee. “There’s something you gotta know.”

  The dark slash of Vince’s eyebrow lifted. “What’s that?”

  “We hadta make a repair.” Peter pointed out the repaired seat back.

  Vince stared at the spot for a moment and then straightened up and laughed. “That? Can’t see it at all.” He sobered for a moment. “That gal of yours fix it?”

  “She did. She’s an expert with needle and thread.”

  “Ya don’t hafta convince me.” He peeled three hundred-dollar bills off the wad and held them out to Peter across the roof of the car. “Give her the extra. Say it’s from Vince.”

  Peter would have tossed the cash back at his former friend if Minnie’s father didn’t need it so badly. “She wants to help her pa. He’s got heart trouble.”

  “Sorry ta hear that. What d’ya say we make it an even four?” He peeled off another bill.

  “No.” Peter backed away. “It’s too much.”

  “Not for you, kid—for your lady. And her pa. Think o’ him.”

  Peter could only think of the huge amount of money. “It’s not worth this much.”

  “It is to my boss. Like I said, he’s generous. Likes ta reward good effort.” Vince grabbed the hundred, rounded the car and slapped it against Peter’s chest. “If ya want some advice, take the cash. The boss don’t like people refusin’ his generosity.”

  That was what had Peter worried, what had his gut churning like an electrified washtub.

  “Thank him,” he mumbled, but the bill felt like a lead weight in his hand.

  Back in New York, he’d seen what happened to people who fell in with the wrong crowd. Mariah’s warning rang in his ears. Mr. Galbini kept company with some pretty rough sorts. What if he still did? What if accepting this money positioned Peter at the top of an icy slope from which there was no escape?

  “Tell you what, kid.” Vince leaned against the side of the car puffing a cigarette. “With work like this, the boss will definitely want more. In fact, I can pretty much guarantee I’ll have another job for you next Saturday.”

  Peter felt sick. “Your boss has more than one automobile?”

  Vince laughed. “He’s got friends. When they see this, they’ll want the same.”

  “Oh.” He supposed that made sense in a way, but it was also a pretty big coincidence. “They all like to travel?”

  “Sure, kid.” Vince seemed oblivious to Peter’s discomfort. “I tell you, if you play your cards right, you’ll be givin’ that gal of yours all the furs and diamonds she wants.” Vince tipped his fedora to a jaunty angle and grinned. “Know what I mean?” He punched Peter in the shoulder. “It’ll make a man outta you.”

  This was wrong. All wrong. Vince made Minnie sound like some cheap floozy.

  “She’s not that kinda gal!” Peter’s voice came out louder than he’d intended, but this was Minnie, not some ordinary girl.

  Vince backed away, hands up. “Hey, kid, I didn’t mean nothing by it.”

  Peter couldn’t stop. Vince’s comments fueled an anger Peter had thought dead and gone the moment he’d asked Jesus into his life. Behind that white heat lurked the memory of a friend sprawled dead on the concrete sidewalk, his head lying in a pool of blood, and the taunt of a rival. All over nothing.

  Only this wasn’t nothing. Minnie mattered. She was sweet and innocent, too good for the likes of Vince.

  “Don’t ever say that about Minnie again.”

  Vince held up his hands. “Aw right, kid.”

  That should have soothed him, but Peter couldn’t forget how he’d failed his friend. He wouldn’t fail Minnie. “You don’t deserve someone like her. She’s not like you or me. She’s good, and I don’t want her mixed up in your kinda business. Don’t think I can’t see what’s goin’ on here. This ain’t no luggage compartment and your boss ain’t no furniture dealer. I don’t know exactly what you’re mixed up in, but it stinks something rotten. Women, gambling or bootlegging? I don’t care what, but I don’t want any part in it. Hear me? Take your car and get outta here. And never come back.”

  Vince’s jovial expression vanished, replaced with a hardness Peter had never witnessed in his friend before. His brow drew low, his jaw set, and a menacing smile curled his lips. “Ya better watch what ya say.” He poked a finger into Peter’s chest. “I’m tryin’ ta help ya, set ya up so you can get a cozy little house with your lady.”

  Peter stepped back, repulsed by the idea that Vince would have anything to do with his future. “I don’t want it. I don’t want anything to do with it. And I don’t think anyone else in this town would want this kinda business here, either.”

  In a flash, Vince grabbed Peter by the collar. Beads of sweat glistened on his brow. “Listen to me, kid. Ya got everything wrong. Your old chum would never steer you into trouble.”

  The violence from years ago replayed in Peter’s mind. The gang jumping out at them. Peter running. His friend caught and pummeled to a bloody pulp. He raised his hands to push Vince away.

  At that moment, a woman screamed, “Stop! Stop this minute!”

  Minnie! Peter jerked his head toward her. Vince released him and grunted out some nonsense about joking around. But Peter’s ears buzzed. He gulped for air and coughed.

  “Peter! What are you doing?”

  She was blaming him? Incredulous, he stared at her. She stood at the front of the car, so pretty and freshly scrubbed that he couldn’t stand it.

  Her attention whipped to Vince. “Why were you choking him like that?” She walked straight to Peter’s side.

  His. Not Vince’s. The light-headedness from the fight was replaced with another kind of dizziness. She liked him. She cared. She actually cared for him.

  “Choking?” Vince laughed, pulling Peter back to the cold edge of reality. “We were just discussing things.” He clapped Peter on the back. “I would never hurt Stringbean.”

  Why did Vince have to go and use that old nickname in front
of Minnie? Peter set his jaw. It wasn’t a joke, no matter how much Vince laughed.

  Go, he mouthed, but no sound came out.

  Minnie still stood by his side, her wide eyes taking in everything Vince said as gospel truth. “Do you apologize, then?”

  “Sure thing.” Vince extended a hand toward Peter. “Promise it won’t happen again, kid.”

  “There.” Minnie beamed as if she had just brokered peace in Europe. “Everyone deserves a second chance.”

  Not Vince. Not after what he said about Minnie.

  “Peter,” she chided. “Everyone makes a mistake now and then. Didn’t I hear you yelling, too?”

  He could have kicked himself. Why hadn’t he realized she would come to the garage this morning?

  “Aw, that was nothing,” Vince said. “Like I said. A little discussion.”

  That wasn’t true, but Minnie was looking at Vince as if he was a hero. By default, that made Peter the bad guy.

  If he hoped to claim Minnie’s affection, he had to concede. Reluctantly, he shook Vince’s hand. “Apology accepted.” Even though Vince hadn’t exactly apologized.

  “Glad that’s cleared up.” Vince grinned. “Why don’t you show your gal what I brought for her?” Without waiting for Peter to speak, he turned to Minnie. “Peter told me about your pa. I was mighty sorry to hear that and want you to have a little extra to help out.”

  Peter balled his fists. Now Vince was taking credit for helping out Minnie’s pa. He gave Peter no choice but to pull the cash from his pocket. Peter had wanted to do this in private, where he could explain to Minnie that they wouldn’t be doing any more customizing work. Instead, he had to do it in front of Vince, where he couldn’t offer any explanation.

  Peter shoved the bills into Minnie’s hand. “I want you to have this.”

  Her eyes widened at the sight of the four hundred-dollar bills. “All of it?”

  Peter nodded. Hendrick would be furious, but this was the only way he could best Vince.

  His former friend didn’t give up easily. “There’s more where that came from. I’ll be bringing more cars to outfit, right, Peter?”

  Peter could clock Vince for working him over this way.

  “You will?” Minnie’s eyes shone—but not for Peter. “Thank you, Mr. Galbini. And thank your boss, too. Oh, Peter!” At last she turned to him, tears pooling in her eyes as she clutched the bills to her chest. “Now Daddy can get the treatment he needs.”

  Peter’s protest stuck in his throat. When she threw her arms around his neck, it completely died.

  Chapter Eleven

  It wasn’t until later that Minnie realized Peter hadn’t seemed very happy about the additional work. Mr. Galbini drove off with his customary wave, but Peter hadn’t waved back. She’d thought they were friends.

  At the time, all she could think about was the unexpected windfall. She had four hundred dollars in her handbag. Four hundred! Surely that was enough for Daddy to go back to the sanitarium for treatment.

  Minnie clutched the handbag to her chest, pausing only a moment to look at the pretty spring gowns in the window of Hutton’s Department Store. The blue georgette gown with the fashionable cape effect at the shoulders cost far too much, but a crepe version without the cape cost half that. One little dress wouldn’t make much of a dent in four hundred dollars.

  She squeezed her handbag tight. The bills crackled beneath her fingers. Why not? She had done the work, after all. Didn’t she deserve a little reward? She started toward the door. Then Mrs. Highbottom stepped into the display and removed the caped georgette gown for a delighted Mrs. Vanderloo. Minnie choked, all desire for the gown gone. She hurried past and went straight home.

  Minutes later, she was glad she had.

  Mother gasped at the sight of the four hundred-dollar bills. “All that for upholstering an automobile?”

  “Actually, I only had to fix the tear and pad the new luggage compartment.”

  Mother looked from the money to Minnie and back again. “It’s too much.” She pushed the money across the kitchen table. “Peter did the bulk of the work. This belongs to him.”

  “But...”

  Mother was right, of course. Peter had probably worked every night for weeks, whereas she had spent no more than a couple hours on the padding and a few evenings on the seat cover. On the other hand, this money was supposed to help her father get treatment.

  “But he gave it to me. And Mr. Galbini wanted to help Daddy.”

  Mother frowned. “You’re telling perfect strangers about private matters?” Her stern tone left no doubt she disapproved.

  “I—I—” she stammered. “It slipped out. But if I hadn’t mentioned it, Mr. Galbini would never have given me extra.”

  “This is extra?” Mother looked even more upset. “How much did Peter get?”

  “I don’t know. I wasn’t there when Mr. Galbini paid him.”

  “Well, I insist you take it back. Make sure Peter received all that was due to him.”

  “But Daddy needs it,” Minnie protested.

  “Your father would never take ill-gotten money.”

  “It’s not ill-gotten. Mr. Galbini is Peter’s friend.”

  Mother would not budge. “It’s ill-gotten if it is not the amount agreed upon or earned.” Mother stood, signaling the end of the conversation.

  No wonder they were poor, if her parents wouldn’t even accept a gift. Minnie slid the money back into her handbag. Wealth was fleeting indeed.

  * * *

  Peter had been backed into a corner, and he didn’t like it. The only thing about this deal that felt right was helping out Minnie’s family. If not for that, he would have kicked Vince and his fancy car out of the garage with an order never to return. Instead, he’d choked.

  After closing the garage, he automatically headed for Constance House, but what he really wanted was to talk this over with someone. Not Hendrick or Mariah. They gave good advice and all, but they’d warned him about Vince, and he didn’t much want to hear an I told you so.

  Ma gave good advice, too, but this was completely outside her experience. She’d never been to the city, least of all lived in the rough areas where gangs ruled with their fists and whatever weapons they could get their hands on. Same for Anna, though he’d never much thought of her as someone to give sound advice. She was only a little older than him.

  The church bells rang the five-o’clock hour. As the last peal drifted away on the breeze, Peter realized he knew someone who both gave good advice and understood the streets. Pastor Gabe. He hadn’t lived on the streets like Peter, but he’d helped round up street urchins like him. Urchins. Vandals. Criminals. He’d been called that and more. Some of it deserved. But Pastor Gabe never once brought up the past. Not once. The pastor acted as if Peter’s life had started the day he entered the orphanage. Good thing. If he knew what Peter had done...

  No. That was past. Over. Dead and gone.

  Except it had come back today as vividly as the day it happened.

  Peter looked at the church door a good five minutes, debating whether or not to call on the preacher. When Pastor Gabe left the building, Peter wove his way across the street between motorcars, trucks and the wagons that some of the farmers still used.

  “Hello, Peter!” Pastor Gabe, in an old mackinaw and no hat, closed the church door. “You look like a man with a mission. Anything I can do for you?”

  Peter buried his hands in his coat pockets and glanced up at the graying sky. The sun stayed up a little longer now, but twilight still started to set in around closing time. “Just wanted to talk.”

  “All right.” Gabe glanced toward the stepping-stone path that led to the parsonage behind the church. “We won’t get any privacy there with little Branford and Tillie visiting Genie and Luke. What
do you say we get a cup of coffee at Lily’s? Or is this confidential?”

  “No.” Peter didn’t want to put Pastor Gabe out more than he already was. The restaurant would be busy on a Saturday. Even if people wanted to listen, they’d have a tough time hearing anything in that din. He dug around in his pocket and found sufficient change. “Coffee’s all right.”

  “Good. I could use the boost before going over my sermon tonight.”

  “With all the children running around?” Peter matched the pastor’s gait. “I can’t concentrate at all after supper at the orphanage.”

  Gabe laughed. “You have a point. Maybe I’ll go back to the church after supper.”

  The restaurant was only a block away on the opposite side of the street. It occupied the lower level of a two-story building topped with a squared-off facade in front of the pitched roof. Other than the name painted on the windows, little marked it as a restaurant. Locals knew it as a first-rate bakery and the only place in town to dine out. By supper, the rolls, pies and cakes were usually snatched up. Peter was surprised to see a pecan pie in the bakery case.

  “Looks like I’ll have to have a slice of pecan pie with that coffee,” Gabe said. “You want one, too?”

  If Peter had kept any of the money Vince shoved at him, he would have said yes. “Nope. Just coffee.”

  “Saving room for Mariah’s cooking?” Pastor Gabe said as the waitress led them past several open tables to one at the far end of the room. Its location gave them automatic privacy, especially since none of the surrounding tables were filled.

  Peter sat down. “She makes a great caramel cake.”

  They chatted about favorite foods until the waitress served the pie and coffee. Then Gabe asked what was on his mind.

  Peter stirred milk and sugar into his cup. He took a cautious sip and considered how to approach the problem. “You ever have trouble figuring out the right thing to do?”

  Pastor Gabe leaned back. “We all do at one time or another.”

  “How do you do it?”

  “Well, let’s see.” Gabe ran the edge of his thumb along his lower lip. “Personally, I pray. Read the Bible. See where God wants me to go.”