“The Bowery? Big mistake, Rudy. You can’t live in the past. The memories will break your heart every day. It won’t be the same without her. Why don’t you do it here? Washington is the center of the world, man. Do it here. They’re licensing a new radio station in the spring. Call letters WRC. I know people. Let me get you in on the ground floor.”
Rudy shrugged. “Maybe you’re right. I just don’t know anymore. I’d hate to impose . . .”
“Nonsense. I’ll make the call as soon as we get past Christmas.” Shoe checked the time again. Forty-five minutes. He could give his brother half. “Better yet, let’s take a walk down to see Riley Tanner right now and get things rolling. See if we can set up a time to brainstorm a position that you’d like and he’d be happy to add until the radio station happens. He may be a hardnosed news man, but he’s sensitive enough to recognize that you have to adapt to survive in this business. The man knows his onions.”
Rudy sat motionless a while, trying to sift through all the possibilities, and Shoe began to regret throwing so many things at him. Maybe he just needed to step back and grieve a bit before making any career changes.
“Or not,” Shoe added.
Rudy pointed a finger at Shoe. “Let’s do it! But if I’m going to ingratiate myself, I need to see what’s important in his world today. We need the morning paper.” And then he added with a devilish wink, “I heard the lead story is a journalistic delight.”
As they left the Bayside, they hailed a young newsie in knickers and flat cap hawking the Evening Star to departing guests. Shoe gave him three Indians and flipped the paper to the front page.
“Benedict Weathersby Dead at 62. Daughter Wilhelmina to Inherit Vast Fortune.”
Rudy jerked the newspaper out of his hands. “. . .dropped dead of an apparent heart attack on Park Avenue after confrontation with shipping magnate and neighbor Carlton Donaldson. Mr. Weathersby predeceased in death by socialite Margaret ‘Peggy’ Anderson Weathersby. According to well-placed, anonymous source in the millionaire’s close circle, the couple’s only surviving child, Wilhelmina ‘Mena’ Weathersby . . .”
He stopped reading and slapped the paper into Shoe’s chest and walked away.
“. . . stands to inherit the bulk of her father’s estate in excess of $30 million.” Shoe looked at Rudy standing at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the main porch of the Bayside, a death grip on the gray banister. He walked down and put a reassuring hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Where did you say your wedding certificate was?”
“Safe where they can’t touch it,” he said softly.
“Come on. We should retrieve it immediately.”
Rudy shook his head. “Are you crazy? That truly is blood money. Not to mention that I’ll throw away every last cent of it. How much do you want, Shoe?”
“Half?”
“Seriously, Shoe. Money corrupts. I’ll give it all away. Whatever you want is yours.”
Shoe found himself patting Rudy’s shoulder. It felt strange. He continued anyway. “I’m joking. I don’t want any of it. Mena would want you to have it, enjoy it, but yes, spend it wisely. Don’t let your mind go racing too far ahead. Decide what to do after they square away the will, and I’ll support you with whatever you decide. But you’ll need an accountant. I could never manage that kind of money.”
“Oh, they’ll drag it through the courts forever. I’ll never see a penny of it.”
“No, they won’t. They’ll make you a sweet deal just to make it all go away. And if you don’t want the headache, you’ll take it. And then you’ll turn around and buy WRC or some small-town paper and run it like you want.”
When Rudy spoke again his voice was husky. “How would you feel about me taking my father’s name? Is the world big enough for two Shoemakers?”
Shoe pulled his hand off Rudy’s shoulder. “Hell no.”
Rudy’s eyes went wide. “Really?”
“That would have been the answer if you had asked me a month ago. I’ll admit it. If someone had asked me the last person on earth I’d want to be related to, it would have been you. Dad fell off a tall pedestal when you told me who you really were. But here’s the thing. He’s your pop too, and you’re entitled no matter what I think.”
“Honest?” For a second, Shoe saw a spark of life in Rudy’s flat, dull expression.
Shoe nodded. “Really. But that isn’t saying I’m going to leave you anything in my will,” he quickly added.
“Oh, hell. I have people who despised my type leaving me all kinds of money.” Hope lit a broad smile on Rudy’s face. “Our own company. We could strike out on our own like that, you know? You can handle investigations and I’ll do freelance entertainment reviews. We can travel everywhere . . . see everything . . . do what we want. Tell everything else to scram, take a hike. We—”
“Whoa! A little too fast, Rudy. Get the money and then we’ll see.” Shoe checked how he was doing timewise. To his chagrin, ten more minutes had slipped by. “If you want me to introduce you to Riley Tanner, we need to go now. Fannie and I are catching the train—"
Rudy pulled away. “I’m sorry, Shoe. It seems I’m all about me—blathering and whining. You two go on. We can take care of it when you get back. When you move back to D.C., Tanner will need somebody.”
“Oh, I’m not leaving permanently. I’ll be back the day after Christmas. Then we’ll tackle the Weathersbys.”
Rudy’s looked past Shoe and smiled—not a sly, gotcha kind of smile, but one of genuine happiness. “Gonna make her your missus?”
Shoe turned to see Fannie waiting at the end of the walkway—her cute button nose, her delightful curves, and the smart pair of black buckled shoes that she was admiring so intently. He was sure he hadn’t seen them before. He’d know. He noticed everything about Fannie Byrne. She was that type of gal. “Don’t get ahead of yourself on that one either.”
“Shoe and Shoe, Inc.,” Rudy said. “Nice ring. Roll it around awhile.”
“Okay,” Shoe said, “but I have to warn you, I’m a slow thinker.”
“Fair enough. We’ve all got boundaries. I’m going to take life as it comes. A day at a time and just live each moment for what it gives. It will get better.”
Shoe gave him a side glance. A new Rudy. This might work. It just might work. “Someday, pal, someday. You’ll see.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Big Trees, Little Towns, Forever Moments
It was a fine thing to board the Railway Express and not worry about who got on after you. Shoe offered Fannie a window seat and sat down next to her for a pleasant, uneventful ride to Washington and the much-anticipated presidential Christmas tree. The trip was nonstop, but he took in as much as he could of the Clinton depot as they barreled past. It was just as he imagined and true to Rudy’s description: dead fields and nothing else as far as he could see. He could almost picture the injured John Wilkes Booth on horseback blazing through to some prearranged rendezvous to the south. One would certainly never think of tarrying.
When they reached Union Station, he hailed a cab and soon they stood with a crowd of others in the center of the Ellipse, staring at what the ceremony program called the National Christmas Tree—all forty-eight feet and two thousand lights of it. Local journalists busied themselves interviewing bystanders while an official photographer and other journalists set up cameras for a striking shot of dignitaries gathered before the tree with an eye-catching backdrop of the Washington Monument pointing to the heavens.
Fannie considered the unlit tree and breathlessly pronounced it spectacular. “You know, the presidential tree has never been outside before. I heard Mrs. Harding didn’t want it on the White House lawn. You know, this is the best place; it’s the people’s tree.” She was nonstop chitchat until President and Mrs. Coolidge stepped up to the speaking platform. The crowd hushed and remained so until Coolidge finished his brief comments. When he flipped the switch, the tree burst into red, white, and green points of light, and murmurs
of approval and clapping rolled across the group like an ocean wave.
Shoe was impressed, but a Christmas tree—inside or outside—could be seen anywhere this time of year. No, he was studying Fannie’s face, which was wrapped in childlike awe. Nothing could compete with the sparkle in her eyes. “Lovely,” he said.
“Now, aren’t you glad we got to do this?” Fannie asked.
“Absolutely, Better than I ever anticipated. I guess we could do this again next year. If you want.”
“Oh, definitely,” Fannie said, twining her arm through his as they drifted away from the crowd. “Unless you don’t want to.” She stopped walking. “What’s wrong, Shoe?”
“I, uh, I’ve been thinking. Maybe Washington isn’t the best place for me . . . for us.”
“I see.”
Her head was down, and she seemed to be pondering her shoes as she slowly tilted a dainty foot from one side to the other. Shoe couldn’t see her eyes. Please don’t let them be cold or blazing, he thought as he waited for her to engage him.
“No more fancy shoes I suppose,” she said with a sigh.
“Nevis isn’t exactly a backwater anymore, Fannie. You can order anything you want.”
“I suppose,” she said, with a sigh even more glum than the first. “And then there’s the F Street Dance Emporium. I shall miss that too.”
“The Bayside dance room is packing them in with some swell singers. I can take you there if you’d like.”
“Promise?” she asked, side-eying him.
“Pinky swear and however else you want me to say it, Fannie. Everything we need or want can be found right in Nevis.”
“And a few things you don’t want. The people you’ve crossed haven’t forgotten.”
“Well, when they remember, I’ll deal with it. Until then, I’m not going to live in fear, and neither should you. I do think they will find bigger fish to gut than Tatum Shoemaker.”
She looked at him and the eyes were shining. “Why, then I’d say it sounds perfect.”
Somehow, he felt the decision had been made before they ever started the conversation. “You weren’t as excited about going back as you professed, were you, even if we moved to someplace a little more respectable?”
The head went down again. “Don’t get me wrong. I loved being in Washington, but if truth be told, I will always a be a small-town girl. Nevis is plenty big enough for me. I kind of got swept away by all the glitz and glamor of downtown. If you can imagine it, you can have it—”
“If your pockets are flush—”
“Exactly,” she said.
“Which they are now.”
“Walk a few blocks and buy your dreams, but that kind of happiness doesn’t last long. Those shoes I bought from Hahn’s just to stick it to you? I could have done with much cheaper and not felt half so guilty. After watching what Rudy’s been through, I’ve decided to appreciate what I already have.” Fannie leaned over and pecked him on the cheek.
Shoe pulled his fedora off his head and feigned surprise. “Just what I was thinking!” He hesitated, then dropped to one knee, and taking her hand he said, “Marry me, Fannie Byrne. Marry me and I’ll make sure that you never have cause to stick it to me again. I’ll take you dancing—”
His heart sank as a look of shock and embarrassment colored her face. He released her hand and got up. “It’s okay, I, um—”
“Yes!” she said, launching herself at him. “Yes! Yes! Yes!”
“Right answer,” he said, staggering backwards under the momentum. He wrapped his arms around her, and with the National Christmas Tree as a backdrop, he kissed her right.
A flash of bright light suddenly illuminated them.
“Washington Post. Tomorrow’s front page,” someone shouted.
“I think we just saved money on an engagement picture,” he whispered in her ear, and then, just to make sure, he gave it another go.
Thank you for reading The Dame on the Dock. I hope you enjoyed the story. If you have a moment, please consider leaving a quick review on the book’s Amazon page.
If you would like to read more about Tatum Shoemaker and Fannie Byrne, check out The Church at Parkers Wharf.
Would you like to know when I release new books?
Here are three ways:
Join my mailing list at:
https://www.louisegordaybooks.com/contact
Like me on Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/louisegordayauthor
Follow me on Twitter:
https://twitter.com/LouiseGorday
The Dame on the Dock Page 24
