Though rumored to be personally against Prohibition, Willebrandt was for the rule of law and tirelessly fought to enforce the Volstead Act, earning her even more nicknames: Prohibition Portia, Deborah of the Drys, Mrs. Firebrand.
Perhaps Willebrandt was only drawn here because Ohio had been a central battleground for Prohibition for more than fifty years. Why, the Anti-Saloon League, which had long been a leader in favor of Prohibition, is headquartered up in Westerville, near Columbus—and it still publishes many a tract about the ills of alcohol.
Maybe Willebrandt is stopping there and then coming here to make a grandstanding speech right in the midst of moonshining territory. She’d get as many “boos” as “yays.” Well, Lily’d have to round up some extra deputies for protection.
But she pauses after jotting a few names for a list of deputies, as her nerves jangle at the notion of meeting someone so intimidatingly famous. Lily puts her hand to her tightly pinned-up hair. What would the woman make of her?
Lily shakes her head at herself. Foolish. All Lily will be able to offer the assistant attorney general is the insight that some form of brewing has been going on in these Appalachian hills for many years—never mind that the county went dry a full decade before the US Constitution’s Eighteenth Amendment officially turned the whole country arid.
And that she, like Willebrandt, believes in the rule of law, personal feelings aside.
Yet her stomach flips again, this time in anticipation of tracking down her friend Marvena and likely having to bring her in on moonshining charges.
Lily sighs. She’d like to tell Willebrandt that though she, too, believes in the rule of law, she’d rather have laws with no—or at least fewer—loopholes for the rich and powerful to get around the law, while punishing everyday people like Marvena. Maybe even laws that work with human nature instead of continually fighting against it.
Lily glances at her watch. If the bureau agent doesn’t arrive in another fifteen minutes, she’ll head out to Marvena’s and the Harkinses’—she needs to fill them in on Zebediah.
But just as she finishes her notes, a knock comes at her office door.
Lily looks up at a middle-aged man on the stocky side with graying temples and a ruddy face. He wears a thin coat with fraying lapels, elbow patches barely covering worn, shiny material. A man who she’d normally assess as down on his luck, but as if to show he’s found a new lease on life, he not so subtly pulls back his thin coat to reveal his blue-and-gold Bureau of Prohibition shield, proudly pinned to his jacket lapel.
“Special Agent Barnaby Sloan,” he says, pride adding zest to his voice. He steps into Lily’s office, and she gasps.
Not at Agent Sloan. At the man coming in just behind him.
Luther Ross.
Her stomach turns at the sight of him. At the smell of him, body odor and stale alcohol. He looks disheveled and rumpled, like he’s been out all night.
“Sheriff Ross?” The agent looks perplexed by Lily’s shock.
“Please, come in,” Lily says flatly.
Barnaby takes off his worn coat and puts it up on a hook. He takes Luther’s coat and hangs it for him.
Lily’s office has just one guest chair. She watches as Barnaby gestures for Luther to take the seat, but Luther leans against the wall, grins down at Lily. Thought you’d get rid of me? Gotcha, Lily!
Barnaby shuts the door. Lily’s office, cozy just moments ago, now feels suffocating. She forces herself to breathe in and out slowly, evenly, as Barnaby sits in her guest chair after all.
“And of course you know Luther. He’s told us he’s your husband’s brother.”
Us. That sounds ominous. “Half brother,” Lily says. “And my husband’s dead.”
“Now, Lily,” Luther says. “Relation don’t end with death.”
She looks at him. Lets her gaze convey: No, but it ends with betrayal.
Luther stops grinning. He looks down at his shoes. Lily snaps her attention back to Barnaby. “I thought your agency was sending someone in advance of the assistant attorney general’s visit. To provide a specific date and time, requirements for her security—”
“Yes, that’s one reason we’re here,” Barnaby says. Lily’s heart thuds at the we’re. “But we’re also working with Luther, as an inside man, to finally break George Vogel. Luther, here, thinks George might be planning to make a move in this area again. Not the, ah, purchase of moonshine that Luther says Vogel sometimes got away with under your husband’s watch. Something bigger.”
Lily looks back at Luther. “What does Elias think of this?”
“He doesn’t know,” Luther says. But he picks at his fingernails—his tell that he’s lying. He flicks the dirt to Lily’s floor. She’ll have to thoroughly clean her office to rid it of the stink and filth of him.
“So he’s working with George, something to do with his tonic?”
Luther looks up, alarmed. “No, no, as I told Agent Sloan, Elias is simply George’s personal physician. I mean, he knows of George’s reputation, but he has nothing to do with his operation—or with my connection with the bureau. If he did, well, he’d have us just walk away.”
She gives him a cold smile. “How is Elias?”
Luther stiffens. “Fine.”
She looks back at Barnaby. “It seems Luther and one of George’s men, Abe Miller, came by my house last night, looking for the town doctor, whose wife had told them the doc had come out to my farm,” Lily says.
Barnaby turns to Luther, concern and doubt finally showing in his expression. “What? You were supposed to stay put on the farm, until I drove down this morning.” He looks back at Lily. “Our plan was that Luther would make up some excuse to come to town this morning, but instead meet up with me behind the Kinship Inn, then come here. It was never meant for him to disturb you at home—”
“Elias wasn’t well!” The words tear out of Luther, a ragged cry.
Lily gives him a flat look. He recoils at what it conveys: she doesn’t care.
“He—he’s better now,” Luther says defiantly, picking at his nails. Still lying. “Just a bit of indigestion, too much dinner. I worried it was a heart attack. And … and we returned right away to the farmhouse.”
Barnaby already looks eager, again. “He means the farmhouse that belongs to the aunt of George Vogel’s second wife—Fiona. Luther tells us you know where it is, that you were out there, after Fiona’s uncle passed away.”
Oh, he had told them this, had he? She counts back—that had been about six weeks ago. So to know that, he has to have been in George’s employ at least that long. And so has Elias. George is cruel and ruthless, but he’s not stupid. He’d hire Elias, but never just Luther, who would only be accepted if Elias insisted.
Was serving as a mole for the bureau Luther’s way of extricating both Elias and himself from Vogel? As well as a way to prove his cleverness to Elias? No. Luther was the sort whose ego would be stroked by thinking himself a big man in an organization like Vogel’s. Lily stifles a groan. Oh God. Either Luther is actually a mole for Vogel—or he’s trying to play both sides.
“I called on Mrs. Murphy after her husband passed away,” Lily says.
“So you’re familiar with the farm? The layout?” Barnaby asks.
“It’s a standard farm. Nothing special.” Or was there? She thinks back—Isn’t the farm situated between a road just off the main route and a rural road known just to locals?
“Well, here’s the thing,” Barnaby says. “We need for you to raid the farm. Preferably before Mrs. Willebrandt’s visit next Wednesday, when she plans to give a speech at the opera house. Arrangements have already been made, and an announcement will come out in the newspapers on Thursday. Word’s come down that she thinks it would really establish the bureau if we could catch a big operator like George Vogel, especially in a place like this.”
“You mean—in Appalachia? The backwoods? The heartland?”
“It’s one thing to catch bootleggers in the cities, folks
expect that, but if we show big-city crime is coming even to small towns and counties, well then…” Barnaby trails off as if the conclusion is obvious.
“I don’t see why the bureau needs my help, if you have Luther here, working with you,” Lily says. “You can get a warrant more easily than I can.”
“Several reasons. One is that, well, too many sheriffs don’t want to work with the bureau. Just as likely to warn the locals. But Mrs. Willebrandt read last month’s Thrilling Gumshoe, you see, about how you solved a really tricky case last year.”
Lily bites back a sigh. It had been fun—for about a day—to see the issue on display at the general store, and then it got embarrassing to be both complimented about the press and teased about being referred to as a “female novelty.”
“She was impressed,” Barnaby is saying. “And since you—you’re—” He stops, turns red.
“A female novelty?”
“Since you’re a woman, if you work with us to bring in a big operator like Vogel, it’ll make for good press—”
“Agent, I can’t arrest Mr. Vogel without cause. Or raid a private citizen’s property without a warrant. Mr. Vogel is free to accompany his wife to visit her bereaved aunt over a family holiday.”
Even as she says it, it feels off. George Vogel is always self-serving. So the chances he’s spending his Thanksgiving at his wife’s aunt’s farm just to be kind are low. But that opinion is not enough for a warrant or a raid.
“The Eighteenth Amendment to the Constitution has banned the sale, prohibition, and transport of alcohol, except under very specific circumstances, since 1919,” Barnaby says. His tone and smile are proud, as if he is a schoolboy who’s properly memorized his lesson. “If we have cause to think Mr. Vogel is in violation—”
“Do you?” Lily snaps. “Have cause?”
“Well, that’s why Mr. Ross here is working with us—”
“How long?” Lily looks at Luther. “How long have you been working for the bureau?”
“Let’s see now—oh, about two months.”
“And you haven’t found cause yet?”
“I think you know, Lily, that Mr. Vogel is a clever man. Complex.”
“True.” And yet, Lily thinks, he’s trusting you. Or pretending to. No one should trust Luther, ever. The image of the badge in her tote bag flashes before her. “Do you know when he arrived at the Murphy farm?”
“Sure. Thursday afternoon.”
“And Fiona?”
“A few days earlier, I guess. For cooking and such. I don’t keep track of women’s doings.”
Lily doubts Fiona’s doing much cooking these days. “When did you arrive?”
“Thursday.”
“With George Vogel?”
“Yes, yes. And Elias and Abe Miller.”
“Anyone else?”
“Housekeeper. Guards.”
“That’s quite an entourage, for a Thanksgiving visit to a grieving relative of Fiona’s.”
“That’s how George travels,” Luther says.
Lily turns her gaze back to Barnaby, who looks a bit bewildered by Lily and Luther’s exchange. “I’m assuming you’re paying him.” She jerks a thumb in Luther’s direction.
Barnaby frowns as he gives Luther a doubtful look. “Well, yes.”
On the bureau’s payroll. Probably on George Vogel’s as well.
“I’m close.” Luther’s tone turns defensive. “Soon, I’ll have the proof the bureau needs—”
“In the meantime,” Lily says, “I think Assistant Attorney General Willebrandt would agree with me that we can only proceed within the rule of law. After all, the Fourth Amendment has banned unjust search and seizure, without cause or warrant, since 1791.” Lily leans back, steeples her fingertips together. “I read the entire Constitution, you see, before swearing to uphold it.”
“But the new search and seizure laws say we can raid any establishment, without warrant, if only on suspicion of violation of Prohibition,” Barnaby says.
“What legitimate suspicion do we have? We only know Fiona Vogel is visiting her bereaved aunt over Thanksgiving—with her husband and a few of his employees in tow. That’s not illegal. Luther hasn’t given you anything that would hold up in a court—”
“Maybe you don’t want to help us?” Luther interjects. “Maybe you’re working with Mr. Vogel, just like Daniel once did? And you and Fiona were once close friends—”
Lily turns her hard gaze on Luther, and he stutters to a stop.
Oh, doesn’t he think he’s clever! Not only living on George’s largesse while drawing pay from the bureau—and probably a promise of immunity later—but also attempting to goad Lily into proving her honesty by rushing onto the farm, drawing George’s attention and ire. Luther blames her, after all, for manipulating him into leaving the area after selling his family’s coal-mining company to a bigger operation. More than that, he hates her for it. In his awful grin, she sees that he’d love to see her hurt—or worse—as vengeance for that. Is he trying to get her killed? She wouldn’t put it past him. And she won’t fall for it.
But what if Vogel really is planning something big at the Murphy farm? It’s just not like him to want to spend a long weekend at such a rural location to be with his new wife while she comforts her grieving aunt.
Lily nearly tells Barnaby to send Luther out of the room, so she can fill him in on Luther’s background, his deviousness, his foolishness. To tell Barnaby his plan to outwit George will backfire unless they have hard evidence and sufficient backup. Luther is a fool. He’s going to get himself—or, worse yet, others—killed. Lily’s had enough experience with George to know that no one walks away from him unscathed.
The image of the bureau shield that Ruth had given her again crosses her mind. She should get the shield out of her tote bag, show it to Barnaby, tell him how she got it and where it came from … except Luther is here.
And so she doesn’t trust Barnaby.
What’s more, now Barnaby’s gaze has turned skeptical—thanks to Luther. “I know your husband and Mr. Vogel were friends, even after Mr. Ross stopped boxing for him. The bureau is aware of this, and would see your cooperation as a way to, ah, keep all of this out of the background of any pieces that might run in the newspapers, after we finally snare Vogel. I’m sure you’d like that for your children’s sake.…”
His voice trails off as Lily’s eyes harden, stone cold. He clears his throat, looks down as he goes on. “Here’s the thing. Luther came to us a few months ago, told us that Mr. Vogel has big plans for the area.”
“Which are?”
“I’m not sure yet,” Luther says. “I’m still working on sussing that out.”
“We wanted him to come along for this visit today because we assumed you’d be eager to cooperate—not just with the agency, for the reasons I’ve given, but also with your former brother-in-law,” Barnaby says. “We want you to work with him to find a way to visit the farm, find evidence to support a raid. Then we can provide backup.”
She wishes she could demand Luther to leave, show Barnaby the badge. Ask directly if they should be concerned about a possible missing agent. But it’s clear that Barnaby trusts Luther, which means—especially with the doubt Luther’s put in the agent’s mind about her—that she can’t trust Barnaby not to tell Luther about the badge.
Plus, that solicitousness at the beginning, with Barnaby hanging Luther’s coat for him, offering him the chair. It could be just that Barnaby is showing deference to an elder man. Or—she eyes again the thin, fraying spots of Barnaby’s clothes—he could be taking bribes from Luther.
Then why bother coming here, to see her? Lily sighs. Until she’s sure what that badge portends, she doesn’t want to put another agent’s life at risk. Luther’s very presence shakes her faith in Barnaby—and in her own judgment.
Lily forces her voice to remain steady, cool, as she says to Barnaby, “You keep saying we. Do you mean the agency? Or do you have other agents already here?”
> “Agents?” Barnaby chuckles. “We’re spread thin, Sheriff Ross, which is another reason we need your help.”
“So it’s just gonna be you, and a few of my deputies, on this theoretical raid, if”—Lily hesitates, her gorge rising again at the very thought of the phrase she’s about to use—“if Luther and I find sufficient evidence? No one else here, no one else coming?”
Barnaby frowns. “Well, there is a young fella—cock-of-the-walk attitude, if you don’t mind me saying, ma’am—who has been with the bureau a bit longer than me. He’s a senior special agent, Colter DeHaven”—Barnaby snorts at the designation—“from the Chicago office, and is working with our field office on the case. He is supposed to come in next Monday.”
Was it possible Agent DeHaven had come early, for some reason that Barnaby doesn’t know? Maybe he, too, isn’t sure if to trust Barnaby? Does the badge Ruth gave her belong to this DeHaven? Lily considers that badge, same as the one Barnaby had flashed at her—no rank, no name, no number, just a designation of authority that’s as likely to get a revenuer shot as not.
“I’ll be at the Columbus office, of course,” Barnaby goes on. “You can call—”
“I can telegraph from here,” Lily says. “Or call from Chillicothe. Might as well, in that case, drive up to your office.”
Barnaby frowns. “I see.”
Lily smiles. “Part of the downside, I reckon, of building a case in a place like this.”
As Barnaby flushes, Lily regrets teasing him. “Special Agent, thank you for filling me in. I’ll be sure that we have deputies to keep an eye on Mrs. Willebrandt, and I’ll of course look forward to meeting her Wednesday next. Meanwhile, I’ll keep my ear to the ground and contact you if I have any reason to regarding Mr. Vogel.”
For a moment, the silence in the room leavens, as Lily and Barnaby regard each other awkwardly. Then Barnaby clears his throat, says, “I’m sure Luther will soon be able to provide more specifics to aid in getting your search warrant.” Lily resists giving a derisive snort. Doesn’t Barnaby suspect at all that Luther is playing both sides?
But Luther just stares into the middle distance, seemingly no longer interested in either the conversation or in taunting Lily. Worrying about Elias? Lily wonders.
The Stills Page 11
