“No.” He shook his head. “No, I wasn’t.”
Davy’s hand trembled as he lifted the glass. He drank down the spirits, eyed his cousin, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Enough with it, Gaz. No,youshut up. Sir, we’re here ‘cause yer the only one could’ve taken it. No one else would mess with the Dutchman knowin’ Scruggs would pay for it.”
“The Dutchman?” Fox asked.
They must mean Carvelle.
“Scruggs wouldna’ blink much at a bit of nippin’, but the Dutchman’s as tight as a hangman’s noose. And Gaz and me, we were left with the last of them barrels and we didn’t take ’em.”
Davy was just drunk enough—or may just sober enough—to tell the truth. Fox downed his own glass. “You’re out early tonight.”
“Gaz ‘n’ me, we’re bringing the rest of that load up. They’re runnin’ ‘em down to Scarborough tonight.”
“Scarborough?” Jenny moved closer.
Fox’s insides shifted. The hair on his neck rose. Jenny’d been tetchy, jittery, all evening.
Both of the local men ogled her, their gazes frank and approving.
“Beg pardon,” she said, “But I’ve got to go get that tray.”
“Come right back,” Fox said.
Gaz and Davy watched the sway of her hips as she crossed the room.
“If I had those tubs I’d need a fair exchange for them.”
They looked at each other again.
“We got no money,” Gaz said.
“Not money. Information.”
“Like what?” Davy asked.
“We’re no snitches,” Gaz said. “No one’s being hanged on our account.”
“We give a rat’s ass about Scruggs and your gang, right, Mac?” Fox said.
MacEwen pulled out the chair next to Davy and sat. “Time and again, smugglers have done me a good turn or two.”
“We’ve got no quarrel with your village’s industry,” Fox said. “What we’re interested in is murder.”
Davy licked his lips and slid his glass over. “Murder.”
Fox poured.
“Not a word,” Gaz said.
“We need them casks.” Davy gulped his drink and stared hard at Fox. “Have you seen her then?”
“Hornswallow,” Gaz muttered, but he picked up his own glass and drained it.
He nodded. “I have.”
Sweat broke on Davy’s forehead. His hand trembled so, Fox poured both him and his friend another.
“She wants her revenge,” Davy said.
“No, not revenge. Justice.”
“Davy, man,” Gaz whispered, “We can’t be givin’ testimony at a trial.”
Fox leaned closer. “She doesn’t need a trial to get justice.”
MacEwen raised an eyebrow. Fox hadn’t briefed him. He hadn’t a clue what they were talking about, but he was cagey enough to play along while he puzzled things out.
Jenny burst through the door, drawing everyone’s attention. Gasping for breath, she clutched her hands in front of her.
