“What are you doing here, Vin?” Cal asked as he ambled toward the house. He kept his stride easy and relaxed.
Vinny’s small eyes watched Fern closely as he answered, “You were supposed to be here hours ago.”
“I had something to do,” Cal replied.
“Rod ain’t too happy.”
“What’s going on?”
Vinny finally tore his eyes from Fern’s face and focused on Cal. “Rod heard a rumor after you left and wanted to come check things out with you.”
Vinny blocked the front door, preventing them from entering the house. Animosity stirred between him and Cal. Fern did as she’d been instructed and stayed right at Cal’s side. Not even an inch separated her arm from his.
“What rumor?” he asked.
“Tom’s been selling our gin to Jacky’s runners. He’s planning to dump us and work for them.”
She didn’t know the rules of bootlegging, but if the rumor was true, the farmer had betrayed the Rosettis. She went cold, the silent house growing even more foreboding.
Cal’s tone stayed aloof. “How’s it been handled?”
Vinny’s eyebrow lifted. No smile, but the glimmer of amusement. It turned her stomach. “Everything’s jake now.”
Fern schooled her expression to match Cal’s passive one. Showing any kind of revulsion, any distress at all, would be a mistake. She breathed through her nose, trying to calm her racing heart.
Vinny had left the front door ajar, but it now swung wide. Rodney appeared, practically hopping out onto the porch. He wore just his shirtsleeves, and in his hand was a kitchen towel, embroidered with flowers. He rubbed his hands with it, as if he’d been washing up, and then tossed it over his shoulder.
“Could’ve used your help,” he said to Cal, who ignored his brother’s complaint.
“What’d Tom tell you?”
“He sang, loud and clear.” Pride twisted his grin into something ugly. “Jacky’s been pressuring him for a while, and he caved. Fucking coward. He shoulda come to me. He shoulda been loyal.”
His voice rose with every sentence until he was shouting. As though arguing with someone. His cheeks were flushed, his shirt collar discolored by sweat.Pinkish-red splotches on the hand towel over his shoulder drew Fern’s attention.
A spear of ice drove straight into her gut. Like a slap across the cheek, the truth struck her.
“What about his wife and kid?” Cal asked as Rod’s unblinking eyes settled on Fern. Horror stewed hot in her throat and chest.
Rod shrugged a shoulder. “The kid’s not here.”
But Tom’s wife…
Breathe, Fern.
She looked inside the open front door at the bare-board floor and a corner of faded wallpaper. A pair of boots sat by the front door. A hat hung on a wire peg. A pogo stick leaned against the wall.
She sucked in a breath, startled as a hand darted into her side vision. Quick as a viper, Rod snatched the wilted daisy, forgotten behind her ear. He held it up, rolling it in between his fingers.
“Real sweet,” he said.
Cal didn’t react. He didn’t say anything at all about Young Acres or making a detour to see her.
“We loading up the crates that are here, then?” Cal said, half turning to look at the dilapidated barn. He sounded impatient. Unaffected. It was an act. It had to be.
Rod tossed the flower onto the dusty boards of the porch. “We’re waiting.”
“On what?”
