Searching for Anna, Jenifer Carll-Tong [cheapest way to read ebooks TXT] 📗

Will unfolded the letter he'd received from John and read it again.

By the time you receive this, Phoebe should have arrived at her new residence. To say that Esther and I are concerned about her welfare would be an understatement, as I am sure you can understand. But we all know Phoebe. She is stubborn and strong-willed and would not be swayed. Not that any of us tried, mind you. Any opposition from us would only have pushed her to make the decision faster. We only wished she wasn’t moving so far away from friends and family.

Will sighed. He refolded the letter and stuffed it back into his pocket. Yes, he did understand John and Esther's concerns, more than anyone. And he also knew better than anyone that once Phoebe had made up her mind about something, there would be no deterring her. But unlike the others, Will had peace about her decision. Will had never met a woman with more faith than Phoebe Albright. If she trusted God's calling, so did Will, whether it made sense to him or not.

God's calling. How many times had Will questioned God's calling in his own life since he left Lansing? More than he could count. But, even though a posting in Lansing or even Detroit might have meant more prestige and more creature comforts, Will knew that wasn't what God had called him to. And Phoebe receiving the letter from the U.P. only confirmed that for him; there was no use staying in Lansing if Phoebe wasn't there.

"Look who decided to show up."

The caustic greeting came from one of the main reasons for Will's doubts about his calling - Jesse Moore. Although not the only officer whose feathers seemed ruffled by Will's arrival at the post, he was the most vocal.

Will looked Jesse straight in the eyes. "I got here as soon as I heard. Maybe next time, you'll follow procedure and inform your superior officer before heading out to investigate a crime."

Jesse did little to disguise the smirk that played on the corner of his mouth. "Guess I forgot."

"You haven't missed much, Sergeant," Frank Little, a more congenial officer interrupted. "Mr. Lambecker isn't giving us much to go on."

Will nodded. "Understandable."

Eugene Lambecker, the owner of the property, was well-known around the community as a moonshiner, even if the force had been unable to prove it. But, with his barn burned to the ground, it was hard to hide the charred remains of the still underneath the now missing floorboards.

Will moved in that direction, and Officer Little fell into step beside him. "Tell me what you do know."

"Seems the fire started on the Northeast side of the barn and spread from there. Makes sense that someone would enter from the woods, where there's the most coverage."

Will stopped. "Someone? Northeast side? Are you saying this wasn't an accident involving the still?"

"No, sir. It was a deliberate act."

"Did Lambecker say who would have done this?"

"Nope. Like I said, he isn't talking at all."

Will shook his head. "Great. Sounds like we have a feud of some sort on our hands. A neighboring still owner, perhaps?"

"That is what Lambecker did say. He said it wasn't another moonshiner. He was adamant."

Will shook his head. "We can't help him if he won't talk. We have nothing to go on."

"I know. That's what I've been telling him."

"Alright, well, let's get a wagon out here to collect all this," Will said, motioning to the soot-blackened still.

"Is that your idea of helping the man?" Jesse Moore said from behind them. "Taking away his livelihood?"

Will scowled. "Do you have a problem fulfilling your duties, soldier? If so, speak up now and I will have another officer take your place."

Jesse's eyes darkened. "No, sir. I have no problem."

"Good. Then do as I said."

Will walked away. He refused to engage in public with Moore, but he didn't think it would take much to convince him to engage in a private altercation. Jesse Moore was taller and older than Will, but Will had no doubt he could take him in a fair fight. It wasn't how he wanted to operate as the commanding officer of his post, but if Moore continued to defy him in front of the other officers, he might just have to set Jesse Moore straight.

But Moore's words had hit a sore spot: hunting down every bathtub gin maker in the county was the last thing he wanted to do as a member of the Michigan State Constabulary, but it seemed all he did at his new post. When prohibition had first passed, most people ignored home brewers, who were mostly immigrant families just trying to continue life the way they had always known it, maintaining cherished recipes and traditions from "the old country." But opportunists soon moved in, lured by the cheap cost of doing business and the high demand for product. In an attempt to produce liquor quickly and cheaply, many had resorted to all sorts of unsavory practices, including the use of ridiculous - and unsanitary - ingredients, such as bleach, rubbing alcohol, and paint thinner. Will had even heard of manure and urine being used in the distillation process. These shoddy practices led to toxic alcohol, unfortunately only identifiable by the damage it caused - usually blindness and sometimes death. News of several miner deaths due to bad booze near Watson, a town just an hour away, had just come across Will's desk last week. Finding home stills and dismantling them was now a priority.

"Ignore him. He's just mad because he thought he was a shoo-in for C.O."

Will looked up to find Thomas Rogers, another State Constable, leaning against a nearby tree.

"Vandercook had other plans - sent you in," Rogers continued. "So, you can't really blame him. Jesse's not a bad guy. He'll get over it."

"Why didn't the force promote from within?" Will asked the question that had been plaguing him for weeks.

Rogers laughed. "Because they know how little they pay us and how well the blind pigs and bootleggers pay to look the other way. They must figure if you can't be sure who’s on your side, send in a ringer."

"Someone who hasn't been tainted."

Rogers nodded. "Yet."

Will cocked his head. "I don't think you know me well enough to judge my character with the word 'yet.'"

Thomas Rogers slapped Will on the shoulder. "I'm just messin' with ya, Sarge." He grew serious and nodded toward the men dismantling the still. "But I do know those men, and I guarantee you…not a single one of them is in cahoots with the wets."

Will