hair. “Can’t wait to see what you’ve got planned for the second.”
****
Word spread quickly that there was paying work to be found on the riverfront. Annalee arrived at nine—what she considered to be an early hour—and found the grounds packed with hopefuls.
Among the crowd was Earl Brown, the beast of a man she’d met in Sheriff Calaway’s police car. Next to him stood a small woman with frazzled auburn hair and a baby latched to her hip. Between them stood seven skinny, sad-eyed children.
“Sheriff told me the judge would go lenient on me if’n I quit drinkin’ and got a job,” he told her. “I’m workin’ at the first, and hopin’ for the best with the other. Name’s Earl. This is my wife, Molly.”
“You’re hired.” Her eyes wandered to the child on Molly’s hip. “Too bad that little one’s not walking yet. I could have him picking the weeds, at least.”
“I wouldn’t mind pickin’ weeds if that’s all the work I can get,” Molly said.
Annalee moved closer to the woman, as if to tell her a great secret. “There’s plenty of work to go around, but let the men break their backs. I’ve got something better for you.”
“Oh?”
“I’ve got a feeling you’re good at managing and organizing,” she told her. “Takes a keen intellect to do that sort of work—and a forceful personality.”
Molly looked up to her husband and gave a nervous laugh. “Oh...I don’t know ’bout that.”
“Of course you do,” Annalee insisted. “You wrangled seven children, an infant, and an ornery husband all the way down here to the river—and I bet you have to do similar every single day of your life. That takes talent. And I need talent on my management team.”
“Hear that, Earl? I’m gonna be a manager.”
Annalee turned her attention to the crowd. “The pay is two dollars a day,” she called. “I need yard workers, carpenters, painters, and cleaners. Group yourselves accordingly. Earl’s the foreman. He’ll take your name and pay you at day’s end.”
“Huh?” Earl looked dumbfounded. “I cain’t write.”
“You can’t...” She sighed and turned to the crowd once more. “Any one of you know how to write?”
A couple of hands went up. Annalee picked the smartest-looking one of the bunch and sat him down on the porch. “What’s your name?”
“Hank, ma’am.”
She handed him a ledger and a pencil. “Take down their names and their specialty—you know, the thing they’re good at doing. If they make it to day’s end, put a check next to their name and hand them their pay. Got it?”
“Miss Lady...”
Annalee turned a little too quickly, and for a moment felt dizzy. The man who approached her was short, wiry, shabbily dressed. Another fellow down on his luck, no doubt, and likely a hobo, but the look in his eyes gave Annalee pause. He looked hard and shrewd, and she felt a tingle of fear at the nape of her neck.
“Miss Lady, ain’t there gonna be any food?” he asked. His breath reeked of alcohol and rotten teeth. “Been three days since I last et.”
“No free lunches here, friend,” she told him. “You work today and you get paid, same as everyone else. After that, I don’t care what you do with the money.”
“Well ain’t this some shit!” The look in his eyes hardened to a hateful glare, and Annalee took an instinctive step away from him. She’d seen her share of drunkards in her lifetime, some of them as loud and angry as this ramshackle mess of a man who stood before her now, but she’d never seen such feral intelligence behind the rage.
This man is not drunk.
Annalee tried to control the fear that made her heart pound, but the quiver in her voice betrayed her. “If you don’t want to work, you’ll have to leave.”
The hobo shot forward, muttering things she could not understand, and reached out with thin, bony fingers for her shoulders. Before the man could get a firm grip on her, Earl stepped in and grabbed the hobo by his
****
Word spread quickly that there was paying work to be found on the riverfront. Annalee arrived at nine—what she considered to be an early hour—and found the grounds packed with hopefuls.
Among the crowd was Earl Brown, the beast of a man she’d met in Sheriff Calaway’s police car. Next to him stood a small woman with frazzled auburn hair and a baby latched to her hip. Between them stood seven skinny, sad-eyed children.
“Sheriff told me the judge would go lenient on me if’n I quit drinkin’ and got a job,” he told her. “I’m workin’ at the first, and hopin’ for the best with the other. Name’s Earl. This is my wife, Molly.”
“You’re hired.” Her eyes wandered to the child on Molly’s hip. “Too bad that little one’s not walking yet. I could have him picking the weeds, at least.”
“I wouldn’t mind pickin’ weeds if that’s all the work I can get,” Molly said.
Annalee moved closer to the woman, as if to tell her a great secret. “There’s plenty of work to go around, but let the men break their backs. I’ve got something better for you.”
“Oh?”
“I’ve got a feeling you’re good at managing and organizing,” she told her. “Takes a keen intellect to do that sort of work—and a forceful personality.”
Molly looked up to her husband and gave a nervous laugh. “Oh...I don’t know ’bout that.”
“Of course you do,” Annalee insisted. “You wrangled seven children, an infant, and an ornery husband all the way down here to the river—and I bet you have to do similar every single day of your life. That takes talent. And I need talent on my management team.”
“Hear that, Earl? I’m gonna be a manager.”
Annalee turned her attention to the crowd. “The pay is two dollars a day,” she called. “I need yard workers, carpenters, painters, and cleaners. Group yourselves accordingly. Earl’s the foreman. He’ll take your name and pay you at day’s end.”
“Huh?” Earl looked dumbfounded. “I cain’t write.”
“You can’t...” She sighed and turned to the crowd once more. “Any one of you know how to write?”
A couple of hands went up. Annalee picked the smartest-looking one of the bunch and sat him down on the porch. “What’s your name?”
“Hank, ma’am.”
She handed him a ledger and a pencil. “Take down their names and their specialty—you know, the thing they’re good at doing. If they make it to day’s end, put a check next to their name and hand them their pay. Got it?”
“Miss Lady...”
Annalee turned a little too quickly, and for a moment felt dizzy. The man who approached her was short, wiry, shabbily dressed. Another fellow down on his luck, no doubt, and likely a hobo, but the look in his eyes gave Annalee pause. He looked hard and shrewd, and she felt a tingle of fear at the nape of her neck.
“Miss Lady, ain’t there gonna be any food?” he asked. His breath reeked of alcohol and rotten teeth. “Been three days since I last et.”
“No free lunches here, friend,” she told him. “You work today and you get paid, same as everyone else. After that, I don’t care what you do with the money.”
“Well ain’t this some shit!” The look in his eyes hardened to a hateful glare, and Annalee took an instinctive step away from him. She’d seen her share of drunkards in her lifetime, some of them as loud and angry as this ramshackle mess of a man who stood before her now, but she’d never seen such feral intelligence behind the rage.
This man is not drunk.
Annalee tried to control the fear that made her heart pound, but the quiver in her voice betrayed her. “If you don’t want to work, you’ll have to leave.”
The hobo shot forward, muttering things she could not understand, and reached out with thin, bony fingers for her shoulders. Before the man could get a firm grip on her, Earl stepped in and grabbed the hobo by his
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