Smugglers' Gold by Lyle Brandt Page B

seemed on the verge of making some remark, but he was interrupted by a waiter stopping to deliver menus. Irene asked about the soup du jour, but grimaced when she learned that it was turtle, opting for a lobster tail instead. “I draw the line at reptiles,” she told Ryder, with a quirky smile.
    He ordered T-bone steak with baked potato. Cagle put the waiter through an inquisition on the merits of the fried and roasted chicken, then decided on pork chops instead. They sat and talked about the
Southern Belle’
s accommodations and their several destinations while they waited for their food. Cagle was headed for Savannah, while Irene was going on around the Keys and Straits of Florida to visit kinfolk in Tampa.
    She lit up with another smile when Ryder said that he was traveling to Galveston. “I hear it’s very wicked there,” she said.
    â€œI couldn’t tell you,” he replied. “It’s my first time.”
    â€œIn Galveston, he means,” said Cagle, smirking.
    Irene blushed at that, but the arrival of their meals saved her from having to respond. Ryder picked up his knife, imagining how it would feel to let some air out of the corset salesman, but he cut a bite out of his steak, instead, and found it was delicious.
    Small talk occupied them while they ate. Ryder let Cagle carry most of it, describing a variety of trades he had pursued before he settled down to women’s intimates. Most of it had to do with clothes, though he’d spent the war designing military uniforms.
    â€œWhich side?” asked Ryder.
    â€œThe correct one,” Cagle said and gave him an exaggerated wink.
    â€œAnd what do you do for a living, George?” Irene inquired.
    It was a chance to try his cover story on for size. “Import and export,” he replied, leaving it vague.
    â€œSo, shipping,” Cagle said.
    â€œMy part has more to do with acquisition,” Ryder said, “and distribution.”
    â€œSuch as?” Irene pressed him.
    â€œAnything my customers desire. Jamaican rum’s a popular commodity. Some other products from the islands. Now and then, a little something more exotic.”
    â€œAnd you’ve visited these places?”
    â€œAll a part of doing business.”
    â€œYou must tell me more about them, when we have the time.”
    Leaving the dining hall when they were done, Ryder decided that the trip might be more interesting than he’d thought.
    *   *   *
    R yder soon discovered that the
Southern Belle’
s arrival in a port produced the same reaction as its steaming out of Baltimore. The packet’s whistle sounded well before it docked, drawing a crowd to meet it at the pier. Some came to welcome disembarking passengers, while others paid their fare and came aboard, bound for some other port. Cargo was hauled ashore and rapidly replaced with other items. Some folks simply came to gawk, while others stood and waited for their mail.
    Norfolk wasn’t much to look at, in his personal opinion, when they reached it in late afternoon. All Ryder knew about it was what he had read in newspapers, during the war. The Battle of Hampton Roads had been fought there, at sea, in March of 1862, between the ironclads USS
Monitor
and CSS
Virginia
, built from remnants of the old USS
Merrimack.
It came down to a standoff, with some 340 dead and about 120 wounded, but Gen. John Wool had captured the Rebel port two months later, holding it for the remainder of the war. It had been spared from any major damage, and appeared to be a thriving spot for commerce now.
    Their second day at sea established Ryder’s pattern for the trip. He had an early breakfast in the dining hall and had a walk around the deck, stopped by the boat’s small library but couldn’t find a book that suited him, then went to lunch at noon. Irene McGowan met him there, while Arnie Cagle chose another table, trying out his jokes on a new audience. This