camera out of his desk drawer. “I thought we’d take a few pictures of the fiddle to give to our friend the fiddle-maker. It’s a good excuse for stopping by. Now . . . you said they all went out?”
Duke swallowed the last of the carton of papaya juice and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Yeah. The guys and Pammy went out of here this morning with their golf clubs. When I was coming back in just now, Brigid and Regan and Kit were pulling out. They were going to Regan’s parents’ house for brunch.”
Chappy made a face. “We weren’t invited?”
“Guess not.”
“That’s gratitude for you.”
Duke crushed the carton in his hand. “Let’s get our helmets.”
Chappy turned around in his chair and rapped on the fake bookcase. It swiveled open, revealing a shelf holding two orange miner’s helmets with special headlights attached. Chappy kicked his heels with glee and got up. Donning their special headgear they disappeared behind the bookcase and down the secret stairs into the bowels of Chappy Castle.
As the musty damp smell filled their nostrils, Chappy grew more and more excited. The sight of the gray walls with cobwebs in the corners and big dark pipes hanging from the ceiling contributed to the feeling of forbidden territory.
They went down a hall, past the wine cellar, past Chappy’s baby buggy and all the other requisite junk kept in basements, and turned right. They stopped at a little dark corner that was now lit up by their helmets.
Chappy turned to Duke. “Do the honors.”
Duke bent down and pulled away a stone near the ground, behind which was a door handle. Grabbing it, he pulled, and all the stones above moved forward in unison, revealing a secret room. The two of them hunched over and, once inside, shut the door behind them.
“Ah yes,” Chappy said as he pulled the string to light the lone bulb hanging from the ceiling. “The Tinka Men’s Lounge, a room created during the strain of Prohibition. Grandpa Tinka founded this little speakeasy so his buddies could come over for a few belts without the worry of being busted. Grandpa was a crafty bootlegger who would send his speedboat out to Rum Row, three miles offshore, just outside federal jurisdiction, where they’d stock up on supplies of booze from the boats that came up from the Islands. They’d rush their quarry back to shore, ever on the lookout for gangsters and the Coast Guard. But Grandpa had built his boat to be faster than the Coast Guard’s. Oh yes,” Chappy reminisced with a tear in his eye, “I’ll never forget the first time my father brought me down here. I was thirteen. . .”
Behind him, Duke rolled his eyes. He’d heard this story every time they had come down here for the past ten years.
“Long after Prohibition,” Chappy continued, “this was a special room for the men in the Tinka family. It was our escape. Grandpa and Papa and I would come down here and sit and talk, and they’d smoke their cigars. That’s why, when I leveled the house, I made sure the foundation stayed the same. I wanted to keep this room!” He sat in a thronelike chair and looked around smiling. Boxes and boxes of junk were all over the floor. Girlie magazines dating back to Grandpa’s days were stacked in the corner. The fiddle Duke had stolen from Malachy was propped up in the corner. “To think that this whole place survived the dreadful hurricane of 1938. I love it here!”
What a pit, Duke thought. But he knew to keep his mouth shut when it came to this historic room. He sat in the only other chair and crossed his legs. I should be doing summer stock right now, he thought.
Once seated, they usually didn’t know what to do with themselves. They never even stayed very long. Just knowing it was there made Chappy happy. Today they had a mission, but Chappy always liked to sit for a few moments and pay homage to his rumrunning Grandpa.
They sat there listening to the faraway sounds of activity upstairs.
Finally
Duke swallowed the last of the carton of papaya juice and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Yeah. The guys and Pammy went out of here this morning with their golf clubs. When I was coming back in just now, Brigid and Regan and Kit were pulling out. They were going to Regan’s parents’ house for brunch.”
Chappy made a face. “We weren’t invited?”
“Guess not.”
“That’s gratitude for you.”
Duke crushed the carton in his hand. “Let’s get our helmets.”
Chappy turned around in his chair and rapped on the fake bookcase. It swiveled open, revealing a shelf holding two orange miner’s helmets with special headlights attached. Chappy kicked his heels with glee and got up. Donning their special headgear they disappeared behind the bookcase and down the secret stairs into the bowels of Chappy Castle.
As the musty damp smell filled their nostrils, Chappy grew more and more excited. The sight of the gray walls with cobwebs in the corners and big dark pipes hanging from the ceiling contributed to the feeling of forbidden territory.
They went down a hall, past the wine cellar, past Chappy’s baby buggy and all the other requisite junk kept in basements, and turned right. They stopped at a little dark corner that was now lit up by their helmets.
Chappy turned to Duke. “Do the honors.”
Duke bent down and pulled away a stone near the ground, behind which was a door handle. Grabbing it, he pulled, and all the stones above moved forward in unison, revealing a secret room. The two of them hunched over and, once inside, shut the door behind them.
“Ah yes,” Chappy said as he pulled the string to light the lone bulb hanging from the ceiling. “The Tinka Men’s Lounge, a room created during the strain of Prohibition. Grandpa Tinka founded this little speakeasy so his buddies could come over for a few belts without the worry of being busted. Grandpa was a crafty bootlegger who would send his speedboat out to Rum Row, three miles offshore, just outside federal jurisdiction, where they’d stock up on supplies of booze from the boats that came up from the Islands. They’d rush their quarry back to shore, ever on the lookout for gangsters and the Coast Guard. But Grandpa had built his boat to be faster than the Coast Guard’s. Oh yes,” Chappy reminisced with a tear in his eye, “I’ll never forget the first time my father brought me down here. I was thirteen. . .”
Behind him, Duke rolled his eyes. He’d heard this story every time they had come down here for the past ten years.
“Long after Prohibition,” Chappy continued, “this was a special room for the men in the Tinka family. It was our escape. Grandpa and Papa and I would come down here and sit and talk, and they’d smoke their cigars. That’s why, when I leveled the house, I made sure the foundation stayed the same. I wanted to keep this room!” He sat in a thronelike chair and looked around smiling. Boxes and boxes of junk were all over the floor. Girlie magazines dating back to Grandpa’s days were stacked in the corner. The fiddle Duke had stolen from Malachy was propped up in the corner. “To think that this whole place survived the dreadful hurricane of 1938. I love it here!”
What a pit, Duke thought. But he knew to keep his mouth shut when it came to this historic room. He sat in the only other chair and crossed his legs. I should be doing summer stock right now, he thought.
Once seated, they usually didn’t know what to do with themselves. They never even stayed very long. Just knowing it was there made Chappy happy. Today they had a mission, but Chappy always liked to sit for a few moments and pay homage to his rumrunning Grandpa.
They sat there listening to the faraway sounds of activity upstairs.
Finally
Similar Books
