Читать онлайн книгу "The Bootlegger’s Daughter"

The Bootlegger's Daughter
Lauri Robinson


Of All the Speakeasies in All the World… Mysterious city slicker Ty Bradshaw might have won her father’s trust, but everyone knows Norma Rose is the true boss of Nightingale’s resort. And it’ll take more than that charming smile to shake her feeling that Ty is not all he seems…He Walks Into Hers!Ty is a federal agent on a personal mission of revenge. But he hasn’t figured on falling for a bootlegger’s daughter. Suddenly, flirting with headstrong Norma Rose seems far more exhilarating than chasing gangsters!Daughters of the Roaring Twenties: their hair is short and their skirts are even shorter!







Shine your shoes, slip on your flapper dress and prepare for the ride of your life in Lauri Robinson’s rip-roaring new mini-series

DAUGHTERS OF THE ROARING TWENTIES

Their hair is short and their skirts are even shorter!

Prohibition has made Roger Nightingale a wealthy man. With his bootlegging business in full swing, and his swanky hotel the most popular joint in town, his greatest challenge is keeping his four wilful daughters in check!

Join

Ginger, Norma Rose, Twyla and Josie as they foxtrot their way into four gorgeous men’s hearts!

First travel with Ginger to Chicago in

The Runaway Daughter Available now as a Mills & BoonВ® Historical Undone! eBook

Then see Norma Rose go head-to-head with Ty Bradshaw in

The Bootlegger’s Daughter Available now

Can Forrest Reynolds tame mischievous Twyla?

Find out in

The Rebel Daughter Available September 2015

And, last but not least, discover Josie’s secret in

The Forgotten Daughter Available October 2015


AUTHOR NOTE (#ulink_e3697e52-ee62-5fc8-b5fb-e7ae44c78d50)

Welcome to the Roaring Twenties! A time in America when almost every citizen broke the law and new freedoms were discovered.

When I started researching the first book in this series I was amazed by how deeply embedded Minnesota was in the illegal moonshine business. Decades before Prohibition hit, the University of Minnesota had perfected a corn hybrid that flourished in Minnesota’s shorter growing season. They named this hybrid �Minnesota 13’.

Minnesota 13 was also the name given to the whiskey moonshined from this same corn. A hub of farmers distilling, selling and transporting Minnesota 13 was formed in Central Minnesota, the whiskey became known worldwide, and it was highly sought-after for years.

The Bootlegger’s Daughter is the second book in my Daughters of the Roaring Twenties mini-series. Norma Rose is the oldest Nightingale sister, and very protective of her siblings and the family business Nightingale’s—a resort that caters to those with money to spend.

Bootlegging Minnesota 13 is part of the family business, and where there are bootleggers there are prohibition men ready to take them down. Norma Rose recognises Ty Bradshaw as an agent as soon as she sets eyes on him, but when he also comes to her rescue she has some hard decisions to make.

I hope you enjoy Norma Rose and Ty’s story, and reading about this time period that brought more freedom and independence for women.


The Bootlegger’s Daughter

Lauri Robinson




www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


A lover of fairytales and cowboy boots, LAURI ROBINSON can’t imagine a better profession than penning happily-ever-after stories about men (and women) who pull on a pair of boots before riding off into the sunset—or kick them off for other reasons. Lauri and her husband raised three sons in their rural Minnesota home, and are now getting their just rewards by spoiling their grandchildren.

Visit: laurirobinson.blogspot.com (http://laurirobinson.blogspot.com), facebook.com/lauri.robinson1 (http://facebook.com/lauri.robinson1), twitter.com/LauriR (http://twitter.com/LauriR)


To my dear friend Jennifer Edwards.

Thanks for so graciously loaning me your mother’s name!


Contents

Cover (#u96c9e986-53e2-5fd1-85d5-6cda67d5473d)

Introduction (#ube9fbbba-785a-54b8-ba57-9c318b0c8d67)

Author Note (#u2e7ee4ad-29c0-52dc-9e0c-66a63b59d141)

Title Page (#u75396936-ce80-5e09-9ff9-b9b16bb9bd8f)

About the Author (#u789f3738-6b6a-52ab-99ff-e1c735dd974e)

Dedication (#u66f982dc-a36b-5718-b56e-e138f8881bb2)

Chapter One (#ub67733cc-bc9b-5189-bbd5-1489c52a6ad9)

Chapter Two (#uca881196-18bc-5912-9056-a104eae15e3a)

Chapter Three (#u47265e03-3288-59c4-a92a-aba82bc01470)

Chapter Four (#uc9b7c90d-1b7c-5ed7-b7c6-dbf114593c76)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One (#ulink_c4dd66a0-f616-50f4-8f3f-8d06c8c6e09c)

White Bear Lake, Minnesota, 1925

The steady tick of bugs hitting the metal shield protecting the streetlamp was like a clock ticking away the seconds. Patience had never been one of Ty Bradshaw’s best virtues, not even when his life had depended on it during long stays in trenches overseas. A product of the Selective Service Act, he’d been one of the ten thousand soldiers shipped to France each day courtesy of the US armed forces eight years ago. Unlike many other twenty-year-olds back then, he’d come home alive.

Because he was lucky.

That’s what he was counting on now. Luck. His experience using a machine gun during the days of the Great War might come in handy, too. That was up in the air. He hadn’t needed to use a gun since he’d returned, and as far as he’d discovered, Roger Nightingale didn’t approve of gunfire at his resort, but the gangsters Nightingale associated with didn’t care where they burned powder. They’d pump lead into people while they were sleeping. He knew that firsthand.

Maybe he did have more patience than he gave himself credit for. He’d waited five years for this chance.

Then again, maybe he was just dedicated and savoring his revenge.

Headlights turned the corner, and deep in the shadows, Ty stood stock-still. Waiting. Watching. His smile a secret, held inside where only he knew about it, along with the rush of blood flowing through his veins like an underground spring.

The car slowed and pulled up to the curb, and Ty let loose a portion of his grin as the headlights lost their glow. The long, sleek touring car put his Model T, the cheapest and most popular one Henry Ford ever made, to shame. However, his old Ford served its purpose, allowing him to maintain his cover. Ready to put the final legs of his plan into place, Ty’s pulse hitched up one more notch as the touring car’s engine went silent.

Roger Nightingale had arrived. A legal bootlegger—if there was such a thing—Nightingale was the man behind most of the alcohol in the upper Midwest. Yet, in Ty’s eyes, “The Night” was a small fish, a means to the end. He was after the high pillow. The real McCoy. Ray Bodine. Ty had followed the trail Bodine had left of bottom-barrel boys, triggermen and torpedoes from New York to Chicago, and now to St. Paul.

With federal agents on his tail, Bodine had escaped New York by faking his own death. Using an alias, he’d made plenty of money in Chicago the past year via front men, eluding and paying off agents, and now they’d moved into St. Paul—the headwater of the whiskey trade. The vast northern woods and endless waterways made running booze—namely a local brew known as Minnesota Thirteen—a mug’s dream, and Bodine wanted that more than a drunk wanted his next prescription. The mob boss would have plenty of competition here, and not just from Ty. Mobsters from all over had ties to St. Paul, and almost every loop led one way or another to Roger Nightingale. Ty had coveted that information, and now he was prepared to use it. Bringing down Bodine is what he was here to do, and he didn’t care who he had to put the screws to in order for that to happen.

Palooka George’s birthday was coming up in two weeks. The one-time boxer had a long list of friends, and enemies. Gangsters far and wide would attend the birthday bash. Ty would be there, too, come hell or high water.

The Cadillac’s driver’s door opened—a red phaeton with four doors and a fold-down black roof. New. The red paint still had a showroom gleam that glistened brightly in the yellow-hued light cast from the bug-attracting streetlamp.

A foot appeared, and a second one, covered with black patent leather shining as brightly as the paint on the car.

With heels.

Ty was still taking note of that when what emerged next had him licking his lips to wash aside the wolf whistle itching to let loose. A fine pair of legs. Shapely, and covered in sheer silk stockings. He bit down on his bottom lip as the woman completely exited the car. The hem of her dress stopped just below her knees, giving way for plenty to be admired. He continued to admire as his gaze roamed upward, over subtle curves that had him sucking in a good amount of air just to keep that whistle contained.

Women were a lot like whiskey. He didn’t need either on a regular basis, but sampling a taste every now and again was something he didn’t mind doing, and Norma Rose Nightingale was one classy dame. The real cat’s meow.

He’d only seen her from afar, through the lenses of his binoculars while hiding in the woods near the resort, but it had been enough for him to know he’d liked what he’d seen. He liked it now, too. The way her skirt swirled as she spun around to shut the car door. Black, or navy blue maybe, the material of her dress hugged her body just so and glistened in the glow from the streetlight outside the hoosegow.

With slow, precise movements, Ty tugged the front of his hat lower on his forehead and eased back against the building until the coolness of the bricks penetrated his suit coat—he needed the chill to douse the flames spiking in his lower belly. He could see her, but unless Norma Rose turned all the way around and peered directly into the shadows cast by the overhead awning, she couldn’t see him.

Roger Nightingale, Norma Rose’s father, was the person Ty had expected to visit the jail tonight. Her arrival changed his plan. He tossed around a couple of alternate options while admiring the way Norma Rose’s hips swayed as she walked around the front of the Cadillac.

A dark little hat, probably the same shade as that tailored dress, covered her short blond waves, and a small handbag with a gold-chain handle dangled from one hand. She was wearing pearls, too, a long strand tied in a knot just below rather a nice set of breasts. Dressed to catch a man’s eye, that’s what she’d done all right, dolled up just like the other night, when she’d been welcoming guests into her father’s resort.

Nightingale’s Resort was a hot vacation place for big shots with bankrolls to blow, not just those from the bustling metropolis of Minneapolis and St. Paul. Secluded deep in the woods, and just a short jaunt north of the city, the resort catered to butter-and-egg men from all over. Chicago, Milwaukee, Detroit, New York. To rent one of the dozen or more lakeside bungalows for a single evening cost more than Ty and most other folks made in a month.

Palooka George would stay in one of those bungalows. Ray Bodine would be in one, too, and Ty needed to know which one Bodine would be in, so he could get the graft on the New York mobster whose killing spree had set a ball of fire in Ty’s stomach years ago.

Turning slightly, Ty watched Norma Rose step onto the sidewalk. The hoosegow was in the center of the city, surrounded by dungeons transformed into speakeasies, high-end clip joints and nightclubs pretending to serve only coffee and tea, yet she hadn’t cast a single glance around. Her steps were purposeful, her back straight. Confident. He liked that.

The heels of her shoes clicked on the pavement as she strolled past the brightly lit front door of the city jail, heading straight for the unmarked chief of police’s private entrance.

Ty pushed off the wall and straightened his suit coat, making sure his piece—a cheap government-issued pistol—was well-concealed beneath his arm, and waited until she’d arrived at the door before he headed across the street. Five chiefs of police had come and gone in St. Paul the past few years, and there was no reason to believe Ted Williams was any less corrupt than his predecessors. That, too, would play in Ty’s favor.

* * *

Norma Rose drew a deep breath and took a moment to smooth her pleated skirt and tug at the cuffs of both gloves. The city, especially at night, was not her favorite place. Uncle Dave was going to owe her for this one. Getting arrested. He knew better. It hadn’t been that long ago when food had been scarce and money nonexistent. Now her family had the finest things of anyone in White Bear Lake. Perhaps all of Minnesota. Her wardrobe was the envy of many and it certainly didn’t take her high school diploma—the first in her family—to figure out she didn’t want things to go back to how they used to be. One wrong move could snuff out the money flowing into her father’s bank accounts. Uncle Dave was as aware of that as she.

Fueled by the ire old memories ignited, she twisted the knob on the door. Ted Williams, St. Paul’s chief of police, knew better, too. Arresting Uncle Dave would not play in his favor.

The target of her indignation sat behind his desk, dressed in a blue uniform with shiny gold buttons and a flat hat spouting a badge. He jumped to his feet as she shut the door with the perfect amount of force. It didn’t slam, but did cause the single lightbulb hanging by a black cord from the ceiling to sway, and certainly displayed her irritation.

“Norma Rose,” Ted Williams said, rounding his desk. “I expected your father.”

“He’s busy.” Everyone knew the resort packed people in by the dozens on the weekends, yet she reminded him, “It is Friday night.”

“I’m aware of that.” The police chief removed his hat and laid it on his desk. “But I figured he’d want to come get his brother-in-law right away.”

She crossed the room and set her purse on the other corner of the long desk. “He’s busy, so I’m here.” Keeping her expression stony, Norma Rose leveled a solid stare on the man. “Why did you arrest Dave?”

“I didn’t arrest him,” Ted said, tugging down the hem of his uniform jacket.

Norma Rose kept her well-trained eyes from roaming. Ted Williams was a swanky-looking bird, tall and lean with sand-colored hair and periwinkle eyes. If she ever had a mind to form a crush on someone, it could very well be him. However, that would never happen. Keeping the resort running smoothly, her father satisfied, her sisters happy and, evidently, her uncle out of jail, took all her time. She was thankful for that—being busy—and liked most of it, particularly being a businesswoman. Even the big boys respected her and she was going to keep it that way. The quickest way to lose respect was to become a doxy.

“Why is he here, then?” she asked when Ted didn’t elaborate.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Ted shrugged. “I got a call about an ossified egg on the street corner and sent an officer out to get him. It turned out to be Dave.”

“Drunk? Dave?” Norma Rose shook her head. “That’s impossible.” Only the family knew Dave didn’t drink. Ever.

Ted leaned against the desk. “Maybe someone slipped him a Mickey.”

Norma Rose refused to let the bubble of concern that burst in her stomach show. “No one would have done that.” Too many men feared repercussions to do such a thing, and others were paid too well.

Ted shrugged again, and lifted an eyebrow while his gaze wandered to where her string of pearls was tied. She lifted her chin and used an unwavering glare to challenge him to meet her gaze instead of stare at her breasts.

“Why didn’t you drive him home?” she asked.

He shifted his stance and his gaze. “As you pointed out, it’s Friday night. The city is hopping.”

“Who called you?” she asked. The underground world Prohibition had built was vast, and undeniably corrupt, almost as fraudulent as those with their self-righteous attitudes who’d created it in the first place.

Ted shifted his stance as if uncomfortable.

New faces did pop up now and again—men and women hoping to make a fortune selling bootlegged and home-brewed spirits who might be foolish enough to challenge the monopoly her father had built. They never lasted long. “Who was it?”

“Mel Rosengren at the Blind Bull,” Ted answered. “But he claimed Dave hadn’t been there.”

“Of course he hadn’t been there,” she said. “Dave doesn’t patronize such establishments.” The fact that her uncle didn’t drink made him the perfect man for the job he held—providing samples to buyers. Actually, Dave couldn’t drink. He broke out in hives and swelled up like a raccoon hit by a car and left on the side of the road to bake in the sun when he consumed so much as a teaspoon of alcohol. Allergic is what Gloria Kasper, the family physician, called it. Highly allergic. “Where is he?”

Before Ted spoke, the door opened—not the one to the street, but the one to the police station.

“Chief.” A portly officer Norma Rose didn’t recognize poked his head through the opening. “A lawyer wants to pay Dave Sutton’s bail.”

More than concern flared inside Norma Rose. “Bail? A lawyer?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

A fresh bout of ire stung her nerves. No one would have called in a mouthpiece. She’d told her father she’d take care of this, and she would. He was busy trying to convince Brock Ness to stay and play at the resort rather than heading to Chicago to play for some radio station. She’d offered to drive into the city and get Dave because finding another musician this close to the two large parties they had coming up would be next to impossible. “I’m here to pick up Dave,” Norma Rose told Ted, along with a look that said there would be no bail. A man who didn’t do his job didn’t deserve to be paid.

Ted’s slight nod indicated he understood her silent message about the bail. Turning his attention toward the officer, he started across the room. “Where is this lawyer?”

The door opened wider and another man stepped through, one so dapper looking the air in Norma Rose’s lungs wouldn’t move even while a vibration rumbled through her stronger than if she’d stood on the depot platform as a freight train rolled past. His suit was black with dark gray pinstripes and his shoes were suede, black, like his shirt and tie. The hat band of his fedora was black, too, and silk. She saw decked-out men day in and day out, and not one of them had ever made her lose the ability to breathe. This man was big, taller than the police chief, and had shoulders as broad as the men who hauled barrels of whiskey into the basement of the resort. Unlike those men, his hair was cut short, trimmed neatly around his ears, and he was clean-shaven.

Strangers weren’t anything new, and one rarely caught her attention. Flustered for concentrating so deeply on this one, Norma Rose forcefully emptied her lungs. Just above the pounding in her ears, she heard the man speak.

“Chief Williams,” he said, holding out a hand. “Ty Bradshaw, attorney at law.”

The man handed Ted a calling card, and then produced another one out of his suit pocket as he stepped closer. His eyes were dark brown, but it wasn’t the color that seared something inside her. It was the way they shimmered, as if all he had to do was smile and call her doll and she’d fall onto his lap like the girls that were paid to do so back at the resort.

Well-versed on keeping her expression blank—for men gave her those types of looks all the time, which did nothing but disgust her—Norma Rose didn’t so much as blink as she took the card he offered. She did curse her fingers for trembling slightly when his brushed against them.

Embossed gold writing proclaimed his name and profession just as he’d stated, and offered no additional information. Which meant little to nothing. She had embossed cards with her name on them, too.

“I wasn’t aware Dave had a lawyer,” Ted said.

“He does now,” the newcomer stated.

His rather arrogant tone sent another rumble through her. “No, he doesn’t,” Norma Rose argued. Her father employed several attorneys, and if anyone in the family ever had the need, one of them would be called. This occasion didn’t require a mouthpiece, just a few extra bills laid in the chief’s hand. Which would not happen, either. Ted Williams was paid well to keep her entire family out of the hoosegow and the fact she was standing here, arguing with an unknown lawyer, was enough to say Ted was not earning his monthly installments.

The lawyer, Ty or Todd or Tom or whatever he’d said his name was, stepped forward, staring at her so intently she couldn’t glance down to read his calling card again. Norma Rose kept her gaze locked with his, even though her stomach fluttered as if she’d swallowed a caged bird.

“Yes, he does,” he said, his voice as calculating as his stare, which slipped downward.

A tremendous heat singed the skin from her toes to her nose. Everywhere his gaze touched. By the time his eyes met hers again Norma Rose was completely disturbed. And uncomfortable. This had never happened to her, and she wasn’t impressed. “Since when?”

“We sat next to each other at the lunch counter in the drugstore. He had the chicken noodle soup. I had the tomato.”

Norma Rose didn’t care what kind of soup they’d eaten, but his explanation did give her insight she’d missed earlier. His accent was eastern. New York, if her guess was right. They couldn’t pronounce tomato to save their souls. What was a New York lawyer doing in St. Paul? Eating tomato soup at a drugstore?

The ringing of a telephone momentarily interrupted her thoughts. She gathered them quickly enough to say, “My uncle was mistaken. He has no need for his own lawyer.” Turning to Ted, she said, “I’ll take Dave home now.”

Glancing between her and the lawyer, Ted paused, as if not sure what to do.

“Now,” she repeated, lifting her purse off the desk, once again demonstrating Ted wouldn’t be seeing any extra cash for his efforts tonight.

“Chief.” The unknown officer stuck his head through the open doorway again. “There’s a raid downtown.”

“Damn it.” Ted grabbed his hat off his desk. “Where at?”

“The Blind Bull.”

The officer’s answer sent a shiver up Norma Rose’s spine, as did the hint of surprise on Ty Bradshaw’s face. She’d read the calling card a second time and would not forget his name again, nor would she forget how he smiled at her. Having smiled like that on numerous occasions herself, she easily recognized he was attempting to disguise, or make her believe, that he hadn’t reacted to the news of the Blind Bull being raided, although the news had certainly surprised him.

“Get Dave Sutton. Norma Rose will take him home,” Ted told the officer.

“Yes, sir.” The officer disappeared out the door.

“I’m assuming there’s no paperwork for me to sign,” Norma Rose said.

“Of course not. I’d have already signed it if there was,” the lawyer answered.

She gave him a glare that said she wasn’t talking to him, nor would she ever be. Turning to the police chief, she said, “I’ll be sure to inform my father of all your assistance tonight.”

“Now, Norma Rose...” Ted began cajolingly.

“Good evening, Chief Williams,” she snapped before he could continue, and then marched through the doorway into the police station, where she assumed the other officer would bring her uncle.

Dave was already there, sitting in a wooden chair on the far side of the room, looking green and holding the side of his head with one hand. His sample suitcase sat between his legs. He lifted his head as she approached. “Aw, Rosie, I sure didn’t mean for you to have to come down here to get me.”

Norma Rose didn’t say a word until after she’d looped an arm around his elbow to help him stand. Not that she was much help. His six-foot frame had a good eight inches on her and he outweighed her by a hundred pounds. He stood, though, and caught his balance when he wobbled.

Grabbing his leather suitcase in her other hand, she growled quietly, “What were you thinking, doing such a thing?”

“I didn’t mean to get arrested, and I didn’t drink anything, either,” Dave mumbled in return, with rather slurred words. “You know I’m allergic.”

“I’m talking about the lawyer,” she said sharply.

“I met him—”

“I know where you met him,” she said. “Come on, I have to get you home.”

“Ty can give me a ride home,” her uncle said, spying the lawyer.

“And have you giving out family secrets?” she hissed. “I don’t think so.”

“I never give out family secrets.” Dave wobbled and hiccuped. “Rosie, I don’t feel so good.” Rubbing his stomach, he added, “I don’t know if I can handle riding with you all the—”

“You’ll handle it all right.” She wrenched on his arm, heading toward the front door Ty Bradshaw held open. Just because she’d had a slight accident years ago when she was learning to drive, which had resulted in Dave, the one teaching her how to drive, breaking an arm, he chastised her about her driving. It wasn’t her fault he’d stuck his arm out the window when she’d been forced to swerve off the road. Yet, he refused to ride anywhere with her, unless absolutely necessary. Tonight was one of those absolutely necessary times.

“I can give Mr. Sutton a ride to the resort,” the lawyer said, grinning as if he knew the entire history of her driving record. “My car’s right over there.”

Norma Rose glanced in the general direction he pointed, just so she didn’t have to look at him. A jalopy, a Model T similar to the one she’d wrecked years before. The lawyer was grinning even more broadly when she turned her glare his way. “That’s quite all right, Mr. Bradshaw. Your services are no longer needed.” On impulse, mainly due to how her blood had started to boil, she added, “They never were.”

He lifted both eyebrows as he dipped his head slightly. However, his grin still displayed a set of white teeth, sparkling like those of a braying donkey. Norma Rose opened the Cadillac’s passenger door and tossed Dave’s suitcase in the backseat. The car—a gift from her father for her twenty-fifth birthday a few months ago—didn’t have a scratch on it. Proof her driving skills were now stellar. That accident had been five years ago and her first attempt to drive. She wouldn’t have needed to learn how to drive back then if her younger sister by two years, Twyla, hadn’t refused to give her a ride that morning. The year before, when Uncle Dave had returned from the war, he’d taught Twyla how to drive. He was also the one who’d taught Josie and Ginger when they became old enough, and he rode with any one of her sisters regularly.

“Ohhh.”

The heavy groan had Norma Rose glancing at her uncle.

Sweat dripped off Dave’s forehead. “I’m going to be sick.” He stumbled then, all the way to the back of her car, where he unloaded his stomach.

Norma Rose’s stomach revolted at the sound of her uncle’s heaving. Her throat started burning and she pinched her lips together, breathing through her nose as her gag reflex kicked in. She could deal with about most everything, but not throwing up. Not the sounds, the sight, the smell. It evoked memories of death and dying. People too sick to care for one another, dying side by side in their beds.

The flu epidemic that had swept the nation had stayed for months in her home. Taking lives before it left. Her mother, her brother, her grandparents, cousins, aunts and uncles, friends. A few of them had been spared—her sisters and father—but they’d all been sick with coughs so deep and raw they’d sounded like a gaggle of geese honking, and so uncontrollable they’d coughed until they’d vomited. Once her grandmother’s most cherished and prized possession, the washing machine on the back porch couldn’t handle the workload. With no money to replace or repair the machine, Norma Rose had washed soiled linens and clothes in a tub with bleach so strong her hands bled.

Dave retched again and though he was downwind, she got a whiff of a smell similar to the one that had once hovered over her home. Sweat coated her hands inside her black gloves. Afraid she would lose the contents of her stomach Norma Rose slammed the car door shut and dashed around the front of her Cadillac, the slick bottoms of her new shoes slipping on the pavement in her haste.

“Fine,” she told the lawyer, afraid to breathe while pulling open the driver’s door. “You give him a ride home.”


Chapter Two (#ulink_2c7b3845-eff0-5ba9-b22c-df4e1b4c8a45)

The scent of new leather helped. Therefore, despite her desperate need to escape, Norma Rose waited until the lawyer loaded Dave in his Model T before she gunned the Cadillac and headed up the road. She drove with one eye on the mirror mounted to the spare-tire bracket near the front fender. Dim, and disappearing now and again as the mirror bounced, the reflection of the lawyer’s headlights eased her remorse of not taking Uncle Dave home herself. She would not let him out of her sight, which was almost the same. If the Model T took a wrong turn, she could spin the Cadillac around and overtake the much slower car in no time.

The Model T stayed close, rumbling on the cobblestones as she weaved through traffic, turned corners and crossed numerous trolley and railroad tracks. Miles later, when the paved road heading out of the city gave way to gravel and the Cadillac stirred up a good plume of dust, headlights still reflected in her mirror. She had the windows up, to keep the dust out of her car, but knew the truck version of the Model T behind her didn’t have windows and wouldn’t have blamed the lawyer for putting more space between the two cars.

He didn’t, and Norma Rose focused on keeping her mind on driving and off the man behind the wheel of the truck behind her as much as possible. Men, the entire lot of them, were banned from her mind, at least from that little section she kept for private thoughts. Since she ran the resort, the majority of her dealings were with men in the business realm, and that was more than enough.

Approaching headlights had her hugging the right side of the road, giving the oncoming automobile as much space as needed. Another Model T. She recognized this one, too. Brock Ness’s father once used it to deliver milk to the resort. Meeting the truck this close to the city made her stomach sink.

The truck passed and she eased her Cadillac back into the middle of the road.

She’d have her work cut out in finding a replacement musician for the next few weekends. However, that could explain why her mind was so distracted lately. Her sisters had gone berries over Brock, and their silliness must have left more of an impact on her than she’d realized. There was no other reason for her to have been so observant about Ty Bradshaw and his fancy suit. How spiffy he’d looked in pinstripes and that jaunty black hat. She could still see him in her mind and the image continued to burn a hole in her brain.

She didn’t think about men in that manner. Ever. And she wasn’t about to start now. There was no real reason for her to be concerned. As soon as her father set eyes on Ty, he’d be sent on his way. Very few people were brought into the family business. A lawyer from New York would never be welcomed.

Norma Rose adjusted her speed as the road grew curvy between the lakes of Gem and White Bear, and slowed more as she took the wide corner to merge onto Main Street of the city of White Bear Lake. The town was quiet, hardly a light glowing other than a few streetlights. This late, even the amusement park and the Plantation nightclub—which had recently attempted to rival the resort by bringing in various musicians—were dark and eerily silent. Forrest Reynolds at the Plantation would do better to focus on his billiard room and bowling alley. Folks of White Bear Lake liked to keep things as neat and innocent as a baby’s first birthday gift, all wrapped up with a bow on top. If she and Forrest were on speaking terms, which they weren’t, she might have told him that.

Located four miles north of town on the shores of Bald Eagle Lake, her family’s resort didn’t need to abide by the newly instated ten-o’clock curfew and noise ordinance, and catered to all those who liked things a bit more tempestuous.

A few blocks later, Norma Rose increased her speed as the town disappeared, and glanced in the mirror. Ty Bradshaw was right behind her. She couldn’t help but wonder how he kept those suede shoes of his so clean. Suede loved dust. She knew. Shoes were her one love. She wore a different pair most every day. Now that she could afford to.

Her eyes had obviously spent too long looking in the mirror, because the familiar Y in the road appeared sooner than expected. Norma Rose had to brake quickly to make the turn, and then again as her car bounced over the railroad tracks of the nearby Bald Eagle Depot. Ty had braked, too, keeping a safe distance between their vehicles, and as she entered a stretch where tall and leafy trees hung over the road, making the already dark night denser, she found unusual comfort in the Model T headlights in her review mirror. She didn’t know why, nor did she want to wonder about it.

Several curves later, she turned the final corner and drove slowly up the resort’s long driveway. The lack of rain lately had made everything dry. Most people didn’t understand how easily dust from the driveway entered the buildings and left a layer that had to be wiped away on a daily basis, but she did.

The parking area in front of the main resort building had cleared out considerably since she’d left. Veering around the right side of the big brick building, she wheeled her car into the garage built for family vehicles. Norma Rose parked between the two older coupes that belonged to her sisters and lifted Uncle Dave’s suitcase out of the backseat before she opened the driver’s door.

A groundskeeper stood ready to close the big swinging garage door as soon as she exited, just as he’d opened it moments ago. Norma Rose expressed her thanks with a nod as her gaze locked on the Model T and the men climbing out the passenger side of the car. Ty had driven beyond the main building and along the line of big pine trees that gave the row of cabins on the lakeshore seclusion. He was parked near Dave’s bungalow. Her uncle’s blue Chevrolet sedan was there as well, making her wonder how Dave had gotten to town in the first place.

As she crossed the lawn and headed down the lane, her thoughts faded when she noticed how heavily Uncle Dave leaned on the lawyer as they walked toward his bungalow. Not sure if he was still ill, or just tired, she walked closer with extreme caution just in case he wasn’t done throwing up.

“I’ll put him to bed,” Ty Bradshaw said.

Dave’s bungalow, a small two-room cabin, didn’t hold a lot of hiding cubbies, but it did have a few, and she certainly didn’t need a New York lawyer finding them. She’d already shirked her responsibility by letting the man drive Dave home, and couldn’t do it again. “No,” she said, “I’ll do it.”

Mumbling, Dave shook his head, as if saying he didn’t need anyone’s help.

“I believe whatever he was given hasn’t worn off yet,” Ty said. “Open the door.”

Norma Rose hurried to comply and brushed past the men to feel for and catch the string hanging from the bulb in the center of the room. “His bed’s this way,” she said, entering the back room and finding the string hanging from that ceiling, as well. Light filled the room and she slid Dave’s suitcase under the foot of the bed before the men entered.

As soon as Ty helped Dave onto the bed, her uncle rolled onto his side, moaning deeply.

“I’m no doctor,” Ty said, “but I think he should be seen by one.”

Norma Rose froze momentarily. “He’s that ill?”

“I believe so.”

Torn between getting her uncle aid and leaving the lawyer alone, Norma Rose spun around to give herself a moment to think without gazing at the man who seemed to have grown more handsome since she’d seen him in town. The yellow haze of the lightbulb reflected in his brown eyes, making them twinkle, and her heart skipped a beat. That was all so abnormal it took several deep breaths for her to set her thoughts in order. “You stay here and don’t touch anything.”

Without turning to see if he’d heard, she marched out the doorway and then scurried toward the main building. After ducking under pine boughs, she ran on her toes so her heels wouldn’t sink in the plush lawn that was watered regularly to keep it green. Spying a groundskeeper, she shouted, “Get Mrs. Kasper, and my father. Send them to Dave’s cabin.”

The man waved. Norma Rose turned around and ran back to her uncle’s cabin, once again on her toes, which made the backs of her shoes slip off her heels. She planted her heels and skidded to a stop. The door was still open, and her uncle was being sick again. Backing up a few steps, she held her breath, twisting the chain of her purse with both hands. Anyone would think she’d get over this. She had tried, but couldn’t. Just couldn’t.

The lawyer appeared in the doorway. “Did you find a doctor?”

“I—” The sound of Dave’s retching had her slapping a hand over her mouth.

A hand, Ty’s hand, wrapped around her elbow and the heat seared her skin, yet she couldn’t pull away, or protest when he led her to the end of the walkway.

“What’s going on here?” her father asked, rushing through the trees along with Gloria Kasper, who was wearing her flannel robe, slippers and white floppy nightcap.

Norma Rose was able to pull her arm from Ty’s grasp, and uncover her mouth.

“It’s Dave,” Ty said, now taking a hold of Gloria’s arm and steering her toward the cabin. “He’s in here.”

“What’s wrong with him?” her father asked, glancing at the open door.

“I’m not sure,” Norma Rose answered, although her arm still stung. “Chief Williams suggested someone may have slipped him a Mickey.” She swallowed. “He keeps throwing up.”

Her father gave an understanding pat on her shoulder. For as big and ferocious as most people thought The Night was, Norma Rose knew differently. To her, he was as lovable as the stuffed Roosevelt bear that sat on her bed. Sweet and comforting.

When he wanted to be.

She’d admit that much, too.

“Gloria and I will handle this, honey,” he said. “You go on in inside.”

Norma Rose glanced toward the cabin. It was said Gloria Kasper was a much better doctor than her husband had ever been. Years ago, when they were a newly married couple, Gloria, believing her beloved Raymond was having an affair with one of his patients, started accompanying him on all of his visits, and continued to do so until his death a few years ago. Then, in the midst of the influenza outbreak, Gloria, concerned her friends would be left without medical care, had obtained her medical degree. Since then, she had saved many lives.

“Go on, now,” her father repeated. “Gloria will take care of Dave. You can shoo out the last of the townies.”

The townies—folks that lived all year round near the local White Bear, Gem or Goose Lakes, or in the town of White Bear Lake—were always the last to leave. Especially with the new noise ordinance in town.

The residents of Bald Eagle Lake didn’t consider themselves part of the town and had formed their own community, one with a unique spirit. The resort owners, when dozens of their properties had dotted the lakes, had unified their community a long time ago. The original owners had all formed a gentleman’s agreement of all for one, and one for all, and the pact still held.

“Go on,” her father said, giving her a shove.

Norma Rose was at the kitchen door of the resort before she realized she hadn’t told her father about Ty pretending to be Dave’s lawyer. She turned around, listening. They’d have met by now.

The trees between the resort and the cabins blocked her view, otherwise she might have been able to see the lawyer walking to his car. It wouldn’t take long for her father to get rid of him. Tilting her head, listening for a Model T to start, she stood for several minutes, until it was obvious Ty hadn’t been asked to leave.

Yet. He was probably helping Gloria put Dave to bed or something. Then her father would send him down the road.

Norma Rose entered through the kitchen door and crossed the meticulously scrubbed room. It would have been nice to see the lawyer leave. Then she’d have no reason to continue thinking about him.

In truth, she had no reason to think about him and absolutely no time.

Exiting the kitchen, she turned right and entered the wide hallway that ran the width of the lower floor with staircases leading to the second and third floors at each end. Nightingale’s took up all her time. What had been a small family resort only a few years ago was now one of the largest in the state. It had a grand ballroom—complete with a curtained stage—a dining room that could seat up to a hundred people, three smaller party rooms, several offices and a covered porch that ran the length of the building and faced the lake. All that was on the first floor. The second floor contained family and employee living quarters, as well as guest rooms like those on the third floor.

The larger the resort became, the more there was for her to do. This was the first year they weren’t adding to the main building. The improvements were focused on the twenty bungalows intermittently placed around the property. Her grandfather had built most of them during the last century, when people started commuting to the lake area on the train. The vacation spot had been popular before the rail lines had been laid, but boomed when what had been a three-hour wagon ride became a twenty-minute train ride.

Many of the older resorts had closed up over the last twenty years, with people buying up the acreage to live here year round, but since Prohibition, the resorts had started to thrive again. So had the trollies coming from the cities. The streetcar company also owned the amusement park, giving people a destination as well as a way to get there.

Norma Rose turned left onto the center hallway that would pass the dining room and end at the ballroom, where Reggie, their longtime bartender, would be glad to see her. He liked things shut down by one, and considering he was back on duty by ten in the morning, she couldn’t blame him.

Sometimes she wished she didn’t have to report to duty until ten. But, for the most part, she didn’t mind. Nightingale’s was her life. She had witnessed its rise from a run-down homestead with a dancehall and few rented cabins to a glamorous showcase that rivaled hotels nationwide. Listening to her heels echoing against the wood floors, she glanced at the naturally stained wood wainscoting and grinned. If not for her, the entire resort would be painted red. That was her father’s favorite color. He owned over a dozen maroon suits. His office was splattered with burgundy; she’d even specially ordered his desk to be built out of natural red mahogany.

There were plenty of red hues in all the other rooms, too, but she’d insisted on some things being left natural wood—the floors and wainscoting—and had added shades of gold and black. Black. Now that was a color. Maybe that’s why she was so intrigued by the lawyer. Ty’s black outfit was spectacular. Norma Rose paused before entering the ballroom to shake her head, feeling flustered that she couldn’t control her thoughts when it came to the newcomer.

Most of the lights had been turned off, and she moved straight to the bar, where three locals sat. At least they were three that she liked. Smiling, she stepped up between two of their barstools. “Scooter, Dac,” she greeted the men on her left before turning to her right. “Jimmy.”

“Evening, Norma Rose,” Scooter Wilson greeted in return. “You here to give us the bum’s rush?”

Frowning, for she’d expected townies and didn’t think of Bald Eagle people as such, she asked, “What are you boys still doing here?”

“Placing bets,” Jimmy answered, picking his tweed driving hat off the bar beside him and placing it over his corn-colored hair. “On if we ever see Brock Ness again.”

A shiver rippled her spine.

Scooter slapped a coin he’d set to spinning on the counter. “He told your father no.”

Her insides slumped, confirming what she’d feared.

Neither of the three said anything else, and she knew why. Her father wasn’t a gangster. He was a businessman who, at times, associated with mobsters. There was nothing illegal about that. Gangsters were very good customers. They never squabbled about the price, always paid with cash, in full, and usually in advance.

However, plenty of folks feared her father, and what might happen if they got on his bad side. He wasn’t an easy man to say no to. Maybe she should have told Ty Bradshaw that.

Norma Rose hid her frustration, and nodded toward the bartender. “Reggie’s ready to call it a night. You boys should drift on home.”

The men gathered their hats and downed the dregs from their earthen mugs before they stood and pushed in their stools. Far more difficult to come by, yet sought after more highly than whiskey or rum, beer was readily available at the resort, for those trusted enough to remain silent.

Norma Rose walked with the men across the large ballroom, their footsteps echoing loudly. At the front door, she bid them goodbye and waited until the double doors closed behind them. Turning, she glanced at the mantel clock on the fieldstone fireplace centered between the ballroom doors. One thirty in the morning.

She should go to her office and start researching musicians. A week from now would be Al and Emma Imhoff’s twenty-fifth wedding anniversary and the week after that, Palooka George’s birthday bash. Both parties expected top-notch music, and it was her job to provide it.

But it was late, and though she hated to admit it, she was tired. But above all, she wanted to know Ty Bradshaw was good and gone.

She’d taken no more than a single step forward when the front door opened. Walking in, her father gestured toward the registration desk. “Norma Rose, get the key to the Northlander.”

All of the cabins were named, a throwback from her grandparents’ Scandinavian ancestry. About to move, she froze when a second man walked through the door. The rapid increase of her heart rate had to be from anger, for she certainly wasn’t happy to see him again.

Ignoring Ty and the grin on his face, she turned to her father. “How’s Uncle Dave?”

“He was poisoned.”

Norma Rose took two steps, mainly to catch her balance by grabbing hold of the wide front desk. “Poisoned?”

“Yes,” her father answered, “but he’s going to be fine.”

Norma Rose didn’t doubt that. It had been her idea to move Gloria into the resort permanently when her home in White Bear Lake had mysteriously burned to the ground last year. Someone had been upset about Gloria’s belief in birth control, that’s what Norma Rose had deduced. Having a physician on-site had been a good business move and Dave couldn’t be in better hands.

The seriousness of her uncle being poisoned—and the threat to the entire family and community—made Norma Rose’s spine quiver. “How?”

“You don’t worry about that,” her father said. “Get the key. Ty will be staying with us for a while.”

Norma Rose bit her tongue to keep from saying several things, and kept her gaze from wandering to the lawyer. “The Northlander isn’t ready for occupancy. The workmen just finished painting it today.”

* * *

“I don’t mind the smell of paint,” Ty said, biting back a grin. Norma Rose was a classy-looking dame, that was for sure, but she was also a sassy one. As full of herself as a cat with a diamond collar.

Anger, lots of it, snapped in the blue eyes she settled upon him with more frost than a subzero night. “I haven’t had a chance to have the bed made up yet.”

“I know how to make a bed,” Ty answered. He really hadn’t made an impression on her, or he had, just a bad one. He’d have to rectify that. Becoming a welcomed guest at the resort was a necessity, and from what he’d learned, being accepted by Norma Rose was just as important as being accepted by Roger Nightingale.

She stomped around the desk, her hips swaying with each snapping clip of her heels. If an artist ever needed a model in order to draw the perfect hourglass figure, they should look up Norma Rose. The image of her backside was enough to stir the blood of a dead man.

“If he,” she said pointedly to her father, “needs a place to stay for the night, there are a few rooms available on the third floor.”

“He’s staying with us for a while, not a night.” Rounding the desk, Roger said, “I’ll get the key, you go get some bedding.”

The glare she cast at her father’s back would have dropped most folks to their knees. She erased the expression before her father turned around, key in hand, and then she hooked the little chain of her purse on her elbow and marched the opposite way around the desk, so she wouldn’t have to come any closer to him. Ty didn’t even attempt to hide his smile. Getting on Norma Rose’s good side was going to be a challenge. He liked a good challenge. He was up for it, too. Bodine had turned into a mole of late, and following his trail had grown lackluster.

“She can be a slight short now and again,” Roger said while Norma Rose turned the corner. “But I couldn’t run this place without her. Matter of fact, I don’t run this place. She does. Has for a few years now. She does a fine job of it, too. I mostly stay out of her way.”

The man handed over a single key attached to a diamond-shaped piece of leather, tooled with the resort’s name. “Thank you,” Ty said. “I’ll remember what you said about your daughter, and try to stay out of her way while investigating what happened to your brother-in-law.”

“Hell of a thing,” Roger said, “Dave getting poisoned. Can’t think who might have done that.”

“Start writing down names,” Ty said. “I’ll look into every one of them.”

“I will, but, it’s our secret,” Roger said. “Other than Norma Rose, I don’t want anyone hearing about this.”

“Silence is my specialty,” Ty said. “I’d be out of a job if not.”

“Good thing you came along when you did,” Roger said.

“As I said, my last job led me here.” Ty wasn’t counting his eggs yet, although his instincts said Nightingale was nibbling hard on the bait.

“Those feds,” Roger growled, as he nodded in the general direction his daughter had gone. “Take that hallway to the end and turn left. Norma Rose will be at the end of that hall, in the storage room. She can show you where the Northlander is located. You and I will talk in more depth in the morning.”

Ty agreed, and shook the man’s hand. Roger Nightingale was no fool. He hadn’t got to this point in life without being thorough...very thorough. By the time they talked again tomorrow, the man would have had Ty’s background checked out right up to the minute his mother had given birth to him. Ty expected as much, and would have been disappointed if things had been different.

“Good night, sir,” he said, stepping back.

“’Night,” Nightingale said, clearly already preoccupied by who he should call first.


Chapter Three (#ulink_ac10be8c-3830-523d-8854-d25598f79c72)

Norma Rose was stomping back up the hallway when Ty turned the second corner. He’d cased the joint, but was amazed by its size. It looked mammoth from the outside, but from what he’d already seen of the inside, a person could get lost and not be found for a year. Holding out his hand, he said, “I’ll take that.”

She clutched the wicker basket closer to her narrow waist.

“Your father said you’d show me to the cabin, but I’m sure I can find it.” Ty fought the grin trying to form at the way she struggled. She had a mouthful to say, that was clear, but wasn’t sure if she should say it, which was interesting. “Just point me in the right direction.”

“He said to show you, and I’ll show you,” she said stubbornly, spinning around to lead him down the hall and through a storage area with shelves full of bedding and linens.

Noting the outside door didn’t need to be unlocked before she opened it, Ty said, “If you insist, but that will just make an extra trip.” Her statement had told him exactly what he’d needed to know. Norma Rose would do anything her father told her to do.

Tossing a glare over her shoulder like he was public enemy number one, she snapped, “No, it won’t.”

“Yes, it will,” he insisted, stopping on the stoop. “I’ll have to walk you back to the resort after you show me the cabin.”

The moonlight flashed in her eyes as she spun around. “Why?”

“Because I’m a gentleman,” he said smoothly. “And a gentleman would never let a lady walk alone in the middle of the night.”

She thrust the basket at him and spun back to the door as soon as he took the handles. “Follow that pathway,” she said, pointing to a well-worn dirt trail. “You’ll eventually come to cabins. Five of them. The Northlander is the last one. It’s marked.” She pulled open the door. “There’s a road leading to it, as well. If you want your automobile, you’ll need to go back out to the parking lot and drive around the other side of the main building then follow the road that curves toward the lake.”

“I’ll get my truck in the morning,” he said. “Wouldn’t want to disturb the other guests.” He thought about giving her a wink, but chose a smooth smile instead. “As I said, I’m a gentleman.”

She was a cold one; she barely even blinked as she said, “Suit yourself.”

“I usually do,” he said. “As you do, too, I’m sure.”

Holding the door with one hand, she leveled a stare on him. “You, Mr. Bradshaw, cannot be sure about anything concerning me, so don’t pretend to be.” Slowly, her gaze went from his shoes to his hat. “But I can be sure about plenty where you are concerned.”

“Oh?” He shifted the basket to one hand. “Like what?”

“You’ll discover that soon enough.” With a haughty flick of her chin, she entered the building and closed the door with a resounding thud.

The brick structure was solid and well-built, yet Ty knew she’d be able to hear him through the open window beside the door as he let out a bellow of laughter. The echo of another door inside the building slamming filtered through the night air and Ty laughed again before he turned to follow the pathway. He started whistling, not exactly sure why, other than the fact he felt like it.

Norma Rose Nightingale had met her match in him, whether she was prepared for it or not. Mainly because no one, not even a spicy little tomato with a fine set of legs, would stand in his way of ousting Bodine. No, siree. She was just one of many good-looking women with sexy legs covering this earth. He’d tolerate her because he had to, but he wouldn’t bow to her haughtiness. The sooner she discovered that, the better off they’d both be. In the meantime, getting on her good side was going to make a fine game of cat and mouse. He had time. Palooka George’s party was two weeks away.

The cabin was easy to find and was a log structure much like Dave Sutton’s abode. Using the key to enter, Ty set the basket down. His research had already told him this cabin didn’t have a pull string hanging in the center of the room. It had been wired with light switches. Part of the renovations taking place to several of the cabins on this side of the resort.

A low whistle of appreciation escaped without him thinking about it as he flicked the little switch. The workmen camped out behind the barn in several tents had done a fine job. This place was as shiny as a freshly minted penny. He picked up the basket and walked across a thick braided rug, upon which a table and two chairs sat. There was also a small heating stove in the corner. Some serious dough had been laid down to fix up the cabin; even the bed sitting in the center of the room was new, mattress and all.

There was an old-fashioned washstand in the corner, with a pitcher and bowl, along with a new dresser, and the windows that had been left open to release the smell of paint had screens on them. A nice touch considering the number of mosquitoes he’d encountered during his walk along the trail. There’d been a water spigot on the way here, too, which the cabins would share, along with a privy and bath house.

All the comforts of home.

If he’d had a home.

Ray Bodine had seen to it that he didn’t.

Ty made up the bed and stripped down to his short-legged and sleeveless muslin union suit before lying on the fresh sheets with both arms behind his head and a thick pillow beneath them. Tired, he closed his eyes.

This was nice. Far better than most of the hotels he usually resided in. No banging of doors, noisy occupants returning to their rooms at all hours of the night, and no traffic, no sirens blaring and horns honking from dusk to dawn.

It had been a long time since he’d experienced such silence, since before the war, really, and he didn’t believe he’d ever had frogs and the gentle rhythm of water washing onto the shore to serenade him to sleep.

Norma Rose’s image fluttered behind his closed lids. He smiled at the idea of changing that starched little attitude of hers. He doubted she’d ever been kissed. That, too, would be fun to change.

It was all part of his plan.

Holding that thought, with a cool breeze wafting over his skin, Ty gave in to slumber.

* * *

He was up early, due to the hammering next door, but was well rested and he bade good morning to the carpenters working on the cabin beside his—named the Willow—as he collected water from the spigot in the pitcher from the washstand.

Apart from the noise of the hammers, the woods were quiet, serene with the waves of the lake still gently crashing ashore. He took his time returning to his cabin, pretending to enjoy the scenery, including the large weeping willow next to the cabin the men were working on. A large crate sat beneath the tree’s long, leafy branches that hung almost to the ground.

The Duluth Building Company.

Interesting. Nightingale’s resort was only twenty miles from St. Paul, yet he ordered building supplies from Duluth, a hundred and fifty miles north. Then again, Ty doubted the crate was actually used for building supplies.

After cleaning up with the water he’d fetched, Ty left his suit coat, vest and hat on the fancy brass hooks supplied for such things, and found a secure spot for his holster and gun under the new mattress before he left his cabin.

He meandered quietly, walking the full circle of cabins on this side of the main building. There were ten in total including his and all were named. Whitewater, the Cove, Double Pine and other such titles. Several had small buildings a few yards away from the main bungalow that were summer kitchens, he discovered, after sneaking peeks in a few windows.

Taking advantage of the quiet morning, he explored the layout of the other buildings on this side of the parking lot. Woodsheds, a large barn that no longer held animals and was locked tight, a laundry building, complete with the latest washing machines and surrounded by poles connecting several lines of drying wires and a set of tents that belonged to the men working on the cabins.

Crossing the parking lot, Ty paused when a curtain fluttered in one of the windows. He grinned and waved, pleased, knowing full well that Norma Rose was behind the curtain in her office, watching him.

With a chuckle, he started walking again, making his way up the road to Dave’s cabin—the Eagle’s Nest. He’d see Norma Rose soon, and liked the idea of letting her steam a bit as she wondered just when that would be.

Ty didn’t stop at Dave’s cabin. Instead he walked to the end of the road, counting a total of another ten cabins. It appeared the other side, where his cabin was, was where the renovations had started. Though not run-down, the cabins on this side were a pale green, whereas the ones on the other side were dark brown. There were signs of dry rot around the windows and along the eaves of these ones, too. A fraction of bewilderment struck Ty. Perhaps all the renovations—not just those on the cabins, but those completed on the main building over the last couple of years—weren’t just a cover-up strategy.

Others might believe that, but he didn’t. No resort could make the kind of money Nightingale had brought in the past few years. The workmen camped behind the barn were carpenters by day, runners by night, when their crates marked “building supplies” were full of shine, brought here and stored in the barn until they were loaded on the train via the back road that connected the Bald Eagle Depot to Nightingale’s. Ty would now admit, after seeing things up close, a few of those crates had contained building supplies at one time.

His research had been thorough. The Night peddled Minnesota Thirteen whiskey. Initially a home-brew formula, it was now more sought after than the real stuff brought down from Canada, which is why Bodine wanted in. There was less overhead and more money to be made.

As Nightingale had said last night, Norma Rose ran the resort. All the renovations were probably her idea. She may not even know the base of her father’s business. Except Ty didn’t believe that. He suspected Norma Rose knew every last detail about her father’s business.

Women were swayed by money as easily as men, and from the looks of her wardrobe, Norma Rose liked money.

Ty was almost back to Dave’s cabin when Roger Nightingale appeared on the trail leading through the pine trees.

“’Morning.”

“Good morning,” Ty responded.

“Sleep well?”

“Very. You?”

Ty almost laughed at the shift of Roger’s eyes. Nightingale clearly knew Ty suspected he’d been up half the night checking him out. It didn’t bother him. The more they understood each other right from the beginning, the better off they would both be.

“I always do,” the man answered.

As they walked toward Dave’s cabin together, Ty asked, “Do you have a list for me?”

Nightingale handed over a slip of paper. “You’ll need to talk to Rosie, she may think of others, but that’ll give you a place to start.”

Norma Rose was exactly who Ty wanted to talk to, but he had a few things to investigate before then. “I’ll talk with Dave first,” Ty answered, pausing before opening the cabin door. “If he’s up to it this morning.”

Roger gestured for Ty to open the door. “If he isn’t, we’ll wait until he is.”

Dave wasn’t awake, but Gloria Kasper was. The doctor was in her mid-fifties or so, and although she didn’t look her age—not last night in her night clothes, or this morning dressed in a fashionable blue dress complete with matching headband—she was formidable and stern. She probably had to be, considering she wrote out prescriptions for alcohol and birth control. Two things not easily accepted for a woman to be doing.

“It was wood poisoning, all right,” Gloria said as Ty closed the door. “That government, they think we don’t know what they’re doing. Killing folks. But we do, and that’s exactly what they’re doing, still trying their hardest to make their Prohibition idea work.” During her rant she’d set two mugs on the table and filled them from the coffeepot on the small stove in the corner. “They think by killing people with their tainted whiskey, people will stop drinking. The idea is as ludicrous as making alcohol illegal. They’ll see sooner or later, mark my word. We ousted Andrew Volstead and we can oust the rest of them.”

Ty made no comment as he took a seat indicated by Roger. Andrew Volstead, who the act had been named after, had lost his US Representative seat in 1922. From Minnesota, the man had outraged his constituency and had received numerous death threats before losing his seat. The latest rumor, which had the entire country in an uproar, was sweeping fast. Word was spreading that the government had hired teams of chemists and planted them inside specific areas known to have large still operations that fulfilled the public’s need for intoxicating beverages. Ty couldn’t say he believed in the conspiracy, but his supervisor had warned him to never take so much as a sip of alcohol in certain regions out east.

One more reason Minnesota Thirteen was gaining in popularity. Named after the corn variety grown in the area, the brew was considered safe and pure. Stearns County, where the vast majority was produced, was just a hundred miles northwest of White Bear Lake and known as the best moonshine region in the northwest. Every Prohibition agent knew that, and Ty had used that tidbit of information last night, while telling Nightingale he was on the tail of a snitch, someone who was trying to maneuver his way into the booze trade. It was true, that was what Bodine was doing, but Ty wasn’t a private eye hired by a New York gangster to discover who the snitch was, as he’d told Nightingale. Of course, he’d had enough inside information for Nightingale to believe his story. His question was if Norma Rose would believe him. She might prove to be the hardest one to crack.

The other piece, which, in his mind, had tied everything together for Nightingale, was how he’d known about the Bald Eagle Lake area. Although it had no shipping yards, it had its own depot, with not just north and south trains like White Bear Lake, but trains traveling east and west, too. Freight trains that stopped regularly, yet not a single railroad admitted to stopping or shipping cargo out of the area.

This area was a bootlegger’s dream. A hub that Ty had practically stumbled upon and hadn’t told anyone about. Not even his supervisor. He’d simply said this was his chance to bring down Bodine.

“How’s Dave doing?” Roger asked, ignoring Gloria’s continued rant, which had gone from how if the government made alcohol legal again they could quit taxing poor folks to death to how President Coolidge, in her opinion, was little more than a teetotaler.

Ty had never met the president, but he did know Coolidge had proposed to cut the Prohibition bureau’s budget. The treasury secretary, who was also the chief Prohibition enforcement officer, wasn’t fighting the idea. Andrew Mellon loathed Prohibition and put no extra efforts in its enforcement, which did make Ty’s job more difficult. With a budget that barely paid for gas in his Model T, Ty needed this opportunity with the Nightingales more than ever. He’d used a good portion of his own funds—mainly reward money he’d earned from other arrests—tracking down Bodine.

As he watched Gloria Kasper top all three cups with a bump from a brandy bottle, Ty decided if he was near when either the president or Mellon met Gloria, he’d encourage them to offer her a toast—with alcohol. He’d seen the way she’d jabbed a tube down Dave’s throat last night to wash his stomach with a solution of warm water and baking soda. Remembering the sight now, he had to wonder if Dave would ever be able to talk again.

“How do you think Dave is?” the woman responded to Roger. “He was poisoned and has been throwing up baking-soda water for the last eight hours.”

Roger took a sip of his coffee and nodded before he asked, “You’re sure it was wood alcohol?”

“Can’t you smell it?” she asked.

“All I smell is vomit,” Roger answered disgustedly.

Ty agreed, but made no comment. He did, however, remember how the sight and smell had disturbed Norma Rose last night. A weakness he’d file away to use if he needed it later.

“Exactly,” Gloria said. “I’ve cleaned up everything Dave regurgitated—what you’re smelling is him. That’s what wood alcohol poisoning smells like. Vomit. Grain alcohol doesn’t leave that stench.” She leveled her big brown eyes on Ty. “Ethyl is grain alcohol, methyl is wood. Ethyl’s wage is a hangover, methyl’s is death.”

“I’ve heard as much,” he told her, and noted never to get on her bad side.

“It doesn’t make sense,” Roger said. “Dave doesn’t drink.”

“I didn’t say the methyl was in some form of hooch,” Gloria said. “When distilled properly, it’s odorless and tasteless. From what came out of his stomach, my guess is they slipped it in one of those milk shakes he likes so much.”

Roger’s slow gaze landed on Ty with all the potency of a well-aimed tommy gun.

“Dave didn’t have a milk shake at the drugstore while I was there,” Ty said. “He had soup.” Picking up his cup, he added, “And coffee.”

“When was that?” Gloria asked.

“Yesterday. Lunchtime. Noon or so,” Ty answered.

She shook her head and said to Roger, “If Dave had drunk that at noon, he’d have been dead before they found him on the street corner last night. I don’t think he drank enough to kill anyone, especially a man his size, but because he’s so allergic to alcohol, its effects were ten times worse than they would have been for someone else.”

“What would have happened to someone else?” Ty asked.

“Delirium, shallow breathing, racing heart, stomach cramps,” Gloria answered. “But the most common is blurred vision, which often leads to complete blindness.”

“Will Dave lose his sight?” Roger asked.

Ty recognized concern in the man’s tone. Roger had shown he was worried about his brother-in-law, but now sincere anguish appeared on his face.

Gloria’s expression softened and she reached across the table to squeeze Roger’s hand. “I don’t believe so. Most of his symptoms are because of his allergy, not the methyl.”

“When will we know for sure?”

She shrugged. “Could be up to a week or more.”

Roger nodded and drank the last of his coffee before he asked, “Do you want me to get one of the girls to come and sit with him for a while?”

“No.” Gloria removed her hand from Roger’s to drink her coffee. “I had one of your watchmen sit in here while I went and got dressed. I’ll do that again if I need to.” She glanced at the timepiece hanging around her neck on a shimmering gold chain. “I need to wake him in another twenty minutes for another dose of soda water. I’ll keep doing that throughout the day, just to make sure.” Sitting back in her chair she once again turned her attention to Ty. “I’ve seen a lot of mouthpieces, and you aren’t a lawyer. Who are you and what are you doing here?”

Ty wasn’t completely caught off guard. Her lack of trust was as thick in the air as the smell of vomit. He waited a moment or two, to see if Roger answered. When he didn’t, Ty nodded. “You’re right. I’m not a lawyer. Although I have attended law school.” He didn’t bother to add that it had been years ago, before he’d gone overseas. Roger Nightingale would tell her all that.

“Out east,” she said. “I can tell by your accent.”

He nodded again, and proceeded to tell her what he’d told Roger last night.

* * *

Even if she had been able to sleep, Norma Rose would have been in her office by sunup, digging out notes she’d made on every musician who’d played at the resort over the last couple of years. She had notes on ones that had played other places, too, even the Plantation. Years ago, the nightclub had been as big as the resort, drawing in crowds like no other. That was before Galen Reynolds had left for California and Forrest had returned.

Norma Rose’s mind, though, wasn’t focused on her notes, or the Plantation, or even Forrest Reynolds. None of that had been the reason she hadn’t been able to sleep. The stench of a rat had done that, and the smell was still eating at her.

Ty Bradshaw.

The man who’d been roaming the resort since sunrise. She knew a varmint when she saw one, whether it had two legs or four. A grin tugged at her lips. She should feel guilty, sending the workmen over to the cabin next to his so early, but there were no other guests in the nearby cabins. They wouldn’t arrive until later this week. And she did want the renovations done by then. Besides, the workmen had been up; she’d seen the lights in their tents from her bedroom window.

As her heart did a little flutter, recalling seeing Ty outside her office window a short time ago, she flipped open the cover of a writing tablet and grabbed a pen. “You are no gentleman, Ty Bradshaw,” she mumbled.

Scanning the first pages of her notes, she huffed out another breath. Her mind just wouldn’t focus, and it was too early to wake Ginger. Her youngest sister would pitch a fit, but Ginger knew all the local musicians. Not personally—their father did not allow the younger girls to mix with the guests or hired entertainers—but Ginger had perfect penmanship and helped Norma Rose write out contracts regularly, and was interested in such things.

Ginger would be up in a couple of hours and although her duties, along with those of Twyla and Josie, were doing laundry and cleaning cabins, Norma Rose could ask her to help find performers for the next two weekends. Ginger wouldn’t mind. Twyla and Josie would.

Norma Rose just couldn’t understand why her sisters weren’t as dedicated to the resort as she was. They, too, remembered secondhand clothes and soup three times a day, and they loved the clothes now filling their closets, along with the cosmetics, jewelry and shoes, yet they didn’t seem to make the connection that the only way to maintain all the fineries they’d come to enjoy was to keep the resort running. Making sure every minor detail was seen to. Just last week she’d had to make Twyla rewash a complete load of sheets. Brushing off bird droppings was not acceptable. Her sister was still mad at her.

Then again, Twyla was always mad at her.

Footsteps in the hall had Norma Rose lifting her head. It had been some time since her father had gone out to see Uncle Dave. She’d almost followed, but couldn’t help remembering the smell. It had been strong and powerful, and she couldn’t expose herself to it again. Not this early in the morning. She did want to know how Dave was, though, and kept her gaze on her door, waiting for her father to open it.

The footsteps went right past her door without slowing.

Her heart seemed to stop and start again. For the briefest of moments, she’d wondered if Ty would be with her father.

Letting out a breath, she concluded the morning cleaning had started. Part of the reason she liked coming into her office early was to get in a few hours before the chaos started. By eight, the resort would be humming with preparations for another long day and night of catering to guests.

Twirling her pen between her fingers, she gave in and let her mind focus on Ty Bradshaw. He wasn’t a lawyer. He was pompous enough, and sly enough, but he just didn’t look the part. He was almost too smooth. Maybe he was a runner, or a buyer, which would explain him meeting Dave, but runners or buyers never stayed at the resort. Their bosses did, but she felt sure Ty wasn’t a mobster, either.

The pen tumbled onto her desk with a clatter. A Prohibition agent.

Hired to raid speakeasies, find and destroy stills, and arrest gangsters, a few had visited the resort before, but they’d never found anything. Ty didn’t dress like an agent, though. Norma Rose knew clothes, and his were expensive. Prohibition agents were paid less money than factory workers, which is why they accepted money under the table so easily.

Ty could be a revenue man. When the prohis couldn’t find anything, they’d send in a revenue man, looking for tax evasion. They’d find no tax evasion at the resort, either. Every dime was accounted for. She saw to that personally. The government hadn’t planned very well. What they’d lost in tax dollars gained by the legal sale of alcohol, they were trying to make up with income taxes. Along with new taxes came new tax lawyers, and the resort paid several to keep abreast of every law that appeared.

Prohibition had changed the world, in some ways for the better, as with Norma Rose’s new life at the resort, and in other ways for the worse. The problem she saw was that the law hadn’t done what it had initially set out to do. Based on the Temperance movement, which blamed all of society’s problems on the consumption of alcohol, Prohibition was to change all that. That sure hadn’t happened. Crime was more rampant than ever. The law didn’t say anything about the consumption of alcohol, either. It focused on the sale, transportation and manufacturing. All a person needed was a prescription and they had better access to alcohol than when saloons had lined the streets of every town.

Norma Rose didn’t like the idea of breaking any laws, but Prohibition created a society where even the average person broke the law. She didn’t like that, either, but, more importantly, she’d never go hungry again.

Lost in her little world of what she’d do if anyone would ever listen to her, Norma Rose didn’t hear the door open. When she glanced up, the ink pen between her fingers snapped in two.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I knocked, but—”

“You didn’t startle me,” she interrupted, trying to get air to settle in her lungs as she stared at Ty Bradshaw.

“I didn’t?”

His gaze was on her hands, and she quickly looked down. Blue ink covered her white gloves, and the pad of paper full of her notes. A quick swipe at the pool trickling out of the pen smudged the entire sheet.

“Oh, good heavens,” she growled.

“Here, let me help you.”

“No.” She pushed her chair noisily across the floor as he rounded her desk. “I don’t need any help.”

“Well, you certainly don’t want to touch anything.” Ty lifted the pad and carefully set it on the corner of her desk. Spinning back around, he grasped one of her wrists.

She tried to pull away, but his hold was too firm.

“I’ll just take this glove off, you can do the other one,” he said, already peeling the cuff over her wrist. “Do you always wear gloves this early in the morning?”

Norma Rose didn’t answer. It was none of his business when she wore gloves. She managed to snatch her hand away before he pulled the glove all the way over her fingers. His nearness, and touch, had her heart beating inside her throat.

After peeling off both gloves, she held them carefully, not wanting to get any ink on her dress. Her hands were now blue, covering the red line of scars across her knuckles from her days of bleaching linens.

“We can talk later,” Ty said, stepping away from her desk. “It’s obvious you need to go and wash.”

She definitely wanted to go, but curiosity made her ask, “Talk about what?”

“Your father wants me to go over a few things with you,” he answered, on his way to the door.

“What things?”


Chapter Four (#ulink_66514191-9cd8-5294-bd9f-3b6b0460b182)

Ty held the door open and gestured for her to walk ahead of him. Norma Rose bit down hard on her frustration, struggling to keep everything concealed from his penetrating stare. She wanted to know what her father had talked with him about, was furious he’d ruined one of her best pairs of gloves and was more than a little perturbed that he had to look so stupidly handsome and at ease when he was clearly not welcome.

Staunchly, she refused to take a step.

He lifted a brow. “I’d think you’d want to get those gloves soaking. They’ll soon be stained for life. Might already be.”

“Don’t worry about my gloves,” she said, even though the blue ink was soaking into her skin and starting to itch.

“I’m not worried about your gloves,” he said, stepping toward the open doorway. “I was hoping to talk to you before breakfast, but I guess it can wait.”

He walked out the door and Norma Rose scrambled around her desk to catch up. “Talk about what?” she asked again, trying her best to sound only half-interested.

He glanced up and down the hall and lowered his voice. “It’s a private matter. But don’t worry, it can wait. I’ll go see if the breakfast I ordered for Gloria is done yet and deliver it to her.”

Instantly peeved, Norma Rose stated, “I’m not worried, and I’ll go see to Gloria’s breakfast and one for Dave.”

The hand he laid on her arm had the sting of a hot curling iron.

“Dave’s not up to eating yet,” he said. “He’s still throwing up every two hours.”

The shiver that rippled down her spine couldn’t be contained, not even when she held her breath.

“You go soak your gloves,” he said condescendingly.

Her arm was on the verge of going numb, while her insides started to steam. She tugged her arm from his hold and, head up, strolled down the hallway.

He followed, which had Norma Rose holding her breath at the commotion happening inside her. The man was an ogre. Since she’d laid eyes on him last night, he’d left her feeling like a string of pearls that had been snapped, sending beads flying in all directions. She didn’t like it. Not at all.

In the kitchen, she dropped the gloves that had become twisted blue balls in her fists into a trash can and crossed the room to the sink, where she scrubbed her hands. Rather than cleaning them, she managed to spread the ink deeper into her skin, leaving both hands, up to her wrists, blue.

Norma Rose was close to boiling point by the time she dried her hands. Ty was talking with Moe, the assistant cook, as if they were long lost friends. No one—absolutely no one—was allowed in the kitchen, other than employees and family. Which Ty Bradshaw definitely was not.

“I’ll take Gloria her breakfast when it’s ready, Moe,” Norma Rose said, interrupting their tête-à-tête.

“Oh.” The cook’s eyes shifted between Ty and her, as if he wasn’t sure who was his boss.

That was enough to totally infuriate her. “How long will it be?”

“It’s almost done,” Moe said, flipping an egg. “I’ll dish it up and put it on two trays. One for your father and one for Mrs. Kasper. Ty can carry one and you the other. It all won’t fit on one, and would be too heavy for you.”

Used to working with the temperamental Silas, Moe was well-versed on suggesting compromises and finding ways to please everyone. His skills were lost on her.

While Moe babbled on, Norma Rose settled her best menacing stare on Ty, who grinned like he’d just won a prize. The air she sucked in through her nose burned her nostrils. Never one to let employees see her distressed, Norma Rose smiled in return, a rather nasty little grin that made her feel an ounce better.

A few minutes later, with Moe still chatting, Ty answering amicably and her fuming, the trays were ready. Moe held open the back door and she and Ty, each carrying a tray, left the building.

“Careful of your step.”

“I’ve walked this path for years, I know every stone.”

“That coming from a woman with blue hands, or was today the first time you used an ink pen?”

Norma Rose kept her lips pinched together. He truly thought he was humorous. Poor man. She’d soon be the one laughing, watching him drive his old jalopy down the driveway. Her father must be worried about Dave and not have seen through Ty yet. He’d soon see everything, especially when she pointed out a few things. Like the fact Ty was most likely a revenue man looking for evidence to turn them in.

Upon arriving at the cabin, Ty shifted his tray to one hand and opened the door. Her overly sensitive nose caught the scent of vomit immediately and it turned her insides green.

“Norma Rose, you won’t want to come in here,” Gloria said, appearing in the open doorway. “She’s highly sensitive to some things,” the woman told Ty.

Norma Rose threatened herself with severe repercussions if a single part of her body reacted to the stench now threatening to overcome her.

“She insisted on carrying a tray,” Ty said.

“Well, you should have stopped her,” her father said, stepping around Gloria. “Take that tray inside, Ty, and Gloria, you take this one,” he added, lifting the tray from Norma Rose’s hand. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

The other two entered the cabin, and shut the door behind them. It didn’t help much—the stench had already settled in Norma Rose’s nostrils. Her father led her to the edge of the grass, where Ty’s Model T with New York license plates sat next to Dave’s Chevrolet. Ty’s truck certainly didn’t match his expensive outfit. Further proof he wasn’t who he said he was.

“Have you come up with any suspects yet?” her father asked.

Holding a finger against the bottom of her nose, breathing in air that hinted of ink, she withheld her anger and her suspicions and asked, “Suspects for what?”

“Poisoning Dave.” Her father shook his head, but replaced the grimace on his face with a slight grin. “Wood alcohol. Gloria says it wasn’t too bad. That being so allergic may have saved his life. He might not even lose his sight.”

“Lose his sight?” A wave of sorrow washed away some of Norma Rose’s animosity. “Oh, goodness. But Dave doesn’t drink,” she ventured, searching for understanding.

“They slipped it in one of those milk shakes he loves so much.”

“At a drugstore?”

He nodded. “Suspect so.”

Understanding bobbed to the surface of her cloudy mind. “That’s where he met Ty—Mr. Bradshaw.”

“That was at noon. Gloria said it had to have been later than that.”

“We don’t know it was noon for sure,” she argued.

“I do,” he said sternly. “Dave rode to town with Ace Walker. I talked to Ace last night—he said he and Dave met up again around six and drove over to St. Paul to Charlie’s store. I talked to Charlie, too. He said he personally made Dave a milk shake before Dave went into the back room to meet with a prospect.” Her father’s frown increased. “What did you do to your hands?”

There was nothing she could do to stop the heat that rushed to her cheeks. “An ink pen broke,” she answered, wringing her hands together. “Who was the prospect?”

“I don’t know. Charlie doesn’t, either, nor Ace. Whoever it was, he was just a front man.”

“What does Dave say?”

Her father glanced over his shoulder. “It may be a while before he can talk. Gloria had to put a tube into his stomach to flush it all out.”

Norma Rose flinched. She honestly hadn’t thought Dave was that ill last night, and regret that she’d been so callous at the police station made her stomach flip. “Goodness” was all she could say.

“Rosie, I normally don’t involve you in this side of the business, but in this instance, I need your help.”

It had been a long time since she had seen this kind of worry on her father’s face. Although that concerned her, it didn’t affect her answer. There wasn’t anything she wouldn’t do for him and the resort. “Of course,” she said. “What do you need me to do?”

“You can start by going through the guest lists for the parties for the next two weekends,” he said. “I have a gut feeling one of them has something to do with this. So does Ty.”

Unable to control the flare of anger that erupted inside her, Norma Rose huffed out a breath. Her father cast an uncompromising look her way and she kept her opinion to herself. She didn’t give a hoot what Ty thought. “I’ll start going through the list immediately and let you know what I find.”

“Not me—Ty. He’ll fill me in.”

She had to comment on how that grated her nerves. “I don’t believe we should be involving someone else in this. Especially a stranger.”

Not one to have his decisions questioned, Roger’s lips tightened. “Do you think I’d have him here if I didn’t trust him?”

Norma Rose squared her shoulders, prepared to explain that before last night none of them had known Ty existed, but she didn’t get a chance to open her mouth.

“I spent half the night checking out his background. I can tell you what time that young man was born and what he’s done every moment of every day since.”

Still not impressed, Norma Rose stood by her guns. “He’s not a lawyer.”

“I never said he was.”

“He did,” she snapped. “He showed up at the police station like he’d—”

“And that’s exactly what we’re going to let others believe,” her father said, interrupting her. “That he’s one of our lawyers.”

“Why?”

“Don’t question me on this, Rosie, just do as I tell you. That’s all the information you need to know.” He hooked his thumbs on the straps of his suspenders and stretched, as he always did to signal the conversation at hand was over. Over in his eyes anyway.

To Norma Rose, the conversation was far from over. Though her father liked to believe she didn’t know about all of the businesses he was involved in, she did, and she was also smart enough to understand that now wasn’t the time to admit that, or to insist he tell her more. “Your breakfast is getting cold,” she said. “I’ll go through the list and let Mr. Bradshaw know if I discover anything.”

Her father shook his head slowly, as if disappointed. “Ty will go through the list with you, and you, young lady, will be nice to him. I don’t want anyone getting suspicious. I want them to think we’ve known Ty for years.”

She pinched her lips together to keep from asking why. It had been years since her father had reprimanded her, but now it left her seeing red. It hurt, too, although she wouldn’t admit that, not even to herself.

“And Rosie,” her father said, already making his way toward Dave’s cabin, “put on a pair of gloves. Your hands look terrible.”

Fuming, Norma Rose marched back to the resort’s main building, where she ventured upstairs to her room to retrieve a new pair of gloves, all the while trying not to become overwhelmed by the emotions bubbling inside her. The resort consumed her life, it had for years, and right now she was questioning why. If a stranger could magically appear and her father instantly let him in, pushing her and all her hard work aside, why did she let it?

Because it was her life.

With renewed determination burning, she pulled open a dresser drawer. Her dress was black with white sequins, so she chose black gloves this time and changed her white shoes to black ones.

That all completed, she headed back downstairs toward her office, still madder than she remembered being for some time. She’d go through the lists as requested, but not with Ty Bradshaw hanging over her shoulder. Many of the partygoers for Palooka George’s bash had already made reservations, and she personally had set up the accommodations. Names were ticking through her head and not one raised a red flag.

Concentrating hard, she barely noticed her surroundings until she arrived at her office door, which was open. The sight inside made her nostrils flare.

Ty Bradshaw stood in front of her desk, next to the window that overlooked the parking lot, where she often watched the coming and going of guests. He turned around as she entered.

“I had Moe make us breakfast, as well,” he said, gesturing toward the table under the window. “He assured me you haven’t eaten yet, either.”

Norma Rose tried to tell herself her heart was beating so hard and fast because she was mad. Furious in fact. That was also the reason her palms had chosen to break out in a sweat. It truly had nothing to do with the single wild rose sticking out of the narrow vase in the center of the table, and it had absolutely nothing to do with how gallant Ty Bradshaw looked as he pulled back one of the two chairs and indicated she should take a seat. Without his suit jacket, his rolled-up shirt sleeves revealed thick and well-muscled arms, and the black suspenders clipped to his pants framed an impressively flat stomach and narrow hips.

She’d never doubted that with the right clothes, even a rat could look good. That’s what he was, and she’d expose his hairy tail before the day was out. He might have pulled the wool over her father’s eyes for the time being, but not hers. This man was trouble. And she’d find a way to prove it.

Then again, most rats, due to their greed, eventually exposed themselves. All she had to do was give him the opportunity.

“Moe said you like poached eggs,” he said, once again nodding toward the chair he held.

He was sly, already befriending Moe and goodness knows who else. Rats could have silver tongues, too. Her father had told her to be nice to him, and she would be. In public. In private, she’d let him know just how she felt about him and his lies.

“I’m not hungry,” she said, making a direct line toward her desk.

He rounded the table and sat in the other chair. “I am.” Lifting the silver lid off his plate, he added, “And this smells wonderful.”

Her stomach chose that moment to growl, loudly. Ignoring it and the wide grin on Ty’s face as he cut his sausage into bite-size pieces, she sat and pulled open the desk drawer that held several leatherbound books.

“No one,” she said pointedly, “enters my office without my permission. Remember that.”

“Note taken,” he said.

The glimmer in his brown eyes said he didn’t take her seriously. A mistake he’d soon regret.

“Next weekend we have Al and Emma Imhoff’s twenty-fifth wedding anniversary,” she said. “Big Al, as all the locals know him, owns the car dealership in White Bear Lake and most of the guests, other than a few family members coming from out of town, are local folks.”

“Any luck with coming up with a musician for that night?” he asked, taking a bite of toast.

Her stomach growled again, and twisted at his smugness. The fact that her father had told Ty twice as much as he’d told her burned.

“No,” she said. “Therefore, the sooner we get through the guest lists, the sooner I can get back to work that needs to be done.”

He touched his lips with his napkin and laid it down before saying, “You say that as if you believe going through the lists will be a waste of time.”

She didn’t want to notice such things—the way he used his napkin, how he’d held the chair. Manners like that couldn’t be taught overnight, they were instilled from childhood, a fact that made her curious. She wasn’t overly impressed by her curiosity. “It is a waste of time, Mr. Bradshaw.”

He poured coffee out of the silver warming pot into his cup. “So, you’ve lived here, at the resort, your entire life?”

“That,” she said, leaning back to cross her arms, “is none of your business. Furthermore, there is no need for small talk. I have a lot of work to do today.”

“I know,” he said, sipping from his cup. “Finding a replacement for Brock Ness.”

Irritated she didn’t have some small tidbit of information about him to toss back, she leaned forward and flipped open her registration book. “Among other things.”

He set his cup down. “The Plantation pulls in some good performers, maybe they’d—”

“I don’t need any help from the Plantation,” she snapped. Forrest Reynolds was right next to Ty Bradshaw on her list of people she’d never ask assistance from.

“All right,” he said, pushing away from the table. In less than five steps, he’d rounded her desk, where he carefully moved aside her phone and sat on the corner. His long legs, angled to the floor, completely blocked her in. “Let me see the ledger then.”

His closeness disrupted her breathing, and the air that did manage to enter her nose was full of his aftershave. A woodsy, novel scent she wished was far more offensive. Norma Rose hadn’t got over all that, or come up with a response, when Moe walked in the door she’d left open.

“How was breakfast?” the cook asked. “You liked it, no?”

“Yes,” Ty answered. “It was very good, Moe. Just as you said it would be.”

The cook, having already put Ty’s empty plate on the silver tray he carried, lifted the lid off Norma Rose’s plate and shook his head. “Rosie, you didn’t eat your eggs.”

“I—”

“She’s been busy,” Ty answered. He lifted the ledger off her desk. “Set it here, Moe, she can eat it now.”

Moe set her plate before her and laid out silverware on a napkin while she glared at Ty for interrupting her. He, of course, was smiling.

“Eat before it gets cold,” Moe said. “Can’t have any wasted food.”

A growl rolled around in Norma Rose’s throat. She was a stickler for not wasting food, not wasting anything, and the cook knew it. Ty’s grin said he knew it, too.

She grabbed her fork, and almost choked on her first bite when Ty said, “Close the door, would you please, Moe?”

The cook had already complied by the time she’d swallowed and Ty was flipping through pages. Head down, he swiftly ran a finger down the page of names she’d painstakingly written out on each line.

Glancing her way without lifting his head, he said, “Don’t mind me. I’ll read the lists while you eat.”

She minded, all right—minded every little detail about him, but she ate, washing down the cold poached eggs and soggy toast with gulps of orange juice.

As she set down her empty glass, he asked, “How many employees do you have?”

The change of subject didn’t surprise her and she suspected he already knew. He’d obviously taken the time to learn everything there was to know. “You tell me,” she said, pushing her plate to the far edge of her desk.

“Counting you and your three sisters, fifty-two, and most of them live within a few miles of the resort.”

Brushing crumbs off her gloves—which she normally removed while eating—she said, “You seem to have gathered a lot of information from my father in a very short time.”

He flipped another page. “You forget I had lunch with Dave yesterday.”

That didn’t bother her nearly as much as it had last night. Whatever Dave may have told him couldn’t compare to the way her father had already taken Ty into his confidence. She took the book from his hand and laid it on her desk. “I don’t forget anything. Ever.” Meeting his gaze, she added, “And I know you are not a lawyer.”

“You’re right,” he said, twisting to rest a hand on her desk so he could continue to scan the names listed in the book. “I’m not.”

Norma Rose waited for him to continue, needing the time to get her nerves in order. Dang but he smelled good. Too good. And he was way too close. The hair on her arms was standing at attention. She jerked back, putting some space between them. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking over the guest lists.”

“No. What are you doing here?”

He sat up straight, and leveled his gaze on her. He was good at that, looking her directly in the eyes, unlike most men, whose eyes often wandered. For the first time, that bothered her. There wasn’t anything about him, not a single iota, she wanted to like.

“I’m a private investigator,” he said.

A private eye. She’d heard of private detectives but never met one before, so she couldn’t say if he looked the part or not. Waiting for more, she arched her brows.

Ty grinned, as if he found her reaction funny. “I can’t say anything more than that. I will tell you that after checking out of my hotel, the Fairmont, yesterday, I happened upon your uncle at the drugstore. Later, while exploring the city, I visited the Blind Bull. I was there when I heard the police sirens and went outside to investigate. I recognized your uncle as they loaded him in the car and went to the police station to see if I could help.”

Norma Rose couldn’t say she was convinced he was telling the truth, but she couldn’t be sure he wasn’t, either. Which was strange. Her intuition usually picked up on things relatively quickly. The Fairmont was in St. Paul, but anyone driving past the four-story building could have picked up the name, and Dave had probably stopped at several drugstores yesterday. They were popping up faster than gas stations. Many of the drugstores were nothing more than fronts for speakeasies, as were grocery stores and hardware stores. There was even a telephone booth on Nicolette Avenue in Minneapolis with a hidden door that led people into a speakeasy. She hadn’t seen it, and wondered how it worked.

The Blind Bull was along the riverfront, near the stockyards, which were next to the rail yard, and hosted a restaurant as its cover.

“Can we go over these lists, now?” Ty asked. “I have other work to do, and so do you.”

She wanted to ask what else he had to do, but chose not to bother. The quicker he left her office, the better off she’d be. For several reasons. Number one because she’d never get to the bottom of why he was here sitting on her desk.

He flipped a few more pages, stopping on the page she’d titled Palooka George’s Party, alongside the date. Using a finger, he started going down the list. “Hmm...”

“Hmm what?”

He pointed to a name. “Leonard Buckly, that’s Loose Lenny, and this—” he pointed to another name a little farther down the page “—Alan Page, that’s Mumbles. This here, Alvin Page, is his brother, Hammer.”

Unable to deny the tick of excitement flaring inside her, Norma Rose asked, “Do you think they had something to do with Uncle Dave’s poisoning?”

“I don’t know, but I do know they’re Chicago mobsters who’d love to get their hands on some Minnesota action.” He moved his finger a few lines down. “So would these guys. Gorgeous Gordy, Hugo the Hand, Flashy Bobby Blade, Nasty Nick Ludwig. Huh, last I heard he was still in jail.” He let out a low whistle. “Shady Shelia and Nellie Ringer—those are two hard-hearted dames.”

Norma Rose balled her hands into fists to keep them from trembling. She knew the list contained a few gangsters, but the names he’d rattled off were more than she expected. And they were well-known. Even she’d heard of them. Worse yet, she’d met some of them, not by the names Ty was using, but by the names she’d written in the ledger. The very names he was pointing at. A different sort of thrill shot through her.

Mobsters were followed as closely as celebrities and baseball players. To many people, they weren’t outlaws. Some considered them modern-day Robin Hoods. Except, instead of stealing from the rich and giving to the poor, they were getting one over on the government for Prohibition, and people liked that.

When Forrest’s father, Galen Reynolds, had run the Plantation, proclaimed gangsters had visited the place all the time. Roger Nightingale didn’t believe in such tactics, but the names Ty rattled off weren’t local thugs, they were big-time gangsters from Chicago and New York. They were men who had money, and spent it. People liked that, too.

“What other names do you recognize?” she asked.

“Two-shot Malone,” Ty said. “One for the head and one for the heart. Knuckles Page, Roy Ruger, Fast Eddie, Smiling Jack, Point Black Luigi, Sylvester the Sly, Fire Iron Frank, Boyd the Brander.”

She was memorizing the names as they leaned over the page, head-to-head. Her heart was pounding, too, beating harder with each move of his finger. Some of these people sounded dangerous, and listening to him describe them was, well, exciting.

“Cold Heart Sam, Evil Ernie, Tony the Tamer, Gunman Gunther—”

“Where is Ginger?”

Norma Rose snapped her head up at the sound of her sister’s voice.

“It’s her day to wash.” Twyla walked into the room, but stopped when her gaze landed on Ty. Her eyes grew wide and a full-blown smile curled her bright red lips. “Hello.” She stepped closer, holding out a hand. “I’m Twyla Nightingale, and you are?”

“Ty Bradshaw,” he answered, straightening enough to shake Twyla’s hand over the desk.

Norma Rose wanted to moan. Twyla never ignored the opportunity to meet a man. Any man. They were usually excited to meet her, too, until they learned who her father was.

Lifting a heavily painted brow at Norma Rose, Twyla indicated her interest in the rather intimate way Ty sat on the corner of the desk.

“I don’t know where Ginger is,” Norma Rose said coldly. She could attempt to explain who Ty was and what they were doing, but it would be a waste of breath. Her sisters were not interested in the resort, at least not the management of it. “Maybe she isn’t up yet.”

“Not up yet? She’d better be,” Twyla said. “It’s almost nine.”

That was surprising. Mainly because it meant the past two hours had flown by. “Did you check her room?” Norma Rose asked.

“Of course I checked her room,” Twyla said, rolling her eyes at Ty to demonstrate how silly she thought that question was. “She’s not there.”

“Maybe she’s already cleaning cabins,” Norma Rose suggested. Ginger was far more responsible than Twyla. It would have made more sense if Ginger had been the one standing in her office now. Then again, Ginger wouldn’t look for Twyla, she’d just go about getting her chores done. And unlike Twyla, Ginger wouldn’t wear what Twyla had on to do laundry—a bright pink, rather short dress, with a white silk scarf tied around her neck and white shoes with square heels. The very shoes Norma Rose had been wearing earlier. “I hope you don’t plan on washing sheets in that outfit. You’ll ruin it with a drop of bleach.”




Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.


Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/lauri-robinson/the-bootlegger-s-daughter/) на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.



Если текст книги отсутствует, перейдите по ссылке

Возможные причины отсутствия книги:
1. Книга снята с продаж по просьбе правообладателя
2. Книга ещё не поступила в продажу и пока недоступна для чтения