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
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 anythi
ng.”
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.”
The Bootlegger's Daughter (Daughters Of The Roaring Twenties Book 1) Page 5