The Bootlegger's Daughter (Daughters Of The Roaring Twenties Book 1)

by Lauri Robinson

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, t
he 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.”

  “It’s not my day to wash. I just have to sweep floors and make beds,” Twyla said, walking across the room to peek out the window. “It’s Ginger’s day to wash.”

  Norma Rose knew Twyla was showing off her dress, and legs, to Ty with her little strut, and it more than irritated her. “Ginger’s probably already doing laundry. Now go change and start your chores.”

  “I can work in this,” Twyla said, smoothing her hands down her side to rest on her hips. “It’s Saturday and I’m going to the amusement park as soon as I’ve completed my chores.”

  “The amusement park doesn’t open until noon,” Norma Rose reminded her before pointing toward the door. “You have three hours of cleaning to do before then. And don’t complain to me if you ruin that dress.”

  “What about Ginger?”

  “Don’t worry about Ginger,” Norma Rose said. “She’ll be along shortly if she’s not already there.” Recalling she needed Ginger’s help herself, she added, “When you do see her, tell her I want to talk to her.”

  “About being late?” Twyla asked hopefully.

  “I told you not to worry about her,” Norma Rose said. “Now go, and shut the door behind you.” She waited until Twyla was almost out the door before she said, “And put my shoes back where you found them.”

  Twyla, in the midst of sending a very encouraging look toward Ty over her shoulder, smiled sweetly. “My white shoes got stained last weekend.”

  Norma Rose couldn’t say why his look, that clearly said, “I’m not interested but will smile just to please you,” made her as happy as it did. Smiling herself, she said, “Then find some polish and clean them. After you’ve put mine back in my room, and after you’ve completed your chores.”

  Twyla, looking deflated at Ty’s lack of interest and being unable to get Ginger in trouble, shut the door with a thud.

  Norma Rose reached past Ty. “Excuse me.” She slid the phone under the arm he still had stretched across her desk and picked up the receiver.

  Chapter Five

  Ty had never fought this hard to keep a smile hidden. He’d discovered plent
y about all four Nightingale girls, but meeting them was becoming an adventure. Twyla was a year or so younger than Norma Rose, twenty-three or twenty-four, if he remembered rightly, which he normally did. The other girls were blonde, but Twyla had dyed her hair bright red, which looked good on her, as did the little pink dress that showed a good portion of finely shaped legs. Like her sisters, Twyla was a looker, and the devilish twinkle in her bright blue eyes could curl the hair on a man’s chest. Nightingale must have his work cut out for him keeping the men all in line.

  “Thelma, ring Walter’s phone, please,” Norma Rose said into the phone.

  Every cabin and room at the resort had a phone, a highly expensive amenity. There was also a switchboard and operator just a few doors down the hall. Ty leaned back, wondering why she’d called the man who oversaw the gardeners and night watchmen. Moe, the cook, was a talker. In a conversation that lasted less than five minutes, Ty had learned who worked where and how long they’d been at the resort.

  “Walter. It’s Norma Rose. I want the keys removed from all the cars in the garage.” She paused before answering, “Yes, even my father’s. Bring them to my office.”

  Ty laughed, but cut it short at the little glare she cast his way. It appeared Roger didn’t keep the Nightingale girls under control. Norma Rose did. In a way, that made him look forward to meeting the other two, Josie and Ginger.

  His good sense kicked in, telling him he wasn’t here to meet any of Roger Nightingale’s daughters. Norma Rose was more than enough. He’d been careful with what he’d told her, and how he’d said it. Roger Nightingale was a smart businessman, but his daughter was intuitive. Norma Rose would be able to see through a lie with her eyes closed.

  Bodine’s name hadn’t been on the list, at least not under any of the aliases he’d used in the past. Bodine had been known to associate with a few on the list, but Ty couldn’t say if he still did. The mobster had a way of burning bridges.

  “So,” Norma Rose said, pushing the phone aside. “Are you a federal agent?”

  The question was so unexpected, Ty was startled. The hair on the back of his neck rose. He combated the prickly sensation by shifting and sitting up straighter, and then he changed the subject. “Do your sisters steal cars on a regular basis?”