“Why didn’t Scooter or Bronco put the ladder away?”
“Because Ginger told them the same thing she’d told Reyes. That she wanted to wash her window. They both claimed no one planning to run away would have drawn attention to the ladder.”
“She really thought this through, didn’t she?” Norma Rose said.
“Yes, she did,” Ty answered.
“Is it true?” Her father’s voice echoed in the room. “My Ginger’s with you?”
Norma Rose held her breath, considering what a tight spot Ginger had put Brock in. He certainly didn’t deserve that.
“Damn it,” her father growled. “That girl is so like her mother, God rest her soul.” He let out a string of curses that had the windows rattling.
After a pause, he shouted, “Like hell you will! You put her on a train by herself and she’ll end up in California.”
Ginger had never been shy when it came to talking about moving to Hollywood. Her father, like Norma Rose, thought it had just been talk, but after all Twyla had just admitted, Norma Rose was surprised Ginger hadn’t headed for California. If she’d figured out a way to climb in Brock’s truck, she could have figured out a way to board a train without being seen. Homeless folk rode the rails every day.
“You don’t let her out of your sight,” her father said. “I need time to figure out what to do. This couldn’t have happened at a worse time.” After another curse, he said, “Any harm comes to that girl, boy, and you’ll take a fall. A big one.”
Her father didn’t make false threats, and Norma Rose’s empathy for Brock increased tenfold. Her gaze went to Ty, and she quivered inwardly, for that moment hoping he was the private investigator he claimed to be.
“Don’t tell her we’ve talked, either,” her father said. “She may bolt. I’ll call you at this number tomorrow.”
As her father slammed the phone down, he settled his gaze on Norma Rose. “You should have seen this coming.”
Although her insides exploded, Norma Rose froze. She should have known this is how it would play out. Anything her sisters did wrong came back to her.
“Norma Rose couldn’t have seen this coming any more than you could have,” Ty said. “And you certainly can’t blame her sisters’ behavior on her. She’s not their mother.”
The redness seeped out of her father’s face, and he sighed. “You’re right,” he said rather helplessly. “You’re right.”
Norma Rose wasn’t sure what affected her more, the way Ty had stood up for her, or the way her father had so meekly agreed. Both tossed her somewhere between yesteryear and never land. She was clueless as to how to react.
“The important thing is that Ginger has been found, and that’s she’s safe,” Ty said. “Do you trust Brock?”
“Brock is very trustworthy,” Norma Rose said, gathering her wits enough to speak. Ty’s hand was on the small of her back, patting her gently, and the action stole sensible thoughts faster than she could form them. “Very trustworthy.”
Her father looked at her, and then at Ty, before he nodded. “Yes,” he said. “Brock is. I guess if I have to put my trust in someone—for one of my daughters—he’d be one I know I could count on.” Shaking his head, he continued, “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree and in this case, I’m glad. Brock’s father is as honest as the day is long. That’s why I had to step in when the doctors didn’t give him much hope.” He shook his head. “Brock didn’t want his family indebted to anyone, and swore to pay back every dime. He nearly has, too.”
“All right, then,” Ty said. “The next step is, what are you going to tell people?”
“About what?” Norma Rose asked, pulling her mind away from the warmth seeping up her back and trickling down her legs.
“People are going to notice Ginger isn’t here,” Ty said.
The warmth disappeared as a shiver shot down her spine, taking with it her relief of knowing Ginger was safe. People would notice. And talk.
“Yes, they are,” her father said.
The chill remained as Norma Rose glanced between Ty and her father. They both expected her to know the answer to that one.
The air burning her lungs refused to move. It was as if she’d jumped off the deep end of the dock, into a never-ending hole. She’d been here once before, years ago. She’d been the one people were talking about. No one would believe her side of the story then and there was no reason to believe they would this time, either.
“Don’t fret, Norma Rose,” Ty said. “Give me a few minutes to think this through and we’ll come up with a viable excuse that no one will question.”
The blood was still pounding in her ears, even though the air rushed out of her mouth, giving way for fresh.
“And you’d better make damn sure your sisters don’t get any harebrained ideas to follow suit,” her father said.
The air caught again. She didn’t have control over her sisters, and she never had. That had been an illusion Norma Rose would never believe again.
Her father sighed and leaned back in his chair, looking as if he’d aged in the few hours since they’d learned of Ginger’s absence. “Why couldn’t they all be like you, Rosie?”
Why indeed? A better question would be why she couldn’t be more like her sisters. Brave enough to make waves, or to learn how to ride those waves despite everything.
* * *
Ty wasn’t exactly sure what he saw behind Norma Rose’s eyes, but it struck him to the core, and sent him reeling. He might as well have been that red puck shooting up the lever to strike the bell at the amusement park. Except there was no resounding ringing of the bell, no little sailor doll to win.
He’d been shot, though, catapulted right into a place he’d never wanted to go. It was as foreign as it had been traveling across the ocean, in a strange and hostile country. He’d survived that journey, and in the years since, he’d used what he’d learned. How to pinpoint his focus, to never take his eye off the target, to never let what flew past his peripheral vision interfere with his aim, his goal.
For years, ever since returning home to a world that had changed, taking away everything he’d held close and dear, he’d honed in his vision on one target, searching only for ways to get a clear shot.
Bodine had become that target. Nothing had changed that in five years. Not a single person, place, or thing had altered his aim or his goal. Yet, somehow, somewhere, between last night and this evening, he’d lost sight of the bull’s-eye that had haunted, teased and twisted him inside out.
Ty knew the dangers of these mixed-up thoughts and, needing a way to clear his vision, he nodded toward Roger. “I’ll be back.”
“Where are you going?” Roger asked.
“I do my best thinking alone.” He didn’t glance toward Norma Rose; the heartrending glimmer he’d seen a moment ago would play with his better judgment, just as she’d done all day.
Ty strode out the door and past Twyla, who was sitting behind the desk. Her gaze was curious, but there wasn’t any of the probing she’d blistered him with this morning, and that, too, gave him reason to be wary. The rapport between Twyla and Norma Rose had changed this afternoon, leaving more questions unanswered, but he’d be damned if he was going to let them gain his interest. He didn’t need to solve any more problems for the Nightingales. Hadn’t needed to solve any in the beginning. He was here to take down Bodine.
The evening air, still warm from the day’s sunlight, met him as he stepped outside, and he took a deep breath, needing to cleanse and refresh his soul, and the purpose he was committed to.
He crossed the parking lot and followed the path behind the barn that led through the woods, to the farmhouse Bodine had rented. He’d never before lost his focus of the gangster, of the carnage he’d left back in New York, and standing there, staring at the two-story farmhouse, painted white with green trim, Ty searched his innermost being for that purpose, willing it to return.
Memories came first, visions of his parents, shot dead in
their beds, along with Harry, massacred in the hallway. One man with an old rifle against front men with machine guns.
His captain hadn’t wanted him to enter the house, the home he’d grown up in, where he’d watched his younger brother while his parents worked from sunup to sundown in the bakery just two doors down, baking bread that had sustained not only their family, but also several others living in the lower east side. His hadn’t been the only family lost that night. Bodine had taken out the entire block, to make a statement.
The gangster had claimed Lincoln Street as his own, and he’d chosen the center block to prove it, where innocent families had resided, those who hadn’t participated in his lotteries yet had paid his extortion fines all the same.
Bile rose in Ty’s throat, burning and bitter. He’d been prepared to take down a bootlegger or two with Bodine. Casualties, just as there’d been in the war.
He blew out a heavy, burning gust of air. Nothing had changed.
Nothing.
Bodine still needed to be taken down, and he was still the man to do it. He’d left being a cop on the beat to become a detective, and then, by special invitation, had joined the elite team the federal government had formed, private eyes focused solely on big-name mobsters. New York gangsters, the families who’d started out running lotteries decades ago and had grown into intricate organized crime syndicates that used extortion and murder to rule entire cities.
Four top members of Bodine’s family, including Ray’s brother and uncle, were in Leavenworth Penitentiary right now, where they belonged, because of Ty and his due diligence, and Ray Bodine would soon be rotting right alongside them. Only a handful of people knew Ray hadn’t died in the shootout that had gutted his cartel. Ty was one of those people and so was his boss, who rarely left Washington, DC; the rest were Bodine’s family—his wife and kids.
They’d gone so far as to have a funeral, had paraded the coffin down the street and into the cemetery, as if that was solid proof of his death.
Ty had known it was fake, but couldn’t convince his boss until Bodine resurfaced. Not the man himself, but torpedoes and hit men who left Bodine’s footprints. They led to Chicago, and then to St. Paul, and Ty had followed.
Alone.
Other agents followed, too, but they were after the front men, drug dealers, rum runners, bootleggers and other two-bit players that Ty didn’t give the time of day to. His focus was the big man himself.
“Ty?”
He closed his eyes, trying to shut out everything about Norma Rose and her family. It didn’t work. Not only did she repeat his name, but she also stepped closer. To where he could feel her even though they weren’t touching.
“Go back to the resort, Norma Rose.”
“Are you all right?”
He moved forward, away from her, stepping onto the small porch framing the front door. “I’m fine.”
“Why don’t I believe you?”
“You’ll soon have guests arriving,” he told her.
“Yes, I will.”
She’d stepped onto the porch, and her closeness twisted things he’d yet to unravel tighter yet. He didn’t care about her, or her family. All he cared about was Bodine.
“Ty—”
“Tell them Ginger went to visit the college her friend will be attending,” he said, pulling the suggestion out of thin air since he hadn’t given it another thought.
“They won’t believe that,” she said. “Father—”
“They will if you’re convincing enough.” He turned to face her, but set his gaze over her left shoulder, not prepared to look her in the eye. Those magnificent eyes were too clear, too easy to read. He didn’t need any more of that. She’d already knocked a kink in his armor, one he had to repair. “You and Twyla have made up after years of bickering. Folks are going to find that hard to believe, too.”
“I wanted to explain that to you. We—”
“Don’t bother,” he snapped. “It’s none of my business.”
“What happened?” she asked. “Why are you—”
“Your sister has been found.” Not looking at her was growing impossible. Brushing past her, he stomped down the steps. “Now I have to focus on your uncle’s case, and I can’t do that with you following my every footstep.”
“Maybe I can help. Like you did with finding Ginger.”
Hearing the clip of her heels on the steps, he kept walking. “You have more than enough to do managing your family and the resort.”
“I can manage more—”
She was more persistent than a swarm of mosquitoes, and he spun around. Damn if a part of him didn’t want to grin at the way her lips snapped shut. “I don’t want your help, Norma Rose. Nor do I need it. Now run back to your resort and make your customers happy with your complimentary booze.”
Her eyes turned ice blue and her glare became as frosty as a December windshield. Her chin rose into that determined lift she’d carried into the police station last night. Without another word, she marched past him, like a soldier going to war. He knew the feeling, how her insides were a mixture of fear and hatred—emotions put there on purpose.
He watched her walk away, battling his own twisted emotions. It was just as well that she went back to hating him now. When he took down Bodine, her father’s operation would go down with it.
Ty flinched at the knot that coiled deep inside. She’d hate him like she’d never hated before. Like the way he hated Bodine. After all it was similar. The way he’d take away what she loved. Her resort. Her livelihood. Her family.
Chapter Ten
Over the years, Ty had seen everything from seedy whiskey joints that never washed their glasses to high-end car clubs where the men didn’t drive, but were driven to the club by chauffeurs and had women hanging on their necks with fingers laden with more jewels than the Queen of England had inherited over the centuries. Tonight, standing in the shadows of the old, big barn, he watched people enter the resort, and had to admit, from what he saw, that Nightingale’s was an elite club. More upscale than he’d surmised from his earlier observations.
There were no chauffeurs, but the men had on fine suits, and the women, well, he guessed he understood why Norma Rose wore gloves to breakfast. Even when she didn’t have blue hands.
In spite of all he’d hashed out in the last hour, he smiled. Yeah, she’d hate him when all this was over, but he’d never forget her. Years from now, after all the gangsters were behind bars and the cities had turned into peaceful havens, he’d still remember how that ink pen had snapped and how her startled look had brought about one of the first genuine smiles he’d experienced in years.
The smile on his face slipped, almost painfully. He knew the gangsters would never all be behind bars—others would just rise up in the holes left by those arrested. But, Norma Rose would hate him when this was all over, forever. He might hate himself, too.
Such was life. He’d long ago committed his existence to retribution, and had given up everything else to have it. Revenge, the longing that had burned inside him for years, didn’t leave room for anyone. Not family, not friends and most certainly not a woman. Those were vices he couldn’t afford. They not only tied a man down, they left a trail, and a man with a secret life couldn’t have that. People connected to him could get hurt, too. They were bound to, and Ty didn’t ever want to experience that kind of pain again.
Not feeling was a much better existence.
Accepting that resolution, Ty stepped out of the shadows and waited for a car—a big fancy one that had more lights on it than the string marquees on Broadway—to find a place to park before he maneuvered through the lot to his truck.
He backed out of the parking spot and slowly made his way to the tree-lined path that led to his cabin. There was a lot of work to do before Bodine showed up, and it included being inside the resort, even though he’d rather not be there.
Traveling light was the way of a federal agent. The suitcase under the seat of his truck held one addition
al suit, two shirts and a few sets of Munsingwear union suits and pairs of socks. He’d pull out a clean set—recently washed and dried in a hotel room—visit the bath house and then attend the party.
Dusk lasted for hours this far north in the summer, and as he parked his truck, the gray light was more than enough for him to notice the white paper cone rolling to a stop on the floor of the passenger seat.
Ty let it be.
* * *
“This is pretty. Where’d you get it?”
Norma Rose turned from her office window, where she’d watched Ty drive away. She should be wishing he’d gone in the opposite direction—and left the resort—but she couldn’t dredge that thought up. She was mad at him, and loathed the very thought of him, but even more so, she wanted to know what had filled his eyes with sorrow.
“From the amusement park,” she said, referring to the snow globe Twyla held. The bits of glitter were catching light as they swirled around the waterfall, sparkling like real snow.
“The strongman game?” Twyla asked, setting the globe on the desk. “No one ever wins one of these. The game’s rigged.”
Still dressed in the pink outfit, along with the borrowed white shoes, Twyla had a folded pink scarf around her head, leaving her red waves showing above the band that was tied fashionably below one ear. Her earlobes, which still had to be red and swollen, were covered, yet a pair of dangling earrings hung below the scarf.
Wanting to discuss anything expect Ty, the snow globe—which she moved closer to the center of her desk so it wouldn’t accidently get knocked off—or the amusement park, Norma Rose asked, “Why’d you pierce the second ear after the first one hurt so much?”
Twyla shrugged. “Well, I couldn’t walk around wearing just one earring, could I?” Without waiting for an answer, she continued, “It was one of those things in life that once you start, you have to finish it. Besides, it gave me a good excuse.”
“Excuse for what?”
“For not going to the amusement park,” Twyla answered, before hugging herself as she let loose an exaggerated shiver. “Have you ever worked a kissing booth?”
The Bootlegger's Daughter (Daughters Of The Roaring Twenties Book 1) Page 13