The Bootlegger's Daughter

Chapter Two

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.