The Bootlegger's Daughter

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 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.”