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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, the 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 plenty 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.
