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Which was why Ty was here. Bodine wanted the real stuff. The heat was on for those running it from Canada. Nightingale’s gold mine had been one of the best kept secrets, and it still was in many ways. It was a place you had to know about. Ty wasn’t sure how Bodine had found out, but Ty had discovered it listening to two of Bodine’s front men in Chicago over a month ago.
Bodine’s men had talked about their orders to find a way into Nightingale’s closed group, and Ty had no doubt they would. Kidnapping Dave would have done it, but that seemed to have failed.
Ty stood. Bodine’s name wasn’t on that list, which meant he had a bit more investigating to do. Walking around the desk, he winked at Norma Rose. “Save your receipts for someone who cares, doll.”
Her cheeks flared red once again. Getting her frustrated was so easy. Fun, too.
He pulled open the door, but she hit it with one hand, slamming it shut. Glaring, she growled, “Don’t ever call me doll.”
There was more than frustration on her face; this was flat-out anger, but a knock on the door prevented Ty from contemplating her reaction for too long. He lifted a brow, silently asking if he could open the door.
She stepped back and nodded.
A portly man, with wide suspenders holding up his britches and a flat felt hat covering his head, held out one hand. “Got the keys for you, Miss Nightingale.”
Instantly prim and proper again—at least on the outside—Norma Rose took the keys. “Thank you, Walter.” Maintaining her businesslike attitude, she marched around her desk and dropped the keys in the top drawer. “I’ll need you to send a few men over to the farmhouse. We have guests who’ll be arriving next week and I’d like the bushes trimmed and lawn mowed before then.”
“Yes, miss, I’ll see to it right away.”
Ty’s mind clicked like the cogs of a wheel lining up. He’d seen the farmhouse, located on the other side of a thick row of trees several yards behind the barn, but had assumed the family occupied it, even though he knew they all had rooms on the upper floors of the main building. “You rent out the house, too?” he asked, once Walter had left, and shut the door behind him.
“Yes,” Norma Rose snapped. “Why shouldn’t we?”
“I didn’t say you shouldn’t,” he remarked.
“We rent it out on a weekly basis only, mainly to families,” she said. “It has its own boathouse and beach.”
“Who is renting it?”
Although she clearly didn’t want to, she pulled another ledger down from a shelf on the wall and flipped through several pages before stopping. “Ralph Brandon and his family from Green Bay. They’ll be arriving by train...”
Ty stopped listening. Ralph Brandon. That was a name he hadn’t heard in a while. Ray Bodine had used it in upstate New York a few years ago, shortly before another man, positively identified as Ralph Brandon, had been found dead. Bodine wasn’t on the guest list because he planned on already being at the resort when George’s party took place. Spinning around, Ty headed for the door again.
“Just for the record, Mr. Bradshaw,” Norma Rose said. “I don’t believe anything about you. Not your tale about being a private investigator, or your story about Uncle Dave being a kidnapping target.” Lifting the corners of her rose-red lips, she added, “I believe only a federal agent would know all those names you mentioned.”
With one hand on the doorknob, he glanced over his shoulder. “Believe what you like.”
Her stare was direct and cold. “I will, and I will see you are off this property by the end of the day.”
Opening the door, he stepped into the hallway, but turned to face her. “Save a dance for me, will you?”
Her stoic expression dipped in a moment of confusion. “What—what are you talking about?”
“Find a good band for Palooka George’s party,” he said. “So you and I can wear a hole in the rug.”
Lips tight, she brushed her skirt beneath her as she lowered herself onto her chair. “Our dance floor is made of wood, and I never dance. Not with anyone.”
“One more thing I’ll have to change,” he said, pulling the door closed.
* * *
Norma Rose held her gloved hands tightly together, to keep the trembling at bay. That man infuriated her, and frightened her in a way she’d never been scared before. That was a hard thing to admit, even to herself.
He’d never answered her question, but inside, she knew he was a federal agent. He had to be. The Volstead Act was held up by the feds. Local boys only had to worry about state laws, which were much more lenient. She dealt with plenty of local authorities, but he’d be her first federal one. That had to be why he affected her so.
Dancing? Posh! He’d soon learn she was no doxy. She wouldn’t be pursued or swayed by any man. Plenty had tried over the years. Ty couldn’t frighten her, either, by naming all those gangsters like he had. For all she knew he was lying. Big-time New York and Chicago gangsters had no reason to visit Minnesota.
Unsettled, she rose and walked to the window. The barn stood directly across the parking lot. Besides the cabin that had been torn down long ago, that barn had been the first thing her great-grandfather built on the property. That was when the land had been part of the Wisconsin Territory, before becoming part of the Minnesota Territory in 1849. The rocky ground wasn’t easy to work and farming hadn’t paid off very well for her ancestors. Her grandfather, having lived most of his life trying to draw money from the land, had taken another approach. He’d built a dance pavilion and then cabins, when the dances became popular.
Just five years ago, the resort had been nothing more than that little pavilion and the run-down cabins. Norma Rose had been a major player in the resort’s renovation since the day her father had reopened the place, and she wasn’t about to let some no-good revenue man take it all away from her.
Ty appeared in her line of vision, almost as if she’d conjured him up. He was walking toward the barn. She took a step back, just in case he turned around and saw her.
All the snooping in the world wouldn’t reveal a thing. As she’d told Ty, her father was a smart man. There was no tax evasion going on here, and the other activities were so concealed a mole couldn’t unearth them.
“Norma Rose.”
She spun around as her door opened once again. This time it was Josie. “Have you seen Ginger or Twyla? I have a ladies meeting this afternoon and will surely be late if I have to do everything by myself.”
Josie lived for the Bald Eagle Ladies Aid Society. Norma Rose didn’t mind her sister’s involvement, except when it interfered with things that needed to be done at the resort. “I thought your meetings were on Tuesday.”
“They normally are. This is a special meeting because we’re creating the decorations for Emma Imhoff’s anniversary.” Wearing a pair of plaid pants and a loose-fitting white shirt, which she proclaimed was the perfect outfit for cleaning cabins, Josie entered the room. Soft-spoken and generally agreeable—apart from when it came to missing one of her meetings—Josie continued, “Ruth and Frances have been coddling their roses so they’ll be at their best next weekend. We plan on making lace doilies to put beneath each vase and—”
“No,” Norma Rose interrupted. She was thankful Josie had an eye for decorating when it came to special events, but she didn’t need the details. “I haven’t seen Ginger. Twyla was looking for her earlier. Have you asked her?”
“The last time I saw Twyla, she was in our bathroom, trying to pierce her ears again.” Josie shrugged. “She might have succeeded this time. There was blood in the sink when I looked in there again a few minutes ago.”
Norma Rose puffed out a heavy breath. Keeping up with her sisters was exhausting. “I told her she’s not allowed to have pierced ears.”
“So?”
Bristling from head to toe, Norma Rose marched to the door. “I’ll find them.”
Josie followed, explaining that she’d finished the guest rooms upstairs, and was now on her way to the cabins. They parted in the back hall, where a whimpering sound had Norma Rose heading toward the kitchen, where she found Twyla—still wearing the pink dress and her white shoes—red-eyed and holding a piece of ice to one earlobe.
Moe fussed around Twyla, patting her shoulder.
Norma Rose felt little, if any, empathy. “Go and change your clothes and get to work.”
“I can’t,” Twyla sobbed. “I’m bleeding.”
One well-aimed glare had Moe stepping back. Norma Rose grabbed Twyla’s hand and pulled it away from her ear. “No, you’re not.” Snatching the ice, she threw it in the sink. “Now go.”
Claiming their father would hear about this, a red-faced Twyla climbed off the stool and ran to the door.
“I told her she should have put the ice on her ear before poking the needle through it,” Moe said.
Norma Rose wasn’t interested in Twyla’s ear, or worried about their father hearing about anything—Norma Rose had pretty much been in charge of raising her sisters after their mother had died of influenza. She made no comment as she left the room, now in search of Ginger. Both Twyla and Josie would be mad when Norma Rose found their youngest sister and engaged her aid in finding suitable musicians for the next two weekends, rather than sending her to help them with chores.
