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He’d been stern, too, more so than usual, and that grated on her nerves. It was her concern. She knew who the snitch was, and that burned. Ty Bradshaw had left his mark on her, with all his gallantry. Pretending to be a gentleman. Taking her out in public. Winning her a snow globe. Buying her cotton candy. All the while he was a fed set on taking her very livelihood away.
“We have to do something, Norma Rose.”
She blinked several times, bringing her fury-filled vision into focus. Twyla and Josie stood beside her, in the doorway leading from the dining room into the ballroom, where tables and bar stools on either side were emptying out. She wasn’t sure which sister had spoken—they both looked at her gravely.
“People need to start dancing,” Josie said.
“And drinking,” Twyla said. “They need to be full of giggle water to dance to this.” Shaking her head, she added, “I never knew Wayne was this bad.”
“He wasn’t the last time he played here,” Norma Rose said. At least he sure hadn’t seemed this bad. He had the notes right, but the tempo was so slow the notes didn’t connect, instead they dragged into one another painfully.
“I’ve got an idea,” Twyla said, “but I don’t want you turning into a fire extinguisher on me.”
Norma Rose had played the role of chaperone so long, not doing so would most likely be impossible, yet the way she was feeling right now, she didn’t care what Twyla did. Or if people started dancing or not. If her father didn’t care, why should she? One slow night wasn’t going to close them down.
But a snitch would.
“What is it?” she asked, holding in a sigh, mainly because she knew she did care. About the resort, and about a snitch. No federal agent would pull the wool over her eyes.
“Just give me permission, and you’ll see,” Twyla said.
Her father had told her to make sure people were having a good time. “Go ahead,” Norma Rose said. “I’ll probably regret it, but what’s one more amongst many.”
Twyla frowned. So did Josie. Norma Rose pulled up one of her false smiles, which just made her feel worse than ever.
“Are you all right?” Josie asked.
“I’m fine,” Norma Rose answered. “Fine and dandy.”
Twyla tugged on her pink scarf, settling it in place while a slightly sinister, yet demure smile curled the corners of her red lips. Before Norma Rose could voice her doubts, Twyla grabbed Josie’s hand.
“Come on, sis,” Twyla said. “Fetch Scooter and meet me on the dance floor.”
Norma Rose willed her feet to stay planted as her sisters scurried away. The urge to call them back bubbled up her throat. It was hard, and painful, but she swallowed the urge and watched. What harm could they really do? The crowd was not having a good time, and Nightingale’s resort hadn’t gained the reputation it had by unhappy customers. Granted, some were here just to have a few drinks and relax, but others weren’t.
Twyla was behind the bar, talking with Reggie, and Josie was leaning on Scooter’s shoulder, being a bit more friendly than Norma Rose had ever seen, and that caused another stabbing sensation in her stomach. Josie wouldn’t tell Scooter about Ginger. Her sisters had been sworn to secrecy, but she might share information about Ty. Her suspicions—that he was a snitch—Norma Rose hadn’t divulged. To them, he was an attorney. And a welcome guest.
Some guest. He wasn’t even here in the ballroom or the dining room. That didn’t make her happy, either. He was probably out snooping around, trying to find something—anything—to report back to his cronies. How could she keep an eye on him, expose him for what he was, if she didn’t know where he was?
Carrying a tray with half-full glasses, Twyla made her way over to Wayne and sat down on the piano bench beside him. When the song ended, to the relief of many, Twyla handed him a glass and picked up one herself. She stood and held the glass high in the air.
The crowd had already been quiet, but now turned ghostly silent. One could almost hear the cigarettes sizzling as people took long draws while staring at the stage.
“Don’t know how many of you have heard,” Twyla shouted, “but Brock Ness headed to Chicago last night to perform on the radio. We’re gonna miss him around here.”
The crowd responded with murmurs and a couple of louder comments, agreeing with her. Someone yelled, “Already do!”
“He’s probably already playing on the radio down there in Chicago, and right now, we’re going to tip one for him.” Twyla waved her glass. “Reggie’s pouring glasses for everyone, so if you’ve got a dead soldier at your table, wave your hand, so we can get a glass to you.”
Hands went up across the room, and four girls carried trays around, passing out glasses to people growing more eager by the minute.
“How we doing?” Twyla asked a couple minutes later. “Everyone got a glass? Hold ’em up!”
A few shouts indicated others still needed a drink, and Norma Rose somehow ended up holding one as well.
“Now how we doing?” Twyla asked. “Show me your glasses, folks, get ’em up! Everyone’s going to toast Brock!”
The crowd was coming around, shouting and cheering. Even those in the dining room. Norma Rose almost cracked a smile. Toasting Brock was a good idea, but would it last? One toast wouldn’t make for a night of fun.
The girls kept passing out glasses, setting them on tables even though everyone had a drink in their hand and were waving them about. People clambered to their feet, then shouted Brock’s name.
“Swell!” Twyla yelled above the ruckus. “Brock, wherever you are, this one’s for you!” She knocked back the drink like she’d been doing so for years.
The crowd roared and followed suit. Norma Rose took a sip and had a hard time swallowing. Her throat felt on fire, but in honor of Brock, she held her breath and finished her glass.
Twyla set her empty glass on top of the piano with a resounding thud, and then picked up a second glass. “Grab another soldier, folks,” she shouted.
The crowd didn’t need any coaxing. The shouts and cheers were much louder this time around. Norma Rose ended up with a second glass from one of the girls still scrambling about with trays.
“This time, we’re gonna toast Wayne,” Twyla shouted. “He’s feeling a bit down, knowing you were disappointed that Brock isn’t here.”
The room rumbled with agreement. Wayne stood up beside Twyla, at her urging, and tipped his hat.
“To Wayne!” Twyla shouted.
Her toast was repeated several times as people tossed down another glass. In honor of Wayne, Norma Rose held her breath and swallowed the contents of her second glass. It was easier this time, and the warmth in her belly was almost satisfying.
“Now, then,” Twyla said, smacking her glass down by the other one. “We’re gonna do one more thing.”
The crowd cheered.
“I knew you’d like it!” Her laughter was contagious. The entire room filled with yee-haws, and she waited until it died down before she said, “We’re gonna have a dance-off!”
The room had already been transformed, but now merriment bounced off the walls as people applauded.
“Grab a partner,” Twyla encouraged. “Dac Lester is over there by the bar. You all know Dac doesn’t dance, don’t you?”
Once again cheers abounded.
“He’s gonna be the timekeeper. One hour of solid dancing. You leave the floor, and you’re done. The last couple on the floor will win a full bottle of Minnesota’s finest!” Twyla pointed to Dac again, who now held a bottle of corn whiskey over his head.
“What about the woman?” someone asked. “A bottle is fine for a man.”
The crowd laughed, and Norma Rose stretched on her toes, trying to see who’d asked the question. It was a female voice, but she didn’t recognize it.
Twyla looked lost for a moment, and turned her gaze to Norma Rose. Unsure what her sister was asking, for there was a definite question in her gaze, Norma Rose nodded, thinking she must be asking permission to give away a bottle of wine.
“How about a snow globe?” Twyla asked.
Norma Rose flinched, and a growl rumbled in her throat. It shouldn’t matter. She shouldn’t want the stupid thing. Wouldn’t want anything to remind her of Ty when all was said and done.
Twyla was still looking at her, seeking permission. Despite how jagged and shallow her breathing had become, Norma Rose pulled up a smile and nodded again.
“All right, folks, the prizes are a bottle for the last man and a snow globe for the last woman still on the dance floor one hour from now!” Twyla shouted. The floor was already filling up, yet she added, “Come on, there’s still room!”
Norma Rose was teetering between anger and astonishment. Her sister had livened up the place, but was also giving away her snow globe. A trivial carnival prize that held no significant value, or meaning—or so she wished. The truth was, she liked that snow globe and didn’t want to give it away.
Two solid hands gripped her waist, and shoved her forward, toward the dance floor. Her heels slid onward although she tried to stop them, and the quickening of her heart—though she hadn’t turned around and the owner of those hands hadn’t spoken—told her exactly who held her.
