The Bootlegger's Daughter. Lauri Robinson

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СКАЧАТЬ 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 СКАЧАТЬ