both arms behind his head and a thick pillow beneath them. Tired, he closed his eyes.
This was nice. Far better than most of the hotels he usually resided in. No banging of doors, noisy occupants returning to their rooms at all hours of the night, and no traffic, no sirens blaring and horns honking from dusk to dawn.
It had been a long time since he’d experienced such silence, since before the war, really, and he didn’t believe he’d ever had frogs and the gentle rhythm of water washing onto the shore to serenade him to sleep.
Norma Rose’s image fluttered behind his closed lids. He smiled at the idea of changing that starched little attitude of hers. He doubted she’d ever been kissed. That, too, would be fun to change.
It was all part of his plan.
Holding that thought, with a cool breeze wafting over his skin, Ty gave in to slumber.
* * *
He was up early, due to the hammering next door, but was well rested and he bade good morning to the carpenters working on the cabin beside his—named the Willow—as he collected water from the spigot in the pitcher from the washstand.
Apart from the noise of the hammers, the woods were quiet, serene with the waves of the lake still gently crashing ashore. He took his time returning to his cabin, pretending to enjoy the scenery, including the large weeping willow next to the cabin the men were working on. A large crate sat beneath the tree’s long, leafy branches that hung almost to the ground.
The Duluth Building Company.
Interesting. Nightingale’s resort was only twenty miles from St. Paul, yet he ordered building supplies from Duluth, a hundred and fifty miles north. Then again, Ty doubted the crate was actually used for building supplies.
After cleaning up with the water he’d fetched, Ty left his suit coat, vest and hat on the fancy brass hooks supplied for such things, and found a secure spot for his holster and gun under the new mattress before he left his cabin.
He meandered quietly, walking the full circle of cabins on this side of the main building. There were ten in total including his and all were named. Whitewater, the Cove, Double Pine and other such titles. Several had small buildings a few yards away from the main bungalow that were summer kitchens, he discovered, after sneaking peeks in a few windows.
Taking advantage of the quiet morning, he explored the layout of the other buildings on this side of the parking lot. Woodsheds, a large barn that no longer held animals and was locked tight, a laundry building, complete with the latest washing machines and surrounded by poles connecting several lines of drying wires and a set of tents that belonged to the men working on the cabins.
Crossing the parking lot, Ty paused when a curtain fluttered in one of the windows. He grinned and waved, pleased, knowing full well that Norma Rose was behind the curtain in her office, watching him.
With a chuckle, he started walking again, making his way up the road to Dave’s cabin—the Eagle’s Nest. He’d see Norma Rose soon, and liked the idea of letting her steam a bit as she wondered just when that would be.
Ty didn’t stop at Dave’s cabin. Instead he walked to the end of the road, counting a total of another ten cabins. It appeared the other side, where his cabin was, was where the renovations had started. Though not run-down, the cabins on this side were a pale green, whereas the ones on the other side were dark brown. There were signs of dry rot around the windows and along the eaves of these ones, too. A fraction of bewilderment struck Ty. Perhaps all the renovations—not just those on the cabins, but those completed on the main building over the last couple of years—weren’t just a cover-up strategy.
Others might believe that, but he didn’t. No resort could make the kind of money Nightingale had brought in the past few years. The workmen camped behind the barn were carpenters by day, runners by night, when their crates marked “building supplies” were full of shine, brought here and stored in the barn until they were loaded on the train via the back road that connected the Bald Eagle Depot to Nightingale’s. Ty would now admit, after seeing things up close, a few of those crates had contained building supplies at one time.
His research had been thorough. The Night peddled Minnesota Thirteen whiskey. Initially a home-brew formula, it was now more sought after than the real stuff brought down from Canada, which is why Bodine wanted in. There was less overhead and more money to be made.
As Nightingale had said last night, Norma Rose ran the resort. All the renovations were probably her idea. She may not even know the base of her father’s business. Except Ty didn’t believe that. He suspected Norma Rose knew every last detail about her father’s business.
Women were swayed by money as easily as men, and from the looks of her wardrobe, Norma Rose liked money.
Ty was almost back to Dave’s cabin when Roger Nightingale appeared on the trail leading through the pine trees.
“’Morning.”
“Good morning,” Ty responded.
“Sleep well?”
“Very. You?”
Ty almost laughed at the shift of Roger’s eyes. Nightingale clearly knew Ty suspected he’d been up half the night checking him out. It didn’t bother him. The more they understood each other right from the beginning, the better off they would both be.
“I always do,” the man answered.
As they walked toward Dave’s cabin together, Ty asked, “Do you have a list for me?”
Nightingale handed over a slip of paper. “You’ll need to talk to Rosie, she may think of others, but that’ll give you a place to start.”
Norma Rose was exactly who Ty wanted to talk to, but he had a few things to investigate before then. “I’ll talk with Dave first,” Ty answered, pausing before opening the cabin door. “If he’s up to it this morning.”
Roger gestured for Ty to open the door. “If he isn’t, we’ll wait until he is.”
Dave wasn’t awake, but Gloria Kasper was. The doctor was in her mid-fifties or so, and although she didn’t look her age—not last night in her night clothes, or this morning dressed in a fashionable blue dress complete with matching headband—she was formidable and stern. She probably had to be, considering she wrote out prescriptions for alcohol and birth control. Two things not easily accepted for a woman to be doing.
“It was wood poisoning, all right,” Gloria said as Ty closed the door. “That government, they think we don’t know what they’re doing. Killing folks. But we do, and that’s exactly what they’re doing, still trying their hardest to make their Prohibition idea work.” During her rant she’d set two mugs on the table and filled them from the coffeepot on the small stove in the corner. “They think by killing people with their tainted whiskey, people will stop drinking. The idea is as ludicrous as making alcohol illegal. They’ll see sooner or later, mark my word. We ousted Andrew Volstead and we can oust the rest of them.”
Ty made no comment as he took a seat indicated by Roger. Andrew Volstead, who the act had been named after, had lost his US Representative seat in 1922. From Minnesota, the man had outraged his constituency and had received numerous death threats before losing his seat. The latest rumor, which had the entire country in an uproar, was sweeping fast. Word was spreading that the government had
