The Forgotten Daughter

“Why aren’t you dancing?” she asked.

He didn’t so much as blink an eye. “Don’t change the subject, Josie.”

“That would be a little difficult,” she snapped. “Considering the way you’ve hounded me.”

Scooter didn’t just step forward, he lunged, and took her arm in a tight hold. “Enough is enough, Josie.” The sound of giggles on the balcony made him lower his voice. “You need to be glad you only got arrested for speeding in Duluth.”

Enough was enough all right, and she’d had more of Scooter than she could handle. “I got arrested for speeding on purpose.”

The instant the words left her mouth, Josie repented.

Scooter’s sapphire-blue eyes narrowed and his lips tightened. “You got arrested on purpose?”

She wasn’t intimidated easily, but Scooter had a way about him that unsettled all sorts of things inside her. Lying to him would be useless. “Yes,” she hissed.

He cursed under his breath and released her arm when a man and woman, whispering and giggling, entered the ballroom. Josie kept her gaze averted as the couple made their way to the sweeping staircase leading to the second and third floors above.

She knew exactly when they were far enough away not to hear. Not only had their giggles faded, Scooter had grabbed her arm again.

“What about her?” he asked. “Are you going to save her, too?”

Josie pinched her lips together. Answering wasn’t worth her breath.

“You know what they’re going up there to do,” he said.

Normally not embarrassed by talk of sex, it had become a common subject in her life—her underground life—Josie chided herself for the sting in her cheeks. “Of course I know.”

“And you’re fine with that?”

Once again Josie told herself not to answer. Not to respond to his nit-picking.

“You’re a hypocrite, Josie Nightingale,” he said. “Right under your own roof, you live with and condone the very thing you get on your soapbox to preach against.”

The air in her lungs turned fiery as her spine stiffened. Josie wrenched her arm from his hold. “I do no such thing.”

“Like hell you don’t,” Scooter retorted, planting his face so close to hers the tips of their noses almost touched. “Nightingale’s is known for the women on the third floor.”

“It is not,” she argued. “Most people don’t even know about it.” Justifying the activities at the resort was not something she’d ever had to do before, but she’d justify the very air she breathed to get Scooter off her back. “Those women choose to rent rooms during large events, just like everybody else. Nightingale’s has nothing to do with it, nor does it take a share of their profits. And,” she added, emphasizing the point Gloria Kasper took pride in, “Dr. Kasper checks every girl who enters, making sure they’re healthy and not here against their will.”

“Securing your investments.”

Scooter’s words were lined with loathing. The twisting in Josie’s stomach intensified, gnawing on her backbone. “Fine,” she snapped. “Believe what you want. It makes no difference to me.”

“Well, it makes a difference to me,” he growled. “I’m sick and tired of waiting to hear if you’ve come up missing or not. I told my mother—”

“You what?” Josie bit her lips together and glanced around to make sure the ballroom was still empty.

“I told my mother to tell Gloria you’re done.”

Relief that no one had heard her shout disappeared. Josie grabbed the lapels of Scooter’s suit jacket. “It’s not for you or anyone else to say when I’m done. And,” she added with all the fury spiraling toward the top of her head like a champagne cork let loose, “you need to remember where Maize might be if not for Gloria.”

Her stomach sank before the words had completely left her mouth.

* * *

Eric Wilson, otherwise known as Scooter because of the motorcycles he’d coveted since seeing his first one around the same time he’d learned to walk, hadn’t been this angry since he didn’t know when. Josie Nightingale knew how to get him fired up, and she’d had him running on all cylinders for the past two weeks. Before then, too, but not to this degree. Passing out condoms to prostitutes was one thing, but her recent activity—attempting to steal girls away from their pimps—was far more dangerous than her pretty little brain could fathom.

“I know exactly where Maize would be,” he replied. “That’s exactly what I’m trying to prevent.” Grabbing her shoulders, he gave them a quick shake. “To stop you from ending up where my sister did.”

“I’m not going to end up anywhere,” she retorted.

Scooter wanted to shake her harder, maybe rattle some sense into her, but he knew that wasn’t going to happen. Josie thought herself untouchable. Not just because she was one of The Night’s daughters, but because her ruse had worked too well for too long. He knew exactly when it had all started—three years ago, when his sister Maize had been found missing after taking a job at the Plantation nightclub. Galen Reynolds had owned it back then—and he was a crook like no other. The man had been selling women, and like most everything else of the criminal nature Galen embarked in, he’d gotten away with it.

Scooter knew all about Gloria Kasper, too. She was now the resident physician at Nightingale’s but back then, when Maize had gone missing, Gloria still lived in town, in the house she and her husband had lived in for years. Long ago, when Gloria had been a young bride, she’d discovered her husband was doing more than tending to certain patients while on house visits and had put a stop to it. However, she’d been a bit too late. Her husband had already been infected. Gloria took it upon herself to find a cure, or at least a way to stop the disease he’d caught from spreading. She’d jumped on the condom bandwagon faster than the army. A few years later, after her husband died, she had become a doctor.

She’d also become a vigilante. Gloria understood prostitution was the oldest profession known to man, and knew no amount of protesting or rallying would put a stop to it, so she set out to make it as safe as possible for those involved. Men and women.

Astute, but also very secretive, Gloria had known about Galen Reynolds’s trafficking. She’d also been the first person Scooter’s mother had contacted when Maize hadn’t come home one night. Which was also why—though it had never been proven—her home had been burned to the ground after Maize had been rescued. Another reason Scooter was dead set on stopping Josie. Galen Reynolds may be in prison for counterfeiting, but Josie was getting herself involved with other people, men and women, some far worse than Galen.

He wanted to tell Roger everything he knew and put an end to Josie’s shenanigans, but that could backfire. Just like his plan had backfired years ago when his sister had gone missing. He’d gone to the Plantation that night, to find out what Galen had done to Maize. If Brock Ness hadn’t been delivering milk the next morning, Scooter had no doubt he’d have died in the ditch he’d been pitched into.

Brock had hauled him home and, to Scooter’s shock, when he’d awakened, his sister was home. No amount of questioning had gotten him a straight answer from either his mother or sister, but he cobbled enough bits and pieces together to know Gloria had been behind Maize’s rescue. Since Josie’s arrest, he’d discovered she was Gloria’s right-hand gal, and that her father knew nothing about it.

The Night had a reputation that far preceded him, and would be furious to learn what his daughter was up to, but that wasn’t what scared Scooter. It was what Roger would do that frightened him. Roger would go after the top dog, barrel in to put a stop to it, much like Scooter had done when he’d gone to see Galen Reynolds. That had taught him a valuable lesson. Top dogs were always protected. Roger Nightingale was no fool. Scooter understood that, and the man had a fair amount of protection circling him and his family, but Roger’s night watchmen wouldn’t be enough in this case. People—namely Josie—would get hurt.

Scooter had thought long and hard about this. He had no choice; it kept him up at night. The girls on the third floor of the resort proved Roger didn’t believe prostitution rings were dangerous. Scooter, however, knew the opposite. He hadn’t been able to rescue Maize, hadn’t been able to protect her from what had happened, but he wasn’t about to let history repeat itself.

Some of Josie’s anger had receded, as had his. Scooter let go of her shoulders. In truth, his fury should have increased. She had no idea of the danger she was playing with, how close she may be to having her life snuffed out.

“Dang it, Josie,” he growled. “This has to stop.”

“I don’t have a choice, Scooter,” she said, rather despondently.

“Yes, you do,” he insisted.

The shimmering green beads covering her blond hair flapped near her shoulders as she shook her head. “No, I don’t. I’m the only one who can get in and out unseen.”

Frustration filled his stomach. “You aren’t getting in and out unseen, Josie. Pants don’t make you invisible.” He stopped shy of stating she looked even more fetching in her britches and shirts than she did in the green dress she wore right now—although the color wasn’t very flattering. Normally he didn’t notice such things, but Josie usually, when she did wear a dress, chose one of simple colors. White, blue, yellow. The one she had right now was a pond-scum green. Twyla had probably picked it out for her wedding, as she and Norma Rose had on identical dresses.

“I have to go,” Josie said. “There are things I need to see to in the kitchen.”

He didn’t doubt that. The party had just gotten started and would continue for hours. Both Twyla and Norma Rose were otherwise occupied, which would leave most of the work to Josie. When she’d started taking on a bigger role at the resort a month or so ago he’d hoped that would curtail her other activities. It hadn’t. Her phone call from the Duluth jail had dropped his heart clear to his knees two weeks ago.

Scooter took hold of her elbow as she started to walk away. “Why’d you say you got arrested for speeding on purpose?”

The shock in the depths of her sky-blue eyes said she’d hoped he’d forgotten that tidbit of information.

She sighed heavily, but just as she was about to say something, they were interrupted.

Chapter Two

“Isn’t this party swell?” Twyla asked excitedly as she and Forrest crossed the room.

“Just swell,” Josie muttered under her breath. Remembering—as if she’d been able to forget—Scooter stood beside her, she pulled up a brilliant smile. “Yes, it is,” she told her sister. “One people will long remember. Who could ever forget Babe Ruth?”

“He’s so funny,” Twyla said, using Forrest’s shoulder the same way Josie had used the chair to hold her balance as she fiddled with one and then the other shoe. “He told me every woman should love baseball for the pure fact it’s played on diamonds.”

Josie merely grinned. Babe had been saying that to women all day. She almost found an ounce of comfort knowing the shoes were hurting her sister’s feet as badly as they were hers, but didn’t. It was Twyla’s wedding day, and nothing, not even tight shoes, should dampen her enjoyment.

“I was on my way to the kitchen,” Josie told Twyla, glad for the opportunity to escape Scooter. “Want to come with me? We can get something for our heels.”

Twyla laughed as she graced her new husband with a somewhat sheepish grin. “That’s exactly what I came inside for.”

“I told her she should have bought a larger size,” Forrest said teasingly.

“It’s not the size,” Twyla insisted. “It’s the style. These were the only ones that were the same color as our dresses.”

“Lucky shoes,” Scooter drawled.

Josie twisted her neck to hide the laugh that caught in the back of her throat, but Scooter caught it. His grin, as well as the glint in his eyes, said he thought the dresses were as ugly as she did. That made her want to smile, but she wasn’t about to let him think they shared the same thoughts on anything—not one tiny iota. Josie reached over and grabbed Twyla’s free hand. “Come on. Moe has bandages in the kitchen.”

Dramatic as Twyla always was, her sister held on to Forrest’s hand as she started walking, stretching her arm out as if Josie was pulling her away from her new husband. When she finally let go of Forrest’s hand, Twyla said, “Don’t let him out of your sight, Scooter. I don’t want to have to go looking for him.”

Josie’s ability to keep her thoughts to herself momentarily disappeared. “Good heavens,” she whispered. “You’ll only be gone a minute.”

“I know,” Twyla whimpered. “But a minute away from Forrest feels like hours.”

Josie bit her lips together to keep her from pointing out that little over a month ago Twyla had been selling kisses for a dime apiece to any man who walked past the cotton candy stand at the amusement park.

She’d barely taken another step when a solid grip wrapped around her elbow.

“Actually,” Scooter said, “Josie wasn’t on her way to the kitchen. She and I were discussing something and weren’t finished.”

Dumbfounded, it took Josie a moment for her mind to kick in. “Yes, we were finished,” she said. The undercurrent of tension surrounding them could sink a ship.

Twyla and Forrest obviously sensed it, too. “Did something happen to the fireworks?” Twyla asked.

“No,” Josie and Scooter answered simultaneously.

They hadn’t broached the subject of fireworks. There had been no need. Scooter was as reliable as Father Time. He said he’d handle the fireworks, and he would, without fail or complications.

Twyla always had to dig deeper. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Scooter said.

“The fireworks will go off as planned,” Josie assured her. At least once a day, usually more often, for the past week Twyla had talked about how Forrest was taking her up in his plane to watch the fireworks, cooing about how romantic it would be. Josie had to admit it did sound romantic, but right now, it made her want to be sick. Probably because of the way Scooter’s hold tightened on her arm. It plainly reminded her romance would never be a part of her life. Ignoring Scooter, she said to Twyla, “It’s almost time to cut your wedding cake. I was on my way to see if the ice cream was ready.”

“Twyla and I can do that,” Forrest said, glancing between her and Scooter. “Sorry to have interrupted you.”

Josie clenched her back teeth together so hard her jaw stung. She took several deep breaths through her nose as Twyla was led off by her new husband. Once they were out of sight, she wrenched her arm free from Scooter’s hold. “That was terribly rude,” she spat out.

“So?”

“So?” she repeated, even more furious at his callous attitude. This was not the Scooter of yesteryear. The one she could have laughed with over the color of her shoes.

He shrugged, as if being rude made no difference to him in the least. “Our conversation wasn’t finished. Why’d you get yourself arrested?”

Huffing out a breath, she used the time to gather her wits. Flying off the handle would only make matters worse. If that was possible. She’d already told him more than she should have. He had the uncanny ability to get things out of her like no one else. “That is none of your business,” she said, sounding much calmer than she was. Catching a glimpse of Norma Rose on the balcony, Josie took a step in that direction. “And our conversation is finished.”

“I’ve made it my business, Josie,” he said.

The conviction in his tone made her spine shiver, but she didn’t turn around.

“There you are,” Norma Rose said, pausing in the open doorway. “We need to move a table into the center of the dance floor for the cake.” Waving a hand, she continued, “Scooter, we could use your help.”

Josie held back her opinion on that as she crossed the threshold and followed Norma Rose across the balcony. When a hand settled on the small of her back, sending fire and ice up and down her spine, she willed herself not to flinch. Half the country was watching them.

“Smile,” Scooter whispered.

“Shut up,” she replied, seething.

He laughed.

She planted a smile on her face for the onlookers while elbowing him in the ribs.

At the bottom of the steps she gladly separated herself from him, and took a spot on the sideline to keep people back while Norma Rose cleared the dance floor and gave directions as to which tables needed to be carried over. When Moe, the assistant cook, appeared, he was followed by several serving girls carrying trays of little glass bowls holding scoops of ice cream drizzled with chocolate syrup and topped with a mint leaf. Josie stepped forward to ensure he had a clear pathway to the tables. The last in line was Silas, the head cook, carrying a cake so tall he could barely see over it.

“I still can’t believe Twyla agreed to ice cream,” Moe whispered as they walked. “But Silas says it’s not the Fourth of July without ice cream.”

“Twyla’s so in love she’d eat mud pies today,” Josie replied. Silas was a bit temperamental, but Moe was always smiling and was the real one in charge of the kitchen.

Moe winked at her. “That’s how a girl should feel on her wedding day.”

Of their own accord Josie’s eyes settled on one of the two men carrying the last table to the center of the floor. She wanted to pull her eyes away from Scooter as badly as she wanted to pinch the bridge of her nose, where a headache was starting to form. “I suspect you’re right.”

“We’ll start serving the hors d’oeuvres around nine,” Moe said. “Before the fireworks start. By then people will be hungry again.”

“Sounds perfect,” Josie answered. “Thank you.”

He set down his tray and directed the girls to start unloading the bowls of ice cream onto the table. “Hurry now, the cake is coming and we don’t want things to melt.” Turning to her, he said, “You go enjoy the day, everything in the kitchen is under control.”

She hadn’t taken a step when a hand took a hold of her elbow. Stepping out of the way of the serving girls, she hissed, “You’re worse than a bad penny today.”

“Thank you,” Scooter said, leading her toward the edge of the platform.

“That wasn’t a compliment,” she said.

“I know.”

Josie bit her tongue as others gathered near. Being the center of attention had never been her way. That much hadn’t changed.

“There sure are a lot of people here,” he said.

“Yes, there are,” Josie answered, noting how others were nodding, having heard his comment. “It’s because of Babe Ruth,” she said, hoping no one noticed how Scooter held her arm. Her subtle attempts to shake off his hold hadn’t worked and anything more strenuous would be noticed. Even with the distraction as Babe Ruth approached.

The ballplayer stopped next to her father, who was in the center of the dance floor along with Forrest and Twyla. A hush came over the crowd when her father held up a hand. He made a brief speech about how he’d known Forrest his entire life and was proud to call him family, and then Babe Ruth said a few words about having flown with Forrest on the east coast and that he was honored to have attended his wedding. He also remarked on how beautiful Twyla was and that if he wasn’t already married, he’d have stolen her away from Forrest.

The crowd roared, especially when Twyla proclaimed that although Babe Ruth was famous, and handsome, she’d still have chosen Forrest, mainly for his airplane.

Josie scanned the area behind her, looking for an escape route, but didn’t have any luck. As she turned back around, Scooter’s chuckle irked her. Pretending it didn’t she asked, “You didn’t have any problems with the fireworks, did you?”

“No,” he answered. “They’re all set to go. Dac and I built a raft and anchored it out in the middle of the lake. That’s where we’ll light the fireworks.”

Scooter was a member of the volunteer fire department and took all fires or potential fires seriously. She figured it was because his father had been with the fire department until he’d lost his life battling a blaze at one of the resorts closer to town several years ago. Nodding, she said, “Twyla’s excited about them.”

“Forrest, too,” Scooter replied. “He’s going to fly over them.”

“I know,” Josie answered.

“Have you ever gone up in his airplane?” Scooter asked.

“No.”

“Afraid?”

“No.”

He chuckled again and the shine in his eyes, the one that said he’d been teasing her, made her drop some of her guard. They had been friends for years, and he was likable, when he wanted to be.

“It’s fun,” he said. “You should try it.”

“I’m sure I will, someday,” she answered. Forrest had been giving airplane rides all afternoon. Even her father had taken one and upon landing had proclaimed he was going to buy his own plane. He most likely would.

“Want to know a secret?”

She frowned and her mouth went dry as she once again brought her gaze up to meet his. “What secret? Whose secret?”

“Twyla’s,” he answered. “She asked Dac and me to set up a tent out on the island.”

“What for?”

“For her and Forrest to spend the night.”

“Tonight?”

He nodded. “She said the island is her and Forrest’s favorite place.”

Josie didn’t doubt that. All of her sisters, not just Twyla, had favorite colors, favorite places and favorite things. She didn’t. Not really. That had never bothered her before today. Once again she chalked it up to the feeling of dread inside her. Maybe it wasn’t necessarily that something was going to happen, but the fact that something had happened. In a matter of a few weeks, everything around her had changed. She was still one of four sisters, but those sisters had all moved on, moved out. Pretty soon it was just going to be her. When Norma Rose and Ty moved into the old farmhouse where they’d all lived before the resort had been built, it would be just her and her father occupying the family area of the second floor.

First Ginger had left, then after tonight, Twyla would no longer be there and soon Norma Rose would be gone—although, while Norma Rose thought no one knew, she hadn’t been sleeping in her room for weeks. She spent most nights at Ty’s cabin. One of the twenty the resort owned that lined the lakeshore.

All that could cause her to be out of sorts. After all, her father would surely notice her comings and goings a lot more in the future. Meaning she’d have to be a lot more careful. Along with making sure Scooter didn’t snitch on her.

He was frowning and looking at her curiously.

“A tent, huh?” Josie said, pretending she hadn’t been thinking about other things. She let her gaze wander around the fountain, toward the big island in the center of the lake. “We all used to play out there,” she said. “Back in the day.”

“I remember your foot being bandaged when school started one year. You’d stepped on a nail out there.”

She’d like to have said she’d forgotten about that. Some of the other kids had teased her and Scooter had put a stop to them. Trying to forget that part, she said, “My grandmother said I was going to get blood poisoning from that nail and insisted I keep my foot above my heart at all times.” Shaking her head, she admitted, “I thought she meant forever. I was afraid I’d die right at my desk when school started.”

“I’m glad that didn’t happen.” With a wink, he added, “Old Mrs. McGillicuddy would have died right alongside you. Besides being as blind as a bat, she was afraid of her own shadow.”

“Probably because you boys were so mean to her,” Josie suggested.

“Mean? We weren’t mean to her,” he said. “She was so easily frightened we couldn’t help but put a stick or two in her desk drawer. She’s the one that thought they were snakes.”

Josie almost laughed at the memories, until she recalled she was still mad at Scooter. Standing here laughing over foolish childish pranks wouldn’t—or at least shouldn’t—lessen that. “Well,” she said seriously, “Mrs. McGillicuddy was a much better teacher than Miss Jenkins.”