The Bootlegger's LegacyBook ThreeMoonshine Madness Series
Chapter One
St. Paul,
Minnesota – Early-June 1926
CHAR
My Coco Chanel dress rustled softly in the warm, balmy
evening as I slid out of the limousine, clutching the hand of my beau. Will
stood patiently as he assisted me, looking extraordinarily dashing in a black tuxedo
with a long-tailed cutaway coat.
Will had purchased tickets to a glamorous charity ball
sponsored by the St. Paul Women’s Friendship Club to celebrate his birthday. The
annual event had been a family tradition, dating back to his youth when his
late mother had served on the club’s executive board. I’d never attended a black-tie
ball before, but I’d read articles in the society section of the newspaper about
fundraising galas. For days, I had looked forward to a wonderful evening of dining
and dancing with Will and my friends.
As we stepped onto the sidewalk, Will paused and smiled
at me. He stood well over six feet tall with broad shoulders and muscular arms.
His thick black hair glistened in the bright June sun. His deep blue eyes gazed
into mine. “You look wonderful tonight, Char.”
“Thank you.” My heart fluttered at the tenderness in his deep,
throaty voice. I’d purchased a shimmering black dress with cap sleeves purposely
for this occasion. The skirt’s hem brushed my ankles with an overlay that sloped
upward toward my right side. The two-tiered, draping bodice slanted toward the
opposite side. I’d finished my outfit with matching T-strap shoes, elbow-length
gloves, my favorite black beaded shawl, and a platinum and diamond necklace set.
“Ahem,” Will’s sister, Madeline, said loudly.
Glancing past my shoulder, I caught Madeline prodding
Will’s back with the tip of her red-lacquered fingernail to make him stop
flirting and get moving.
“Peter, tell your girlfriend to stop poking me,” Will
said with mock irritation to the fellow at her side.
“Tell her yourself,” Peter replied with a wry chuckle.
“She won’t listen to me.”
Laughing, Will offered me his arm and escorted me to the
canopied front entrance of the elegant Saint Paul Hotel.
Will had convinced Madeline and his best friend, Peter
Garrett, to accompany us using the excuse that the couple he’d originally
purchased the tickets for had canceled at the last minute and he couldn’t find
anyone else. Madeline and Peter accepted his story, but he hadn’t fooled me.
Once upon a time, Madeline and Peter had been the talk of
the town. Back then, she’d found the handsome, eligible bachelor with a Harvard
law degree and impeccable manners irresistibly attractive. She eventually
became bored with him, however, and though they’d parted friends, nowadays their
paths rarely crossed. I suspected Will hoped his sister and his best friend would
renew their romance. I couldn’t fault Will for trying, but I worried his good intentions
were doomed to fail.
Peter, a successful attorney, wanted to settle down and
raise a family. Maddie, as she preferred to be called, considered herself a “free
spirit” who drank bootlegged whiskey and danced the night away. Whenever they
were together, Maddie and Peter fought like cats and dogs. I hoped they were
too distracted by all the gaiety tonight to disagree on anything, but I had a
feeling this little reunion was a huge miscalculation on Will’s part.
We walked through a spacious, European-style lobby furnished with leather furniture, marble
columns, and palm trees. Waterford crystal chandeliers showered the room with
sparkling light. The room held such an enchanting atmosphere, I couldn’t wait
to see what the ballroom looked like.
We approached the elevator, operated by a young man
wearing a red bellhop uniform and a round, brimless cap with a leather chin
strap. His cropped coat narrowed at the waist, embellished with three vertical
rows of gold buttons. A matching gold stripe accentuated the sides of his
trousers.
He nodded solemnly at Will. “To the ballroom, sir?”
“Yes,” Will replied as he ushered us into the elevator
car.
I stood quietly by Will’s side, our fingers tightly
entwined as the bellhop extended his gloved hand, pulled the glass door and
metal scissor gate closed then pressed the lever on the manual control. We slowly
glided up to the ballroom floor. Once there, we stepped out of the car and
walked to the wide-open doors of the Promenade Ballroom where a silver-haired
gentleman in a tuxedo stood behind a wooden podium. The man perused Will’s
tickets and slipped them inside a flat leather pouch. “Your name, sir?”
Will smiled. “William Van Elsberg.”
The man uncapped his fountain pen and crossed Will’s name
off his list. “Very good, sir. I’ll show you to your table. Right this way
please.”
Laughter and lively banter echoed through the softly lit ballroom
as we followed our host to a round table covered with peach linen, gold-rimmed dishes,
and crystal stemware. The gentleman wished us all an enjoyable evening before
departing.
Peter pulled out Maddie’s chair to seat her. Will stood
patiently as he assisted me. I sat down and promptly moved my chair closer to his
before slipping my shawl off my shoulders.
Maddie ignored Peter as she sat down and instead glanced
around, waving at a young woman she knew across the room. “Don’t look now, but,
the old biddies of the Friendship Club are on their high horses tonight,” she announced
with a droll smile as she turned back to us, placing her black sequined clutch
on the table. “Faye Delacorte and her friends on the board must be on fashion
guard duty. Not that I care, mind you, but she’s apparently taken issue with my
outfit. She’s gossiping about it with the other fossils—I mean, board members—right
now.”
I had been too focused on following Will to our table to
notice anyone watching us. Still, the name Delacorte sounded familiar. Where
had I heard that before? “Perhaps they were merely curious,” I replied,
unconcerned.
“Not these ladies.” Maddie’s kohl-lined eyes flashed.
“The Friendship Club disapproves of anyone who dares to be fashionable.” She
snorted. “It violates their ancient dress code.”
Maddie’s taste in evening couture
was a dazzling black shift in fine silk, hand-embroidered with glass bugle beads
and shimmering sequins. The sleeveless, body-baring fashion had a knee-length
hemline to show off her curvy legs when she danced. She wore a matching cloche
hat over her black, chin-length bob, adorned with a satin ribbon above the brim
and accented with an ostrich feather. And of course, she wore her signature
rope of pearls. The outfit looked terrific on her, but a flapper dress was unconventional
and a bit risqué for a formal dress ball.
“Pipe down, Maddie,” Peter whispered as he sat down and glared
at her, unimpressed with her opinions. “The people around us hear your criticism
of our hosts. It’s rude and embarrassing.”
“I’m a modernist,” she responded matter-of-factly as if
the proclamation alone was sufficient to counter his rebuke. “I’m not afraid to
speak my mind.”
My gaze swept the ballroom, noting a sea of gray-haired attendees.
Some of them were looking our way, especially that small crowd of ladies
huddled together by the dance floor. A few women scattered about the room reflected
our age group—Maddie was twenty-eight and I was twenty-six—but this event overwhelmingly
favored a mature crowd. Older women tended to be traditionalists who believed
in long-held cultural and religious values. Simply put, their view maintained
that a woman’s place was in the home raising children, not exercising her
independence with loose morals. And that included exposing her knees.
“I don’t understand why you paid a sack full of money for
tickets to this yawner to celebrate your birthday, Will,” Maddie continued as
she raised one finely penciled brow. “We could be having more fun at a gin mill,
kicking up some dust! This was fine entertainment for our parents when they
were alive, but we don’t have anything in common with such a stuffy crowd.”
Will gave his sister a stern look. “You’re right, I did
spend a lot of dough on the tickets so behave yourself. We’re not leaving early
to get sozzled at your favorite gin mill.”
He plucked a small cluster of miniature peach roses from a
round glass vase in the center of the table and tucked the stem behind my ear. “I
thought it would be nice to donate to a worthy cause, Char, and at the same
time, introduce you to some of the members of the club. Many of them live near you.”
“I love that idea, Will,” I replied, anxious to change
the subject and ultimately the mood around the table.
My late husband, Gus LeDoux, had built a palatial mansion
for me on Summit Avenue in St. Paul but in the three years I’d owned it, I’d
never had the occasion to meet any of my neighbors. Gus and I had been so busy
establishing our nightclub, La Coquette, that we never had time for socializing
outside of our business clientele. After he died, I’d had my hands full raising
my infant son, Julien, and overseeing Gus’ business empire.
Except for La Coquette. The nightclub had been problematic
since the day it opened, and the Feds shut it down before Gus passed. Since
then, I had reopened the building as a shelter for homeless and abused women.
I’d renamed it “Anna’s House” to honor the memory of my late mother.
Thinking about La Coquette suddenly jogged my memory, reminding
me why the name Delacorte sounded so familiar…
A waiter appeared, interrupting my thoughts as he filled a
stemmed glass with ice water. “Would you like coffee or perhaps an iced tea?”
I looked up. “I’ll take an iced tea, please.”
“I’d like a ginger ale,” Maddie said as he filled her water
glass.
The men ordered coffee.
The waiter returned quickly with our beverages. After he
left, Maddie slipped her fingers into her handbag and retrieved a small silver
flask, the one she always carried with her.
Peter’s jaw clenched. Behind his wire-rimmed glasses, his
brown eyes pierced hers. “Really, Maddie,” he complained under his breath,
“must you do that here?”
“Don’t be such a flat tire, Peter. I’m thirsty.” She rolled
her eyes and quickly poured a generous amount of whiskey into her glass then
buried the flask back inside her clutch. “Besides, I doubt I’m the only person
in this room spiking my soda with a little giggle water.”
I took a sip of iced
tea to conceal my amusement as I wondered about that. It was no secret that
prohibition hadn’t stopped the illegal manufacture, sale, or distribution of
bootlegged liquor in St. Paul. Gus once told me that there were tunnels below the
hotels in St. Paul where bootleggers transported booze to the kitchens for
guests to consume discreetly in the privacy of their rooms. I didn’t know if that
was true at this hotel, but I didn’t think it would be difficult to obtain
liquor if a guest wanted some.
Will held up his water glass. “Cheers.”
Everyone followed suit, clinking their glasses together
in agreement.
Our waiter appeared with our first
course of tomato
bisque soup with a side dish of cheese straws. He also set a dish filled with celery,
salted nuts, and olives on the table.
The previous discussion fizzled in favor of enjoying our
meal. I dismissed all curious thoughts from my mind and began to relax as my apprehension
over Maddie and Peter subsided, giving way to the merriment of dining with dear
friends.
We were enjoying our soup when Maddie glanced up. Her smile
faded. “Oh-oh. Here they come,” she said wryly.
The conversation abruptly ceased as a small army of footsteps
approached the table.
A stately woman wearing a black, floor-length gown,
wire-rimmed glasses, and heirloom diamonds suddenly stood next to my chair,
looking down at me with a grim frown. Her stone-gray hair was twisted into a
bun on the crown of her head and accentuated with a tortoiseshell comb. Her
three companions stood behind her. “Are you Charlotte LeDoux?” she demanded
with an official, duty-first tone in her voice.
Everyone at the table froze.
“Yes,” I said, tense with uncertainty as I encountered
the woman’s stern gaze. “What can I do for you?”
“You must leave,” she announced then glanced sternly at
her companions for reinforcement. At their nod, her expression grew cold.
“Immediately.”
I stared at her in shock. My spoon clattered into my bowl.
“I—I don’t understand.”
“What’s going on?” Will slid his arm around me. “What’s
the meaning of this, Faye?”
“I’m sorry, William,” Faye Delacorte replied stiffly,
“but only members and their families are allowed to attend this event. You know
the rules. It’s a private affair.”
“This is ridiculous!” Maddie slammed her glass on the
table. “Both Peter’s mother and mine were board members of this club. I’m a
lifetime member. Char is my guest.”
Faye ignored Maddie’s protest, focusing on me. “Let me be
frank, Mrs. LeDoux, so there is no misunderstanding on your part. We are a
Christian organization of law-abiding citizens,” she stated crisply. “We don’t
approve of people like you and your husband.”
Suddenly, Faye’s reason for expelling me became crystal
clear. It never dawned on me that Gus’ reputation as a notorious bootlegger was
still alive—even though he wasn’t. About a year ago, he had been killed during
a shootout with federal agents.
“You mean my late husband, Gus,” I replied defiantly.
“Yes.” Her lips formed a tight line as though the mere mention
of my husband’s name in public was so scandalous—gasp—she could barely
acknowledge it.
“With all due respect, Faye, you’re wrong.” Will’s lean
face darkened with anger. “Her husband was involved in that business. She is
not. You have no excuse to insult my guest like this and I’d like you to
apologize immediately.”
Faye stood her ground, holding her head high. “I
disagree.” She glanced over her shoulder at the rest of her posse. Once again,
they nodded in support. She turned back to us. “Her status in the community has
been tainted by his criminal activities. Allowing her to be here damages your
mother’s legacy and the good name of The Women’s Friendship Club. Now,
if you please—”
“Fine.” Will pulled his napkin off his lap and tossed it
on the table. “Have it your way. We’ll leave.” He stood up, glaring with disgust
as he pulled out my chair.
Peter followed suit. Maddie gulped the rest of her ginger
ale and stood. “I’ve been kicked out of better places than this.” She grabbed
her clutch. “Let’s go!”
Well, that was that. I had been foolishly naive to think
the notoriety surrounding Gus’ life and death wouldn’t affect my future. This painful
encounter, however, made me realize it would always be a curse upon me. Worse
yet, I had embarrassed my friends. I didn’t care what anyone thought of me, but
I cared deeply that my friends had been subjected to public humiliation because
of me. I rose from the table, clutching my shawl. The sooner we left, the
better.
It was so quiet in the ballroom you could hear a pin drop.
I turned away from my sanctimonious accusers, wishing I had some way to wipe that
triumphant sneer off Faye Delacorte’s wrinkled face.
A man’s deep chuckle prompted me to look up. Across the
room, I saw a familiar face staring back at me. He appeared just as I
remembered him—florid, stout, balding. And as arrogant as ever. A slight curve
at the corner of his bluish lips indicated he was reveling in my misfortune.
Was this his way of getting revenge for the small fortune he’d lost gambling at
La Coquette? Whatever the cause, the glare in his eyes indicated he thought he
was better than me. Him and his nasty wife…
Something inside me instantly changed. I couldn’t stop
them from ordering me to leave, but I didn’t have to go quietly. Or with my
tail between my legs.
I whirled around, confronting Faye Delacorte with a
renewed surge of energy and a clear sense of purpose. “You know, if I were you,
I wouldn’t look down my nose at people who didn’t measure up to my rigid
standards,” I said loudly. “You never know, someone in your family might get
caught with his pants down and embarrass you, knocking you off your
self-righteous throne.”
Will slid his fingers around my arm. “Come on, Char.
Let’s go.”
I shrugged off his hand. I wasn’t finished yet…
“Oh, and just so there is no misunderstanding on your
part,” I continued, raising my voice, “many of the so-called upstanding,
pillar-of-the-society husbands in this room were regular customers at my
husband’s nightclub. They drank, they gambled, and at the end of the evening, they
left with glamorous young chorus girls hanging on their arms.”
Faye’s eyes widened with shock as a collection of gasps
echoed around the room. Her face blanched. “How dare you…”
“Char—”
I treated her to a triumphant smile as Will grabbed my
arm again and pulled me toward the door. “Every weekend, rain or shine,” I
shouted, “drinking, dancing, and cheating on their wives like there was no
tomorrow.” My gaze swept the room, catching more familiar faces. “The Bible
says that your sin will find you out. Right, fellas?” I cut a sideways glance
at Faye’s husband, Charles, enjoying watching him sweat. “Right, Charles?”
The gasps turned to snickers.
“Get out,” Faye screeched, her face now flaming with
anger. “Get out, now! Or I’ll have you thrown out!”
Will managed to pull me out of the room and into the
hallway just as the doors to the elevator opened. He pushed me inside and pressed
me toward the back of the car. Maddie and Peter stood in front of me,
presumably to keep me from charging back out to have another go-around with our
imperious host.
As the doors closed, a rush of conflicting emotions
washed over me. On one hand, the Delacortes—Faye and her odious husband, Charles—deserved
to have their dirty secrets made public after the despicable way they’d behaved
toward me. On the other hand, I regretted embarrassing my friends by reacting
like an impetuous schoolgirl who’d been picked on one too many times by the
class bully. Regardless of who was at fault, the glaring fact remained that
because of my husband’s notorious legacy, I would never be accepted by my
wealthy peers.
The realization that I’d been unfairly judged angered me,
but it also made me see the indisputable truth. Even in death, Gus’s reputation
overshadowed me, controlling my life. I knew of only one way to change that. Go
my own way, create my own legacy, one that upheld the person I was, not
the person I’d married. It sounded impossible, but I had to try.
But first, I had to make things right with my companions.
I took a deep breath. “I’m sorry I lost my temper. I embarrassed you all.”
Maddie burst out laughing. “Don’t be—she deserved it,
Char. I’m glad you put that old hag in her place.” She looked back at me. “That
was the best show I’ve seen in a long time!”
Will didn’t answer me or acknowledge my heartfelt
apology. He stared at the floor, frowning.
I couldn’t tell what was going through his mind. Was he
rethinking our relationship?
His silence worried me. A lot.
~*~
I hope you enjoyed this chapter! The rest of the story is available on Kindle and Kindle Unlimited.
~*~
Audiobook Coming Soon!
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No release date yet, but it's coming...
Oh, my goodness, what is
Char up to now?
A new husband, a new baby,
and a new adventure await her as she builds
The Nightengale Detective Agency
Book Four
Moonshine Madness Series
~*~
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