“Maybe Roger didn’t know what it was,” Jacob suggested. “Just that Galen was using his Hollywood film company to do it.”
“It had to be the opium,” Forrest said. “The authorities have cracked down on that.”
“Well, then,” Jacob said thoughtfully. “Maybe whoever was behind the opium has stepped forward and wants to reciprocate for Galen taking the fall.”
An uncomfortable twinge crossed Forrest’s shoulders. “What do you know that you’re not saying?”
“Nothing,” Jacob answered earnestly. “I was just thinking aloud. I made it my business not to know anything back then. It was hard enough working here. I certainly never put myself in the position some gangster would want to beat information out of me.”
Forrest believed that. “Do you have any theories?”
“No new ones. I don’t believe Roger has anything to do with the opium trade, but I do believe you need his help to keep Galen behind bars. Where he belongs.” Jacob started walking down the hall, to where both his and Forrest’s rooms were. “I saw how evil that man is. I kept the lawns mowed and the snow shoveled, all the while keeping my ears closed and my nose clean. The only time I interfered in anything was that night, with you. No one ever discovered it was me, and I’m thankful for that. Other than the fact Galen thought it was your mother.”
Forrest refrained from replying. Even before he’d discovered Galen wasn’t his father he’d questioned why his mother was so devoted to her husband. Galen hadn’t been any more pleasant to her than he’d been to anyone else. His aunt and uncle hadn’t had the answer to that. Upon his return home, Forrest had asked his mother. Sternly and rather harshly she’d informed him she’d done it all for him. To make sure he wasn’t born a bastard.
Being born one and being one were two different things in his eyes, and when he’d voiced that, she’d raised her hand to him. The one and only time. She’d apologized afterward and told him how his real father, a man she’d met and fallen in love with while she’d been attending school in New York, had been robbed and killed while escorting her home after a Broadway play. She claimed to have returned to Minnesota, shattered and heartbroken, only to discover a short time later she was pregnant. Galen arrived then and gallantly swept her off her feet, promising to raise the child as his own. They were married within a few weeks.
Forrest hadn’t been impressed with her tale. That was also when he’d left for Nebraska. He’d come home once, after he’d paid to have the hangar built north of town, where his plane was stored. Until nine months ago, he’d only used that hangar once. That had been enough.
He was here now, and had poured every bit of his savings into refurbishing the Plantation. For the first few months he’d completely closed the doors and worked right alongside the men he’d hired, installing the bowling lanes and the billiards room and repairing things that had been neglected for too long. By February, he’d reopened, and although it had taken time for people to enter the doors, skeptical of what was behind them, the novelty of the bowling alley finally won them over. There was only one other alley in the state, in a hotel in St. Paul that was also known to host one of the state’s largest gambling rings and therefore didn’t allow the average person much of a chance to visit.
For the most part, his investment was paying off. The Plantation was now making enough money to pay its employees and utilities, but it would be years before Forrest saw a return on his money, which left him in a predicament—even without Galen’s release.
They’d stopped near Jacob’s bedroom door and as the man opened it, he asked, “You are going to talk to Roger, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” Forrest replied. Having to involve the Nightingales tore at him, but Galen’s pending release didn’t give him much choice. All the ground he’d gained since coming home would wash away faster than a mudslide once Galen hit town. Whether he was peddling opium or not, Roger Nightingale’s influence was his only hope for keeping Galen where he belonged.
“Make it soon,” Jacob said. “Your mother called tonight. She wants you to call her back in the morning.”
Chapter Five
Up until today, Twyla had never realized why Norma Rose had cherished Sundays. Today she’d determined it was because Norma Rose had been tired and needed a slow day to recuperate. Twyla had a throbbing blister on one heel, caused by her shoe, a bruise on her hip from when Palooka George knocked her over on the dance floor after he’d had a few too many highballs, and a headache that said she’d do about anything to not have to get out of bed this morning. It had only been a few hours since she’d collapsed upon the mattress.
She had hauled herself up because this was what she wanted, and she wouldn’t complain. There was no large party to worry about today, but the resort was full of overnight guests and it was part of her job to oversee everything ran as smoothly today as it had last night.
That, however, was a remarkably easy feat. All the time and effort Norma Rose had put in over the past few years had paid off. Housekeeping staff already had the resort as sparkling clean as ever, including the guest rooms and cabins that needed attention. The cooks had meals filling the dining room tables or being carted off to rooms and cabins—room service was just one of the luxuries people bragged about after staying here—and the phone, as it was Sunday, was quiet.
After making her rounds and discovering Josie had already taken care of the few small incidents that had appeared, Twyla retreated to the balcony, where tables had been set up for anyone wanting to enjoy the lake view while partaking of their breakfast.
In the serenity of the warm sun, with the quiet murmuring of the few people inside the dining room and the fresh scent of the lake flowing on a cooling breeze, she consumed a bowl of oatmeal with cream and brown sugar and a full glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. Not the most elaborate of breakfasts, but her very favorite.
The food helped her headache. The loose-fitting yellow-and-white polka-dot dress covered the bruise on her hip without any chafing, and she’d pushed the back of her shoe down to prevent further irritation to the blister. The day was looking up, and she was going to appreciate it being Sunday, too. A bit of downtime never hurt anyone.
Her gaze swept down the hill to the lake, where a couple walked along one of the docks. A boat tied to the end bounced lazily upon the water and Twyla watched as Ty assisted Norma Rose into the craft after he’d climbed in himself. Norma Rose untied the boat while Ty took an oar handle in each hand and started paddling away from the dock. The rowboat gradually swung around and Ty started paddling forward, toward the big island in the center of Bald Eagle Lake.
Twyla closed her eyes. Although she looked at it every day, it had been years since she’d been on the island. She hadn’t set foot there since the days when Forrest used to row them all over to the shore. In their youth, they’d spent hours looking for treasure buried by some ancient and quite imaginary pirates.
Under the table, where no one walking by might notice, she lifted her legs and rested her feet upon the chair across from her. Life had been fun back then. Every day had been an adventure. From searching for pirate treasures to playing tag in the echoing old pavilion. A portion of the dance floor was all that was left of the old building. With Norma Rose’s vision and father’s money, the entire resort had been remodeled over the past few years, turning it into the showy place it was today.
For a split second, Twyla wondered how different things might be if Norma Rose and Forrest hadn’t been caught kissing in his car that night of his graduation. If Forrest hadn’t left and if the two of them, Norma Rose and Forrest, had gotten married.
Her mind didn’t have time to wander down that road because her sense of tranquility was rudely interrupted.
“Sleeping on the job?”
The sound of Forrest’s voice not only tore her lids open, but it also sent her heart careening across her chest lik
e a rowboat in a windstorm. “You’re back,” she said coldly, although an inner flash of heat left her almost feverish.
“I’m back,” he said, grasping the back of the chair her feet were on with both hands.
Challenging him to move the chair with a single glare, she didn’t remove her feet. She still didn’t believe he wasn’t in love with Norma Rose. There could be no other reason for him to be here. “You’re too late,” she said, gesturing toward the water. “Norma Rose and Ty are rowing to the island.”
He turned to look and that irritated her more.
“I haven’t been to the island in years,” he said.
Her eyes wandered down the length of him. He didn’t have on his flyboy getup, but looked almost as good in the brown pants and cream-and-brown-striped shirt.
“Remember when we stole the boards out of the hayloft and rowed them over to the island to build a tree fort?”
Her heart sprouted wings, fluttering at yet another happy memory. Twyla lifted her gaze to meet his. “Yes, I remember.” She searched her brain for a minute, but was unable to recall and asked, “Did we ever build it?”
His smile was rather contagious. “No, Josie stepped on a nail and we had to haul her home.”
“That’s right,” she agreed. “You had to carry her all the way to the boat and then she lay around for weeks, making us all wait on her.”
“Yes, she did, and then school started again, so we never got back out to work on it.”
His tone had turned solemn. She could relate. They’d all hated fall. Forrest hadn’t attended school around here like her and her sisters. He’d gone to a private boys’ school down in the city. Other than during the Christmas and Easter breaks, he hadn’t returned home until late spring. Twyla, along with her sisters, had eagerly awaited his return, for it had always seemed like a part of their family had been missing.
“And,” she added, looking for something to erase the heaviness settling around them, “Father explained to all of us that we didn’t own the island and couldn’t just go building on someone else’s property.”
Forrest’s gaze had gone back to the island, and she wondered if the sense of longing hanging in the air was coming from him or her.
“He bought it,” Twyla said when Forrest remained silent. “My father bought the island for the taxes owed on it a few years ago.”
“I didn’t know that,” Forrest replied. “Our wood is probably still sitting in a pile out there, rotting away.”
She laughed. “It was probably well-rotted when we stole it out of the barn. The hayloft was refurbished when...” She let her voice trail off, not meaning to have gone that far.
“When your father started running shine?” Forrest suggested.
It was no secret, but Twyla understood the importance of not sharing certain things openly. Her father’s business was the reason she had the life she did, but she wasn’t fool enough to believe it would last forever. Nothing did. Even here. In the past few weeks, Ginger had run away and Norma Rose had made a complete turnaround. Even Josie was more secretive than usual. Her father also understood the way things could change so quickly. He’d signed over the resort to his daughters, and Twyla, by herself if need be, would make sure Nightingale’s continued to be a success. Until Forrest had up and left town, she hadn’t realized how poor they’d been. She did now, and keeping things as they were was her sole purpose.
Norma Rose and Ty were now little more than a dot on the lake. Gesturing at a gull flying over the water, Twyla said, “I bet you wish you were in your airplane, flying over their boat like that bird so you could see what they’re doing.”
Forrest turned slowly and looked at her quizzically for several moments before asking, “Do you have the day off?”
For a second she’d thought he was going to say something much more worthwhile. Exactly what, she wasn’t sure, but his thoughtfulness had reminded her of years ago when he’d been contemplating an adventure for all of them. Letting go of her whimsical thoughts, Twyla shrugged. “It’s a Sunday. They’re always slow. People are recovering from Friday and Saturday nights.”
“Can you leave if you want?”
Curiosity, or perhaps hope, leaped inside her. Yet, trying not to show any reaction, she asked, “Why?”
“So I can give you a ride in my airplane.”
Twyla’s heart nearly jumped out of her chest. Unable to control the excitement flaring inside she bounded to her feet so fast the chairs and table wobbled. She very well could have been ten years old again, responding to an escapade he’d suggested. Forrest had always come up with the best ideas. “You mean it?”
“Yes, I mean it. If you want to.”
His smile captured her heart as fast as his answer. “I want to,” she agreed immediately. “I surely do.”
He grabbed her hand. “Well, come on, then.”
Her excitement doubled, and she squeezed his hand on impulse. His grin was far more intoxicating than a double shot of whiskey. As they entered the dining room through the double doorway, Twyla’s excitement calmed enough for her mind to snag. “Why did you come out here today?”
“To talk to your father,” Forrest said. “Josie told me he and Palooka George went someplace and won’t be back until this afternoon. That’ll give us plenty of time for a flyby.”
“A flyby?”
He nodded. “That’s a short flight just for fun.”
“Where’d you see Josie?” Twyla asked. The thrill of riding in an airplane overtook her again. She could discover what he wanted to talk to her father about anytime, but the chance to have a ride in an airplane might never happen again. The thought was so thrilling she was practically trembling. “I have to tell her I’m leaving.”
“In the office,” Forrest said.
They exited the dining room side by side and turned the corner to the hallway leading to both Norma Rose’s and her father’s offices. “Do I need to change?” Twyla asked. “It would only take me a minute.”
“Not unless you want to,” Forrest answered. “I have an extra flight jacket at the hangar.”
A flight jacket! She’d dreamed of wearing one of those leather coats with the fur collars. She hoped he had an extra hat, too. The one she’d seen him wearing was cherries. Just cherries. Her feet barely touched the floor as she made her way down the hall. Life just kept getting better and better, despite Forrest’s reappearance. In fact, in this instance he was the reason for the improvement.
Josie was in Norma Rose’s office, talking on the phone, which she hung up abruptly when Forrest pushed open the door. She most likely had been talking with one of the women from her Ladies Aid Society. Twyla had no idea what went on at all those meetings, having only attended the few Josie dragged her and Norma Rose to a couple of times a year, but she did know they weren’t as innocent as they appeared. Yet she couldn’t imagine some of the old women who hosted the meetings doing a lot more than crocheting doilies and watering roses.
“I’m going to town with Forrest,” Twyla said. “We’ll be gone a couple of hours.”
Josie cast a curious glance between her and Forrest, but then nodded. “All right, but just so you know, I have a meeting on Tuesday, a long one. I’ll be gone most of the day.”
“All right,” Twyla replied. This, too, was working out wonderfully, the way she and Josie could swap time at work in order to see to personal things. She’d covered when Josie had attended a meeting last Tuesday, too, and on Thursday Josie had covered for her while she’d spent the day shopping for the outfit she’d worn last night and the polka-dot dress she had on today. Pulling the door closed, she asked Forrest, “You sure I don’t need to change?”
“Not unless you want to,” he said again.
She didn’t want to waste the time, and she also needed to get away before someone stopped her. With her fa
ther gone and Norma Rose on the island, it wasn’t likely, but one never knew. Then again, she was so used to sneaking out that not rushing was impossible.
Forrest stopped on the front porch to tell Bronco, “Twyla’s going with me, so there’s no need for you to go looking for her.”
Bronco laughed. “Thanks.”
Twyla pinched her lips against a sense of chagrin. She liked Bronco, he was a nice man. She just didn’t like him being her tail all the time, and, in all fairness, she had led him on more than one wild-goose chase.
“I’ll have her back in a couple of hours,” Forrest said.
“Good enough,” Bronco replied, leaning back in the chair he often settled upon near the front door.
Twyla understood her father paid his watchmen well, as he did all his employees. Even she made a nice salary, but she did feel a pinch of sympathy for Bronco and the others. Their jobs had to be so boring. “Oh, goodness,” she said, while crossing the parking lot and the realization hit that she was leaving the resort. “I didn’t even fetch my purse.”
“You aren’t going to need it,” Forrest said, opening the passenger door of his roadster. “I’m not going to charge you for the ride.”
She laughed, feeling freer than she had even in the past two weeks. “Well, that’s good to know.”
Forrest chuckled. He shut the passenger door after she’d climbed in, then walked around the hood of the car. Twyla leaned over to check if she could catch her reflection in the chrome framing the windshield. Her image was a bit distorted, but she could see well enough to double-knot the yellow scarf around her neck so it wouldn’t come loose while they were driving.
Or flying.
Applesauce and horsefeathers! She was going flying!
Little old Twyla Nightingale flying. It just couldn’t get much better than this. Just couldn’t. Twisting, she checked her hair and earrings and then wished she had grabbed her purse so she could reapply the lipstick that had rubbed off during breakfast.
The Rebel Daughter (Daughters Of The Roaring Twenties Book 2) Page 8
