The Rebel Daughter (Daughters Of The Roaring Twenties Book 2)

by Lauri Robinson

  “Call him.”

  “You know he’s always too busy to talk on the phone.” Twyla curled her toes, excitement zipping up and down her insides at the prospect of seeing Forrest, if just for a minute.

  Shaking her head, Norma Rose said, “Fine, go, but don’t be gone long.”

  “I won’t be,” Twyla assured, turning around. Over her shoulder, she added, “I’ll call Wayne as soon as I get back.”

  She took a shortcut through the ballroom and out the front door, as close to sprinting as one could get without actually running. Walter, the main groundskeeper, was at the garage where the family cars were kept.

  “Going somewhere?” he asked.

  “Just up to Scooter’s station,” she said. Walter most likely knew her car had a full tank of gas. “I have to talk to him about our Fourth of July party.”

  “Does Norma Rose know you’re leaving?”

  With their father in Chicago, his men were extra cautious of any and all comings and goings. Furthermore, old habits died hard; Walter had stopped her from leaving when she hadn’t had permission more than once over the years. “Yes, she does,” Twyla said. Every minute wasted put Forrest that much closer to his hangar. “I won’t be gone long.”

  Walter’s look was skeptical, but he moved to open the large swinging door. Twyla scurried to her car and started the engine, ready to back out when Walter swung open the second door.

  She considered taking the back road, as it was faster than the main one, but Walter was sure to question that, so she turned and made her way through the parking lot, driving so slowly her teeth clenched. As soon as she was out of sight, she gunned the car and tightened her hold on the steering wheel when the back of her coupe fishtailed.

  She fought the wheel, and eventually won the battle of keeping the car on the road. Slowing a bit, she maneuvered the rest of the curves without any trouble and bounced over the railroad tracks a short while later.

  Forrest had been angry with her yesterday morning, and might be again, but so be it. He needed help in assuring his father remained behind bars, and that’s what friends did. They helped each other. She could live with the fact he’d never planned on telling her he was leaving, but she couldn’t live with the thought of Galen hurting him again.

  The highway was clear both ways, and she hit the gas harder after taking a left toward Lester’s farm. A second later, it hit her that someone might call Scooter to double-check she put gas in her car.

  Flustered, she hit the brake and cranked the wheel. The car spun so fast she grew dizzy, but once again she kept it on the road. Now facing the other direction, she laid her foot hard on the gas. A mile later she cranked the wheel again, to pull into the fueling station.

  To her utmost astonishment a large Closed sign hung on the door. Dang. She’d wasted valuable time for nothing.

  Gravel sprayed from beneath her tires as she rounded the gas pump and headed toward the highway again. A couple of miles later, she slowed her speed, watching the side roads to make out the exact one she and Forrest had used on Sunday. When her heart skipped a beat, she turned, knowing it had to be the one.

  This road was as rough as a washboard, but Twyla had to drive slowly anyway, watching carefully for the field road that led to Forrest’s hangar. It seemed as if she went a hundred miles, and was just about to turn around, figuring she’d missed the turn, when she saw it.

  Little more than two tire trails in the grass, the field road wasn’t very long. In no time she pulled up next to Forrest’s roadster.

  Climbing out of her car, she examined his. How could a man have a car that nice, and an airplane, and a bowling alley, and be broke? Perhaps that was why. All those things cost money.

  The hangar doors were open, and no doubt having heard her pull in, Forrest, dressed in his flyboy jacket, hat and boots, was leaning against one of them. “What are you doing here?”

  “Aren’t you a little bit excited to see me?” she asked. Considering the way her insides were leaping, she was a lot more than a little happy to see him.

  He shook his head. “Your father should keep you handcuffed.”

  She ignored his jibe. His grin said more. He was happy. He just didn’t want to admit it. Maybe hearts could talk to each other, just like Norma Rose had said.

  “I heard your plane,” she said, arriving at the hangar. He’d gone back inside and was hooking the fuel nozzle back onto the barrel. “And thought I’d come to see where you’d gone.”

  “Just for a short flight,” he said.

  “Where to? Why?” Twyla couldn’t help but wish he’d asked her to accompany him. She’d have gone, even though her father had said she couldn’t go flying until after he returned from Chicago.

  “North a ways,” Forrest said, pulling the barrel toward the door. “For a friend.”

  “For a friend? Who?”

  He shook his head.

  Walking beside him, she shook her head too, and wished she’d taken the time to reapply her lipstick or run a comb through her hair. “Fine, don’t tell me.”

  “I have no intention of telling you anything,” he said.

  She rolled her eyes, but wasn’t surprised. There had to be a way to show him she was more than a pretty face. That she had a mind and could help him in all situations. Noticing one of the concrete blocks the barrel sat on was tipped slightly upward, she hurried ahead to push it back in place. Stomping on it didn’t work, so she kneeled down, but couldn’t budge it with her hands, either. When Forrest crouched down beside her, she said, “There must be something under it.”

  “I noticed that one was loose the other day. Here, let me see. A root might have pushed a rock up.”

  She scooted over, but when Forrest lifted the edge of the block, she leaned closer. “What is that?”

  “What’s what?” Forrest asked.

  “That,” she said, pointing and moving aside so he could peer under the block.

  “I don’t know.” He shoved the block aside and then scraped at the dirt. “It looks like a handle.” Forrest lifted up another block. “There wasn’t anything here when I dug out this area.”

  “Why do you put your gas tank here?” she asked.

  “Because it would get too hot inside. Here it has some shade, and is far enough away that if any fuel leaked out, it wouldn’t be under the plane, where it could catch fire.”

  He’d removed three other blocks while talking, and was now digging with his hands.

  “It’s a suitcase,” he said.

  For the first time in years, Twyla didn’t consider the damage she might do to her freshly painted nails, and dug beside him. “It’s like buried treasure.”

  “Hardly anyone knows about this place,” Forrest said. “And I know nothing was here when I laid the blocks.”

  “Maybe the tree roots pushed it up,” she said.

  “Tree roots wouldn’t have pushed this up.”

  They’d dug all along the edges and were now digging down. “It’s huge,” Twyla said. “I didn’t know they made suitcases this big.”

  “That’s because you’re used to the little one your uncle Dave carries samples of whiskey in,” Forrest said teasingly. “This is the size people pack clothes in for trips.”

  She scrunched her nose at him. “I’ve seen other suitcases. People bring them to the resort all the time.”

  “Then you’ll see,” he said, still digging. “They’re about the size of this one. You’ve just never had to dig one out of the ground before.”

  “You’re right,” she said, “as usual.”

  He laughed, and so did she, her heart overflowing. Finding a suitcase like this was fitting. Everything with Forrest was an adventure.

  Once they had dug all the way around it, she leaned back while Forrest pulled the suitcase upward. “I
don’t know what’s in it, but it’s heavy.”

  Twyla grabbed the bottom of the suitcase, pushing for all her worth. The last bit of ground seizing the suitcase crumbled and she and the case tumbled against Forrest. The suitcase landed on his lap as he grabbed her arms, keeping her from falling on top of it.

  “You all right?” he asked.

  She couldn’t even nod, not when she was close enough to see the dark centers of his eyes. Her gaze wandered down to his mouth, and her entire being wanted to lean forward and taste his lips all over again. If only she could make him love her.

  “Twyla?”

  “Fine,” she said, her mind snapping to attention. She couldn’t make him love her years ago, and couldn’t now. “I’m fine. What’s in the case?”

  “I don’t know yet.”

  The look in his eyes stole her breath away. He still had a hold of her arms, but it was an invisible connection she felt more. Something strong and powerful, and as old as time. Accepting she’d never be able to fight it—the love she felt for Forrest—she closed her eyes.

  The kiss didn’t startle her. It was exactly what she wanted. A slow, tender merging of their lips. But it was short. Much too short.

  “Let’s see what’s in it,” Forrest said as his lips left hers.

  Convinced nothing in that case could be as amazing as kissing him, Twyla almost said it could wait, but didn’t. Instead she reminded herself that nothing was forever. Even Forrest. He was only here for a short time again. However, rather than moping about it, she was going to take it for what it was. Enjoy every moment to the fullest, and treasure those memories when he disappeared again.

  “What are you grinning about?” He let go of her arms, after easing her backward, to where she sat on her knees again.

  Gravel dug into her shins and she glanced down. Dirt covered the front of her white-and-pink-striped dress, enough that it was sure to be stained forever. Not even that mattered. “Because I want to know what’s in the suitcase,” she said. “Open it.”

  Forrest shook his head, but then let out a low whistle as he lifted the lid.

  Twyla crawled around to peer in the case. “What are those?” She gestured to what looked like a box of metal bricks.

  Forrest held one up. “They’re engraved printing plates.” Turning it slightly, he added, “From the American National Bank of Los Angeles.”

  Excitement laced his words. She picked up a block, but couldn’t read it. Everything was backward. “They’re what?”

  Forrest was looking through the case. “Printing plates,” he said. “To print money.”

  Twyla surveyed the piece she held more closely. “Money?”

  “Before the Federal Reserve Act was enacted in 1913, banks printed their own money. All their plates were to have been turned in, so I doubt these are originals, but I’d bet they’re exact copies.”

  “How do you know all that?”

  He grinned. “You, the girl who claims to love money, doesn’t know the history of it?”

  She shook her head.

  “Money became a necessity when trading commodities, fish for corn, or bread for meat, became too cumbersome to keep up,” Forrest said. “First there were coins, and then paper money. Local banks would print notes for people to exchange based on the collateral they gave the bank, but a lot of the bank notes were only good in specific regions. During the Civil War, Congress created demand notes. They were different from banknotes, because they were backed by the government and payable upon demand in coin at certain treasury locations, and legal tender across the entire United States, no matter where they were printed or spent. Later those became U.S. notes and the National Currency Bureau was formed to oversee national banks across the nation, who printed national banknotes.”

  She was listening, but in truth, was a bit lost. “So these aren’t any good?”

  “Yes, and no,” Forrest said, placing both the bar she held and his into the suitcase and shutting the lid. “Bills are made of paper, which eventually wears out, making a need for new ones to be printed. However, old bills show up all the time. You could have some and spend them as easily as new ones. It’s when a bank gets them that they are finally destroyed and replaced by the Federal Reserve. So if someone had these, and the right machinery, and the right paper and ink, they could print bills and easily pass them off as real.”

  “Counterfeiting,” Twyla said, now understanding things, at least in part. She’d always been amazed by how smart Forrest was, but this time his intelligence had gone beyond her.

  “Yes, counterfeiting.” He stood and helped her to her feet before he picked up the suitcase. “Come on. I have to get these to town.”

  They had yet to turn around when a voice proclaimed, “Not so fast.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Forrest knew without turning around who was behind him and Twyla. Nasty Nick Ludwig. Bronco and Tuck had searched far and wide but hadn’t found hide nor hair of the thug. As far as he knew, Bronco and Tuck were still looking. Forrest would have been looking, too, if Scooter hadn’t shown up at the Plantation earlier today, needing a fast ride to Duluth to fetch Josie from the jail.

  He glanced down at Twyla, and as crazy as it seemed in his own mind, he wished she’d been locked up with her sister today. Then they would both be on their way home with Scooter right now.

  “Go ahead and turn around there, flyboy,” Ludwig said. “But put down the suitcase.”

  Without much choice, considering he didn’t know if Ludwig was armed, or alone, Forrest set down the suitcase. He put an arm around Twyla before spinning them both around at the same time. She was shivering and he tugged her a bit closer, settling his gaze on Ludwig and the three thugs at his side. All four men had firearms drawn. Not small pistols, but long Tommy guns.

  Though the other three didn’t have a distinguishing scar like Nasty Nick, their scowls gave them the overall appearance of bottom-barrel boys. As slimy as an eelpout and with fewer morals, they were just the type Galen would latch on to.

  Twyla shifted slightly, and Forrest glanced at her face, which was turned up to his. Despite the fear in her eyes, and her quivering lips, she whispered, “I can take the two on the left if you can take the two on the right.”

  She really was something. Everything except keeping her safe escaped from his mind. “Don’t move. Those are machine guns,” he whispered.

  “I know.”

  “Stop talking,” Ludwig shouted. “And step away from the suitcase.”

  The tree behind them was the only one for several yards, and the gas barrel beside it was one more reason he didn’t want guns to start firing. Keeping his arm around Twyla, he took a step, but paused when Ludwig shouted again.

  “Not that way.” Waving his gun in the opposite direction from the hangar, Nick added, “That way.”

  Forrest guided Twyla sideways several steps, stopping when Ludwig said that was far enough. The man then instructed two of his thugs to get the suitcase.

  “I figured you’d lead me to it sooner or later,” Ludwig said. “Once I ditched those torpedoes you put on my tail.”

  Forrest could only hope Bronco or Tuck hadn’t been ditched and would show up soon. Only Jacob knew he was out here, and he suspected even fewer knew Twyla was here. “Take the suitcase, Ludwig, and get out of here.”

  “Oh, I’ll take it all right, and leave, but you and your little tomato are coming with me.” He winked at Twyla. “Without her, I wouldn’t have found you. Thanks, doll.”

  “I’m not your doll,” Twyla snapped. The fire disappeared from her eyes as she turned and whispered, “I didn’t lead...no one followed... I didn’t think—”

  “Shh,” Forrest said, tugging her closer. “You wouldn’t have known.”

  “But I should have,” she said despondently. “I knew he was the reaso
n you had Bronco come and get my car on Sunday.”

  “It’s all right,” Forrest offered. “Just do as they say. We’ll think of something.”

  “I told you two to stop talking,” Ludwig snarled.

  “You know who she is, Ludwig,” Forrest said. “You harm a hair on her head, and The Night will see your days are ended.”

  “The Night is in Chicago,” Nick said.

  “You think that will stop him from seeing you’re killed?” Forrest wished he had more to threaten the man with, but he wasn’t carrying any iron and with four machine guns pointed at them, their overall outlook was bleak.

  “The Night doesn’t scare me any more than your pappy did,” Ludwig said, looking at Forrest. “He talked big, but when it came down to it, Reynolds didn’t have enough guts to smear a windshield.”

  “You killed him?” Twyla asked.

  Ludwig laughed. “I wish, doll, but I couldn’t. Not before knowing if he was lying to me. Turns out he wasn’t just singing.” Gesturing toward the grassy field road, he demanded, “Start walking.”

  “To where?” Forrest asked.

  “You’ll see soon enough,” Ludwig said.

  Keeping one arm around Twyla and her tucked closely to his side, Forrest started walking. He knew this area down to the last stick, having seen it from the air, and that was more disconcerting than comforting. The few clumps of trees offered little protection and the wide open pastures were too big to run across.

  Ludwig, swollen with pride at having the upper hand, started yakking. “Your pappy and I shared a jail cell for a time. When he first started yapping, I didn’t pay him much mind, but then he told me about this one-time banker who stockpiled up a bunch of paper and ink the government issued for printing the bank’s money and had a copy of the printing plates made for his private use.” He laughed loudly. “That there was information I could use.”

  Forrest wished the man would shut up, but at the same time he wanted to know more. Alone he would have had more options. With Twyla by his side, he had to stay in a position to keep her safe.