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A heaviness settled over Forrest as he continued to gaze at the building. He’d gone over his options several times in the past few months, even while pouring the few funds he did have into the Plantation. His plan when he’d first arrived had been to sell it, to get rid of any reason for his family to remain here, but as his mother pointed out, his grandfather’s will held a clause stating the Plantation couldn’t be sold. She also reminded him that Hans had left it all to him so it would continue into the next generation. Forrest figured a wily, fast-talking lawyer could make a case to override the clause, but he also imagined that if that was the case, Galen would have found a way for it to happen years ago.
He’d warned Roger of Galen’s pending release, but that wouldn’t be enough. A dozen watchmen may have stopped Galen before, but not after his arrest. The devil wasn’t as evil as Galen Reynolds. After months in jail, he’d be out for blood and would go straight for Roger’s heart—his daughters.
Galen had threatened to harm the girls for years, whenever he’d wanted Forrest to ask Shirley for money. Willing to do anything to keep the girls safe, Forrest had always given in. There was nothing left for Galen to take from him now, and they both knew that.
Letting out a sigh, Forrest glanced to the sky. The stars still shone brightly. Normally, at least since he’d removed the heavy and cumbersome car roof, he garaged the roadster at night, but right now, the simple act of restarting it and driving it across the back lot to the garage seemed like more effort than he had energy for. That wasn’t like him. He respected his vehicles—the roadster and his airplane—and the engineering beneath them, and he certainly didn’t have the money to replace them if they became weather damaged. Although in truth, a car didn’t matter much when all was said and done.
Concluding it wasn’t going to rain and one night outside the garage wasn’t going to hurt the roadster, he pulled the key from the ignition and opened the door.
The waves of White Bear Lake a few yards away washed up on the shore with a steady swish, echoing gently through the otherwise still silence. Waves had washed ashore out at Bald Eagle Lake, too, while he and Twyla had been sitting near the splashing fountain. At the resort, music had accompanied the waves, as had the sound of the gaiety of the partygoers.
None of those sounds accompanied Forrest now and the emptiness of that left him feeling more tired, more alone, than ever.
Jacob, the one and only employee who’d remained after Galen had left town, opened the back door before Forrest had finished climbing the steps to the porch.
“I was wondering if you were gonna sit out there all night,” the elderly man said.
“Quiet night?” Forrest asked, rather than explaining what he’d been doing.
“Of course,” Jacob answered. “Anybody who’s anyone was at Nightingale’s tonight. We had a few bowlers, but Martha and her brood took care of them.”
Forrest nodded as he entered the building. Martha McMillan was a gem. Having fourteen children, the woman knew how to organize and manage most anything that came her way. When he’d first approached her about working at the Plantation, she’d had her doubts, claiming she was a respectable woman and wouldn’t work at a place the likes of the Plantation. Forrest had promised there would be no more gangsters, no more drunken brawls that, come morning, left the place in shambles. And above all, no more prostitution and gaudy dancers.
He’d made no mention of the other activities. If it was illegal, Galen had been involved in it. Trafficking young girls and trading them for opium had been his specialty, and something he’d always used as a threat. He’d claimed one of the Nightingale girls would be worth more than a dozen of the others.
“You hear me?” Jacob asked.
Forrest nodded, and changed the route of his thoughts back to his employees. He’d persuaded Martha and hired her, along with the three children she still had at home—two teenage sons who liked being pin boys for the bowling lanes and a daughter who enjoyed serving soda pop and popcorn to her friends during the weekends. Martha had also managed to find other staff—cooks who served a modest menu, waiters to carry plates and wash dishes and general maintenance workers.
“How was the party?” Jacob asked, having closed and locked the back door.
“How are all of the parties out at Nightingale’s?” Forrest answered, a bit more harshly than he’d intended. “The place was packed to the rafters and the food and drinks were flowing.”
“You questioning the decision you made here?” Jacob asked.
