Summer In Iron Springs (13 page)

Ten

A loud crash caused Phoebe and Bandit to jump to their feet. Gusting wind had forced the door open, and in no time, the floor inside the cabin was covered with water. Phoebe hurried to the door and peered outside. It was pitch black and the storm was getting worse. She shivered as she forced the door closed; this time she turned the rusty bolt to lock it. She walked to the wood burning stove and searched for some matches. There was plenty of wood and even some kindling; she just needed a way to start a fire.

             
A short search turned up a box of wooden matches hidden amongst the kindling. She crumpled a few pieces of yellowed newspaper and arranged them inside the small stove. Then, she set some kindling on top of the newspaper. She lit the match, held the flame close to the newspaper and the blaze began to grow. After a few minutes she had a nice little fire. Once she wasn’t sure it was not going to go out, she added a couple of big logs. Bandit curled up before the fire and fell immediately to sleep.

             
Phoebe dragged one of the wooden chairs close to the stove and sat down. She held the photograph of her mother close to the light of the fire. It was difficult to know for sure because the cabin—even with the small amount of light provided by the fire—was still too dark to see the details in the picture. But Phoebe was almost certain the cameo in the picture was the same one she’d seen at the gallery in town. She examined every detail of the cameo and nodded confidently. “It has to be my mother’s. It just has to be.”

***

              A loud knock at the door startled Phoebe to her feet. She quickly glanced around looking for a place to hide but quickly decided that if the person at the door were the owner of the cabin they wouldn’t have bothered knocking. She hurried to the door and pressed her ear to it. She couldn’t hear anything above the raging storm. She checked but was not surprised to see that the old worn door didn’t have a peep hole. She moved to the window and peered through a crack in the wooden shutter.

“Billy”, she sighed as she whispered his name aloud. She knew he’d never leave knowing she was inside the cabin and she couldn’t stand the thought of him outside in the storm so she unlocked the door and pulled it open.

              Billy hurried inside and immediately took hold of Phoebe and pulled her into his arms. “Why did you leave?” she could hear the concern in his voice. “Are you okay?”

             
Phoebe ignored his questions. “How did you find me?”

             
He pointed to the stove. “I saw the smoke. It won’t be long before the others see it too.”

             
“You shouldn’t have come here,” she said, turning away from him.

             
“Phoebe, what’s wrong?” he moved to face her and took her cheeks in his hands and stared into her eyes. “Please don’t shut me out.” He was out of breath and his face was strained with worry. “Please Phoebe, tell me what happened.”

             
“My mom was murdered.” She watched the news register on his face. If he was pretending to be shocked, he was a pretty good actor.

             
Billy’s hand clamped over his mouth and his eyes grew wide. “Oh, Phoebe . . . I . . . I’m so sorry. What . . . I mean how . . .”

             
“Did you know?” Phoebe demanded.

             
“What? No, I didn’t. I only know what you told me. Does Anna know?”

             
“Yeah, she knows. My dad knows. Everyone knows. They all lied to me.” Phoebe wiped the tears that streamed down her cheeks.

             
Billy pulled her close and this time she didn’t push him away. Instead, she allowed herself to fall into his embrace. He ran his hand gently up and down her back as she buried her face in his chest and sobbed until the front of his shirt was wet with the tears that streamed from her eyes.

Outside, the wind shrilled loudly. Tree branches slammed against the cabin. Rain fell heavily on the roof and thunder roared relentlessly.

“I’m so sorry, Phoebe,” Billy said and she looked up into his blue eyes.

             
“I want to show you something,” she said, sniffling.

             
Billy released her from his embrace and she went to the table to get the photograph. “Look at this,” she pointed to the cameo.

             
Billy directed the light of his flashlight to the photograph. “Is it your mom?” he asked, taking a seat and studying the photograph.

             
“Yeah, it is, but look at the brooch,” Phoebe said, sitting beside him.

             
Billy raised the picture closer to his face and strained his eyes to see it. “Is that . . .”

             
“Yes . . . at least I think it is.”

             
Billy took another hard look at the brooch. “It sure looks like it but, couldn’t there be more of these?’

             
“I’m pretty sure it’s one of a kind. And the one we saw at the gallery is either the same one or a very similar copy.” She stopped talking and studied the picture for a long moment. “Also, I read an article that said my parent’s house had been burglarized the day my mom was killed. It said that some jewelry had been stolen. So, I mean, it could be and if it was stolen, then the person who sold it to the gallery might be the same person who killed my mom.”

             
“Wait,” Billy’s eyes widened. Phoebe could tell his mind was racing as he tried to process all the information. “You read an article that talked about the murder?”

Phoebe explained about finding the file in
Anna’s desk and told him about the contents. She also told him about the death certificate and the newspaper article.

             
“So, there was an intruder who broke in and . . .” Billy paused for a second before continuing. “. . . and the person who took the cameo might be the same person who killed your mom?” his eyes narrowed and Phoebe could almost see the pieces fitting together in his mind.

             
“That’s what I’m thinking. And, I need to find out for sure.”

“How can we find out?”

She glanced at Billy, thankful that he used the word
we
. She knew she couldn’t do this on her own. “Well, the first thing I need to do is find out where the gallery got that cameo.”

“We’ll go there tomorrow,” Billy said. “Let’s go back to
Anna’s and I’ll tell Norm we need the day off tomorrow so I can go with you.”

“I’m not going back there Billy. Come get me in the morning.”

              “I’m not leaving you here; if you’re staying, I’m staying.” Billy glanced at his watch. “Your dad’s on his way to Iron Springs. He’ll be here soon.”

             
“What for?” Phoebe twisted a piece of crumpled up newspaper in her hands. “To tell me he lied to me for my entire life?
              Billy shrugged. “I don’t know. But he’s going to come looking for you.”

             
Phoebe watched the glow of the fire. “They think he did it,” she said. She threw the ragged piece of newspaper in the stove and watched the fire consume it.

             
“Who does?”

             
Phoebe filled him in on the details of the newspaper story and about how her father was the only person of interest.

“What do you think?”

              “He didn’t do it.” As angry as she was at Peter, she knew he was innocent. The fact that anyone would accuse her father of committing such a horrible crime made her angry.

             
“Is that why he left Iron Springs; because of the accusations?” He ran the palm of his hand over her back.

             
“I imagine so,” Phoebe said, rubbing her tired eyes.

             
Billy took her hand and lifted it to his lips. After pressing a kiss to her hand, he pulled her into a hug and held her for a long while.

             
It felt good to be wrapped in Billy’s embrace. She was glad he’d found her. “You know what I keep thinking about?” she said, staying wrapped in his arms.

“What?”

“About doing whatever I can to clear my dad’s name in this town. I mean, I am mad at him for not telling me the truth. And, at the same time, I know he could never hurt anyone—especially not my mom.”

             
Billy walked across the room to the bed. He picked up the flimsy mattress and carried it to the stove and set it on the floor. “This will be more comfortable than that hard chair,” he said, helping her lie down on the mattress. She rested her head in his lap and he trailed his fingers up and down her arm.

             
“Now, I know why that lady in the restaurant was acting so strangely. Remember she said she’d
heard of
my dad? She was talking about this—about my mom. I bet everyone in Iron Springs has an opinion about it,” Phoebe wondered how many others had been watching her without her notice. The two snooty men in the gallery were whispering and pointing at her. She wondered if that had anything to do with her father. “I just have to find out what happened, Billy. I have to clear my dad’s name.”

             
Billy leaned over and kissed her forehead. “Well I say we head to the gallery first thing in the morning and find out if it’s the same cameo. Then, if it is, we find out where they got it.

             
“You’ll help me?” Phoebe asked, barely able to keep her eyes open.

             
Billy smiled. “Of course I’ll help you,” he moved to her side and brushed her hair with his fingers. “Let me take you back to Anna’s and we’ll go first thing in the morning, I promise.”

             
“I’m staying here. I don’t want to talk to Anna and, I’m definitely not ready to talk to my dad. You go back. Come and get me in the morning. We’ll go to the gallery then.”

             
“I already told you, I’m not leaving you Feebs.”

             
Billy pulled his cell phone from his pocket and called Anna. Phoebe could tell Anna was trying to get Billy to tell her where they were but all he said was that they were safe and that they would see her tomorrow. After ending the call, he stood up, stoked the fire and looked around the small room for something to keep Phoebe warm.

             
In the bottom drawer of the old dresser, he found a wool blanket which he placed lovingly over Phoebe’s tired body. She burrowed down under the blanket in the warmth of the soothing fire. Her eyes closed as the room grew dark. She was exhausted; her mind was spinning over lies and unanswered questions. She fell immediately to sleep.

Eleven

When the sun came up the next morning, Billy and Phoebe headed into town. They stopped for breakfast at the Lou’s Corner Diner but it was all Phoebe could do to force down a piece of toast. Kate was her normal snotty self but Phoebe didn’t have the energy to worry about Kate or what she may or may not know. Her mind was reeling. She needed to get the salesman at the gallery to tell her who sold him the cameo and she knew that was not going to be easy.

“Good Day,” Mr. Snooty Pants said when Phoebe and Billy entered the gallery. “How may I be of assistance?” He spoke in what sounded like a fake British accent.

              “Well,” Phoebe paused and directed her attention to the glass case that held the cameo brooch. “I am interested in information about that brooch.” she pointed to the cameo.

             
The man cleared his throat, tapping a pen on the side of his slightly tilted head. “
You
are interested in that cameo?” he remarked coldly while his beady eyes stared down at her, a pair of glasses sitting on his long straight nose. “Are you aware that the cameo is real . . . not costume jewelry?”

             
Phoebe wanted to tell the stuck-up salesman what she thought of his high-brow attitude but she knew she couldn’t or she’d never get the information she needed. “Yes, I am aware of that,” she nodded her head in what she hoped was a serious soon-to-be buyer manner. “Can you tell me anything about it?”

             
“Like what?” the salesman asked, glancing at Phoebe with so much annoyance on his face that she could tell he was not taking her the least bit seriously.

             
“Like, is it opal? And is that white gold or is it silver? And what is the carat weight of the diamonds?”

             
The man looked her over, his eyes seemed to be searching for something but Phoebe had no idea what. He reached into his shirt pocket and lifted out a small notebook.

“Let’s see what we’ve got here,” he said flipping through the pages. “It is opal. It is white gold. And those are genuine marquise diamonds. There are three karats in total. The cost is thirty five hundred dollars.”

              Phoebe forced a smile. “Thank you.”

The man attempted a smile in return but it came across more as a sneer. He pivoted on his heel to leave but Phoebe’s question stopped him.

“Is there anything else you can tell me about it? When it was made, how the gallery came to own it?” She knew she was pushing her luck but she had no other choice, he was the person who had the information she needed. “Oh, and is it one of a kind or are there others like it?”

             
The man turned to face her again, his lips pressed into a tight line. He blew out a slow breath before he spoke. “It is definitely one of a kind. It was carved by an unknown artist . . .” he reopened the notebook and scanned the page before adding, “It was produced sometime around the latter part of the nineteenth century.” With that, he closed the notebook, returned it to his pocket and held out his arm to indicate that it was time for Phoebe to leave.

             
“Just one more question, please,” Phoebe implored, lifting a finger to indicate that she would indeed ask only one more question.

             
The man stopped, spun around, and stared her in the eyes. “What is it young lady? I’m a very busy man.”

             
Phoebe glanced around the gallery; she and Billy were the only ones there. “Uh, yeah, I’m sure you are. Can you just tell me . . . how did you acquire it?”

             
The man scoffed at her question. “Young lady, this is a reputable establishment. We purchase fine art from many sources and our clients are given the strictest privacy. Therefore, I am unable to share that information with you.”

             
Phoebe waited until the salesman was out of sight before she pulled the photograph from her purse and held it up in front of the glass case. She glanced at the picture and then at the cameo. As her eyes studied the image in the photograph and compared the details to the cameo she had seen at the gallery, she had no doubt they were one and the same. “Look at this,” she said to Billy who was looking over her shoulder. “It’s exactly the same.”

             
Billy nodded. “They look the same to me. But we need to find out where the gallery got it if we’re going to clear your dad’s name.”

             
Phoebe knew Billy was right. She also knew Mr. Sour Face wasn’t going to supply that information. She’d have to find another way to get it.

***

“Will you take me somewhere?” she asked, once they were back in Billy’s truck.

             
“Of course I will,” he said. He started the engine and pulled onto Park Street. “Where do you want me to take you?”

             
“There’s this old man . . . Howard. I met him at the cemetery . . .”

             
“Howard Collins?” Billy asked.

             
“Yeah, how did you . . .”

             
“Small town, Feebs,” Billy reminded her. “Why do you want to go to Howard’s?”

             
“He lives in my parent’s old house. I visited him a few days ago. But, I need to go back,” she paused for a moment, “now that I know what happened there.”

             
Billy took her hand in his and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I’ll take you there later but first we need to stop at Anna’s.”

             
“No—Billy,” Phoebe turned to face him. “I don’t want to go there. Let’s go to Howard’s and then we’ll go to Anna’s.”

             
“Feebs, your dad is there and everyone is worried. You can’t live in that old run down cabin . . . And besides, you need a shower, you smell like a campfire,” he said smiling at her.

             
Phoebe gave a little chuckle but then turned serious again. “Please Billy.”

             
“Phoebe, I promised Anna I would have you there this morning . . . and besides, you’re going to have to face them eventually. We may as well get it over with.”

             
“I know that,” Phoebe grumbled. “But it’s just that . . .”

             
“Phoebe,” Billy’s voice turned serious. “If we are going to find out what happened, you have to talk to your dad. He’s the one who knows about the cameo. He can tell you if it was stolen the night of the break in.”

             
Billy’s point was hard to argue with. “Oh, all right,” Phoebe relented. “We’ll stop there and then we’ll go to Howard’s,” she folded her arms in defeat.

             
“That’s my girl,” Billy said. He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed it gently.

             
Phoebe smiled. She liked being called his girl.

             
When they got to the ranch, Peter and Anna were sitting on the porch. Phoebe glanced at them from the truck window and her stomach tightened. She looked at Billy.

             
“C’mon,” he said, squeezing her hand. “I’ll be with you the whole time.” Billy helped her out of the truck and held her hand as he led her toward the house.

             
Peter stood up and walked toward her. “Hi Phoebe, I’m glad you’re okay.”

             
Phoebe looked at her father’s face. His eyes were red and he looked tired. He must have been up all night. “Hi.”

             
“Hi Billy,” Peter said, extending his hand to Billy. “Anna has told me a lot about you.”

             
Billy forced a smile and shook Peter’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you sir. And, about last night, I want you to know—”

             
Peter held up a hand. “Ordinarily, I would have come after you with a shotgun, but when I got here and Anna spoke so highly of you, I ended up being thankful she had found such a good friend. Anna said Phoebe couldn’t have been in better—or more gentlemanly hands.”

             
Peter returned his attention to Phoebe. “Can we talk?”

             
Phoebe nodded.

             
“Is there somewhere we can be alone? I have a lot to tell you.”

             
Phoebe led him up the stairs to her bedroom. She sat on her bed with her back resting against the headboard while Peter remained standing. He took a long look around the room before his eyes settled on her mother’s paintings. A smile crept across his face as he looked at them. “I always loved this room,” he said. “This was your mother’s room before we got married. Did you know that?”

             
Phoebe shook her head. “I didn’t but it makes sense.”

Peter walked to the balcony and brought a chair inside. He set it next to the bed, took a seat on it and looked Phoebe in the eyes.
             

             
“Phoebe,” he spoke softly. “I know you’re upset and you have every right to be. But, I’d like to ask you to listen to me for a minute while I tell you some things I should have said long ago.”

             
Phoebe nodded and remained silent.

             
“After your mom died—well, Phoebe, to be honest, I just didn’t know what to do. I was a mess. I was totally and completely lost without her. I had no idea how to take care of a child,” his voice cracked and Phoebe could tell he was holding back his tears. Seeing her father so emotional caused a lump to form in her throat.

             
“I just shut down. I guess if I had sought professional help, I would have been given something for depression. But, I didn’t want to face anything. I didn’t want to talk to anyone. In all honestly, Phoebe . . .” Peter paused and swallowed before going on. “. . . I wanted to die. And if I hadn’t had you, well . . .” There was silence for a moment before Peter continued. “And then, the police came and started asking me questions. I was in shock when I realized that they actually thought that I could have had anything to do with your mother’s death.”

             
Tears welled up in Phoebe’s eyes and she blinked them away.

             
“I’m sorry honey,” he said rubbing his face with his hands. “I should have told you the truth. I just didn’t know how,” he wiped tear from his eye. “I mean, you were only three. And then, as you got older, I wanted to tell you. But I always found an excuse not to. That was wrong and I’m just so sorry.”

He stood up and moved to the bed and sat beside Phoebe. “I want you to know that I have thought a lot about this and I have decided that I will never lie to you again.”

              Phoebe nodded her head. She didn’t trust her voice to speak and she didn’t know what to say anyway.

             
“There’s something else,” Peter said as he reached up and brushed a strand of hair from Phoebe’s shoulder. “I wasn’t honest with you about the reason I sent you here—at least, not completely honest.”

             
“What do you mean?” Phoebe whispered as she traced a finger over the butterfly pattern in her mother’s quilt.

             
Peter looked off in the distance for a moment. “I know I haven’t been a good father to you.”

             
“Dad, that’s not . . .”Phoebe started to protest but Peter held up a hand to quiet her.

             
“Please, Phoebe, let me finish. I should have been more open. I should have talked to you about your mother. I should have done and said a lot of things that I didn’t. And, when you started getting into trouble, I realized that your behavior was due to my lack of parenting.” Peter stopped talking and glanced toward the ceiling.

Phoebe could tell that he was struggling to come up with the right words and she wanted to stop him. She wanted to tell him that it was okay and that he didn’t need to say anything more. But in her heart, she knew it wasn’t okay. She knew he needed to get his feelings out as much for himself as for her. So, she sat silently and waited for him to continue.

“I needed some time to get myself straightened out. I needed to get help for myself so that I could be a better dad to you.” Peter blew out a breath. “After I dropped you off at the airport that day, I went immediately to my first counseling appointment. And I’ve been going three times a week since then.”

“You have?” Phoebe couldn’t imagine Peter talking to anyone about his feelings; especially a shrink. “Has it helped you?”

Peter nodded his head. “It has, it’s helped me a great deal. I should have done it long ago. I learned a lot about myself and the things I learned are helping me to deal with my grief in a healthier way.”

“I’m so happy to hear that Dad,” Phoebe got up from the bed and moved to her father’s side. She wrapped her arms around him and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I love you dad.”