Summer In Iron Springs (14 page)

              Peter returned the embrace. “I love you too,” He said, sniffling. “I have a long way to go. But, I promise you things are going to be better. I’m going to be a better dad.”

             
“I’m going to be a better daughter too,” Phoebe said. And she meant the words sincerely. “I’m learning a lot too. Iron Springs has been good for me,” she looked into her father’s face. He looked so much older than the last time she’d seen him. “I know I did some bad things, but I want you to know that I did not smoke pot. I never have and I never will.”

             
“I know,” he smiled at her. “I should have come right out and asked you instead of just accusing you and I’m sorry about that. And that brings me to the real reason I sent you here.”

             
“You mean it wasn’t because of the graffiti?”

             
Peter shook his head. “When I made the decision, I told myself that the graffiti was the reason. I think I even believed it. But, the truth is that I couldn’t handle you pursuing your interest in art. It was just too much . . .” he wiped the tears that flowed from his eyes. “It reminded me too much of Bessie and I just . . .”

             
“It’s okay, dad. I understand,” Phoebe put a hand on her father’s shoulder. “I can see how that would have been hard.”

             
Peter looked into Phoebe’s eyes. “No, it wasn’t okay. That’s something I’ve learned in counseling. I can’t deal with my grief by holding you back from doing what you love. You’re an artist Phoebe. You always have been. I’m surprised you weren’t born with a paintbrush in one hand and a canvas in the other.”

             
Phoebe laughed and Peter joined her. She moved to the side of the bed where she sat facing her father. “Thank you for telling me that. I’m so happy you are getting help.”

             
“So am I. I have a long way to go but I’ve made a lot of progress.”

             
“So have I,” Phoebe put her arms around her dad. “I love you, dad.”

             
“I love you too. And, I want you to know I’m proud of you. I want you to be the best artist you can be. I want you to be just like your mother,” he said, glancing at the door before adding, “Maybe we should head back outside. I’m afraid that young man out there is mighty worried about you.”

             
***

“I don’t want you to be mad at
Anna,” Peter said once they were back on the porch. He glanced at Anna and smiled. “She wanted to tell you. I begged her not to.”

Phoebe now understood the phone call she’d overheard. She walked over to
Anna and put her arms around her. “Thank you for everything,” she said.

“I didn’t do anything but love you and that was easy
,” Anna said, and Phoebe had to agree with her because she had never felt the kind of love she’d gotten since arriving in Iron Springs. Anna was just there for her, loving her through all of her emotional challenges—never trying to make sense of anything or give advice. She just loved Phoebe unconditionally and Phoebe was thankful to know that kind of love. She was certain her father loved her—she just wished he was better at showing it. Maybe he was learning to be, Phoebe thought as she glanced at her father’s face. He looked more relaxed, more at ease, than she had seen him in years. Iron Springs was good for him too.

             
“She never suspected me,” Peter said. “She was my biggest supporter,” He glanced at Phoebe. “She believed in me even more than I believed in myself.”

             
Peter and Anna exchanged glances. “Well, I’m glad it’s all out in the open and we can be a family again,” Anna said.

             
Peter nodded in agreement. “I’m happy about it too. And speaking of family,” Peter directed his words to Phoebe. “I want you to come home with me,” he spoke the words Phoebe dreaded hearing. She glanced at Billy and saw his expression fall.

             
“I can’t Dad,” Phoebe drew in a deep breath. She had to find a way to convince her dad to let her stay.

             
“Why?” Peter asked. “You’ve learned some lessons and so have I.”

             
“You’re right Dad. I have learned a lot,” Phoebe said, hoping her tone didn’t sound too urgent. “I understand why you sent me here and for now, I need to stay here.” She walked over and knelt down before Peter. “Please, dad, this is important to me.”

             
“Will you tell me why?” Peter asked.

             
Phoebe looked up at him and tried to think of a way to explain herself without divulging that she was trying to solve her mother’s murder. If he found out she was doing that, she was sure he would force her to come home right away.

“I’m learning a lot about mom here,” Phoebe glanced at Billy and he gave her an encouraging smile. “I want to know more.”

That was not a lie. Phoebe had learned a great deal about Bessie since she’d arrived in Iron Springs and she knew there was more for her to learn. “Being here makes me feel close to her,” she added.

             
Peter looked at Anna and then at his daughter. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Is it okay with you Anna?”

             
Anna smiled. “Of course it’s okay. It’s more than okay. We love having Phoebe here.”

             
“Okay,” Peter conceded. “You can stay.”

             
Phoebe threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly. They talked for a while before Phoebe got up the nerve to start asking the questions she really needed answered. She did her best to sound casual because she couldn’t risk anyone finding out that she was trying to solve her mother’s murder.

“Dad, can I ask you a question.”

              “Sure,” Peter gave an anxious sigh, “but don’t forget, I promised I’d be honest with you from now on. So you better be careful what you ask.”

             
Phoebe reviewed her questions in her mind before saying them aloud. “I want to know about the cameo brooch—the one mom wore on your wedding day.”

             
Peter gave Phoebe a sideways glance that made her wish she had phrased the questions differently. “The brooch? What made you think about that?”

             
“I was looking at this . . .” Phoebe handed him the picture of her mother wearing the brooch. “And I just got curious.”

What would you like to know about it?” he asked as he ran his thumb over the picture.

“Where did she get it?”

              “I gave it to her,” he was quiet for a moment. Phoebe smiled as she watched him go back to the time when he presented the gift to Bessie. “The cameo . . . it was my great-grandmother’s. My great-grandfather gave it to her. She passed it on to my mother and my mother gave it to me.”

             
“And you gave it to my mom?” Phoebe said, hoping her question would prompt him to keep talking.

             
“Yes, I gave it to her when I proposed. I didn’t have money for a ring so I gave her the cameo and promised to buy her a ring later.”

             
Phoebe felt a warm feeling growing inside her. It was the first time her father had ever shared anything so personal. “Do you still have it?” Phoebe asked, forcing herself to at least
appear
calm.

             
“No . . . I don’t,” he said and his face dropped. “It was stolen from the house the day your mother died.” He glanced at her through sad eyes. “I wanted you to have it Phoebe. Your mom did too. But . . .”

             
Phoebe put her hand on her father’s shoulder.
Now I know for sure. The cameo in the gallery is my mother’s.
She thought about the money she had in the bank—immediately, that money was earmarked for the cameo. As soon as she could save the rest, she’d buy the cameo. She vowed, right then and there, not to leave Iron Springs without taking the cameo with her.

“It’s okay dad,” she said, smiling. “I have you and that is all I need,” she saw the tension leaving Peter’s face. “Do you know where your great grandfather got it?”

              Peter glanced upward and smiled. “He made it. He was quite a talented man; an artist of sorts,” he winked at Phoebe.

             
Phoebe smiled. She came from a long line of artists. Something about that gave her a sense of belonging.

             
“Something funny about that cameo . . .” Peter continued. He tilted his head and considered his words before going on. Phoebe glanced anxiously at Billy.

             
“It’s actually a locket.”

             
“Why is that funny?” Phoebe asked. “Aren’t most cameos lockets? “

             
“Yeah, some are . . . but not like this one.”

             
Phoebe listened as her father finished the story. She watched the joy in his eyes as he described the beautiful locket. She loved seeing her father in such a rare and tender moment.

             
“This cameo looked like a solid piece of jewelry, all opal. But if you put pressure here and here . . .” He used his watch to illustrate his point as he put a finger on the eleven and the five. “. . . It pops open,” he smiled slyly.

             
“Interesting,” she and Billy exchanged knowing glances. “I wonder why he made it like that.”

             
“I’m not sure,” Peter said. “I guess he just wanted to have a special secret to share only with his wife.”

             
Phoebe thought about the cameo and about the things her dad had said. She was even more determined to find out all she could about the brooch now that she knew where it had come from. She would not leave Iron Springs until she found out who sold it to the gallery. Then she could prove that her father had nothing to do with her mother’s death.

“So, do you think that whoever has it would know it’s a locket? I mean, is it possible they would figure it out?”

              Peter shook his head. “No. It’s very unlikely. Looking at it, it’s impossible to tell that it opens into a locket.”

             
Again Phoebe glanced at Billy—she could almost see the wheels turning in his mind.

“Well, since we’re all here, let’s eat before dinner gets cold,”
Anna said, standing up from her seat and opening the front door for everyone to enter.

Twelve

Howard’s face lit up when he saw Phoebe and Billy standing on his porch. “What a nice surprise,” he pushed the screen door open and motioned with his outstretched arm for them to enter. They followed him into the dimly lit living room.

              “Nice to see you again, Billy,” Howard said when the two teenagers were seated on the sofa. Howard glanced from Billy to Phoebe. His face indicated that he was trying to connect the dots between the two teenagers. “How do you know each other?”

             
“We’re . . . friends . . . we work together . . .” Phoebe stuttered. She wasn’t quite sure how to explain their relationship.

“Ah, yes. That’s right. You both work for
Anna,” Howard winked at Phoebe in a way that she thought suggested he figured they were more than just friends or co-workers. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

             
Phoebe was immediately at ease in Howard’s presence; just as she had been the last time she visited. “I just found out that my mother died in this house,” she glanced around the room before searching Howard’s face for a sign that he already knew the story. He nodded and listened attentively. “My dad was a suspect,” Phoebe added.

             
“He was a person of interest,” Howard corrected. “And that was a load of—well, that was baloney if you ask me.”

             
“I agree,” Phoebe nodded, thankful to hear that Howard believed in her father’s innocence. “I want to see if I can clear his name and I was hoping you would let me look around again. Now that I know how she died.”

             
“My house is your house,” Howard said motioning his outstretched arm. “But it’s been a long time; I doubt you’ll find anything.”

             
Phoebe knew he was right but she couldn’t leave any stone unturned. She was running out of time. She couldn’t leave things as they were. She was certain her father was a good man and above all, she knew he was innocent.

             
As Howard led the pair from room to room in his small home, Phoebe told him about the cameo and about her visit to the gallery.

             
“Those artsy types,” Howard said, shaking his head after hearing how the men at the gallery treated Phoebe. “They like to think they’re superior.”

Phoebe considered herself an artsy type but she didn’t take offense. She knew exactly what Howard meant about the men at the gallery.

              “Your dad and I have been friends for years,” Howard said. “We fished together every Saturday morning out on Iron Springs Lake. So I know the whole story. I was sad he decided to leave town. But, I understand why he did it.”

He led them to the spot where Bessie’s body had been found; the bottom of a set of concrete stairs. Billy put his arm around Phoebe and pulled her close to him. She buried her face in his chest and forced away her tears.

              After seeing the basement, the three of them walked back upstairs and Howard led them into a small bedroom; her parent’s bedroom. “This is where the intruder apparently found the jewelry and where he was busy scavenging when he must have realized that someone was home.”

             
Phoebe could tell that Howard had thought a great deal about the events of the day her mother died. In her heart, she was thankful her dad had a friend to support him and one who believed in his innocence.

             
After the tour, which turned up nothing helpful; just as Howard had said it wouldn’t, the old man poured three glasses of lemonade and led his guests back to the living room.

             
Howard glanced at Phoebe’s worried expression. “Listen here, young lady . . .” he said, repositioning himself in his recliner. “I have an idea that’s sure to erase that frown from your pretty face.” Clasping his hands together beneath his chin, he leaned forward and spoke. “I think there may be a way I can help.”

             
Phoebe immediately perked up. “You do? How?”

             
“I’ve spent some time at the gallery in town,” he said. He took a sip of lemonade and then returned the glass to a small table beside his recliner. “I know those two, the ones you dealt with. They are the owners, partners in the business. They are a couple of high browed snobs who are more interested in hobnobbing with others just like them than they are in just about anything else. When your mother died, it seemed that everyone in Iron Springs took a side. Some people knew, as I did, that Peter was innocent. Others, like those two, jumped at the chance to take part in the scandal.”

             
Phoebe nodded in silent agreement. Now she understood why the waitress at the Corner Diner was so nasty—she must have been one of the people who thought Peter was guilty. The whispers from the two men at the gallery suddenly made sense too. They knew who she was all along.

             
“Well, like I say, I know them,” He remarked after a long pause, during which he glanced at the paintings that adorned his walls. “I’ve dealt with them from time to time,” Phoebe glanced at the walls, surprised the artwork hadn’t caught her attention earlier. The darkness of the room made the paintings difficult to see. And the fact that her mind was preoccupied with other things surely added to her lack of focus. She offered an appreciative glance around the room.

             
“I’m thinking I could get the information you need about the locket,” Howard leaned forward in his chair. Phoebe was hanging on every word he said. “I could go there, act interested in the cameo—they would remove it from the case if I asked them to. I am sure of it.”

             
“Oh, Howard,” Phoebe cried, jumping out of her seat. “Would you?” She walked over to Howard, leaned over and put her arms around him. Finally, she was going to learn, once and for all, if the cameo in the gallery was the same as the one stolen from her mother thirteen years ago.

             
“Of course I will,” Howard said, returning the embrace. “I’d be glad to do it. But we need a plan.”

             
“Yes, that’s true,” Phoebe said, nodding excitedly as she returned to her seat. “You will not know, by looking at it, if it’s the one. You’ll have to open it. If you are able to open it, we will know for sure that it’s my mother’s locket.” The confused look on Howard’s face prompted Phoebe to explain. She removed her watch and used the same method her dad had used to illustrate the point.

             
“You put pressure here and here,” Phoebe said. She pointed to the five and the eleven. “As far as I know, the men at the gallery are not aware that the cameo is a locket. It was crafted in such a way that the person in possession of it would have to be shown how to open it; it’s very unlikely that anyone would even try to figure it out on their own.

             
Howard nodded his head and listened as a plan was formulated.

             
Billy and Phoebe agreed to meet Howard at the gallery the following evening. They would enter a few minutes behind Howard, giving him time to get his hands on the cameo. Phoebe didn’t want the owners to see Howard open the locket. She hoped to keep that fact a secret from the two conceited men. Once inside, she and Billy would distract the salesmen, giving Howard time to get the locket opened. If he was able to do this, he would send them a signal—they would leave and meet Howard at the diner. It was a perfect plan and Phoebe was sure it would work.