Reunion at Cardwell Ranch
Page 17
“I didn’t want it to be you,” Sid said to Cody. “I guess we all wanted to believe it was Rock Jackson. But when I heard the news, I wondered why Rock would be making counterfeit money if he was the one who’d been selling the paintings he’d stolen from my father that night.”
Cody nodded, a bitter smile coming to his lips. “I realized that something like this could happen. That some fool might take H.F.’s copy of one of the paintings to an expert. I wasn’t stupid.”
“So why sell them?” Laramie asked.
Cody shrugged. “In retrospect, I should have destroyed them.”
Sid shook her head. “If Rock had already taken the forgeries that night...you didn’t have to go back and kill my father. H.F. was old and tired. He wouldn’t have redone the forgeries. But you couldn’t let him show you up. It was more about your pride, your ego, than the paintings or even what the organization had been doing. By then, I’m sure your group had covered up the charity scam.” She glanced at the glass jar clutched in his hand. “You went there to end it once and for all.”
“I thought I could talk some sense into the old fool.” Cody shook his head. “It’s all water under the bridge now, though. There won’t be anyone left who will be able to say differently and the forgeries will be destroyed for good.”
“What about Taylor?” Laramie demanded, moving up beside Sid, determined to protect her. How she loved this gallant man. “Taylor’s going to sing like a canary. He’ll tell everything he knows.”
“Even if anyone believed a word he said now that he’s facing a murder charge, Taylor doesn’t know anything,” Cody said.
“That’s too bad because I’m betting he didn’t kill Rock,” Laramie said. “Or that Hank Ramsey didn’t hang himself, either.”
“If you’re expecting a confession...” Cody said as he took a step back.
“You toss that in here and you’ll never get out in time to save yourself,” Sid said seeing him look toward a candle that still burned next to the bed. “I don’t think you’ve thought this through. Also you will destroy some of my father’s paintings. Thanks to you, they’re worth more now than when he was alive.” He hadn’t been able to destroy the forgeries. He wouldn’t be able to burn her father’s originals. “Not to mention...” She looked toward the bank of windows in the studio.
Cody looked angry and upset as he followed her gaze. He realized as she had that the windows were large enough that at least one of them might be able to get out before the fire killed them.
“Thank you for pointing that out,” he said. At gunpoint, he forced them all into a windowless storage room at the back of the cabin where Sid kept the old saws and milk cans she’d collected for her crafts.
“I’m sorry you have to die,” Cody said. “You have your father’s talent. But you also don’t follow the rules. You could never be a member of the Old West Artists Coalition.”
Laramie balled up his fist and took a step forward, but Sid caught his arm as Cody retreated from the room, slamming the door behind him and pitching them into darkness. Sid heard him lock the door and shove what sounded like her heavy buffet in front of it.
Chapter Nineteen
Laramie snapped on the switch he’d seen by the door. The small storage room was suddenly illuminated by a dim bulb hanging from the ceiling. He turned to Sid. “Tell me there is a reason you wanted him to trap us in here.”
“Other than my sister is as crazy as our father and is determined to get us all killed?” Zander asked.
Sid stepped to the door, putting her ear against it. “Just as I thought, he’s looking for the forgeries and stealing some of my paintings. I’m just thankful Cody appreciates good art. Now that he knows I’m H.F.’s daughter...he probably figures they’ll be worth a lot of money once I’m dead.” Her lips turned up in a knowing yet bitter smile. Then she quickly turned toward the old metal milk cans stacked in a corner. “Help me move these as quietly as we can.”
“See what I mean? Crazy, just like our father,” Zander said. Laramie thought the last thing Sid had done was lose her mind, so he hurried to help her and saw what had been hidden under the milk cans—a hatch in the floor.
He moved quickly to lift it. A blast of freezing cold air rose with the door. He looked down at the steps that disappeared into the darkness. “An escape tunnel?”
Zander laughed as her sister handed her a flashlight. “So this is where you hid the forgeries.”
“Quickly,” Laramie said as Zander snapped on the light and began to climb down. “We have to get out of here before he sets the place on fire.” He looked at Sid. “If he burns the cabin, your work will go up in flames.”
She smiled almost sadly and descended the stairs.
Laramie followed on her heels. They moved through a long tunnel that ended with a set of crude steps that went up.
“This is that other cabin in the woods,” Zander said as they climbed up into a small laundry room lit with daylight coming through the windows.
The moment they stepped out of that room into a larger one, Laramie saw the paintings. Along with the forgeries, he saw dozens of Sid’s. Still, he couldn’t imagine letting Cody Kent destroy even one of her works.
“Alert the authorities,” he said as he headed for the door.
“It’s already been done,” Sid said. “The moment the hatch was opened an alarm was set off. I have a friend who works at the security company. Wait, where are you going?”
“I can’t let him destroy your paintings, let alone get away.”
“They aren’t worth dying over. I can paint more,” she said grabbing at his sleeve. “Neither is catching Cody.”
Laramie heard sirens in the distance. “Stay here with your sister.” With that, he rushed out the door into the snowy morning.
Chapter Twenty
Sid quickly changed into the clothing she also kept in the second cabin. She’d tried to be prepared for anything that might happen. What she hadn’t seen coming was Laramie Cardwell.
“Stay here,” she said to Zander as she opened the door to follow Laramie.
“Like that is going to happen,” Zander said, right behind her.
Sid couldn’t see Laramie as she rushed down the steps and started through the snow-laden pines toward her cabin. One of the reasons she’d bought the property was the tunnel between the two cabins. The owner had told her the tunnel had been dug back in the fifties as a bomb shelter when nuclear war had seemed imminent. The owner had kept the tunnel maintained.
It had saved them temporarily and given her a place to stash the forgeries as well as the bulk of her paintings.
Snow began to fall. At first it was only a few flakes drifting past on the breeze. Then a flurry of them whirled around them as they hurried toward the cabin obscured by trees and snow. Sid could hear sirens coming up the mountain, but feared they would never get there in time. Laramie had the advantage, she told herself. Cody would be busy trying to make his escape. But he was greedy. He would also try to pack up as many of the paintings as he could before he realized the forgeries weren’t there and burned the cabin.
The cabin was old. It would burn quickly. Had they still been locked in the storage room, she doubted any of them would have survived.
Ahead, she could see the cabin. Cody had come by snowmobile, forcing Zander along. It was still sitting out front. There was no sign of either Cody or Laramie through the pines.
“Shouldn’t one of us have a plan?” Zander said behind her.
She saw that her sister had picked up a limb from the snow. It was thick enough that it could make a pretty good dent in Cody’s head—if Zander got the chance to use it.
They slowed as they approached the cabin. “I have a gun just inside the back door in the wicker basket with my scarves and gloves,” Sid whispered. “It’s loaded. So i
f something happens—”
“I’ve got you covered, sis.”
* * *
LARAMIE SPOTTED THE snowmobile sitting outside the cabin with a half dozen paintings leaning against it. Sid had been right. The bastard couldn’t pass up stealing even more paintings. He treasured them more than the lives he’d planned to snuff out in the storage room.
Laramie moved cautiously along the side of the cabin. He could hear Cody inside ransacking the place, no doubt looking for the forgeries. Which meant that he’d have had to put down the firebomb he’d made.
As he neared the open doorway of the cabin, Laramie peered inside. He couldn’t see Cody, but he could hear him. Stepping in, he made his way to the fireplace where the poker leaned against the stone chimney.
“What the hell?” Cody swore as he came out of Sid’s studio. He held a painting in both hands. “How did you...?” The rest of his words were lost as he realized that the tables had turned. He threw the painting he’d been holding at Laramie and reached into his pocket for the gun.
From the confused look on his face, Laramie realized that Cody must have laid down the gun somewhere—just as he had the firebomb.
As Cody looked around wildly for both weapons, Laramie spotted the gun lying on the kitchen table about the same time that Cody did. Cody dived for it. Laramie charged. He caught the artist in the back with the poker. Cody let out a loud grunt and staggered, but he didn’t go down. Instead, he lurched toward the gun, his fingers within inches of it when Laramie again swung the poker.
This time it caught him in the side of the head. The sound of sirens filled the air as Cody dropped to his knees. Laramie quickly stepped around him and pushed the gun out of the artist’s reach.
“You don’t understand. That crazy old fool was going to ruin me,” Cody said.
Laramie spotted the homemade turpentine firebomb on the kitchen counter where Cody had left it as Sid and Zander rushed in, with Marshal Hud Savage and his deputies on their heels.
* * *
THE NEWS HIT the canyon as if it were Cody’s firebomb. Cody Kent had been arrested. The homemade turpentine firebomb and Cody’s gun had been taken as evidence. Trapped, Cody had broken down and told the authorities everything. He confessed to killing H. F. Powell after the man had tried to destroy his career. After that, he’d confessed to killing Rock and trying to frame Taylor and making Hank Ramsey’s death look like a suicide.
The broadcaster was saying, “H. F. Powell’s story is one of madness and genius. When he was denied membership in the organization, Old West Artists Coalition, he swore retribution, which ultimately led to his murder. And Cody Kent would have gotten away with it if not for Powell’s daughter, Obsidian Forester.”
Sid got up to turn off the news as, on screen, Cody was being led into the courthouse. “You don’t understand,” he told reporters. “All I have is my art.”
“Maybe he’ll teach an art class in prison,” Zander said as Sid turned off the television.
“Maybe,” she agreed and looked at Laramie who was frowning at the television. “Is something wrong?” she asked him.
“Just a little confused,” he admitted. “If all the paintings but the ones that were stolen burned in the fire...”
“The originals my father copied from were in a safe at the house,” Sid said. “He planned to expose the artists at their annual conference, which was to be held here in Big Sky a few days after his death. More than likely our father bragged to someone about what he was going to do.”
“Not all of the originals were in the safe,” Zander said, shooting a look at her sister. “What Sid isn’t telling you is that her sister stole several of the paintings from the safe and she had to buy them back before she could replace the forgeries.” Zander smiled sheepishly at Sid. “I’m sorry I made things harder for you. Because of me, we lost the family ranch.”
Sid shook her head. “Dad was so in debt by the time he died, there wouldn’t have been a way to save it anyway. You were right. This...quest I’ve been on... I should have let it go, but I wanted justice and I hated the idea of everyone believing he was so crazy he would kill himself.”
“He was crazy,” Zander said and laughed. “We should know. We’re his daughters and the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
“Well, your father has justice now,” Laramie said. “And his daughters have found their way back to each other. I’d say you accomplished more than you set out to.” He rose to leave. “The invitation is still open for Christmas Eve at Cardwell Ranch. Open to both of you,” he said to Zander.
“So what now?” Zander asked after Laramie left. “You don’t have a murderer to catch, no houses to break into... What will my little sis do to keep herself busy?”
“Wipe that grin off your face, Z,” she said playfully.
“He’s in love with you, you know.”
Sid said nothing. She still couldn’t believe it. She loved Laramie as well, but their lives were in different states. “He’s going back to Houston after the holidays.”
Zander lifted a brow. “So go with him.”
She shook her head. “My life is here.”
“Painting cowboy art.” Her sister shook her head and laughed. “I thought Dad messed me up, but he really did a number on you.”
“We can’t spend the rest of our lives blaming H.F. for our choices,” Sid said.
“Maybe you can’t,” Zander said with a laugh. “But I can. I’m just like him. I’ll never settle down.”
“Don’t say never. Who knows what the future holds.”
Her sister seemed to study her for a long moment. “This is the most contented I’ve ever seen you. Those years when you worked so hard to keep a roof over our heads when Dad had locked himself in his studio and refused to paint his own work and support us... You always did what you had to do.”
Sid wished she could believe that. “I forged his work while he was forging others’. You’re right. We really are messed up, huh?”
Zander smiled. “The ironic thing about all of it? You’re a better artist than even the great H. F. Powell.” She held up her hand to keep Sid from arguing the point. “It’s true, sis. That painting...” She pointed to the one of Sid’s mother on horseback that Cody had stolen from her father’s studio. “It’s a masterpiece. It would have sold for a fortune.”
She heard the wistfulness as well as the larceny in her sister’s voice.
“We could have both retired on that money,” Zander continued. “Instead, you had to give up one of the real H. F. Powells you managed to keep me from stealing to keep us from going to prison.”
Sid chuckled. “I don’t want to retire. I want to paint. What about you? You have our father’s gift, as well.”
“Gift? More like a curse.” Zander shook her head. “No, you couldn’t make me paint even at gunpoint. I’ve always hated it. Maybe because it takes practice and I don’t care enough to hone my skills. I’ll leave art to you. Anyway, look what Cody’s artist talent did for him.” She stood and reached for her bag. “The difference is that you have more than your art. You have a chance for real happiness with Laramie Cardwell.”
“Wait a minute, where are you going? It’s Christmas Eve. You said we were going to—”
“We’re going to Cardwell Ranch.”
“I already told Laramie that we were spending Christmas Eve here,” Sid said.
“Well, there’s been a change of plans. He invited us both to a real Christmas celebration,” Zander said. “It sounds incredibly cheesy, but I’m not about to let you miss that. Come on.”
“Are you sure, Z? Hot chocolate, tree trimming, carols around the fire?”
Zander put her arm around her sister. “I can stand it for one night. There will be presents, though, right?”
Sid shook her head at her sister
. “I really am glad you came here for Christmas.”
* * *
LARAMIE HADN’T REALIZED he’d been watching for her until he saw the SUV pull up out front of the ranch house.
Dana grinned at him as he headed out to the porch. It had been a crazy time after the ball, but his cousin was determined that they would have their Christmas Eve come hell or high water.
“Invite Sid and her sister,” she’d insisted. “The more the merrier.”
“She’s having Christmas with her sister at the cabin,” he’d told his cousin. “It’s just as well. I don’t see how anything can come of this. I live in Houston. Sid has her own life here.”
“You can’t see any way to overcome that obstacle?” Dana had asked in exasperation.
“It’s more than the fact that our lives are thousands of miles apart,” he’d said. “We don’t really know each other.”
His cousin had given him an impatient look. “You don’t believe that any more than I do. And even if it is the case, surely there is some way you can rectify it. Is Houston really calling you back? Or are you just like your brothers were and afraid of giving away your heart?”
Laramie had smiled at Dana. “You just can’t stand one of your cousins making a clean getaway.”
She’d looked as if she might cry. “No, I can’t. Nor do I want Sid to get away. Look what she did to try to bring her father’s killer to justice. She risked her life and her reputation and prison.”
Fortunately, once the Holiday Masquerade Ball and Auction committee members had learned how it was that the H. F. Powell painting was a forgery and Sid had offered them a real Powell to replace it, they’d dropped any legal charges. Also, Sid had promised to donate one of her paintings for the auction next year. Her paintings were now sought after as much as her father’s had been.
“Hello,” Laramie called from the porch as Sid and her sister climbed out of the SUV. “Glad to see you changed your mind.”