Summer In Iron Springs

by Margie Broschinsky

  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.”

  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 un
conditionally 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.