“You're not getting sidetracked chasing another story this time, are you?” Susan’s tone was both teasing and serious.
Paige winced. Articles that started out as one thing had a tendency to turn into something else when Paige was on the road – sometimes for the better, sometimes not, depending on the paper’s needs.
“Of course not,” she lied. After all, was it her fault that sapphire mining and western art crossed paths geographically?
“Any close encounters of the cowboy kind?” Now Susan was definitely teasing her. After years working for the paper, Paige knew her work ethic wasn't in question.
“As a matter of fact, I did have one recently,” Paige laughed. “So odd that he knew where I was.”
“I took a chance with that one, but it was a pretty safe bet that you wouldn't mind.”
“You knew I wouldn't.” The memory of Jake’s visit eclipsed Paige's disappointment over his heading back to Jackson.
Susan called out to someone else in the department, asking if any photos had been delivered. Hearing a “yes,” she turned back to the call with Paige. “Gotta go, email me an update.” The line disconnected as Paige said goodbye.
CHAPTER NINE
Paige studied the interior of the gem gallery more closely on her second visit. Aside from the business, Clive's place itself was intriguing. Its walls held a variety of encased or framed items. One glass case held a collection of old mining tools – rusted picks and clamps. Unfamiliar as Paige was with mining methods, the objects didn't mean much to her and probably wouldn’t add to her article on sapphires. But it was fascinating to see the basic tools that miners had used during early years.
As she wandered along the wall, she passed a framed newspaper article featuring the gem gallery. Dated a few years earlier, it read more like an advertisement than an article. The accompanying photo showed Clive leaning against a post outside the front entrance, a pleased-with-himself smile plastered across his face and the bright, wordy, painted front window to his side.
Paige listened idly to Clive’s conversation with some tourists from Omaha who were on their way to Butte to visit relatives. They hoped the side trip to Timberton might allow them to pick up a sparkling trinket or two. It sounded like Clive was well on the way to coaxing them into a third attempt. He succeeded, quickly setting up new piles of gravel and leaving them to their treasure hunt.
When he caught up to Paige to say hello, she was standing in front of a striking painting, a western scene in a thick, gold frame. The framing would not have been her first choice for artwork with an Old West theme. Something more rustic would have worked better. But the painting itself was remarkable and reminded her of others she had seen in museums.
“Nice, isn't it?”
“Yes,” Paige agreed, stepping back to get a broader view of the piece. “Is this a Charles Russell painting? I've seen a few of his, and they look a lot like this one.”
Clive laughed and shook his head. “No, I wish. I could close the shop and retire in comfort.”
“It's a spectacular likeness, in that case,” Paige said, tilting her head to the side and studying the piece from another angle.
“Indeed it is,” Clive agreed. “And there's a reason for that. A student of his painted it. From what they say, Mr. Russell was never pleased with this particular student, and, it’s true, this student’s earlier works lacked something. But the later paintings showed huge improvement. Maybe it just took some time and practice for him to get it right. Too bad Mr. Russell was long gone by the time his student's work improved to the point of gaining a local name for himself. Word has it that the teacher-student relationship between them was rocky.”
“Really,” Paige kept her tone light, hoping she sounded less intrigued than she suddenly was. She tilted her head and took in the overall composition. It was detailed, a vivid scene of horses descending a hill beneath a brilliant blue sky with soft, wispy clouds. The angles of the horses' legs galloping captured their movement beautifully. Clouds of dust sprang up alongside their hooves. Though the horses moved as a herd, the varied coloring of the individual horses made each one stand out on its own. Below, a covered wagon rested in a shaded valley, a glowing campfire alongside it.
It was an impressive painting, rich in western imagery. But even more intriguing to Paige was the way the piece fell in line with descriptions in the old diary. Tempted to bring up the discovery to get Clive's opinion, Paige thought better of it. It would be wiser to figure out the connection herself.
Her eagerness to find the missing entries was growing stronger by the minute. The painting in Clive's gallery was certainly linked to the person who had kept the diary.
Leaning forward, Paige examined the lower right corner of the canvas. “SJW?” The signature was abrupt, the letters close together. With the exception of the additional “J,” it matched the printing in the front of the diary.
Clive nodded. “Silas Wheeler, Russell's student.”
“His signature is bold.” Paige took in the angular formation of the initials. The brush strokes were compact and solid. She resisted an odd urge to reach out and touch the surface.
“Well, he was a bold man.” Clive glanced over his shoulder to check on his customers. Finding them absorbed in their sapphire hunt, he turned back to face Paige.
“Not much is known about Silas Wheeler. He lived here in Timberton, but shipped most of his paintings off to be sold in other areas. Silas was a gruff old curmudgeon. All anyone ever got out of him were grumblings and complaints.”
“Sounds like a temperamental creative type,” Paige suggested, attempting to give the character the benefit of the doubt.
Clive laughed. “You're giving him too much credit. The guy was a downright arrogant jerk who believed his talent gave him the right to be condescending. He kept to himself, which was fine with the townsfolk here, seeing as he had nothing pleasant to say to anyone. He was erratic and unpredictable, prone to sudden bursts of anger. They say he threw a fit one day just because the general store didn't carry a certain product he needed. Picked up a jug of whiskey and sent it flying through the store's front window and then kicked over a barrel of apples for good measure. Walked right out the door, broken glass crunching under his feet. The shopkeeper just cleaned it up and let him go. No one wanted to mess with him.”
Paige took another close look at the painting. “He was remarkably talented.”
“Yeah, I guess he was, at least in his later years,” Clive said. “Don't know why someone talented would be so cantankerous. He had plenty to be grateful for. Maybe he was bitter because it took most of his life to develop his skill. Who knows?”
A squeal of excitement from the worktable sent Clive ambling over to inspect a stone that had been found by one of the customers. As the visitors had hoped, they'd managed to find a small sapphire. Their enthusiasm was dampened when Clive explained the cutting and polishing process would reduce its size. But they left in good spirits, taking an order form with them, in case they decided to have the stone processed later on.
Paige pried herself away from the painting and joined Clive at the worktable.
“Do many people go ahead and have the stones cut?” Paige keyed in on a possible aspect for The Manhattan Post article, setting aside the subject of Silas Wheeler and his paintings.
Clive stretched both arms across the table, gathering the leftover gravel into a pile. “No, they don't. Every now and then someone will, but it's rare that a stone will be large enough to be cut into a gem. Doesn't matter, really. They enjoy the process and learn a little bit about the area at the same time.”
“And it gives this town some business, as well.”
“Yep, that's the idea. And sometimes they'll buy a readymade piece of jewelry with a decent sized stone.” Clive grinned like a mischievous schoolboy. The salesman was back.
* * * *
Betty was folding brochures for the hotel when Paige returned from the gem gallery. A vacuum cleaner sat on
the edge of the lobby’s rug, and a dust rag rested on the edge of the main counter.
“Where's your handsome visitor?” Betty practically glowed. She was clearly proud that she’d pulled off Jake’s surprise visit so well.
“He’s on his way back to Jackson. He has to be at his ranch for a lumber delivery. Sneaky of you, setting up that dinner at Moonglow the way you did.” Paige’s involuntary smile canceled the fake scolding tone.
“Well, that's quite a ways to drive for such a short visit. I think that man's mighty sweet on you.” Betty placed a few folded brochures in a display rack and started in on another batch. “He's quite a looker, too.”
“That he is,” Paige sighed.
“Those blue eyes, good manners and that cowboy swagger make me wish I could wind the clock back about four decades. How'd you meet him, you being from way back east?”
“Another work assignment,” Paige said. “An article on gold prospecting in Jackson Hole. I'd never been out this far west before that. It was an eye-opener.”
“And I've never been as far east as New York. Must be a whole different life out there.”
“Yes, it is.” Visions of Manhattan flashed through Paige’s mind. New York and Timberton were about as similar as the moon to Earth. The tallest structure in Timberton would barely reach the second floor of her office building.
“So how's that slick gem dealer doing,” Betty asked, with a mix of curiosity and disdain.
“Clive seems like a nice enough guy. He certainly knows the history of sapphire mining around here, which is exactly what I need.”
“He certainly knows the business of luring the tourists in, is more like it.” Betty shook her head. “I can't imagine how many people must walk out of there disappointed. Must be a better way to spend money on vacation.”
“I don't know,” Paige said. “I watched a family sort through a couple of piles of gravel today, and they were pretty excited to find a small stone. They seemed happy when they left.”
“That stone won't amount to anything,” Betty said. “Cut it down and it'll be the size of a pin head.”
“I think it's the experience the tourists are looking for,” Paige suggested.
“Ha!” Betty clearly didn't buy it. “Don't fool yourself. They're after a rock the size of Princess Di's.”
Paige laughed. “From what I've read, that famous sapphire of Diana's could have come from anywhere.”
“I suppose so, not that it matters to me. I'm not much into jewelry,” Betty stated. “A waste of good money.” Under the grumbling, Paige thought she heard a touch of longing in Betty’s voice.
CHAPTER TEN
Paige took an apple from the hotel's front counter and headed upstairs to her room. For no rational reason, she checked the empty wall cavity, as if missing portions of the diary might have materialized while she was away. Of course there was nothing, which set her mind spinning with curiosity. She needed to find a way into lower sections of the wall. Asking Betty to help was one option. Doing so might fill in some of the gaps, provided the hotelkeeper had any idea where the diary came from. But Paige had the current advantage of being the only one who knew of the diary's existence, except for Jake. Better to wait before sharing the discovery locally. Finding the missing portion was more important.
She tried to remember the layout of the lower hallway. What about the room below hers? Exhausted from the plane flight and drive, she'd only looked at rooms on the top floor, settling on the quiet one she currently occupied. Thinking back, she recalled Betty saying the one below hers was used for laundry. She considered going downstairs to check the wall below. But she paused at the sound of Betty's footsteps in the lobby. She would have to wait.
Shedding the jeans and sweatshirt she'd casually thrown on that morning, she lifted a red, flannel nightshirt over her head and let it slip down over her arms and shoulders. She folded down the bedding, sat down and checked her cell phone for messages. Seeing voicemail from New York, she leaned back against the pillows and played the first one, expecting Susan's voice.
Paige? Hey, it's Brandi! We miss you back here in the Big Apple! You're not getting tied up out there with that cowboy are you? Brandi's voice morphed into a laugh as she realized the accidental double entendre. Sorry! Anyway, I've been going over your article outline and discussing it with the advertising staff...that is, Susan asked me to see what they thought...and they...OH, and I forgot to tell you! Bergdorf's having a sale and I found the most AMAZING purse, Italian leather, dyed the most fab purple you've ever seen, with rhinestones on the handle. Swarovski, no less...But, back to the sapphire article....This was followed with a scuffling sound and a smack that promised to be the sound of the phone hitting the office floor. Wait, Susan's waving at me, I'll call you back. Ciao!
Paige smiled. Brandi could drive both of them crazy. But she meant well and they both knew it.
Moving on to the second message, she was greeted again, as expected, with Brandi's voice.
Paige? Sorry! I dropped the phone and then Susan...well, anyway, I checked into the sapphire deposits out there, like you asked. Read all about Montana. Wow! Sure isn't anything like New York out there, is it? ... Another scuffling sound, this time not a phone hitting the ground, but what Paige guessed was a bag of chips being ripped open. She could only imagine Brandi's scrunched up brow while reading about the West. It was unlikely she'd ever been west of Hoboken. Paige pulled the phone away from her ear quickly as a loud crunch came through the line. So, I found those big mining areas you emailed about – creek, river, whatever, but also small ones ... crunch ... lots of small ones, including some near you ... crunch ... you're in Timberton, right? Did you know that's not far from Yogo Gulch? Wait, of course you know that. Anyway, it doesn't really matter. There were hundreds of places they started to dig up and filled back in when nothing was found … crunch ... So you're on the right track with Yogo Gulch. I want one of those Yogos, too, to go with my turquoise yoga pants and lime green floor mat ... Ha! Get it? Yogo? Yoga? ... Oh! And Rachel Rose Bernice Hortzenberg died! I know, I know, we have no idea who she was, but what a name! Ciao!
Paige exited her voicemail, pulled a pillow over her head, dropped her arm across the bed and let the cell phone slide out of her hand. With the disconcerting image of Brandi's yoga ensemble in her head, she fell asleep.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Paige bolted upright in bed, dazed in the pitch-dark room. Steady pounding on her door, coupled with the sound of sirens, shocked her awake in seconds. She jumped out of bed and rushed to the door, opening it so quickly that Betty's next knock almost smacked her in the forehead.
“Hurry, Moonglow is on fire!” The hotelkeeper was frantic, and her distress was contagious. Paige pulled on jeans, shoes and a jacket without bothering to take off her nightshirt. She was out the door within seconds behind Betty.
“Is the hotel in danger?” Paige shouted as they rushed toward the sidewalk. Smoke filled her nostrils and throat. She cupped a hand over her face, but the gesture was useless. The air was thick; there was no escaping the black billows flowing from the café. The sheriff’s car raced by, siren shrieking, lights flashing against the dense, smoky night sky.
Betty shook her head. “I don't think so. The buildings on each side of Moonglow are much newer, mostly concrete and steel. Unlikely the fire will spread. But Mist’s place is in trouble. That building is nothing but wood and is old as the hills.” They pushed forward until they reached the perimeter of the fire-engulfed property. Panic was as thick in the air as the smoke.
Two fire trucks were parked at haphazard angles in front of the café, hoses sprouting from them. A crew of men clad in waterproof gear faced the building and aimed blasts of water at the bright flames that flowed from the front windows. The firefighters were determined, but it was clear they were no match for the growing fireball in front of them.
Sheriff Myers’ car screeched to an abrupt halt. He jumped out and screamed to the townspeople already congregated t
o stay back. Rushing forward, he shoved people, including Paige, to the side.
“Is there more help coming?” Paige shouted at him over the commotion.
“I said stand back!” The sheriff growled and stared directly at Paige. “You’re in my way, lady!”
“I'm afraid this town only has two fire trucks and crew,” Betty said, pulling Paige aside, “one fire chief – Clayton, the guy over there giving orders – and a few volunteers.” Betty's eyes brimmed with tears, sparkling in the reflection of the flames.
“What about neighboring towns?”
“Too far away,” Betty said. “They'll probably send some help, but by the time it gets here, the damage will be done. This is going up too quickly.”
Paige stared at the burning building, feeling paralyzed. The crowd was growing rapidly. Timberton residents shouted across the chaos to each other, asking questions and forming premature theories about the cause of the fire.
“Must've started as a grease fire!” one voice shouted. His suggestion was quickly shot down.
“It's the middle of the night, you idiot. Why would anyone be cooking?” Murmurs from others confirmed that most agreed.
“Electrical, then,” a young man's voice chimed in. “Plenty of things not up to code in these old buildings. Isn't this Clive Barnes' building? I bet he hasn't updated anything in years.”
“Now wait a second,” Betty shouted, angry now. “We can't just go accusing people of things we know nothing about. Just pipe down. There'll be a proper investigation. Right now we need to stay out of the way and not make things worse by speculating.” The crowd clearly sided with Betty, and some people chastised those starting rumors.
The conversation snapped Paige out of her temporary numbness. “Where is Clive?” She stepped back and looked around. “And where is …?” A sudden horror gripped her as she faced Betty abruptly and grabbed her by both arms.
Paige MacKenzie Mysteries Box Set Page 26