Summer In Iron Springs Page 10
When the kiss was over, thunderous explosives began bursting in the sky above them and they both erupted in laughter at the ironic timing of the fireworks show. Phoebe leaned into Billy and enjoyed the brilliant colors that lit up the night sky while she reveled in the after effects of the kiss. She was exactly where she wanted to be, with Billy—the first boy she’d ever . . . loved? Do I love Billy? This sure feels like love. Beneath the starry night sky, she considered the question. She could still feel his kiss on her lips and she hoped the feeling would never leave. She glanced at Billy. He was gazing into the sky. She relaxed her head on his shoulder and smiled. It had been a perfect day.
Nine
Phoebe awoke Sunday morning to a quiet, empty house. It had been a peaceful night filled with images of the night before; images of Billy, of dancing with him and kissing him. She sat up and rubbed her eyes as she looked forward to a quiet day.
Anna and the others were at church. Billy tried to talk her into coming but she didn’t want to. She got up, filled the bathtub with hot water and soaked until her fingers and toes were wrinkly. After dressing in her comfortable jeans and a cotton t-shirt, she went downstairs and settled into the chair behind her aunt’s desk. She dialed her dad’s cell phone number and, when his voicemail came on, she left a message letting him know she’d call later.
She pressed the power button to start the computer. Other than looking for help with the locations of the subjects in her mother’s paintings, and checking her email, she hadn’t spent any time on the computer. Back home, she spent hours a day on Facebook, checking email, and visiting websites. Even though she didn’t really care all that much, she decided to check email to see if anyone back home had written to her. While she waited for the computer to boot up, she tapped her fingers on the large wooden desk.
I wonder how she ever finds anything. She wondered as she glanced at the items cluttering the top of Anna’s desk. Stacks of papers and files brimming with more papers covered almost the entire surface. She opened one of the drawers and peered through the files. “No wonder she has to grow so many apples.” She said in response to the hundreds of individual files that filled the drawer labeled with the word Customers. She closed that drawer and opened another—more files. There was a file that held warranties, one for bank statements and many others all neatly marked with a label indicating its contents. Phoebe fingered through them until she came to one that had Bessie Levick written on the tab. She stared at it for a long moment. After glancing toward the door, she lifted the file out of the drawer and set it on the desk before her. She blew out a heavy breath and opened the file. On top of a pile of documents was a large Ziploc bag full of photographs. She set it to the side. A quick glance at the clock in the bottom right corner of the computer monitor told her that she still had about thirty minutes before Anna would be home from church.
Unless she comes home early. The thought caused a brief internal debate over whether or not she had the right to snoop through Anna’s things. Anna wouldn’t mind if I look at this—after all, it has my mother’s name on it. And besides, she told me to make myself at home. She flipped through a stack of papers that dealt with life insurance and funeral plans. Leaning back in the chair and propping her feet up on the desk, she laid the file across her lap and continued examining its contents.
“What’s this?” Phoebe spoke the words aloud when she saw her mother’s death certificate. Her eyes watered as she read the words printed on the record. She scanned it for a moment before her eyes stopped at the box where it said “Immediate cause of death”.
“This has to be a mistake.” She muttered. Her heart slowed and her breathing stopped. In an attempt to make sense of what she was seeing, she read the words aloud, “Fractured Skull?” Her mind was spinning. She reviewed the contents of the file again. A story clipped from the newspaper had the headline “Local Woman Murdered.”
“Murder?” The word hung in the air like an awful odor. Phoebe felt sick to her stomach—like she just walked into someone else’s life. My mother died of cancer, not from a skull fracture. It was a disease and not murder that took her life.
The article, cut from the Iron Springs Post, described the events of the day her mother had died:
Mr. Levick states that he left his home at two in the afternoon and returned approximately an hour later. He reports that the front door was open, several pieces of jewelry were missing and his wife, Bessie Levick, was found unresponsive at the bottom of a set of cement stairs. Mr. Levick admits to having had an argument with his wife prior to leaving the couple’s home and states that it was a minor disagreement. So far, no suspects have been arrested and Mr. Levick remains the only person of interest in the case.
The article dropped from Phoebe’s hand and fluttered to the floor. Her body went numb. She repeated the words aloud. “Mr. Levick remains the only person of interest.” Phoebe couldn’t begin to process the statement. They think my dad killed my mom?
Having no idea how much time had passed, Phoebe was brought back to the present when the front door swung open.
“I bet you boys are starving,” Anna said. “I’ll get lunch on the table.”
“We’ll be out back enjoying the sunshine,” Norm said. His loud laughter boomed through the house.
Phoebe grabbed the bag of pictures and hid it beneath her shirt. She left the open file on the desk and hurried from the room. The reality of what she had learned was beginning to sink in and she was in shock. There were so many unanswered questions, so many lies, and so much deceit. She was frantic to get away. Everyone had lied to her. She wondered how much Billy knew. Had he been lying to her? Anna hadn’t told her the truth and she had plenty of chances to. She ran out the front door and kept running until she could run no more; until her side ached and her legs gave out. She buckled over and clutched her side. Her tears started flowing and she made no attempt to control them. She fell to the ground and cried as the reality of what she had just learned sank in. How could he have lied to me about how my mother died? How could he not tell me that he was suspected in her murder?
As she lay on the ground, tears falling from her eyes, something touched her cheek and she jumped.
“Bandit.” She wrapped her arms around him. “You shouldn’t have followed me.” She checked him over, he was panting and exhausted. “I’m so sorry you had to run all this way.” She knew it was painful for him to just walk. For some reason, he’d decided he was her dog. And that was okay with her. “Come on,” she said. “We’ll take it slow.”
A gentle drizzle fell from the sky and within minutes, the sky darkened and the light rain turned into a fierce storm. In no time, Phoebe was drenched. She wouldn’t go back to Anna’s so she needed to find a place to wait out the storm before deciding what to do next. She took a quick look around before hurrying to the bank of the river where the trees provided a little shelter from the storm. Eventually, she came to an old bridge. Cautiously, she stepped one foot onto it. Once she determined that it was safe and that she was not likely to take an unwanted tumble into the water below, she and Bandit hurried to the other side.
Hidden in the trees, she spotted an old run down cabin. “Come on Bandit,” she said, hurrying toward the cabin. She took a quick glance around the grounds. The place appeared to be abandoned; there was nothing outside but an empty clothesline and a small circle of rocks. They made their way to the porch and crouched down in the corner of the tiny entry way. Even with Bandit there to snuggle up to her, the spot provided almost no protection from cold, wet, beating storm. Rain beat down on her from every direction. After considering her options, she stood up and gave a loud knock on the door. No answer. Cautiously, she turned the rusty knob and slowly pushed the door open. She peered inside at the tiny one-room structure—it was empty. She ushered Bandit inside, then went inside herself and closed the door. She fell to the floor and sat with her back to the door as her tears started to flow again. Bandit sat beside her and rested his head in her lap.
As her eyes adjusted to the dimly lit room, she took a long look around. Firewood was piled neatly beside a black wood burning stove. A wooden dresser was situated next to a twin bed and a lopsided table sat in the center of the room. Judging from the dust that had accumulated on the furniture, the place hadn’t been used in a long time. Cob webs were strung from one end of the place to the other and there was a musty, stale odor in the air.
Phoebe stood up and rung the water from her hair before removing her shoes and socks. She wished she had some dry clothes to change into but she was thankful she had at least found shelter. She sat in a chair at the small table and pulled the bag of photos from her waistband. Before opening it, she rubbed her hands along the plastic bag to remove as much water as possible. When she opened it, she was thankful the pictures had stayed dry.
She looked through the stack of photos over and over again. Despite her sadness, a smile came over her face as she stared at a picture of her mother with a big pregnant belly. She rejoiced at the happiness she saw in Bessie’s beautiful face. There was also a copy of the picture that her dad kept on his nightstand; the one of Bessie on her wedding day. She stared at the picture for a long while. She looked into her mother’s eyes and saw nothing but pure happiness. She smiled as she examined the stunning wedding gown—and then she noticed something . . . the cameo. “My mother’s cameo!”
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 crumpl
ed 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.”