Chapter Thirty-two

“What about Ben?” asked Jackson Brewer. “He want to come along?”

Remington shook his head and turned his horse to come abreast of the sheriff. “I asked him when I was saddling Bullet. He thinks it’s better if he stays here with Phoebe. She’s more worried about people in Liberty Junction than she is about herself, so I agree with him. It’s probably best.” Remington had other reasons for thinking so, but he did not share these now. “Thaddeus needs the help around the ranch as well.”

“Your father was ready to join us. I had to talk him out of it. I did that while you were speaking to Phoebe. Fiona helped me there. She did not favor the idea of him leaving.”

“It’s not often that she and I are of a like mind. In fact, I don’t know that it’s ever happened, but I can stomach it this time.”

Brewer knuckled the coarse salt-and-pepper stubble on his jaw. “No love lost there. I see Thad’s right about that.”

“I don’t suppose I’ve hidden it well. It’s mutual.”

“He told me that, too. Pains him some.”

Remington merely nodded.

Brewer said, “I get the impression that maybe you feel different about her sister.”

“Your impression, huh?”

“Thad might’ve given me reason to think so.”

“Phoebe’s special.” He looked over at the sheriff. “And I like her just fine.”

“Subject’s closed, then.”

“That’s right. Subject’s closed.”

“I got another one. Subject, that is. How do you think Ellie’s going to take hearing about Blue’s murder?”

“You don’t know? You didn’t tell her?”

He shook his head, shrugged a little helplessly. “She didn’t come out on the porch while I was there. Thought it was odd, her generally being so welcoming and all.”

Remington found it odd, too. Ellie greeted all comers, not only because she was friendly, but also because she was curious. She was the person at Twin Star most likely to know something about everything. “Maybe she heard you talking to Thaddeus from inside the house and retreated to her room.”

“Could be. Thad said he’d talk to her. Preferred it that way, in fact. I know Blue had feelings for her, but I can’t say that I ever thought they were returned in the same way.”

“You’re right, but she showed him some special attention when he was out here last. I think she enjoyed his company, and God knows, he enjoyed hers.” He sighed inaudibly. “The branding. That was not a week ago yet.”

“I know. Hard to believe.”

They rode ahead in silence, Blue a presence for each of them. Jackson Brewer was grieving. Remington Frost was grim.

• • •

Fiona sat at the piano in the front room and ran her fingertips up and down the keys. Occasionally she depressed one enough to make a sound, but that was by accident, not by intent. She did not know how to play. No one at Twin Star did. The piano had been Mary’s, and Thaddeus could not bring himself to part with it. She understood his attachment to the instrument, to the memories it invoked. She did not fault him for wanting to keep it, but his refusal to have it tuned bothered her. Jackson Brewer’s wife gave lessons, and Fiona had expressed an interest in learning, but Thaddeus showed no inclination to support it. He never said that he could not bear to hear it played again; that was her interpretation.

She moved down the bench and patted the space beside her when Phoebe approached. “It is terribly sad about Deputy Armstrong,” she said. “I keep thinking about him at the branding. I believe he ate an entire apple pie.” Her smile was pensive. “And talked to Ellie almost exclusively. I don’t think she minded. Was that your impression?”

“Yes. Yes, it was. I went to her once, thinking she might need rescuing, but that wasn’t the case at all. Where is she? I don’t hear her in the kitchen.”

“She was in her room for a while. Thaddeus spoke to her, and she retired there, but then he went outside and she went out soon after.”

Phoebe’s eyes narrowed. There was something more that Fiona was not saying. “She probably went in search of Ben.”

“Yes. That’s probably what she did. They’re close.”

Phoebe found Fiona’s agreement unconvincing. She laid one hand over Fiona’s, stilling the movement of her fingers over the keys. “Since she’s out, and very likely grieving, we should make dinner. What do you think about that?”

“Together? The two of us in the kitchen?”

“I know there are knives in there. I’ve seen them. I shall endeavor to control myself. Can you?”

“Oh, I think I can manage.”

Phoebe stood and waited for Fiona to join her. They walked into the kitchen together and looked over what Ellie had begun preparing. Phoebe checked the oven. There were six potatoes inside, none close to being fork ready. The chicken stock on the stove had not yet begun to simmer. She handed Fiona a long wooden spoon and pointed to the pot. “Give it a stir.”

Fiona did. “What are we having?”

“I think she had baked potato soup in mind. We can manage that.” She checked the bread drawer. “There’s plenty here that we can warm.”

“The men will want meat.”

“You’re right. The smokehouse. I’ll be right back.” She returned minutes later with a three-pound fillet that Les Brownlee cut down for her. She laid it on a dishtowel on the table and wiped it down, then trimmed it and removed the fat. “Les will be bringing in more vegetables from the root cellar.”

“Les? Which one is he?” When Phoebe gave her a reproachful look, Fiona removed the spoon from the stock and used it to emphasize her point. “They all look alike. Same hats. Same shirts. Same boots. It’s worse in the winter. Same scarves. Same coats.”

“Les Brownlee is the one with the narrow face and the weak chin.”

“Oh. Well, I know him. The chin is an unfortunate distinguishing feature.”

Shaking her head, Phoebe put butter into a skillet and set it on the iron stove. The butter hadn’t started to melt when Les appeared at the back door with a sack of vegetables from the cellar. Phoebe relieved him of his bounty and thanked him before he left. “Do you want to clean and cut these?” she asked as she placed carrots and onions on the cutting board.

“I’ve got my hand full stirring the stock,” said Fiona.

Phoebe chose a lethal-looking chef’s knife with a six-inch blade and placed the hilt solidly in the hand Fiona wasn’t using for stirring. “I’ll take the spoon. You should put on an apron. They’re hanging in the pantry. Get one for me.”

“Have you always been this bossy?” asked Fiona.

“Yes.” Phoebe thought Fiona accepted the answer with surprising equanimity. Maybe they could breathe the same air for short periods of time. She hoped so because Fiona was now in possession of the knife. When Fiona returned with the aprons, Phoebe put one on before she placed the meat into the skillet. The butter hissed and spat at her.

Fiona scrubbed the carrots and then sat at the table to peel and cut them. “What if I went back to New York with you?”

Phoebe turned away from the stove and stared at Fiona. For a long time the only sounds in the kitchen were the sizzle from the frying pan and Fiona’s rhythmic chopping. When Phoebe finally found her voice, it was a harsh whisper. She pointed to the back door. “Anyone could walk in. Why are you bringing it up again? We settled this.”

“Do you think so? The conclusion seemed one-sided to me.”

“Only because you didn’t get your way.”

Fiona gave no indication whether or not she thought this was true. She said quietly, “It occurred to me that you would not want to make the trip by yourself, not after what happened to you on the journey here. And now that we’ve had this terrible thing happen to Blue, it makes more sense for you to have an escort. Why not me?”

“Why not you?” Phoebe could only shake her head. “I truly do not know where to begin answering that.”

Fiona finished chopping a carrot and scraped the medallions to one side of the cutting board. She chose another. “You must see that the men cannot escort you. They have responsibilities here. Remington was the only one who might have been spared because Thaddeus often sends him to auctions or away on some bit of legal business, but we all know how Remington failed to protect you, and given your feelings for him, it would hardly be seemly for him to accompany you.”

This was so much for Phoebe to absorb that she lost sight of Fiona’s point and fixed her argument on what pricked the most. “You don’t know what my feelings are for Remington.”

“You think so? It hardly requires a leap of imagination to see that you fancy yourself in love with him. Say what you like, Phoebe, but I will remain firm in my views.”

“Then I won’t waste my breath denying or confirming. Let us consider practicalities for a moment. How would we arrange going back to New York?” Phoebe held her gaze steady. “I have no money to purchase tickets or to set myself up in New York once I return. I gave up my lodgings. I have no job to go back to and no promise that one would be made for me.”

Fiona dismissed that with an airy wave, careless that she was holding the chef’s knife in that hand. “None of that should be a consideration. I have money.”

“You? You never have money.”

Fiona shrugged. “I do now.”

“But . . . but how?”

“What do you mean how? I have it. That should be enough for you.”

Phoebe jumped away from the stove when sizzling meat and butter spat at her again. She turned back to the skillet, grateful for the distraction, and dealt with browning the fillet. “Did you sell your jewelry?”

“Lord, no. All but a few pieces are paste anyway. I thought you knew.”

“How would I know that?”

“You went to that private school, didn’t you? How do you think I paid for that? How do you think I paid for any of the privileges we enjoyed? You cannot be so naïve, Phoebe. My wages as a performer would have barely kept us fed and clothed, so I accepted gifts. Why wouldn’t I? I had many generous admirers who could well afford to part with tokens of affection. And some of those tokens were worth a great deal. I sold pieces bit by bit as I needed the money. I had paste copies made—Mr. Meir was an excellent artisan and could keep a secret—and I used the excess of funds for incidentals.”

“Incidentals,” Phoebe repeated. She set down the fork she’d been using to turn the beef and pulled out a chair to sit beside Fiona. “My education was no incidental.”

Fiona shrugged again and did not look up from the cutting board. “Well, perhaps there was occasion to use the money for more than trifling things.”

“Fiona.”

“You are not going to become maudlin, are you? It’s done, and you know as well as I do that it was the very least I could do.”

“Does it seem to you that I have been ungrateful? I’m not, and I should have expressed it more often. I did. To others. I should have said it to you.” She laid a hand over Fiona’s to stop the rhythmic chopping. She waited until Fiona set down the knife and looked at her before she spoke. “And you were right that I knew about the jewelry, or at least that I suspected. I shouldn’t have lied. You caught me unawares.” She lightly squeezed Fiona’s hand. “I am grateful, Fiona, and I am sorry that I ever gave you reason to doubt it.”

Fiona’s response was a faint, watery smile. Her amethyst eyes glistened. “Onions,” she said in way of explanation for her weepy response, although she had yet to cut into a single one.

“If you like.” Phoebe removed her hand. “Tell me about this money you have. If not jewelry, then how?”

“Ellie.”

“What?”

“You should not frown so deeply, Phoebe. You will engrave your brow with creases and age well before your time.”

“Yes, because that is what is most important right now.” Still, she schooled her features because she knew Fiona would otherwise remain distracted. “Ellie. Tell me about that.”

“There is nothing to tell. Not really. She offered me money. I swear to you, I never asked her for it. Even if I suspected she had funds sufficient for my needs—which I absolutely did not—I would not have approached her.”

“But you took money from her.”

“Not exactly. I don’t have it. She does, but it is mine if I want it. It will pain me some to tell her that I will accept her offer. I made it clear that if the time came, I would only take it on condition of a loan. I have every intention of repaying her. I will not be beholding to Ellie Madison.”

“How much money are we talking about?”

“Very nearly one thousand dollars.”

Phoebe found the amount unfathomable. “You must have misunderstood her.”

“I assure you, I did not. She showed me her savings book. She has the money in the bank; it is a matter of withdrawing it, which Ben can do without raising the least suspicion because they share the account.” She put up a hand to forestall Phoebe’s next question. “Her husband,” she said. “I knew he was a faithless drunk, but even faithless drunks can get lucky. He was a partner in a silver mine. When he died, the partners bought her out. She wanted the bird in hand, so she accepted their offer. She tells me that if she had stayed in, her housekeeper would have a housekeeper. She would be that well situated.”

“It seems to me that she was thinking of Ben’s future back then. Why would she want to give you any part of that?”

“Isn’t it obvious? She wants me gone. She has from the first. I have often wondered why she has not poisoned me already, and I can only imagine that it is because she does not have the stomach for murder. It certainly has crossed my mind to attempt the same with her, but then she doesn’t allow me in the kitchen long enough to see it through.”

“Fiona!”

“I am not serious, Phoebe. Truly. Besides, I have no idea where she keeps the arsenic.”

Phoebe slumped in her chair. “Lord, Fiona, if I age before my time, it will all be on your head.”

Chuckling, Fiona got up and took over at the stove. “If you trust yourself with the knife, finish the vegetables.”

Phoebe pulled the cutting board toward her and began to work. “I realize that you think I should know the answer to this, but I don’t. Why does Ellie want you gone?”

“As a rule, women do not like to share a man. Neither Ellie nor I are exceptions to the rule. She wants Thaddeus back in her bed and I have him in mine. I acquit them of carrying on behind my back, but I do not acquit them of being tempted.”

“You’re wrong,” said Phoebe. “Thaddeus loves you, Fiona. He adores you. I am certain I can speak for him on that count. I don’t know what Ellie thinks because she keeps her own counsel, but I believe you are wrong there as well. It is your lack of confidence that has made you suspicious of them. I have never observed anything between them that leads me to suppose they are tempted in the manner you are suggesting.”

“I have never lacked confidence. You would know that if you stood in my shoes. You would know everything if you stood in my shoes.”

“I am trying,” Phoebe said. “Except for your own imaginings, which are hardly evidence, what is there to suggest that they ever shared a bed?”

Now it was Fiona who turned away from the stove and stared at Phoebe. “What is there?” she asked. “There’s Ben.”

“Ben?” But even as Phoebe said it aloud, she knew, and wondered why she hadn’t known it before.

“Yes. Ben. Thaddeus’s bastard son.”