Unwrapping Hope Read online

  Laurie sipped her hot tea. “Where did you learn to play the piano, Mrs. Crain?”

  “Someone saw potential in me and insisted I learn.”

  “From there, you performed in concert halls?”

  Where had she heard that information? Spence hadn’t spilled those beans. “Which of Newland’s employees have you been gossiping with?”

  Laurie paid undue attention to her lettuce salad.

  “Let me guess. Wally.”

  His sister stuck out her tongue, then darted a glance at Phoebe and reined it in. “Yes. Wally.”

  Phoebe dabbed her lips with the napkin but failed to hide her amusement.

  Laurie popped a piece of lettuce into her mouth, chewed, swallowed, and said, “You were going to tell us about your performances, Mrs. Crain.”

  “Don’t pester her, young lady.”

  “I don’t mind. Wallace was correct. Before Maura was born, I performed in front of audiences in small-town music halls on occasion.”

  Laurie’s brows lifted. “You must have started very young.”

  “I began at sixteen.”

  “My age.”

  “I was too young. Such an opportunity can go to a person’s head, especially when one is not fully mature.” Phoebe smiled, but the words held a warning for Laurie.

  His sister’s voice was breathless when she asked, “Have you ever performed in New York?”

  Phoebe laughed. “No, but it would be marvelous, wouldn’t it?”

  A screech and shouting from the kitchen interrupted the conversation.

  Spence aimed a frown at his sister. “I’m sure we know what that is about.”

  Laurie tossed her napkin on the table and jumped from her seat. “Excuse me.” She dashed from the room in the direction of the noise.

  Once she’d gone, he rubbed the spot between his eyes. “Don’t look so concerned, Phoebe. It’s only Myron.”

  “Myron?”

  “A few months ago, Laurie rescued a baby squirrel from the clutches of a cat and insisted upon raising him. She takes the spoiled creature everywhere with her. Every now and then, Myron escapes his cage and finds his way to the kitchen, where he enjoys the warmth of the stove. For some reason, Mrs. Rosenbach doesn’t appreciate his presence.”

  Phoebe clucked her tongue. “How unreasonable of her.”

  His shoulders shook. “Isn’t it?”

  She pushed a lettuce leaf around her plate. “You mentioned a purpose for this invitation.”

  “A few weeks ago, you asked me to build Maura a dollhouse.”

  “A request you considered extortion.”

  “I was angry at the time.”

  “With good cause.” She ran the tines of her fork through the dressing pooling on her plate. “Have you changed your mind?”

  “I’ve not only changed my mind, I asked you here to see what I’ve done. What Laurie and I have done.”

  The hand holding the fork froze. “You’ve built Maura a dollhouse?”

  PHOEBE FOLLOWED SPENCE into the building behind his house. He lit several lanterns until the interior shone a yellow-orange. “Let me get the stove started so we’re not shivering.”

  She was on tenterhooks, certain this was a dream. Why had he changed his mind?

  While he stuffed the stove with kindling, Phoebe inspected the well-ordered space. Handsaws, planes, chisels, and hammers hung from hooks and nails on the walls. The room smelled of lumber, paint, and wood stains. Shelves held jars of nails and screws. He had stacked scrap wood in various sizes against one wall, and numerous larger tools—many of which she couldn’t name—packed strategic places throughout the building.

  “You have a well-equipped shop.” And the cleanliness said much about his habits.

  “There are a few things I’d like to add, but I prefer to purchase them as needed.”

  Where would he put anything else?

  If he’d had an interest in such things, Maura’s father would have purchased everything at once, then let much of it sit idle or never used. Not for the first time, she asked herself what she had seen in the man.

  Laurie pointed to the workbench and a large lump covered by a stained cloth. “You and Maura will adore the dollhouse, Phoebe.” She placed the basket she’d carried with her on the workbench. “I brought some wallpaper remnants Mother was happy to part with. You know your daughter best, so choose whichever ones you think she’d like.” She laid various wallpaper pieces alongside the basket.

  Phoebe ran a finger over a deep red floral pattern. “This is lovely, but Maura is drawn to bright colors.”

  “I’ve seen her green-and-orange socks.” Spence reached into the basket and pulled out a scrap of bright blue wallpaper with tiny red-and-white flowers. “How about this?”

  “Perfect.” Her fingers itched to remove the covering that hid the dollhouse. “May I see it?”

  “Of course.” He turned to his sister. “Would you like to do the honors?”

  The girl hopped up and down. “Yes, I would.” She yanked the cloth off.

  The sight of the dollhouse stole Phoebe’s breath. Finally her daughter would receive something special for Christmas. She touched the roof of the tiny cupola with its wooden windows painted to resemble stained glass.

  “Laurie painted those,” Spence said. “We didn’t want to use glass.”

  “You did a beautiful job, Laurie.”

  The outer walls of the house were a barn red. Unfinished thin gray lines were scrawled across them to represent brick. The roof had been painted black.

  “Let me show you this.” Rather than turning it around to display four rooms, two up and two down, Spence grabbed miniature knobs on a double door painted on the front and pulled. Wings of the house swung open in both directions, displaying extra rooms at each side and creating eight in all.

  Phoebe gasped. “I don’t know what to say.”

  He fidgeted, his voice cautious as he said, “Tell us you like it.”

  His face swam before her as tears teemed in her eyes. “What amazing work. I was right in thinking you could create something that outshone the one in the store. Thank you.” She wrapped Laurie in a hug. “Both of you.”

  “Hugging my sister hardly seems fair when I did most of the work.” Spence teased her with an exaggerated frown.

  Phoebe stood on her tiptoes, ready to wrap her arms around him, but his wink and a realization of what she was about to do scorched her skin with the heat of a lightning bolt. An impulsive act, based on excitement, could open a door better left closed.

  “Thank you, Spence.” She spun on her toes without touching him and grabbed the first piece of wallpaper under her hand. “This will work.”

  Laurie stared at her. “I thought you said Maura would prefer something brighter.”

  Phoebe looked at her choice, a patterned gray as dull as anything she had ever seen. “You’re right. I meant the blue one and the one with the yellow fruit for the dining room.”

  Her attempt to laugh off the mistake fell flat.

  SPENCE ENTERED HIS office at the same time Phoebe placed an envelope on his desk. “Here again on an off day?”

  She flinched and whipped around. Guilt paraded in the progressive shades of pink coloring her face.

  “I had no idea you liked our store so well.” He expected the lighthearted remark to put her at ease, but the straight line of her lips said she would have none of it.

  She snatched the envelope from the desk and held it out to him. “I wanted to leave this.”

  He read his name on the front but didn’t touch it. “What is it?”

  “Payment for the dollhouse.”

  She thought he intended to sell it to her? “I don’t want payment, Phoebe.”

  “Please take it.”

  “No.” Seeing the glow on her face yesterday was worth every hour spent in his workshop. He wanted no other compensation.

  Her stubborn chin rose to attention. “Then I’m afraid I can’t accept the dollhouse.”
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br />   “You’re the one who asked me to make it for Maura. Now you won’t accept it?”

  “I asked to trade, but things are different now. Working here and playing for the Davidsons has provided more than enough to pay you.”

  He shut the door, stalked to the other side of his desk, and rearranged a group of papers to keep his hand from seizing that envelope and tearing it into tiny pieces. “Keep your money.”

  Phoebe turned to face him. “You’re angry?”

  “I’m not angry.”

  “You sound angry.”

  “I’m not angry.” Maybe a little.

  All right, yes, he walked a fine line between anger and disappointment. When she’d backed away from him yesterday as if he were a wolf ready to devour her, that was disappointment. When realizing nothing he’d done had moved them past her qualms over his motivations, that was disappointment. When thinking over his flirtation in the workshop left him with an inclination to kick himself into Sunday, that was anger.

  “You and Laurie put hours of work into something for a child you barely know, Spence. I won’t take advantage of you. What about the materials? I’m sure they cost you.”

  She was not about to let this go. “I can afford a few pieces of wood. It was something I wanted to do. For Maura.”

  And for her mother.

  Her expression softened. “I appreciate it but would feel better if you took the money.”

  “I don’t want it, Phoebe.”

  “I won’t give my daughter something that costs me nothing. We’ll trade.”

  He fought to control an unexpected urge to laugh at her tenacity. “Haven’t we been through this before? What is your offer this time, Mrs. Crain?”

  “I’m willing to play for the store through New Year’s with no compensation.”

  Before he could tell her to forget it, someone knocked on his door. “Come in.”

  “Spence, have you seen Gil today?” Roslyn marched into the office, a paper clenched in her hand. Her red and puffy-eyed glance shifted from him to Phoebe and back. “I’m sorry. You and Mrs. Crain are busy. I’ll come back.”

  Phoebe placed the envelope on the desk. “No. I’ll go and let you two talk.”

  “We’re not done...negotiating, Mrs. Crain.” Spence pointed to a second chair. “Stay.”

  She looked to Roslyn, who said, “It’s all right. Anything said here will be all over the store shortly anyway.”

  Phoebe sat in the chair he indicated and turned her head away, as if doing so made her unable to hear whatever he and Roslyn were about to discuss.

  Spence leaned against the corner of the desk. “Tell me the problem, Roslyn.”

  “Has Gil come in this morning?”

  “I haven’t seen him. Why? What’s wrong?”

  “He’s missing.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Spence wavered between believing his friend was missing and believing Roslyn exaggerated.

  “Gil met with a man at the house last night. They got into an argument and started shouting at one another.”

  “Who was the man?”

  “I’ve never met him.”

  “What was the argument about?”

  She rolled the paper tighter, then unrolled it and held it out to him. “This, I think.”

  Spence scanned the form. “Where did you get this?”

  “When the man left, Gil was in a foul mood—not unusual these days. We fought, and I drove to the farm to get away from him and calm down.”

  They must have had quite a quarrel for Roslyn to run off to her parents’ farm. According to Gil, she despised being associated with the place.

  “I returned a couple of hours later. He’d packed his clothes and gone.”

  Phoebe shifted on the seat to face Roslyn, her expression hard. “Are you all right?”

  “Fine.”

  “Like you, I’m sure he needed time to calm down. He’ll be back.” Spence hoped that was the case. Gil owed him some answers about the paper Roslyn had handed him.

  “I don’t think so. He hadn’t returned by this morning, so I went through what remained of his things, looking for something to tell me where he’d gone. The fireplace in the sitting room was cold, but it held the ashes of burned paper.”

  “Where did you find this?” Spence held up the form.

  “On the floor under his desk. I imagine it fell without him realizing it.”

  Phoebe stretched to see. “What is it?”

  Spence’s chest tightened as he read and reread the company name—R. B. Connors and Company, Wholesalers, Peru, Indiana. “It’s a blank invoice form.” Though not from one of their main suppliers. He turned it over. Nothing typed or written on either side. “When Gil argued with the other man, what exactly did you hear?”

  “Only words here and there. For instance, I heard discovery and bank”—she bit her lip—“your name, and police. That’s why I brought that paper here. I’m just a farm girl, but I’m sure something is wrong, something that involves the store. Why would he have another company’s blank invoice at home?”

  Why indeed? “I’ll take care of this, Roslyn. You’re upset. Why don’t you go home for the day?”

  “If you don’t mind, working will keep me from dwelling on Gil and whatever happens with this situation.”

  Spence hesitated. Could he trust her to do her work without letting her concerns get in the way? He nodded. “All right.”

  Phoebe rose and took Roslyn’s arm. “Let’s have a cup of tea before you start work.” She glanced at Spence. “We’ll be on the third floor if you need us.”

  Once the ladies left, Spence studied the form. Why would Gil possess a blank invoice form from a wholesaler? And what were the other papers he’d burned? More forms?

  What are you up to, Gil, and where have you gone?

  He strode down the hall, his unease growing with each step. It intensified when seeing his friend’s office lit only by the little sunlight able to penetrate the drawn window shade. The desk was neat and vacant, personal items missing. Nothing but the lingering smell of old cigar smoke.

  The man Spence had considered a friend had left with no intention of returning.

  He asked the clerks in the accounting area if they had handled invoices from the company identified on the paper Roslyn had found. No one admitted to recognizing the name, so he left them with instructions to go through the files seeking anything pertaining to R. B. Connors Wholesalers, then marched to his father’s office. Each step weighed him down with guilt and incompetence. He should have contacted the police long ago.

  Spence explained Roslyn’s visit and Gil’s disappearance before he showed his father the form. “Are you familiar with this company?”

  “No. Could he have begun his own business?”

  “If so, Roslyn knows nothing about it.”

  “It wouldn’t take much to fill out a blank form like that. It could explain the missing merchandise.”

  Merchandise paid for yet nonexistent.

  Spence didn’t like that his father’s thoughts led in the same direction as his own. Embezzler was a nasty title. Doubly so when applied to a friend.

  His father tapped the tips of his fingers together as he thought, then he stood and grabbed his coat and hat from the rack in the corner of his office. “Let’s go.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “I know he’s your friend, but I smell a foul odor that needs airing. It’s time to get the police involved.”

  If their suspicions proved valid, airing that odor was sure to mean scandal, and scandal meant trouble for the store and failure on Spence’s part. After all, he had hired Gil.

  “I’LL TAKE IT FOR YOU.” Phoebe reached for the container that held trash from the women’s clothing department.

  Claire pulled the box to her chest. “It’s not your job.”

  “No, but will you deny me the opportunity to help you?” Phoebe sounded like Spence when he said he’d built the dollhouse to please Maura. />
  He’d spent hours laboring over her daughter’s gift as she had labored over the scarves for the children. Mr. Jernigan hadn’t offered to pay her or her Widow’s Might friends. If he had, he would have offended each woman. Was that how Spence had felt when she’d insisted on paying him for the dollhouse? Had she offended him?

  He’d kept the money these past two days, so she considered the subject closed but didn’t like thinking she had hurt his feelings.

  “Has anyone pointed out how mulish you can be?” If Claire didn’t already have her hands full, Phoebe could see her flopping them on her hips as she asked the question.

  “Too often.” Phoebe wiggled her fingers. “Give it here.”

  Claire handed her the box. “Go with my undying appreciation for your sacrifice.”

  “I’m not going to war.”

  “Say that after you’ve smelled the trash heap.” She held her nose.

  Phoebe shook her head. “Goodbye, Claire.”

  She carried the trash to a back door and down the outer stairs to the end of the alley between the store and warehouse building. At the street, a large wooden box held the refuse from the store, most of it anyway. It overflowed because of the city’s sporadic pick up and proved Claire right when she said carrying out the trash would be a sacrifice...a sacrifice involving her sense of smell. The sooner she completed her task, the better.

  On a brighter note, it was too cold for the flies to congregate.

  Too short to place the box on top of the pile, she stood on her toes and shoved it as high as possible, knocking something metal to the ground. Embarrassed, she looked around. The clatter had drawn the attention of two men standing at the corner of the alley across the street.

  Phoebe squinted. She didn’t recognize the shorter man, but was the other Gil Malone? Everyone assumed he’d left Riverport the night Roslyn had seen him arguing with another man. Phoebe had only seen Roslyn’s husband once, and this man wore his hat low. She might be wrong.

  Noting her stare, both men turned and disappeared down the alley. Maybe she wasn’t wrong about seeing Gil Malone, because men with nothing to hide didn’t run away.