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Spence shut the door to his father’s office. Under the circumstances, it was best no one heard their discussion.
The beautiful sound of Phoebe Crain’s talent had followed them up the elevator. In his mind, he still heard the applause of the customers who had gathered to hear her play, which reassured him that he had made the right choice.
The Second leaned back in the desk chair and continued the discussion from downstairs. “Like last time, the missing articles consist mostly of small items, nothing unusual or expensive, nothing like jewelry.”
Was the stock simply misplaced or miscounted in an inventory? Or was it stolen? As much as Spence wanted to believe in the two former possibilities, he and his father leaned toward the last.
“Common items, easy to resell,” Spence said.
“Yes.”
“Gil showed me the invoices. We can’t trace what happened after delivery. Amos has no record of the stock in the warehouse.”
Mentioning Gil reminded Spence that he’d never confronted his friend about his behavior with Roslyn. He’d received no complaints and had put it off.
“You and I know what this probably means, Spence.”
“Chances are high that we’re dealing with an employee who is a thief.”
His father grimaced. “But which one?”
“I don’t want to think I hired someone dishonest, someone who would betray us.”
“It happens. I hope we’re wrong.” His father leaned over the desk. “Right or wrong, we must stop the disappearance of store merchandise. You should call in the police.”
Spence played with a loose thread on the seat of his chair, trying to keep from ripping it out. While his father retained ultimate control over the store, he had been generous in allowing Spence to manage it. As such, it was Spence’s responsibility to get to the bottom of the issue before it became public knowledge.
“We talked about this before, Father. If we get the police involved, word of the thefts will leak out, maybe show up in the newspapers. It won’t be good exposure.” And it would likely ruin his plans if Clifton Lark were to hear of it. The man would assume they...he...couldn’t properly manage this store, much less new ones.
“I understand your concern, but Lark isn’t so naïve as to think a business like ours doesn’t come without some risk.”
By now, Spence shouldn’t be startled by the way The Second read his mind.
“I’m behind you in your plan to expand our interests, son, but we should think of the safety of our customers and employees. What if this thief gets bold in his efforts and decides to rob one of them? Perhaps he’ll begin to steal more than petty items. Someone could get hurt.”
“Father, please. Give me a little more time to find out who is behind our losses.”
His father crossed his arms and studied him. “Keep me informed.”
Spence rose from the chair. “I will.”
He’d start his inquiry by talking with the man who delivered their merchandise, Eugene Henry. Was he in such financial straits that he had resorted to stealing?
***
“WHY CAN’T I FIND A father at the train station?”
Phoebe slowed her steps in the hallway outside the employee salon. The little voice came from around the corner. What were Mama and Maura doing on the fourth floor?
Several beats of silence passed. With her coat draped over her arm, she waited to hear her mother’s reply.
“Fathers come from lots of places, Miss Maura.”
Phoebe’s heart lurched. Her daughter had taken her query to The Third?
“What makes you believe you’ll find someone at the railroad station?”
“Mama said that’s where princes and princesses meet.”
Phoebe cringed. What must Mr. Newland think of that ridiculous notion? To his credit, he didn’t laugh. That didn’t mean he wasn’t smiling. She suspected he’d been born with a smile on his face.
“Have you ever ridden on a train?”
Phoebe had started toward them to put an end to the discussion, but Mr. Newland’s voice halted her once more.
“That’s how we got to Riverport, but I don’t remember it much. Do you think, if I rode one again, I’d meet me a papa?”
He had tried to shift the conversation, but Maura’s mind often ran like the trains—along one track. Phoebe wanted to rescue the man, but her shoes stuck to the floor, as if the soles had been nailed there.
“You miss your father, don’t you?”
“I never saw him. Mama said he died before I was born.”
“I’m sorry you never met him. I’m sure he was fine man.”
“Mama says he was a prince.”
Phoebe’s lie to her daughter.
“When I ask her for another papa, she says we have to wait for God to say it’s time. What does that mean?”
Phoebe pressed her hands to the sides of her burning face. Surely the man had never faced such a circumstance.
“It means your mother wants to be certain that the right man becomes your father. She wants to be confident that he’ll be good to you and love you as much as she does.”
And not abandon her as her real father had done. Phoebe’s throat tightened.
“But my friends have fathers. I want another prince for a papa, just like in a fairy tale.”
“Sometimes, Miss Maura, we can’t have everything we want or the things others have.”
Phoebe imagined Mr. Newland down on one knee in front of Maura, explaining things in a way she had failed to do.
“Think of it this way. Your friends don’t have pretty green-and-orange-striped stockings like yours, do they?”
“No, sir. Mama helped me make them when I told her what I wanted.”
“She sounds like a wonderful mother.”
Spence Newland said all the right words. If Phoebe weren’t careful, he would breach her defenses.
“God has different plans for each of us. He places us in different circumstances. You don’t have a father like your friends, but He gave you a mother and a grandmother who love you and take care of you.”
“They make me stockings.”
“Yes, they make you pretty stockings.”
What would Maura’s life be like if she had the type of father to speak to her as Spence Newland was doing at this moment?
“Did you know the Bible says God is a father to the fatherless?”
“That’s me.”
Phoebe pressed her back to the hallway wall. She never thought to explain God as the perfect father to her daughter. Instead, she’d told her some absurd story about trains and princesses. Why was that?
Maybe because, no matter how badly he’d hurt her, she still held a fond memory of the first moment she saw Douglas enter the passenger car of the train bound for Chicago. He’d asked to sit next to her. She couldn’t refuse such a handsome and dynamic man. A prince.
Had she known the heartache to come, she would have rejected his request.
Mr. Newland’s voice broke through her thoughts. “If it’s God’s will that you have a new father, He’ll help your mother find one for you.”
“But how?”
“If she’s listening, God will tell her.”
“How?”
Phoebe shook her head. Yes, how?
“I’m not sure. He speaks to people in different ways. Sometimes it’s in a dream or nature or a verse in the Bible. Sometimes we have to listen hard, because He speaks through a still, small voice. The point is, we must make the effort to listen, or we might miss hearing from Him.”
Had that been her problem? Had she not listened hard enough to hear God speak?
“You can be my papa.”
“You would be any man’s ideal as a daughter, Maura, but I can’t marry your mother because...”
Silence. Because why?
“We hardly know one another.”
Two weeks ago, Phoebe would have said she knew all she needed to know about Spencer Newland the Third. Now, she wasn’t so sure.
“What if God tells you to marry Mama?”
He laughed. “We’ll cross that bridge if we ever come to it. Let’s go find your mother.”
Phoebe slipped back into the employee salon. Even as she reinforced her intention to maintain an emotional distance from Spence Newland, she struggled to convince herself that she meant it.
