Summer in Eclipse Bay

Chapter 18

Later that afternoon Octavia was in the back, framing the last of the entries in the Children's Art Show, when she heard Jeremy's voice in the other room.

"Gail?" Jeremy sounded surprised and somewhat incredulous. "Gail Johnson?"

"Gail Gillingham these days. Hello, Jeremy. It's been a long time."

"You can say that again. The last time I saw you, you were just a kid."

"Not quite. I was in college the last time our paths crossed. I'm surprised you even remember. You had finished grad school and were getting ready to accept a position at a college in Portland, as I recall."

"That's right. My grandmother mentioned that you were back in town. Said you were looking for a job."

"I found one, as you can see. It's temporary because Octavia plans to sell her business at the end of the summer, but it will give me some time to look around. I'm hoping something will open up at the institute or at Chamberlain."

"I'm working at the institute," Jeremy said. "I'll keep my ears open for you, if you like. There's bound to be some turnover before the fall."

"Thanks. I'd really appreciate it."

There was a short pause.

"I guess you probably heard about my divorce last year," Jeremy said.

"Your grandmother mentioned it," Gail said gently. "I can empathize. I went through one a couple of years ago. That's the main reason I came back to Eclipse Bay. I wanted my daughter to have more family around her."

"Sounds like a smart move. Kids need a sense of belonging. Maybe everyone does."

"Is that why you came back?" Gail asked. She sounded genuinely curious.

"Maybe. In a way, Eclipse Bay will always be home. When the institute offered me the position, it just felt like the right time to make a move."

Octavia went to the door. Jeremy and Gail stood on opposite sides of the counter. They were looking only at each other, she mused. Neither of them noticed her. She could have sworn she felt vibrations in the air.

She cleared her throat discreetly. Both of them jumped a little and turned toward her with expressions of surprise. She nearly laughed. You'd have thought she'd been hiding in a closet and leaped out unexpectedly.

"Hi, Jeremy," she said. "Did you bring in your paintings?"

"Are you kidding? Of course I did." He gestured toward a wooden crate leaning against the counter. "Got two of them right here."

Gail leaned over the counter. "Octavia said you painted. Let's have a look."

"I just brought the landscapes with me today." Jeremy went to work opening the crate. "Octavia thinks that's my most likely market here in Eclipse Bay."

He hauled one of the pictures out of the crate and propped it against the closest wall. Gail and Octavia came out from behind the counter to examine it.

Gail reacted immediately, her approval evident in her excited tone. "The Arch at sunset. I love it. What's more, I can sell it. It'll be gone by the end of the week."

Jeremy and Octavia exchanged amused glances.

"Tell you what," Jeremy said to Gail. "If you sell this sucker in a week, I'll buy you dinner at Dreamscape."

Gail did not take her eyes off the painting. "It's a deal."

He ran Betty Stiles to ground outside Carla's Custom Cut amp; Curl. Betty emerged from the beauty shop with a stiff, cotton-candy cloud of pink hair. The hairdo had been frozen in place with so much lacquer that Nick was pretty sure it could have withstood a nuclear blast. She wore a jaunty denim skirt with a matching vest over a red blouse.

Betty was a widow in her late seventies. She had made a hobby of following every nuance of local gossip for as long as Nick could remember.

"'Afternoon, Mrs. Stiles." He came away from the fender of his car and walked toward her. "How are you doing?"

"Why, Nick Harte. How nice to see you. I heard you were in town for the summer."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Saw your new book down at Fulton's the other day."

"Did you?" He would not ask if she had read it, he promised himself.

"I would have bought it because I read a lot of mystery and suspense. But when I read the back cover it didn't say anything about a serial killer."

"Probably because I didn't put one in the story."

"I only read books about serial killers."

"Figures," Nick said.

"Who would have thought you'd have made a successful career as a writer? You know, the day I heard you'd quit Harte Investments I told Edith Seaton that you were making a big mistake. 'Edith,' I said,'that young man is going to ruin his life and break his grandfather's heart'."

"We all survived, interestingly enough. Mrs. Stiles, I wondered if I could ask you a few questions."

"You're trying to find that missing painting, aren't you?" Betty sighed. "Of course you can ask me some questions, but if what I've heard is true, I'm afraid you're wasting your time."

"Why is that?"

She lowered her voice. "Well, dear, as everyone knows, the most likely suspect is Octavia Brightwell."

"Funny you should mention that, Mrs. Stiles. I've heard the same thing and I'm trying to find out who started that rumor. Thought maybe you could tell me."

"You want to know who started it?" Betty asked incredulously.

"That's right."

"But why does it matter, dear? I mean, it's perfectly obvious when you think about it that Miss Brightwell is the person most likely to be the thief."

"It's not obvious to me," Nick said.

"Oh." Betty seemed baffled by that news. Then she gave him a pitying look and patted his arm. "Well, I suppose it's understandable that you would want to think the best of her under the circumstances. But for what it's worth, my advice is to find another girlfriend."

Nick smiled coldly. The hard part about being a real private eye, he decided, was that sometimes it was extremely difficult to avoid losing your temper. But there was nothing to be gained by telling Betty Stiles that she was an interfering busybody.

"I don't plan to take your advice, Mrs. Stiles. So that leaves me with no choice except to find the real thief."

"But if Miss Brightwell took the picture-"

"Octavia didn't take it."

She made a tut-tut sound. "You seem very sure of that."

"I'm sure, Mrs. Stiles."

"Really, Nicholas, I wouldn't have thought that you were the type to be so easily taken in by a woman's wiles."

"And here I thought you were too smart to be conned by a thief."

Betty bridled. "I beg your pardon?"

"Isn't it obvious? Whoever started the rumor is the person who stole the painting."

"But that's ridiculous."

"Where did you hear it first, Mrs. Stiles?"

Betty drew herself up with great dignity. "I heard it right here at the beauty shop."

Nick looked past her through the window and saw two women sitting under the hair dryers. They had magazines on their laps but neither was reading. Both were focused intently on the scene taking place outside the shop. The owner of the salon, Carla Millbank, was watching him in the mirror as she wrapped a client's hair in little pieces of aluminum foil.

His conversation with Betty was going to be all over town by nightfall.

His new problem loomed large. The gender divides in Eclipse Bay were still firmly entrenched. There were some places a man could not go. Carla's Custom Cut amp; Curl was terra incognita for every male in the community.

Fifteen minutes later he walked into Bright Visions, still fine-tuning the details of his new scheme.

The place appeared to be empty except for Octavia, who was sitting on the high stool behind the counter. She looked up from some notes she was jotting down on a sheet of paper.

"There you are," she said. "I was getting worried. Did you find Betty Stiles?"

"For all the good it did me." He studied the two framed paintings leaning against the wall. "I don't remember those. Are they new?"

An odd expression crossed her face. "Yes, as a matter of fact."

"I'm no expert, but I like them."

"So do I."

"Nice view of the Arch. The scene of the pier at night is great, too. Sort of moody with the fog and the dark water and that little light on the boat. Who's the artist?"

There was a movement in the doorway behind the counter. Jeremy appeared from the back room. He looked at Nick with a veiled expression.

"That would be me," Jeremy said.

Gail came to stand beside him. "Isn't he terrific?" She was bubbling with enthusiasm. "I've already got a client in mind."

Of course it would be Jeremy, Nick thought. What the hell was the matter with him? How could he have forgotten Jeremy and his considerable commercial talent. If he'd been paying attention instead of concentrating on how to get someone inside the beauty shop, he would have put it all together instantly as soon as he saw the pictures. Now he was stuck with doing the polite, civilized thing in front of Octavia and Gail.

"Congratulations," he said to Jeremy, keeping his voice absolutely level. "Nice work."

"Be even nicer work if it pays," Jeremy said. His tone was just as level as Nick's. "But I'm not going to quit my day job anytime soon. I mean, what are the odds of actually being able to make a living by painting? A million to one, maybe?"

"I'm sure Nick knows exactly how you feel," Octavia commented. "He must have had the same doubts when he put his first manuscript in the mail. Isn't that right, Nick?"

She had him neatly cornered, he thought.

"Sure," he said. "And every time I've put a manuscript in the mail since that first one. It always feels a lot like jumping off a cliff."

Obviously it had been a mistake to tell her what lay beneath the surface of this little feud he and Jeremy had going. What was it with her, anyway? Why couldn't she let the two of them conduct their private war without outside interference?

Jeremy looked serious. "The jumping-off-the-cliff thing never goes away?"

Nick shrugged. "Not that I've noticed. My advice is to get used to it. It'll give you an edge." He switched his gaze to Gail. "How would you like to play undercover agent?"

"Do I get to wear a trench coat?" Gail asked.

"Not unless you want to get the collar wet in the shampoo bowl."

Octavia hopped off her stool. "Carla's Custom Cut amp; Curl? You want Gail to see what she can pick up in the way of gossip in the beauty shop?"

"Yeah. Betty Stiles says that's where she first heard the rumors."

"You're really serious about this detective thing, aren't you?" Jeremy asked Nick.

"No, I just needed something interesting to put down in my journal under the subject of what I did on my summer vacation," Nick retorted.

"Okay, okay, I get the point," Jeremy muttered. "You're serious." He glanced at Octavia. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"You'll have to ask Nick," she said smoothly. "He's in charge of the investigation."

Jeremy did not look happy with that, but he dutifully turned back to Nick. "Let me know. My roots in this town run as deep as your own. I might be able to save you some time."

"That's very kind of you, Jeremy," Octavia said. "What do you say, Nick?"

She was not going to let up, Nick thought. She wouldn't be satisfied until he bit the bullet and invited Jeremy out for a beer. Maybe the easiest way out of this mess was to make the offer in front of her. Jeremy would turn it down and then they would both be off the hook.

He glanced at his watch and then at Jeremy. "It's nearly five. I want to talk to Gail about what I need her to do at the beauty shop tomorrow. Then I'm going to have dinner with Octavia." Out of the corner of his eye he saw her raise her brows at that news. But she kept silent as he expected.

She knew where he was going with this and she wasn't about to put up any roadblocks. "I figured I'd hit the Total Eclipse later this evening to pick up the latest gossip. You want to join me? I'll buy you a beer and we can play a little pool, keep our ears open, and see what we come up with."

Jeremy's jaw went rigid. But to Nick's astonishment he moved slightly. It was a single, robotic inclination of the head, but it was a definite nod of acceptance.

"Why not?" Jeremy said.

Damn. Now they were both trapped, Nick thought.

Octavia looked quietly pleased. She gave him a warm smile of approval.

An electrifying jolt of awareness shot through him. It was as if the floor of the gallery had opened up beneath his feet and he had plummeted into the abyss.

Oh, shit. He had been asking the wrong question all along, he thought. He had been wondering why Octavia insisted on meddling with his life. The really important question here was why was he allowing her to do so?

They ate at the Crab Trap, surrounded by tourists, summer people, and a sprinkling of locals,

"You won't regret this," Octavia said earnestly.

"Uh-huh." He cracked open a crab leg and went after the tender meat with a vengeance.

"Jeremy wouldn't have agreed to have a drink with you if he still believed that you'd had an affair with his wife."

"Uh-huh." He reached for another leg and assaulted it with grim enthusiasm. The sound of crunching shell was good.

"It's obvious that he wants to mend the rift."

"Uh-huh."

"He was just looking for an opportunity and now you've provided it."

"Uh-huh." He looked around for another crab leg to destroy.

"It was the right thing to do, Nick."

"I don't like being manipulated."

"I didn't manipulate you."

"Yes, you did."

"I just made a suggestion."

He looked at her, not speaking.

She swallowed. "Okay, it was a forceful suggestion."

"You nagged me into this meeting tonight."

She reddened. "I'm sorry if you feel that way."

"I do feel that way."

She sat back and folded her napkin very deliberately, her expression troubled now. "You're really mad, aren't you?"

"Yes. I'm really mad. But mostly at myself."

"Because you're allowing me to strongarm you into this meeting with Jeremy?"

"Uh-huh."

"I see." Her voice was steady but when she put down the napkin, her fingers shook slightly. "Well, if you feel that way about it, why don't you cancel the arrangement?"

He smiled humorlessly, staring into the abyss. "It's too late." In more ways than you can possibly know, he added silently.

"I don't understand."

"Yeah, I can see that."

Establishments like the Total Eclipse had their place in the universe, Nick thought. It was, for instance, the one venue in Eclipse Bay where two guys involved in a private feud could meet on neutral territory.

The tavern was starting to fill up for the evening, but the buzz of conversation was muted in the back, where the pool tables were located. Only one other green-topped table was in use at the moment, and mercifully no one was smoking, so the air was still relatively clear. The gloom hung in thick curtains interrupted only by the narrow bright spot over the center of each table.

If the bar was the place for this conversation, Nick thought, pool was the game. Attitude was everything.

Nick adjusted his stance slightly, made a bridge with his fingers, and leaned into the shot. He stroked the cue gently. Going for a little spin. Concentrating on the follow-through, the way his grandfather and father had taught him. The way he would one day teach Carson. He stayed down until the ball dropped into the pocket.

"You do realize that we've both been set up," he said, straightening.

On the other side of the table, Jeremy watched him from the shadows. "I got that impression. But, hey, she's going to hang my paintings in her gallery. Shooting a little pool with you and letting you buy me a beer doesn't seem like such a high price to pay for my chance at money and immortal fame."

"Uh-huh." Nick chalked his cue. "I figured that was the real reason you agreed. Octavia's got this compulsion to make things right, you know. Has to do with what her great-aunt did to Harte-Madison all those years ago."

"I figured that much out. She says she's leaving town at the end of the summer."

"Yeah." He studied the position of the balls on the table, doing the strategy thing. "That's what she says."

Jeremy studied him across the green felt. "She also says that you didn't have an affair with my ex."

"She's right. I didn't."

Jeremy did not respond to that. But he didn't hurl any more accusations, either.

They played for a while, not speaking. The only sounds were the click and snap of the balls striking each other and the gradually rising noise from the front of the tavern. Someone had turned on the music. A country-western rocker was wailing away about a good woman gone bad.

Nick dropped another ball into the pocket. "You know, you're not the only guy in the world whose wife had an affair." He wasn't sure why he said it. It just seemed the right time.

Jeremy went still on the other side of the table. "Amelia?"

"The man who was at the controls of that plane."

"Jesus. I didn't know."

"Not many people do. I'd like to keep it that way."

"Sure. Believe me when I say I understand your feelings on that particular subject." Jeremy paused a couple of beats. "Octavia said I should ask myself whether you or Laura had ever lied to me about other things."

"Come up with any answers?"

"Yeah. Laura lied to me about a couple of other matters. Important stuff. Guess we had a communication problem." Jeremy used the chalk on the tip of his cue. "Couldn't think of any times when you had lied to me, though."

Nick studied the table. "No offense, but I didn't even like Laura very much. Always had the feeling that she figured she'd married beneath herself when she married you."

"No offense, but I didn't care much for Amelia. Figured she was more in love with Harte Investments than she was with you."

"You may have been right." He took his shot and waited until the ball dropped. "But she was a good mother."

"That counts," Jeremy said quietly.

"Counts for a lot."

"At least you have Carson. I found out the hard way that Laura didn't want kids. At least she didn't want them with me."

"Carson made it all worthwhile," Nick agreed.

The sound of the growing crowd in the other room got louder. Someone cranked up the music system another notch. The hard-driving song playing now was about guys getting drunk on cheap whiskey and engaging in bar fights over good women gone bad.

"And to think that we both thought we knew what we were doing when it came to the female of the species." Jeremy drank some beer while he watched Nick take another shot. "Guess we had a lot to learn."

"Yeah."

The atmosphere around the table was more comfortable now. A lot of the tension was leaking out of it. Maybe it was the beer.

"So," Jeremy said, "who do you think took the Upsall?"

"Whoever is trying to pin the blame on Octavia. This is personal. I can feel it."

"Doesn't make sense. Octavia hasn't hurt anyone here in town."

"No, but her great-aunt did."

"According to the old stories, Claudia Banner's victims were Hartes and Madisons." Jeremy made a bridge and angled his cue stick. "You think maybe there were others?"

"My grandfather used the term collateral damage."

Jeremy banked a shot. "You know, my grandmother was a woman in her twenties when Harte-Madison fell apart. She grew up in this burg and knew everyone. Plays bridge every week with three other women who also have a lot of history in this town. They might remember something useful about the good old days. Want me to talk to her? See if she can get anything out of her bridge group? I'm sure she'd enjoy playing Mata Hari."

"I'd appreciate that," Nick said.

The music got louder and so did the crowd. Other players drifted into the back room and took over the remaining tables. Smoke from the cigarettes of neighboring players started to foul the air.

"Getting late," Nick said.

Jeremy shrugged. "One more game?"

"Why not?"

Nick had just racked the balls for another round when a familiar voice rumbled from the opening that divided the pool room from the bar area.

"Well, if it isn't the SOB who thinks he's the king of Eclipse Bay." Eugene slurred most of the s's and there were a lot of them in the sentence, but his meaning was clear. "And will you look at that, Dwayne? He's shooting a little pool with his good buddy Jeremy. Isn't that sweet?"

The players at the other tables did not look toward the pair in the doorway. Everyone pretended to concentrate on their games. But Nick knew that the crowd was listening intently to every word. The tension was suddenly so thick he could have carved it into topiary shapes.

"You were right," Jeremy said quietly. He did not bother to glance at Eugene and Dwayne either. "Time to go."

"What are you doin' here, anyway, Harte?" Eugene bellowed. "Shouldn't you be with that little redheaded suspect of yours? Everyone knows she's been screwing your brains out so's you'll overlook the fact that she stole that painting."

Nick set the cue down very slowly. On the other side of the table, Jeremy did the same. This time they both looked at Mutt and Jeff.

The dark room fell silent. None of the other players moved so much as a finger. Everyone waited for the other shoe to drop.

Nick looked at Eugene. "You don't want to say anything more, Eugene."

But it was obvious that Eugene was too drunk to worry about consequences.

"You think you can threaten me?" Eugene stalked closer, hands clenched at his sides. "You really think I'm gonna put up with that kind of shit from a Harte?"

"He's right, Eugene," Jeremy said softly. "You don't want to do this."

"I'm not takin' any crap off you, either, Seaton. You think you can come back to town after all these years and start actin' like you're better than the rest of us again just because your mama married a Seaton and you hang with Nick Harte? Got news for you."

"Let's go," Nick said to Jeremy.

"Fine by me." Jeremy started around the table.

"Something me and Dwayne, here, been wondering about, Harte." Eugene came to a halt, blocking the path to the door. He leered. "Is she a natural redhead? She as red down there as she is up on top?"

Nick moved around the comer of the table.

"Take it easy," Jeremy said out of the side of his mouth. "The plan is to get out of here, remember?"

"The plan," Nick said, coming to a halt directly in front of the pool table, "is to tell everyone here a little story about Eugene and Dwayne's excellent adventure in Seattle a while back."

"Shut your mouth, Harte," Eugene roared. "Just shut your damned mouth. Say one more word and I'll rip your head off your shoulders and use it for a cue ball."

"Think so?"

"Hey, nobody cares if you're screwin' the redhead. Nobody gives a shit about your sex life, Harte."

"Except you, apparently, Eugene," one of the other players offered helpfully. "But maybe that's because Harte's sex life is a lot more interesting than yours."

Eugene turned purple, drew his head into his shoulders in the manner of a large turtle, and lumbered forward. He was surprisingly fast for a man of his size and bulk. The old football training, Nick figured.

"Hell," Jeremy muttered. "So much for a quick exit."

Nick did not move until the last instant. Then he sidestepped the ferocious charge. Eugene still had speed, but his maneuverability was shot. He blundered straight on, past the point where Nick had stood a second earlier, and crashed into the table. He folded over and went facedown on the green felt.

"Okay," Jeremy said. "Now we leave, right?"

Nick ignored him. He grabbed hold of one beefy shoulder. There was no need to try to haul Eugene erect. The big man came up off the table, one massive fist already arcing through the air.

Nick ducked the blow and slammed both clenched hands into Eugene's midsection. It was like hitting a very solid pillow. The impact felt good, but it didn't do much damage. Nick stepped back hurriedly, shaking his numbed hand.

Okay, maybe that had been a mistake.

Fortunately Eugene was off balance, thanks to too many beers and the collision with the table. When he charged a second time, flailing wildly, Nick stuck out a foot. Eugene obligingly tripped and went down with a crashing thud that shook the floor.

Dwayne squealed, grabbed the nearest pool cue, and launched himself at Nick. Jeremy snatched the stick out of his hands as he went past.

"You know," Jeremy said, "if you'd ever bothered to read one of Nick's books, you'd know he never gets into a fight without his trusty sidekick, Bonner."

Robbed of his ersatz rapier, Dwayne scrambled to a halt and turned to throw a short punch at Jeremy. He caught one of the other pool players on the shoulder, instead.

"Hey, watch it, you little creep." The player took a swipe at Dwayne and sent him tumbling into one of the men who had come from the bar area to see what all the excitement was about.

A man standing behind Nick chuckled. "Man, the little redhead must be one hot number, huh? So what's the deal? Is she, or isn't she a natural-"

Nick swung around and punched the commentator in the chest. The man fell back against a table. His cue stick went sailing and struck someone else.

The poolroom exploded in a firestorm of shouts and flying fists.

Nick turned back, searching for Eugene amid the swarm of sweating, heaving bodies.

"Son of a bitch, Harte." Eugene had managed to get up off the floor. He threw himself at Nick.

Nick moved out of the way and came up against Sandy Hickson, who had wandered into the poolroom. The two went down together and rolled under a table.

Jeremy bent over to look at the pair beneath the table. "Everyone okay down here?"

Someone hauled him up and swung at him. Jeremy took the blow on the side of his jaw and reeled back against a table.

Nick untangled himself from Sandy and came out from under the table in a low rush. He tackled the man who had just hit Jeremy and they both went down, rolling in a small river of spilled beer.

Fred picked up the phone. Sean Valentine and two other officers arrived ten minutes later.