Dawn in Eclipse Bay

by Jayne Ann Krentz

  “What is it?”

  “Could you stop doing your art?”

  “Stop? You mean, just call it quits?”

  “Say someone came along and said he’d give you a million bucks if you agreed to never draw or paint again. Could you take the money and keep your promise?”

  “No.” She looked down at the sketch. “Sooner or later, I’d have to go back to it. It’s a compulsion, not a choice.”

  “That’s what I figured.” He exhaled deeply. “So you’ll keep doing it, even if you have to get another day job.”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re an artist.”

  “Yes,” she said again. “I guess so.”

  She sounded a little startled. Thoughtful. As if he had surprised her.

  He listened to the seawater tumble in the cove. The tide was returning. Soon only the tips of the fingers would be visible.

  “Madison Commercial must have been like that for you all these years,” Lillian said slowly. “A compulsion. Something you had to do.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Why?”

  “Who knows?” He picked up a small stone and sent it spinning out into the foaming water. “Maybe I just wanted to prove that a Madison could do what you Hartes seemed to do so well.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Not screw up.”

  She looked toward the point where the stone had disappeared into the water. “Are you telling me that everything you’ve accomplished, all your success, happened just because you felt a sense of competition with my family?”

  He shrugged. “That was part of it. At least at first. I grew up knowing that you Hartes were smart enough not to make the mistakes we Madisons have always been so good at. Your businesses prosper. Your families are solid. Hell, your parents were actually married. What a concept.”

  She did not respond to that. There was no need. They both knew each other’s family histories as well as they knew their own. His father, Sinclair, had been a sculptor with a passion for his art and his model, Natalie. Gabe and Rafe had been the result of that union.

  The relationship between his parents had lived up to the expectations of everyone familiar with the Madison clan. The long-running affair had been fiery and tempestuous. Sinclair had never seen any reason to burden himself with the petty strings of marriage. Gabe was pretty sure his parents had loved each other in their own stormy fashion, but family life had not been what anyone could call stable, let alone normal.

  He and Rafe had each learned to cope in their own ways with their erratic, eccentric, larger-than-life father and their beautiful, temperamental mother. Rafe had chosen to pretend to himself and everyone else that he did not give a damn about his own future. “Live for the moment” had been his motto, at least until he’d come within a hair’s breadth of getting himself arrested for murder.

  Gabe knew that he, on the other hand, had probably gone to the other extreme. Control and a sense of order had been his bulwarks against the shifting tides of fortune and emotion that had roiled his childhood. In putting together Madison Commercial he had done everything he could to carve his own future out of granite.

  “What’s the rest?” Lillian asked.

  “The rest?”

  “I don’t believe you could have accomplished so much just because you were inspired by a sense of competition with my family.”

  He shook off the brooding sensation that had settled around him like an old, well-worn coat. “I’m not the introspective type.”

  “Oh, yes that’s right. How could I forget? You made that fact very clear on the questionnaire that you filled out for Private Arrangements.”

  “Probably.”

  “As I recall,” she continued, “on the portion of the form reserved for ‘Other Comments,’ you wrote that you considered yourself pragmatic and realistic by nature. You instructed me not to waste your valuable time with any elitist academics or fuzzy-brained New Age thinkers.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Lillian closed the sketchpad with a snap. “You also noted that you did not want to be matched with what you called arty types.”

  Well, hell.

  “Correct me if I’m wrong,” Lillian said, “but I got the impression that the ‘other comments’ section of the questionnaire was one of the few places on the form where you were actually more or less truthful in your responses. Or did you shade those answers, too?”

  Definitely time to change the subject.

  “You got anything to eat back in your cottage?” he asked.

  She blinked and refocused. “You’re hungry?”

  “Starving. I woke up this morning and realized I didn’t have any coffee in the house. Nothing to eat, either. Forgot to stop at a grocery store last night.”

  “You expect me to feed you breakfast?”

  “Why not? Be the neighborly thing to do. If I had coffee and toast and maybe some peanut butter, I’d invite you to my place.”

  “Peanut butter?”

  “Be amazed at what you can do with peanut butter.”

  “I see. Well, sorry to disappoint you, but I didn’t pick up anything yesterday, either. I’m planning to drive into town in a few minutes to get something from that bakery Rafe raved about last night.”

  “Incandescent Body?” He got to his feet. “Good idea. My brother knows food.”

  She was not sure why she had allowed herself to get talked into accompanying Gabe into town. Something to do with the odd mood she was in, no doubt. But when she walked through the doors of the bakery a short time later, the heavenly fragrance of freshly baked bread quickly resolved any doubts about her decision. She suddenly realized that she was ravenous.

  No one knew much about the group of New Age types who had moved into town a year ago and opened Incandescent Body near the pier. They dressed in long, colorful robes, wore a lot of jewelry that appeared to have been inspired by ancient Egyptian and Roman artifacts, and seemed a little too serene to be real. They called themselves Heralds of Future History.

  The initial reaction of the town folk had been one of acute disgust and, in some quarters, outright alarm, according to Rafe and Hannah. The town council had expressed deep concerns about the possibility that Eclipse Bay had a genuine wacko cult in its midst. The Eclipse Bay Journal had run an editorial that had advised the authorities to keep a close watch on the new crowd.

  But in a town in which the only bakery had been closed for nearly three years, the Heralds of Future History soon proved to possess one major redeeming feature. They baked like angels.

  It was going on ten o’clock when Lillian and Gabe arrived. A number of people were sprinkled around the handful of tables. The customers were primarily a mix of local residents, a couple of rare winter tourists, and some young people in denim and khaki who looked like students from Chamberlain College.

  The heads of the locals swiveled immediately toward the door when Lillian walked in with Gabe on her heels. Lillian could guess their thoughts. Hannah and Rafe’s marriage a few months ago had thrilled and fascinated the entire town. And now here was another Harte woman with a Madison male. Would wonders never cease?

  “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea,” she whispered to Gabe.

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” He came to a halt at the counter and studied the artfully arranged breakfast pastries behind the glass. “The only other place open at this hour is the Total Eclipse. You don’t want to eat breakfast there, trust me.”

  “Good point. Any restaurant that uses the motto ‘Where the sun don’t shine’ probably isn’t a terrific breakfast spot.”

  “Right. Besides, those corn bread muffins look incredible. I’m going to have two. What do you want?”

  “People are staring at us.”

  “Yeah?” He glanced around curiously, nodded civilly at the people he recognized and then turned back to the croissant display. “So what? You’re a Harte. I’m a Madison. Put the two together in this town and you’re bound to get a few stares.”


  “It doesn’t bother you?”

  “Nope.”

  “Of course, a few stares don’t bother you,” she muttered. “You’re a Madison.”

  “You got that right.”

  He approached the middle-aged woman dressed in a long, pale robe standing behind the counter. She wore a white scarf over her graying hair and a pristine white apron. A crescent-shaped amulet hung from a chain around her neck.

  “May the light of future history be with you,” she said politely.

  “Thanks,” Gabe said. “Same to you. I’ll have a couple of those corn bread muffins and a cup of coffee, please.” He looked over his shoulder. “Decided what you want, Lillian?”

  She hurried forward. “A croissant, please. And green tea.”

  “For here or to go?” the woman asked.

  “For here,” Gabe said.

  “Say, I recognize those voices,” boomed a whiskey-and-cigar voice from the other side of a curtained doorway.

  Lillian suppressed a small groan and summoned up a smile for the husky, robust woman dressed in military fatigues and boots who appeared in the opening. Arizona Snow had long since passed the age that officially placed her in the senior citizen category but she had enough energy for a far younger person. She also had a cause.

  “Well, now, I call this perfect timing,” Arizona Snow said with evident satisfaction.

  “Morning, A.Z.” Gabe said. “How’s the conspiracy business these days?”

  “Those bastards up at the institute laid low for a while after your brother and Hannah managed to put a spoke in their wheel, but things are heating up again.” Arizona beamed at Lillian. “Good to see you back in town.”

  “Nice to see you, too,” Lillian said. She waved a hand to indicate the bakery. “What are you doing here?”

  “Regular weekly briefing with the Heralds.” Arizona lowered her voice to what she no doubt thought was a confidential level. “Instituted the routine a couple of months ago after I got to know ’em better and discovered that they’re not naïve dupes of the agency like most everyone else around these parts. They understand what’s happenin’.”

  “Glad someone does,” Gabe said.

  Arizona leaned a little farther out the doorway, swept the outer room with a quick glance and then motioned to Lillian and Gabe. “Come on back. I’ll bring you up to date, too.”

  “Uh, that’s okay, Arizona,” Lillian said hastily. “We’re a little busy this morning. Aren’t we, Gabe?”

  “Don’t know about you.” Gabe put some money down on the counter. “But I’m in no rush.”

  “You’re not?” In her wildest flights of imagination she would never have envisioned him willingly going down the rabbit hole into the alternate universe that was Arizona Snow’s world.

  He glanced at her, brows raised. “What?” he asked amused.

  “Don’t you, uh, have some telecommuting to do?” she asked weakly.

  “It’ll keep.”

  Arizona gave Lillian a knowing look, squinting slightly. “Hannah and Rafe weren’t real interested in what was going on up at the institute, either, until it was damn near too late.”

  Lillian knew when she was beaten. She tried and failed to come up with an excuse but nothing came to mind. The bottom line was that the Hartes and the Madisons owed Arizona Snow. She was more than a little eccentric but a few months ago it had been her meticulously kept logbooks that had provided the clues Rafe and Hannah had needed to identify a murderer.

  “I suppose we can stay for a few minutes,” Lillian said.

  “Forewarned is forearmed.” Arizona held the curtain aside.

  “Can’t argue with that,” Gabe said. He picked up his muffins and coffee and went around the counter.

  Lillian reluctantly collected her croissant and tea and trailed after him.

  Arizona let the curtain fall behind them. Lillian stopped at the sight of the three men and two women grouped around a large, floured worktable. All were dressed in Herald-style attire, complete with robes and ancient-looking jewelry. Their ages were varied. The youngest was a man whose long hair was neatly bound up in a white sanitary cap. Lillian thought he was probably in his mid-twenties. The oldest was a woman with silver hair and a matronly figure. A tall man with a shaved head and a stately air appeared to be the authority figure in the group.

  The Heralds regarded Lillian and Gabe with serenely polite expressions.

  Arizona took up a position at the head of the table and fixed everyone in turn with a steely look.

  “Gabe, Lillian, meet Photon, Rainbow, Daybreak, Dawn, and Beacon.” She gave the Heralds a pointed look. “Gabe and Lillian are friends of mine. Take it from me, you can trust ’em. Fact is, in this town, you can trust anyone with the last name of Harte or Madison.”

  Lillian nodded, determined to be polite. “Good morning.”

  Gabe inclined his head in an easy greeting. He set his mug down on a nearby table and took a bite of one of the muffins on his plate.

  “Great corn bread,” he said.

  Photon, the man with the shaved head who seemed to be in charge, said, “Thank you. We do our best to introduce the light of future history into all our products. But we’re only human. Sometimes our negative thoughts get into the dough in spite of our best efforts.”

  “Light’s your secret ingredient, huh?” Gabe picked up the remaining portion of the muffin. “Works for me.” He took another bite.

  Arizona picked up a large rolling pin and rapped it smartly on the table to get everyone’s attention.

  “Enough with the chitchat,” she said. “Got a briefing to get through here. Not like we have time to waste. The future of this town, not to mention the whole country, is hanging in the balance.”

  Everyone obediently moved a little closer to the table.

  Arizona cleared her throat loudly.

  “Now, then, as I was sayin’ before I heard Lillian and Gabe out front, I’ve put the evidence together and it’s become real clear why they’re building the new wing at the institute. Official word, of course, is that it’s supposed to be additional office and conference space.” She broke off to give everyone at the table a meaningful look. “But I think everyone here knows that’s just another one of their lies.”

  Lillian studied the map spread out on the table. It showed the hillside above town where the Eclipse Bay Policy Studies Institute was located. A handful of photos that looked as if they had been snapped with a long-range lens were scattered around the edges. They were pictures of what was obviously a construction zone at the institute. She could make out a truck and something that looked like electrical equipment.

  Gabe leaned over the photos. “Good long-range recon shots, A.Z.”

  “Thanks.” A.Z. allowed herself a proud smile. “Took ’em with my new surveillance camera. A genuine VPX 5000. Latest model. Replaces the old 4000 series. Telephoto lens, sniper grip shutter release trigger. Half a dozen filters for day and night photo work. And a real nice leather carrying case.”

  “I hate to sound like just another naïve, innocent dupe,” Lillian said, “but what makes you think they aren’t adding office and conference space?”

  “Number of factors.” Arizona motioned toward the map with the rolling pin. “First, increased volume of traffic in this sector during the past six months.”

  “Are we talking out-of-town traffic?” Gabe asked.

  “We are, for sure,” Arizona said.

  “Huh.” Gabe took another bite of the muffin. “That’s suspicious, all right.”

  “For heaven’s sake,” said Lillian. “Everyone knows the institute has been growing rapidly for some time now. They give seminars, receptions, and political theory retreats on a regular basis. In addition, they provided the springboard for Trevor Thornley’s campaign. It’s only natural that there would be a lot of traffic.”

  Arizona squinted. “Cover, is what it is. All that political think-tank stuff and those seminars and such make good camouflage for concealing w
hat’s really goin’ on up there. Furthermore, the traffic volume didn’t fall off for long after Thornley pulled out of the campaign. No sir. There was a brief lull, but by the end of November, there were more vehicles than ever going in and out of there.”

  “Sounds serious, all right,” Gabe concurred. “What other factors besides increased traffic point to a clandestine operation?”

  “Oh, geez,” Lillian muttered. No one paid any attention.

  “Most of the construction work on the new wing is being done by contractors who aren’t from around here,” Arizona said ominously.

  “Heard something about that.” Gabe examined another photo. “My brother said the Willis brothers didn’t get a chunk of the construction action.”

  “No, they didn’t and that tells us a lot, doesn’t it?” Arizona said.

  “Uh, what, exactly, does it tell us?” Lillian asked cautiously.

  “That they didn’t want no one from around here getting a close look at what’s going on up there,” Arizona announced. “That’s what it tells us.”

  “Probably knew the Willis brothers couldn’t be bribed to keep their mouths shut if they saw something suspicious,” Gabe said. “Everyone knows how Walter and Torrance talk.”

  Lillian had an urge to stomp hard on the toe of his large running shoe. She managed, with an effort, to resist.

  “Stands to reason they would bring in outside contractors when you think about it,” she said quickly. “Hannah and Rafe have been keeping the Willis brothers busy for months turning Dreamscape into an inn. They wouldn’t have had time to work on the new wing.”

  They all ignored her. So much for being the voice of reason, she thought.

  “Volume of overnight and regular freight deliveries has picked up recently, too,” Arizona droned on. “I staked out the loading dock for a couple of days. Took a whole series of shots with the VPX 5000. Amazing how much equipment and material is being moved into that place.”

  “High-tech stuff?” Gabe asked.

  “You bet. Tons of it.”

  Gabe looked up from the photos. “What about heavy-duty heating, ventilation, and air-conditioning equipment?”