Summer in Eclipse Bay

by Jayne Ann Krentz

  “What we need here is a professional private investigator,” Arizona announced. “Got to be someone we can trust. The future of Project Log Book may be riding on this.”

  “You’re going to hire a private investigator?” Nick chuckled. “Good luck. I don’t think we’ve got any of those in Eclipse Bay.”

  Arizona looked crafty. “Got one.”

  “Is that right?” Nick raised his brows. “Who?”

  “Quit teasing, Dad.” Carson bounced a little. “A.Z. means you.”

  “Yep.” Arizona rocked on her boot-shod heels. “Far as I can tell, you’re the closest we’ve got to the real thing here in Eclipse Bay.”

  chapter 10

  “Are you all crazy?” Nick planted both hands on the counter and leaned across it. His tone was low, but his jaw was granite. “I write novels about a private eye. Such books are called fiction. Do you know what fiction means? It means it is not real.”

  “Calm down, Nick,” Octavia said soothingly.

  She was very conscious of Carson, who was just outside the front door now talking to a man who had a dog in the back of his truck. She did not want the boy to overhear this argument.

  When Arizona and Virgil had left the gallery a few minutes earlier, she had slipped behind the counter. She had deemed it prudent to put a bit of distance between them. Given Nick’s simmering outrage, it was clear that he was not thrilled with the idea of having been drafted. But the counter did not seem nearly wide enough.

  “Pay attention. I. Am. Not. A. Real. Private. Investigator.” Nick spaced each word out very carefully and deliberately, as though talking to someone from another planet who might not have a good grasp of the language. “I do not have a license. I do not investigate for a living. I write fiction for a living. And you know that as well as I do. Why did you and Virgil agree to go along with A.Z.’s zany scheme?”

  “Because we don’t have a lot of choice,” she said briskly. “As you pointed out, there aren’t any real investigators here in Eclipse Bay, and I agree with A.Z. about Sean Valentine. He’s a good man, and he is no doubt a very competent cop. But I’m pretty sure that he intends to waste a lot of time looking in all the wrong places.”

  “Don’t tell me you agree with Arizona’s conspiracy theory? You really think Valentine should look for the culprit up at the institute?” Nick spread his hands. “Give me a break. That’s nuts and you know it.”

  “I doubt very much that the painting was stolen by someone at the institute,” she said coolly. “But that still leaves a lot of rocks to turn over and I don’t think Sean will do that. I’ve got a hunch he’ll concentrate on the Heralds.”

  Nick was silent.

  “I knew it,” she muttered. “He does think it was someone from the Incandescent Body, doesn’t he?”

  “He intends to do some background checks on some of them,” Nick admitted. “It’s a logical place to start. The Heralds constitute the largest group of newcomers and unknowns in town who would have had knowledge of the painting and where it was stored.”

  “That’s not true. There are more newcomers and unknowns up at the institute and Chamberlain College.”

  “Okay, maybe. Technically speaking. But it’s unlikely that many of them would have heard about the painting so soon. With a few exceptions, they’re considered outsiders here in Eclipse Bay. Not full-fledged members of the community. Most of them are not hardwired into the gossip circuit. The Heralds, on the other hand, knew everything about the Upsall almost immediately because Photon and A.Z. told them.”

  “Others could have known, too,” she insisted. “You know how word spreads in this town.”

  “Come to think of it, you’re right,” he replied curtly. “There are a lot of suspects, aren’t there?”

  She did not like the way he said that. “Not a lot. Some.”

  “Jeremy Seaton, for instance. Heck, you showed him right where the painting was stashed. You even let him take a really close look at it. And he’s into art. Probably knows some underhanded dealers back in Portland or Seattle who would be willing to take a stolen Upsall off his hands, no questions asked.”

  Shock reverberated through her. It took a moment to recover. Then she flattened her palms on the counter very close to his own big hands and leaned forward so that they were only inches apart.

  “Don’t you dare imply that Jeremy took the painting,” she said softly. “That is beneath contempt.”

  “You want a private investigator on the case? You gotta expect some uncomfortable speculation.”

  “You brought up Jeremy’s name only because you don’t like him very much,” she said through her teeth.

  “Just trying to be logical. That’s what we investigators are paid to do.”

  “You know something? When A.Z. came up with the idea to hire you, it struck Virgil and me that there was some merit to the plan. After all, who would know Eclipse Bay better than a Harte? And with your family history and clout here in town, you can talk to anyone. Get through any door. People will take you seriously and open up to you.”

  He took his hands off the counter. “Because I’m considered one of the locals?”

  “Yes. You’ve got access in a way that Sean Valentine does not.” She moved one hand slightly. “And that’s why I went along with A.Z.’s scheme. But now I’m having second thoughts.”

  “Good.”

  “I agree with you,” she went on smoothly. “I think that with your poor attitude, it is highly unlikely that you will be of any use to us.”

  “Yes, he will,” Carson said very earnestly from the doorway. “I’ll help him.”

  “That’s very nice of you, Carson, but your father is not interested in working for me, so I’ll just have to investigate without him.”

  “Do you know how to be an investigator?” Carson asked, intrigued.

  “I’ve read all your father’s books about John True. How hard can it be?”

  Nick’s eyes went very narrow. “What’s this about investigating on your own?”

  She raised one shoulder in a deliberately careless shrug. “I don’t see that I have much option.”

  His mouth thinned. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “This is a really, really dumb idea, Octavia. Stay out of it. Let Sean Valentine do his job.”

  She watched him just as steadily as he watched her. Damned if she would let him intimidate her, she thought. She was Claudia Banner’s great-niece. She could handle a Harte.

  “That Upsall was in my custody,” she said. “I feel responsible for the loss and I intend to do whatever I can to recover it.”

  “You’re trying to force my hand and I don’t like it.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Sure you do. You can’t do this without me and you know it, so you’re doing your best to manipulate me into a position where I have no choice but to play private eye for you.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of trying to manipulate you,” she said austerely. “I’m sure it would be impossible.”

  He folded his arms across his chest. He did not try to conceal his irritation.

  “Okay,” he said at last. “You win. I’ll ask your questions for you.”

  “Thanks, but I really don’t want you to do me any favors.”

  “I’m not doing you a favor,” he said. “I’m doing it for A.Z. and Virgil.” He glanced at Carson. “Come on, son, let’s go. We’ve got things to do.”

  “Are we going to be private eyes?” Carson asked eagerly.

  “Yep. You can be my assistant, at least until you get bored with the job, which probably won’t take long.”

  “I won’t get bored.”

  “Sure you will,” Nick said. “Heck, I already know that I’m going to get bored.”

  “Look, if you don’t think that you can keep your attention focused on this problem—” Octavia began.

  “I’m a Harte, I can focus. Even when I’m bored.” Nick tu
rned on his heel and headed for the door. “Let’s go, kid. We’ll start at Rumor Central.”

  “Where’s that?” Octavia called after him.

  Nick glanced back over his shoulder. “The post office, naturally.”

  “I heard the Upsall disappeared sometime late yesterday or last night.” Jeremy lounged back in his desk chair, cocked one tasseled loafer–shod foot on his knee, and tapped the tip of a pen against the armrest. “True?”

  “I’m afraid so,” Octavia said.

  She sank down into the only other chair in the small office and admired the view through the window. The town, with its marina and pier, was spread out before her in a picture-perfect landscape that would have looked good hanging in her gallery.

  The tide was out again. Eclipse Arch, the massive stone monolith that dominated the long sweep of beach framed by the arc of Bayview Drive, was fully exposed. Sunlight sparkled on the water. The air had been scrubbed so clean by last night’s storm that she could make out Hidden Cove and Sundown Point, the two rocky outcroppings that marked the southern and northern boundaries of the bay. She could even see the elegant old mansion that Rafe and Hannah had transformed into Dreamscape.

  She had gotten into the habit of taking a sandwich in to work with her, but she had neglected to bring one today. Feeling badly in need of a short break, she did something she almost never did: she closed up for the noon hour. She drove up the hillside above town with some vague notion of getting a salad at Snow’s Café. Instead she’d steered straight on past to the institute. Luckily Jeremy had been in his office and had invited her to eat with him in the cafeteria. Now they were back, drinking coffee together.

  “I assume our noble chief of police is on the case?” Jeremy said.

  “Yes. Sean is looking into matters.” She decided not to mention that Nick was also investigating.

  She was almost certain that Nick hadn’t been serious when he had named Jeremy as a likely suspect, but there was so much bad blood between the two men that she did not want to risk pouring gasoline on the fire.

  “Got any theories?” Jeremy asked.

  “No.” She frowned. “I think Sean feels it might be one of the Heralds.”

  “A real possibility. No one knows much about that crowd down at the bakery. My grandmother still thinks they’re some kind of cult. Not that the theory keeps her from buying her favorite lemon squares there, of course.”

  “When it comes to good lemon squares, you have to do what you have to do.”

  “Speaking of doing what you have to do, I think I’ve worked my nerve up at last. Can I persuade you to come up and view my etchings some evening this week?”

  “Any time.”

  “Are you free this evening?”

  She thought about how she had hoped that she would not be free tonight. But things had changed.

  “As it happens, I am, indeed, entirely free this evening,” she said.

  Late that afternoon Nick balanced, feet slightly apart, on the gently bobbing dock and looked down at the short, wiry man standing in the back of a boat. Young Boone was dressed in a pair of stained and faded coveralls that appeared to be at least thirty years old. He wore a blue peaked cap emblazoned with the logo of a marine supply firm.

  Even on his best days, Young Boone was not what anyone would call chatty. He had inherited the marina decades earlier from his father, Old Boone. Young Boone was somewhere in his seventies and his father had died twenty years ago, but he would probably go to his grave known as Young Boone. If either of the Boones had had first names, they had long since been forgotten in the misty past of Eclipse Bay history.

  For two generations the Boones, Old and Young, had made their home in the seriously weathered two-story structure at the edge of the marina. The lower floor housed a bait, tackle, and boating supply shop. The upstairs served as the Boones’ living quarters.

  “Heard you had a little damage down here last night.” Nick surveyed the marina through his sunglasses.

  “Some.” Young Boone did not look up from the rope he was coiling in the back of the boat. “Nothin’ that can’t be fixed.”

  “Glad to hear it. Storm woke you up, I’ll bet.”

  “Couldn’t hardly sleep through that racket. Came out here to check on the boats.”

  “That’s what I figured.” Nick studied the view of the shops across the street. The front of Bright Visions was clearly visible. “Happen to notice anyone hanging around the art gallery during the storm? Maybe see a car parked in the lot? Should have been empty at that time of night.”

  “Nope.” Young Boone straightened and peered at Nick from beneath the peaked brim of his cap. “Only vehicle I saw was yours. Figured you was headin’ back out to your family’s place after spendin’ time with Miss Brightwell.”

  Nick kept all expression from his face. This wasn’t the first time today that he had been obliged to listen to observations about his late-night drive home.

  “Uh-huh,” he said. Noncommittal.

  Young Boone screwed up his haggard features into a frown that may or may not have been genuine curiosity. “This have anything to do with that picture they say went missin’ from the art gallery last night?”

  “Yeah. I’d really like to find it for A.Z. and Virgil.”

  Young Boone nodded. “Wish I could help you but I didn’t see a damn thing last night. Course, I was real busy here securing the boats and such like. Might have missed something goin’ on across the street.”

  “You didn’t miss my car when I drove past the marina,” Nick reminded him dryly.

  “No, I didn’t and that’s a fact. But I finished up down here right after that and went back to bed.”

  Which meant that there had been long stretches of time during the night when no one would have noticed a car in the parking lot across the street, Nick thought.

  Young Boone gave him a knowing wink. “Miss Brightwell’s nice, ain’t she?”

  “Yeah.”

  “A man like you could do a lot worse.”

  “A man like me?”

  “Raising that boy of yours alone. No wife or mother around. Reckon it’s time you settled down and got married again, don’t you?”

  “I don’t think about it much,” Nick said.

  “Well, you damn well should be thinkin’ about it, if you ask me.”

  “I didn’t ask you, but I’ll take your opinion under advisement.”

  “Under advisement?” Boone wiped his hands on a dirty rag. “That a fancy way of sayin’ you ain’t interested in my opinion?”

  “No. Just meant I’ll consider it.” He watched a familiar, monster-sized SUV abruptly wheel into the marina parking lot. Mitchell Madison. Bryce was at the wheel.

  Damn. He did not need another scene with Octavia’s self-appointed guardian, Nick thought. Time to leave.

  “You consider it real good,” Young Boone said. “Time you found yourself a wife. You’re a Harte. Hartes get married and stay married.”

  “Say, Boone, I’ve got to be on my way. You’ll let me know if you hear anything about that painting, won’t you?”

  “Sure. But it’s probably gone for good.”

  That gave Nick pause. He turned back. “Why do you say that?”

  “Can’t see anyone around here hangin’ a stolen painting in his house. Sooner or later, someone would be bound to notice the damn thing.”

  “Okay, I’ll give you that. And I’ll also admit that this Upsall picture isn’t the sort of fine art that you’d expect would appeal to the connoisseurs among us here in Eclipse Bay.”

  “Heard it looked like something a kindergartner might turn out,” Young Boone said.

  “Hey, I’ve got a kindergartner who can do better-looking art. Yeah, the Upsall is sort of ugly. Sure hard to envision someone like, say, Sandy down at the gas station, going to the trouble to steal it just so he could hang it on the wall of the restroom. And it would look a little out of place in the Total Eclipse, too.”

  Boone thought
for a moment. “Still leaves all those fancy types up at the institute and Chamberlain College. They might go for that kinda thing.”

  “Maybe. If that’s the case, we’ll have to let Valentine deal with it. I’m just checking out the possibility that someone local might have taken it as a prank or on a dare. I can see some guy who’d had a couple-three-too-many beers down at the Total Eclipse deciding to swipe the painting as a stunt.”

  “Huh. Hadn’t thought of that.”

  “In which case,” Nick said in the same casual tone he’d been using all day long, “if it just shows up again there will be no questions asked.”

  Young Boone squinted knowingly and snapped his oily rag.

  “Gotcha. I’ll spread the word.”

  “Thanks.”

  Mitchell was out of the SUV. He had his cane in one hand and he was making straight for the dock where Nick stood.

  “I’d better get going,” Nick said. “Places to go, people to see.”

  Boone glanced past him toward Mitchell, who was advancing rapidly. “Good luck. Gonna be hard to avoid Madison. He’s got a bee in his bonnet about you and that Miss Brightwell gal.”

  “I know.” Nick assessed his chances of escape. He had the advantage of being several decades younger than Mitchell, and he hadn’t developed any arthritis yet. If he moved quickly, he might just make it to the car before Madison intercepted him. “See you around, Boone.”

  “See ya.”

  Nick went swiftly along the gently shifting dock. He made it through the gate and was halfway across the parking lot when he realized he wasn’t going to be able to dodge his pursuer. He could outrun him, of course, but that would have been the coward’s way. Hartes did not run from Madisons.

  “Hold up right there, Harte.” Mitchell thumped his cane on the hard-packed ground as he veered to the right to block Nick’s path. His bushy brows bristled across the bridge of his aggressive nose. “I want to talk to you.”

  Nick halted. Not much choice, he figured.

  “’Afternoon, sir,” he said politely. “Storm give you any trouble last night?”

  “Storms don’t give me trouble.” Mitchell planted himself in front of Nick and glowered ferociously. “Hartes give me trouble. Just what the hell kind of game do you think you’re playing with Octavia Brightwell?”