"You've only been in the area a little more than a year?"
"That's right. Not long enough to put down roots. There's nothing holding me here." It was time to accept that truth, she thought. Time to get on with her life.
She looked out over the expanse of Eclipse Bay. The sun was low in the sky. It streaked the clouds gathering out on the horizon with ominous shades of orange and gold.
Nick drove without speaking for a while, concentrating on the road, although traffic was almost nonexistent on the outskirts of town.
"Why did you come to Eclipse Bay?" he asked finally. "Why go to all the trouble of starting up a business in a small town in addition to one in Portland? That was a major undertaking."
"It's not easy to explain. Aunt Claudia talked a lot about what happened here all those years ago. The memories bothered her a great deal toward the end. She felt guilty about her part in the feud. I promised her that I would come back to see if there was anything I could do to put things right."
"No offense, but just what the hell did you plan to do to mend a three-generation rift?" Nick asked dryly.
She winced. His obvious lack of faith in her feud-mending skills hurt for some obscure reason. The worst part was that he was right. She had been a fool to think she could do anything constructive.
"I don't know," she said honestly. "I just decided to give it a whirl."
"I gotta tell you, that sounds damn flaky."
"I suppose it does. The thing is, after Aunt Claudia died there wasn't anything holding me in San Francisco."
"That's where you were living?"
"Yes."
"What about your job?" He flexed his hand on the wheel. "A significant other?"
"I had a position in a small gallery, but it wasn't anything special. And there was no particular significant other."
"Hard to believe."
"I was seeing someone before Claudia got so sick. But it wasn't that serious, and we drifted apart when I started spending more and more time with my aunt. He found someone else and I sort of went into hibernation. By the time I resurfaced after the funeral, I had no social life left to speak of."
"Family?"
"Not in the San Francisco area. My folks are separated. Dad lives in Houston. Mom's in Philadelphia. They've both got other families. Other lives. We're not what you'd call close."
"So you just up and moved to Oregon."
"Yes." She wrinkled her nose. "I suppose that sounds very flighty to a Harte."
"Hell, it sounds flighty for anyone, even a Madison."
That irritated her. Given his track record with women, he had a lot of nerve calling her flaky and flighty.
"I like to think of myself as a free spirit," she said. She rather liked the sound of that now that she thought about it. Free spirit definitely sounded better than flighty or flaky. More mysterious and exotic, maybe. She arched her brows. "Do you have a problem with that?"
"Don't know," he said. "I've never actually met a free spirit before."
He was still pondering all the possible definitions of free spirit ten minutes later when he turned into the narrow, unpaved road.
"You know, I think you were right." Octavia leaned forward a little, peering through the window at the trees that loomed on either side of the rutted path. "I might have spent hours searching for this turnoff. Mr. Thurgarton certainly didn't believe in making his place easy to find, did he?"
He shrugged. "Thurgarton was one strange man. Just ask anyone."
She smiled fleetingly. "Sometimes I think that being a bit odd or eccentric is a requirement for renting or purchasing real estate in Eclipse Bay."
"I will admit that the people we're about to meet certainly exemplify the finest in that local tradition."
He eased the BMW deeper into the trees and brought it to a halt at the edge of a small clearing.
Arizona Snow's pickup truck was parked under a nearby tree. Virgil Nash's vintage sports car stood next to it.
A gray, weather-beaten cabin occupied the center of the open space. It was on the verge of crumbling into the ground. The front porch sagged and the windows were caked with grime. There was a worn-out quality to the old house, as if it were content to follow its owner into the grave.
"It doesn't look like Thurgarton took good care of his property," Octavia said.
The touch of feminine disapproval in her voice almost made him smile. He thought about her pristine gallery with its sparkling windows and carefully hung paintings. The interior of her little fairy cottage out on the bluffs probably looked just as neat and tidy.
"Thurgarton was not real big on home improvement projects," he said.
He switched off the engine and climbed out from behind the wheel. Octavia did not wait for him to show off his first-date manners. She got out of the front seat all on her own.
Free spirit.
Virgil Nash opened the front door of the cabin as Nick and Octavia started toward the porch steps.
"He certainly doesn't fit the stereotypical image of a porn shop proprietor, does he?" Octavia murmured in a very low voice.
Nick grinned. "Virgil's definitely one of a kind, and you've got to admit that his business offers a unique service to the community. Sort of like a library."
"Well, that is one way of looking at it, I suppose. There is something scholarly about him, isn't there? Maybe it's the frayed sweater vest."
"Could be."
It was true, Nick thought. With his gaunt frame, silver goatee, and preference for slightly frayed sweaters and vests, Virgil would have been at home in an academic environment. There was an old-fashioned, almost courtly air about him. No one knew where he had come from or what he had done before he had arrived in Eclipse Bay. His past was as shrouded in mystery as Arizona Snow's.
For as long as anyone could remember, Nash had operated Virgil's Adult Books amp; Video Arcade. The establishment was discreetly located a couple of hundred yards beyond the city limits and, therefore, just out of reach of ambitious civic reformers and high-minded members of the town council.
Virgil believed in the old saying that location was everything in real estate.
"Nick, this is a surprise." Virgil walked across the porch. "Good to see you again. Heard you were in town for the summer."
"Needed a change." Nick went up the steps and shook Virgil's hand. "Thought Carson would enjoy the beach."
"Good thing you drove Octavia out here." Virgil smiled ruefully at her. "I got to thinking later that it might not be easy for you to find this place, what with being new to the community and all."
"You were right," she said. "Left to my own devices, I'd probably still be looking for the turnoff."
"Thank you so much for coming all the way out here to look at the paintings. We certainly appreciate it."
"Happy to be of service," Octavia said. "Where's A.Z.?"
"Right here," Arizona boomed through the screen door. "You met Photon, here?"
"Yes, of course." Octavia nodded at the tall man in the long, flowing robes who stood behind Arizona. "Good evening, Photon."
"May the light of the future brighten your night, Miss Brightwell." Photon inclined his gleaming, shaved head in Nick's direction. "Light and peace, Mr. Harte."
"Thanks," Nick said. "Same to you, Photon."
Another resident eccentric, Nick thought. Photon was the leader of the New Age crowd that operated the Incandescent Body bakery. The group styled itself the Heralds of Future History. Their philosophy was a little vague, but their baking skills were outstanding. The incredible muffins, pastries, and cornbread produced at the bakery had gone a long way toward quelling local concerns that Eclipse Bay had been invaded by a cult.
"Come on inside." Arizona thrust open the screen door. "Got the paintings lined up here in the living room."
"We had to clear out two pickup loads of junk to make space to display them," Virgil said dryly.
Nick grinned. "There goes the inheritance, huh?"
"Let's put it thi
s way," Virgil said. "It was nice of Thurgarton to think of us, but it's starting to look like being the beneficiaries of his will is more trouble than it's worth. The furniture is in such bad shape it isn't even worth the effort of putting on a yard sale. Other than the paintings, everything else is just junk. Personally, I'm not holding my breath that the pictures are worth much, either."
Nick ushered Octavia ahead of him into the cramped, dark living room. She came to an abrupt halt.
"Oh, my," she said. "This is really quite amazing."
"That's one word for it." Nick stopped just behind her and whistled softly at the sight of the truly monumental clutter. "The term firetrap also comes to mind."
Faded magazines and yellowed newspapers spilled from the tops of row upon row of cardboard boxes stacked to the ceiling. Old suitcases were heaped in a corner. One of them was open, revealing a tangle of old clothes. The surface of the desk near the window was buried beneath piles of file folders and three-ring binders stuffed with notebook paper.
In addition to the desk and its accompanying chair, the only other furnishings in the room were a recliner and a reading lamp.
Octavia gave Virgil, Arizona, and Photon a quick, laughing smile. "And to think that this is all yours now."
Virgil chuckled softly. "You know, this is the first time anyone was thoughtful enough to remember me in his will."
"The property is worth something," Nick said, trying to be optimistic.
"Something," Photon agreed, "but not a lot. No view of the water. The house, itself, is a tear-down. The plumbing is in bad shape and the wiring is decades out of code."
Nick was mildly surprised by Photon's assured assessment of the house and land value. For the first time he wondered what the man had done before he became the leader of the Heralds of Future History. Everyone had a past.
"Hold on, here," Arizona said. "There's more to this than meets the eye. Only one reason Thurgarton would have left us in his will, and that's because he knew we were the only ones he could trust. He must have been working on something mighty big there at the end."
Nick exchanged a knowing glance with Octavia and Virgil. He was pretty sure they were both thinking the same thing he was thinking. Here we go with the ever popular, never dull Snow conspiracy theories.
Virgil cleared his throat. "A.Z. has concluded that Thurgarton stumbled onto a secret operation at the Eclipse Bay Policy Studies Institute." He motioned with one hand to indicate the piles of papers that surrounded them. "She believes that he collected all of this in an attempt to unravel the conspiracy."
"Most of this is just camouflage, of course," Arizona explained. "Thurgarton probably figured that if he piled enough out-of-date newspapers and magazines around the place, folks would write him off as a crackpot. They wouldn't realize that he had hidden the results of his investigation here."
"Camouflage?" Octavia picked up an ancient, tattered copy of Playboy and studied the bouncy-looking woman on the cover with grave interest. "That certainly explains some of these magazines. And it definitely beats the old line about just reading them for the articles."
"I resent that remark," Nick said. "In our younger days, my friends and I learned a lot from those magazines."
She gave him an arch look. "I don't think I'll ask you to tell me exactly what it was you learned."
"Examining all of these papers and magazines is gonna take some time, unfortunately," Arizona continued, ignoring the byplay. "Not like we aren't already plenty busy with Project Log Book, eh, Photon?"
"The light of future history will show us the way to accomplish all that must be done in due course," Photon said.
He was out of his real estate assessor's role and back into his fathomless serenity mode, Nick noticed.
He looked at Arizona. "What's Project Log Book?"
"Photon and I talked it over and we decided that the only safe way to ensure that none of the data in my logs gets destroyed by the operatives up at the institute is to put it all online," Arizona said.
"I thought you didn't trust computers," Nick said.
"I don't like 'em and that's a fact. But we've got to move with the times. Got to take advantage of technology if we're going to stay ahead of the bad guys. The Heralds are building a Web site and they're inputting the contents of my logs and journals as we speak. This is all real hush-hush, naturally, but I trust you and Octavia here to keep your mouths closed. And of course Virgil will keep it to himself."
"I won't tell a soul," Virgil promised.
"Loose lips sink ships," Octavia said solemnly.
Arizona nodded. "That's for damn sure."
"You've been keeping those logs and journals for years, A.Z.," Nick said. "You must have hundreds of them."
"The Heralds are working around the clock in shifts on the computer that we set up in my War Room. Logistics haven't been easy, I can tell you. Got to keep things running as usual at the bakery while we put the data online so we don't arouse suspicion. Don't want anyone up at the institute to come nosing around before we're ready to go live with the Web site."
"We expect to have Project Log Book completed by the end of the summer," Photon said.
"And now you've got to sort through all of this junk in addition to putting together a Web site project and operating the bakery." Nick shook his head at the enormousness of the task. "Don't envy you this job."
"We'll get it done," Arizona assured him with her customary can-do attitude. "No choice. Future of the country depends on making sure that the facts in my logs are available to the concerned citizens of this nation. The Internet is the only way to go."
"Uh, where are the pictures you wanted me to examine?" Octavia asked politely.
"Behind that row of boxes," Virgil said.
He led the way, forging a path through the maze of cartons and papers to the far side of the living room. Nick and Octavia followed him.
Four paintings in old, wooden frames were propped against the wall. In the gloom, Nick could see that the first three were landscapes. The fourth looked as if it had been splashed with a lot of dark paint.
Virgil switched on the reading lamp behind the recliner and aimed the beam at the paintings. "I suspect they're all worthless, but I wanted an expert opinion before we dumped them into the yard sale pile."
Nick watched Octavia's face as she studied the paintings. She had the same expression of rapt attention that she'd had when she looked at Carson's pictures. She was taking this seriously, he thought. Given that two of the people who had asked for her opinion were conspiracy freaks and the third ran an adult bookstore, it was going above and beyond the call of duty to show such respect.
She walked slowly past all four paintings and stopped in front of the one that looked as if it had been painted with a brush that had been dipped in chaos. She looked at it for a long time.
Then she crouched in front of it, heedless of the fact that the change of position caused her long, pale skirts to sweep across the dusty floorboards. She gazed intently at what looked like a scribble in the right-hand comer.
"Hmm," she said.
Everyone went very still. Nick was amused. He could feel the sudden tension that had leaped to life in the room.
"Does anyone know where or how Thurgarton got this picture?" Octavia asked, never taking her attention away from the painting.
Virgil shook his head. "We found it with the others in a closet. No way to tell how he came by it. Why?"
"I hesitate to say anything at this point because I don't want anyone to get too excited."
"Too late," Nick said. "We're excited. Is this thing valuable?"
Arizona frowned. "Looks like the artist dumped the contents of several tubes of paint on the canvas and smeared them around."
Virgil smiled. "That's mid-twentieth-century art for you."
Photon contemplated the abstract painting with a considering air. "The longer one looks at it, the deeper it appears. It is clearly an exploration of the absence of light."
Nick looked at him. "You think?"
"Yes." Photon inclined his gleaming head. "It is a statement of man's craving for light and his simultaneous fear of its power."
Octavia rose slowly to her feet and turned around to face the others.
"I agree with you, Photon," she said quietly. "And if we're right, it may be the work of Thomas Upsall. The signature certainly fits. He always signed his work in a very distinctive manner. And his technique was also quite unique. A very time-consuming method that required layer upon layer of paint."
"Wow," Nick said. "A genuine Thomas Upsall. Who would have believed it? Wait until this news hits the art world."
She gave him a reproving frown. "Very funny. Obviously you don't recognize the artist."
"Nope, can't say that I do."
"Me, either." Arizona looked hopeful. "This Thomas Upsall, was he famous or anything?"
"He produced most of his paintings in the nineteen-fifties," Octavia said. "His pictures were not very popular at the time, but in the past few years they have become extremely collectible. There isn't a lot of his work around because he destroyed a great quantity of it during the last year of his life. He died in the mid-eighties, alone and forgotten."
"What do you think this thing's worth?" Arizona asked.
Octavia looked at the painting over her shoulder. "If, and I stress the word if, it is a genuine Upsall, it could easily fetch a couple hundred thousand at auction. Maybe two hundred and fifty."
They all stared at her.
Virgil exhaled deeply. "A couple hundred thousand dollars?"
"Yes. The market for Upsall's work is hot at the moment and getting hotter." Octavia gave them all a warning look and held up one hand. "But to be on the safe side, I'd like to get a second opinion from a colleague of mine who specializes in mid-twentieth-century abstract art. She works in a museum in Seattle. Unfortunately, she's on vacation until next week."
"Think we can get her to take a look at the picture when she returns?" Arizona asked.
"Yes, for a fee," Octavia said. "She consults. She may even want to purchase it for her museum."
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