Summer in Eclipse Bay eb-3

by Jayne Ann Krentz

  "So, does that mean that you do sometimes spend the entire night with a woman with whom you're romantically involved?" Gail asked with disconcerting interest.

  "Guys don't get romantically involved."

  "What do they get?"

  "Involved, period."

  "Oh, sure, I knew that. So, do you sometimes spend the entire night with women with whom you're involved, period?"

  "You know, I didn't come here to discuss my love life with a woman who has Very Big Hair."

  "That was a low blow." Gail patted the rigid outer layer of her voluminous hairdo. "I was only carrying out my assignment."

  "Yeah." Nick went toward the door. "Too bad you didn't learn anything useful about that damned painting."

  Gail straightened her shoulders and held her chin high. "In the long run, I feel that I discovered something infinitely more important."

  "Such as?"

  "The name of the woman who broke the curse on Hardhearted Harte."

  He went out onto the sidewalk and slammed the door closed.

  Twenty minutes later he stood on the bluff above the small, crescent-shaped beach, looking down. She was sitting on a rock, knees drawn up under a long, geranium-red skirt, her face hidden beneath the wide brim of a big straw hat. The now-familiar flicker of intense awareness crackled through him, tightening his belly and heating his blood.

  It was a deeply sensual feeling, but he could not slap the label great sex on this and let it go at that. He had known that from the beginning.

  He watched her there in the sunlight, her skirt fluttering a little in the breeze, her gracefully rounded arms wrapped around her knees, and he finally understood.

  This strange, bone-deep sensation that he always experienced when he thought about her or when he was in her vicinity wasn't merely desire or anticipation. It was a sense of connection. In some manner that he knew he would probably never fully comprehend, he was linked to her now.

  He had never known this particular kind of bond, he realized. Perhaps it would have developed eventually with Amelia if they had had more time and if he had not screwed things up by quitting Harte Investments and if she had not turned to an old lover when the chips were down.

  No. It would never have been like this with Amelia. It could never be like this with anyone else.

  Maybe the rumors were right. Maybe he had been under some kind of curse.

  But what was the point of being freed if he lost the lady who had the magic touch?

  She turned slightly, obviously aware that someone was on the bluff behind her. The straw brim of the hat tilted at an angle and he caught a glimpse of her face. She had on a pair of dark glasses. He could not read her expression but he got the distinct impression that she was not overly thrilled to see him. She was certainly not waving.

  He found the path that led to the beach and went down it swiftly. Tiny pebbles scattered before him.

  When he got to the bottom he walked toward Octavia feeling as if he were walking toward his destiny. She did not take off her sunglasses. It occurred to him that he was still wearing his, too. Neither of them could tell what the other was thinking, he realized.

  "Are you all right?" he asked.

  "Yes."

  "Gail was worried about you. She said you'd left the shop in a hurry."

  "There's nothing to be concerned about. I just wanted to get away for a while. I need to think."

  He sat down beside her on the broad, sun-warmed rock. Close enough to be intensely conscious of her nearness; not quite touching. A curious kind of panic started to gnaw at his insides. She really was upset. He was not sure how to deal with it.

  "I'm sorry the three of us gave you so much grief this morning," he said. "We were just teasing you."

  "I know."

  "I realize these past few days have been rough on you. You're not accustomed to being the subject of local gossip."

  "It's not that."

  "People were bound to talk after it got out that we were seeing each other," he said. "But the gossip will fade when folks get used to the idea."

  "I don't particularly care what people think of our relationship."

  That did not sound good, he thought. He turned his head to get a better look at her profile. She remained enigmatic behind the shields of her dark glasses.

  "You don't care that everyone's discussing our relationship down at the beauty parlor and in the aisles at Fulton's?" he asked carefully.

  She unclasped her knees and braced her arms behind her, flattening her palms on the rock. "Well, it feels a little strange to be the subject of so much local interest, but I've had plenty of opportunity to see how the Hartes and the Madisons handle that sort of situation. I thought I was dealing with it very well."

  "You are," he agreed immediately. "You're handling it beautifully."

  "And, as you just said, the talk will fade in time."

  "Sure." He mentally crossed his fingers. "Eventually."

  She said nothing else; just sat there, gazing thoughtfully out over the bay.

  "So," he said when he could no longer stand the suspense. "If it's not the fact that everyone is chatting about how I spent the night at your place that's bothering you, what, exactly, is the problem here?"

  "The bar fight last night."

  He exhaled slowly. "I was afraid it might be that. Look, I'm sorry it happened, but it was just a case of a bunch of guys who'd been drinking some beer and got carried away. Not the first time it's happened at the Total Eclipse, and it sure as hell won't be the last."

  "I realize that." She finally turned her head to look directly at him. "But it is the first time anyone has ever gotten into a fight on account of me."

  Dread settled heavily in the pit of his stomach. "Okay, so you're accustomed to dating a classier sort of guy. The type who doesn't get into bar brawls. Would it help if I told you that I don't make a habit of that kind of thing?"

  She just looked at him for a small eternity. Her mouth twitched a couple of times.

  And then she was laughing so hard that tears started to run down her face beneath the rims of her dark glasses.

  He watched her for a while, fascinated. "Did I say something funny?"

  "Yes." She yanked off the dark glasses and dried her eyes on the sleeve of her gold shirt. "Yes, you said something very, very funny."

  "You know you're losing it when you don't get your own jokes."

  She pulled herself together with a visible effort. The laughter faded into giggles and then shrank into a wide smile. Her eyes were warm and clear and bright with the remnants of her amusement.

  "You're not losing it," she said. "We're just not quite in synch here. What I was trying to tell you is that I have never considered myself the type of woman who is capable of launching a barroom brawl."

  "You're not."

  "You're wrong. Clearly I must be that type because I did ignite that fight last night. The facts are on the record from dozens of witnesses, apparently."

  He winced. "This is one of those no-win situations, isn't it? Any way I respond, I screw up big time."

  She ignored that. "I like it."

  "What? That I'm trapped in a lose-lose scenario?"

  "No, that I'm the type of woman who has what it takes to spark a tavern brawl."

  "Huh."

  "I also like being the type of woman who inspires gossip in the beauty shop and creates great excitement in the supermarket aisles."

  "Uh-huh."

  "The type who ties men up in bed."

  "And the type who lets herself be tied up in bed," he reminded her.

  "That, too. Aunt Claudia would be so proud."

  "Yeah?"

  "Definitely. She was always telling me that I had to stop trying so hard to smooth things over and fix things. She said I should learn to raise a little hell. I'm starting to wonder if maybe that's the real reason she sent me here to Eclipse Bay. Not to repair the damage she did but to discover this other side of myself."

  "Interestin
g theory."

  "The thing is, how could she have guessed that I'd get into so much trouble if I got tangled up with you Hartes and those Madisons? You think maybe there really was something to all that stuff about auras and New Age metaphysics that she studied during the last years of her life?"

  He folded his arms on his knees and savored the sense of relief that was washing through him. Octavia wasn't sunk in depression. She wasn't even pissed off. There was still hope.

  "Wouldn't take a lot of metaphysical intuition and aura reading to figure out that sending you here to get involved with Hartes and Madisons would get you into trouble," he said. "A woman as smart as Claudia Banner would have been able to predict exactly what would happen."

  The following morning Nick scrawled his name on a check and pushed it across the bar. Beside him, Jeremy signed his check with an artistic flourish and put it on top of Nick's. "Thank you, gentlemen." Fred snapped up both checks and put them into the cash register drawer. "Always a pleasure doing business with you. You're welcome back to the Total Eclipse any time. I like to encourage a high-class clientele."

  "I don't think we'll be able to afford to come back often," Jeremy grumbled.

  Fred contrived to look hurt. "This is the thanks I get for dropping all the charges?"

  "You know damn well we didn't do two thousand dollars' worth of damage here the other night." Jeremy waved a hand to indicate the shabby surroundings. "Hell, the joint doesn't look any different than it did before things got exciting."

  "You ruined my walls."

  "Right, the walls." Nick lounged on a bar stool and folded his arms. He glanced toward the far end of the room, where the Willis brothers were busy with a tape measure and a clipboard.

  The brothers were fixtures in town. For as long as Nick could remember, they had worked as general contractors, doing everything from plumbing to roof repairs. They were identical twins, but no one in town had any trouble telling them apart.

  From his cleanly shaved skull to his crisply laundered overalls, Walter Willis was as precise and polished as one of the gleaming tools he wore on his belt. Torrance, on the other hand, wore his thin, straggling hair in a greasy ponytail. His work clothes were stained with everything from paint splatters to pizza sauce.

  "What color are you going to paint the place?" Jeremy asked.

  Fred pursed his lips. "I'm thinking taupe."

  "Taupe?" Jeremy stared at him. "You're kidding, right? Taupe isn't the color you use for a bar."

  "What color is taupe, anyway?" Nick asked.

  "Who knows?" Fred said. "Walt over there suggested it."

  "Forget taupe," Jeremy advised. "I'd go with dark green and maybe a warm brown on the baseboards and trim."

  "Listen to him," Nick said. "The man's an artist."

  "Green and brown, huh?" Fred pondered that for a while. "Walt said he'd give me a special on the taupe. Said he had some left over from a job he and Torrance did for one of the summer people."

  "Don't suppose it much matters what color you use," Nick said. "No one will be able to see it in here, anyway, what with the low lighting and all."

  Fred scowled. "Gotta keep the lights low."

  "Why?" Jeremy asked. "So folks won't notice the size of the roaches?"

  "Gives the place ambience," Fred said.

  The door opened. For a few seconds the glare of daylight silhouetted the distinctive figures of Eugene and Dwayne. Then the door closed again.

  "Don't think you need a lot of ambience to attract those two," Nick said. "Just spray a little stale beer around the place and sprinkle some aged French fries under the tables."

  Eugene came to a halt halfway across the room and staggered a bit, feigning astonishment. "Well, as I live and breathe, Dwayne, if it ain't our good buddies, Harte and Seaton."

  Dwayne, who had been tailgating his companion, collided with Eugene's backside and ricocheted off a couple of feet. He regained his balance and peered at Nick and Jeremy.

  "Oh, yeah," Dwayne said. "It's them, all right."

  "Dwayne and me was just over at the station talkin' to Sandy," Eugene explained. He lumbered into gear again, making his way through the maze of empty tables. "Saw you guys come in here. We want to buy you a drink."

  Jeremy straightened warily. "Much as we'd love to stay and chat, Nick and I have appointments today. Isn't that right, Nick?"

  Nick did not take his eyes off Eugene. "You want to buy us a drink?"

  "Sure. After all that fun we had together, it only seems fair." Eugene reached the end of the bar and gestured expansively. "Beers all around, Fred."

  Fred shrugged and set out four glasses.

  "Gee, Eugene," Jeremy muttered. "We don't know what to say, do we, Nick?"

  "Speechless," Nick agreed dryly. "What's this all about, Eugene?"

  "Hell, me and Dwayne figure we owe you two something for covering the damages Fred, here, claims he's owed for the other night. Ain't that right, Dwayne?"

  "Right." Dwayne perched on the stool next to Eugene. "Mighty generous of you."

  Fred put a full glass down in front of everyone.

  Eugene hoisted his glass. "Here's to good times."

  "Good times." Nick picked up his glass and drank some beer.

  Jeremy hesitated and then followed suit.

  Eugene beamed. "Never thought I'd see you in a bar fight, Harte. Or you, either, for that matter, Seaton. Who'd have believed that you two would turn out to be just a couple of regular guys, after all? You ever believe that, Fred?"

  "Wonders never cease." Fred walked out from behind the bar. "I'm gonna go talk to Walt and Torrance. I kinda like the idea of green and brown on the walls."

  Eugene waited until he had moved off into the pool room where the Willis brothers were now working. Then he looked down the bar at Nick and Jeremy. He stopped smiling.

  "You know, Dwayne and me, we never thanked you two for getting us out of the car that night we went into the water," he said.

  "Forget it," Nick said. "That was a long time ago."

  "Yeah." Eugene took a long pull on his beer. "A long time ago."

  No one said anything for a while. Eugene and Dwayne worked steadily on their beers.

  "After it happened," Eugene said eventually, "we figured you'd go straight to Chief Yates, you know? Maybe tell him about that little game of chicken we were all playing."

  "You mean, tell him how you tried to run us off the road?" Jeremy asked neutrally.

  "Maybe things got a little outta hand," Eugene said. "Me and Dwayne were really pissed after you showed us up at the races that night. If you'd gone to Yates and told him your version of events, he'd have believed you on accounta you and Harte, here, come from such fine, upstanding families and all."

  "I don't want to belabor the issue," Jeremy said, "but our version of events would have been the truth."

  "We were just foolin' around," Eugene insisted. "Like I said, things got outta hand. But that ain't the point. Point is, Yates and everybody else would have believed you guys. Nobody would have even listened to our side of the story on accounta everyone around here figures me and Dwayne for trash."

  Nick glanced at Jeremy. Eugene was right and they both knew it. Nobody in Eclipse Bay would have taken Eugene's or Dwayne's word over the word of a Harte or a Seaton, regardless of the circumstances.

  Eugene looked at Nick. "The other night, I'd had a few beers. I maybe said some things about your girlfriend that I shouldn't have said."

  Nick inclined his head. "True."

  "You know, that Miss Brightwell always says something nice when she sees us on the street," Eugene continued. "Ain't that right, Dwayne?"

  "Yeah." Dwayne drank more beer. "Always says somethin' like, Good morning, or How are you? or Beautiful day, ain't it?"

  Nick looked at Dwayne. "She says, Beautiful day, ain't it?"

  "Nan, that ain't right." Dwayne's thin face twisted into a tight little knot with the effort of trying to think. "She says, Beautiful day, isn't it? Y
eah, that's it. Isn't it."

  "Sure glad we got that straight," Jeremy said under his breath.

  "Anyhow," Eugene went on with a doggedly determined air, "point is, she's a nice lady, even if she did swipe that painting. Me and Dwayne shouldn't have said that stuff about her deliberately screwing your brains out just so you wouldn't figure her for the thief. I mean, so what if that's the reason she's sleeping with you? It's a damn good reason, if you ask me. Goes to show she's smart."

  "It takes a real man to apologize," Nick said. "Far as I can tell, you were among the first to hear the rumors at Fulton's. If you really want to settle things between us, you can tell me the name of the person who gave you the story."

  Eugene and Dwayne exchanged nods. "It was that prissy old bitch, Mrs. Burke, wasn't it? Remember, Dwayne, she was talking to Carla from the beauty shop? I was in the ice cream section getting a couple of quarts of chocolate fudge swirl and they were right across from me in frozen orange juice. Acted like they never saw us."

  "Sure," Dwayne said. "I remember. Old Lady Burke and Carla from the beauty parlor."

  Nick saw Jeremy's eyes narrow a little at the names. He put down his unfinished beer and got to his feet.

  "Thanks, Eugene," he said. "You, too, Dwayne. I appreciate the information. And the beer, too."

  "Same here." Jeremy set his unfinished glass down on the bar next to Nick's.

  "Ain'tcha gonna finish your beers?" Eugene asked, looking offended.

  "The thing is," Nick said, "you've given us a hot new clue and we've got to get to work on it immediately."

  "A clue, huh?" Eugene sounded pleased. "How about that, Dwayne? We gave 'em a clue. If they find that missing picture it'll be on accounta us."

  "You'll have our undying gratitude," Nick said.

  "I like the sound of that," Eugene said. "You sure you don't want the rest of your beer?"

  "I wish I could hang around to finish it, but time is of the essence," Nick said. "Help yourself."

  "Don't mind if I do." Eugene picked up Nick's unfinished beer and dumped it into his own nearly empty glass.

  Dwayne did the same with the remaining beer in Jeremy's glass.

  "That strike you as sanitary?" Jeremy asked as they went through the front door into the sunlight.