Summer in Eclipse Bay (12 page)

Kids always responded to Sean, Nick reflected. He was not certain why. Valentine was no Officer Friendly. He carried a lot of wear and tear on his face. It was true that Sean did project a calm, professional competence, but he always looked as if he expected bad news. Children seemed to look right past the grim stuff and see something else beneath the surface, something they liked and trusted.

Nick noticed that Octavia was also watching Sean greet Carson. There was a thoughtful, reflective look on her face as though she, too, saw something in Valentine that she liked and trusted.

When she switched her gaze to Nick, however, the approval disappeared instantly from her expression.

What he got was cool appraisal. She was looking at him the way she might examine a painting that did not quite measure up to her standards.

Oh, shit. Talk about worst-case scenarios. This was bad. Very, very bad.

“Hello, Nick,” she said without inflection. But when she switched her attention to Carson, the warmth returned to her voice. “Good morning, Carson. I like that shirt.”

Carson beamed. He glanced down at the dark-green dinosaur emblazoned on his sweatshirt. “Thanks. It's a velociraptor. Dad bought it for me.”

“I see.”

“A velociraptor can rip you to shreds in seconds,” Carson said cheerfully.

Octavia nodded. “I'll bear that in mind.”

Nick met Sean's eyes. “What's going on here?”

“Octavia says that the painting Old Man Thurgarton left to A.Z. and Nash and the Heralds has disappeared.” Sean rubbed the back of his neck. “Kind of a mystery how it happened. Apparently it was locked up in the back room and the security alarm was set as usual.”

Arizona loomed in the doorway. “Getting past a standard security system would be child's play for that gang up at the institute. No offense, Carson.”

“Okay,” Carson said, clearly not offended.

Sean heaved a deep sigh. “I don't think we can blame anyone at the institute, A.Z. I know you're convinced that those folks up there are bent on subverting the government and running the world from their secret headquarters here in Eclipse Bay, but there's just no good motive for them to steal a painting.”

“You want motive?” Arizona stalked toward the counter. “I'll give you motive. They know me and the Heralds plan to use our share of the profits from the sale of that picture to help finance our investigations. The last thing that crowd wants is for us to be able to expand the scope of our operations. If that ain't motive, I don't know what is.”

Virgil Nash came through the doorway and nodded politely at everyone. He turned to Octavia. “Was the Upsall the only painting that was stolen?”

“Yes,” Octavia said. “It was far and away the single most valuable picture here. Whoever took it must have known what he was doing.”

Nick studied the paintings hanging on the wall and then shook his head. “I don't think you can assume that.”

They all stared at him.

“What do you mean?” Octavia demanded. “The average person would probably have been more attracted to some of the scenes of the bay. Or that one.” She swept out a hand to indicate the painting hanging behind her. “The watercolor with the gulls. To the untrained eye the Upsall looks dark and rather depressing.”

“Probably because it is dark and depressing,” Nick said.

She gave him a superior smile. “Which only goes to show how much you know about art, but that is neither here nor there.”

Sean raised his brows a little at her crisp tone, but he made no comment. Instead he looked at Nick with some curiosity. “What makes you say that whoever took the picture didn't have to be an art expert?”

“The rumor that Thurgarton had left a valuable painting behind and that Octavia was going to get a second opinion on it was all over town by yesterday afternoon,” Nick said mildly. “It wouldn't have taken a genius to figure out that she had it stored in the back room, and it would have been easy to recognize. Everyone was talking about how ugly it was.”

Octavia did not look pleased with that quick summary. She glared. “How do you explain the thief having a key and knowing the security code?”

Nick glanced at the door. “There are usually several duplicates of a key floating around. And when was the last time the code was changed?”

She drummed her crimson nails on the counter. “It hasn't been changed since I had the Willis brothers install the system when I first opened the gallery.”

Virgil frowned. “You had an assistant working here for several months. She would have had the code and the key.”

“Of course,” Octavia said. “But I don't think we can pin this theft on Noreen. She left town with her artist boyfriend last month, remember?”

Sean looked thoughtful. “Does anyone know where Noreen and the boyfriend are now?”

Octavia shook her head. “She just phoned in her resignation and took off. But now that you mention it, there's, uh, something else.”

They all looked at her.

She grimaced. “A few days ago I came across a piece of paper with the code written on it taped inside one of the counter drawers. Noreen had trouble remembering it.”

“Which means a lot of people might have had access to that code,” Sean said. “Including the artist boyfriend.”

Arizona snorted. “Wastin' your time, Valentine. This has the fingerprints of that bunch up at the institute all over it, I tell you.”

Sean flipped his notebook shut. “One thing's for certain, Eclipse Bay isn't exactly crawling with experienced, high-end art thieves, and we don't have what you'd call a big market for stolen art, either. Whoever snatched the painting has probably already taken off for Portland or Seattle to try to unload it.”

“True.” Octavia slouched against the counter, looking very unhappy. “It would be the logical thing to do.”

“Our best hope is that the guy trips himself up when he goes to sell the Upsall,” Sean continued. “I'll call some people I know in the Seattle and Portland police departments and tell them to keep a lookout for our missing picture.”

“That's an excellent idea.” Octavia brightened. “I'll contact a few friends in the art world, too, and make them aware that there's a previously unknown Upsall floating around.”

“Good thought,” Sean said. He started toward the door. “I think that's about all for now. I'll check back later.”

“All right,” Octavia said. “Thanks, Sean.”

“Sure. See you, folks.”

A short chorus of goodbyes followed Sean out onto the sidewalk. So did Nick.

They walked together toward Sean's vehicle.

“Something I can do for you, Harte?” Sean asked mildly.

“Just wanted to ask what you think really happened to that painting.”

Sean opened the door on the driver's side and paused. “You want my best guess?”

“That would probably be the most helpful under the circumstances, yeah.”

“Past experience tells me that whoever stole the painting was probably closely connected to the situation. He knew the picture was valuable, he knew where it was stored, and he knew how to disarm the security system.”

“Which means he had access to the code and a key.”

“As you just pointed out, how hard would that be? Might not have even needed the key and code. That system the Willis brothers installed for Octavia is good enough for Eclipse Bay, but it isn't exactly state-of-the-art.” Sean looked at the window of Bright Visions. “Wouldn't take a rocket scientist to disarm it, especially in the middle of the night during a major storm when no one was around.”

Nick followed his gaze and shook his head in a flat negative. “Not A.Z. or Virgil.”

“No. Although I gotta tell you that in this situation, any out-of-town cop would be looking real hard at both of 'em. They both have motive. Why split the profits from the painting three ways when you can have the whole pie?”

Nick shrugged. “Guess I'd have to agree that to an outsider they'd both look a little mysterious.”

“Try damned suspicious. No one knows anything about either of them before they arrived in Eclipse Bay. I got curious a couple of years ago and did some digging, myself.”

Nick looked at him. “Learn anything?”

“Zilch. It's like neither one of them existed before they came to this town.”

“For what it's worth, there are some old rumors about them,” Nick said. “My grandfather told me once that he thinks Nash may have done some government intelligence work at one time, which could explain why his past has been wiped out of the records. And most folks assume that A.Z. assumed a new identity somewhere along the way because she's so deep into her conspiracy theories. But neither of them are thieves. Rock-solid, upstanding citizens in their own weird ways.”

“I'm inclined to agree.”

“That leaves Photon and his happy little crew of bakers.”

“Yeah. And between you and me, that bunch is right at the top of my very short list.” Sean got behind the wheel and closed the door. He squinted a little against the morning sun. “I'm going to run some background checks on some of those Heralds. But keep that to yourself. I want to handle it quietly. If word gets out that the group is under suspicion, some of the locals might turn on 'em real fast.”

“I know. There are still a few folks around who think they're running some kind of cult out of that bakery.”

“Think I'll also track down Noreen Perkins and her new boyfriend and ask them a few questions, too.”

“Why? They aren't even in town any longer.”

“Just being thorough.”

“Right. Catch you later.”

Sean put the SUV in gear and rolled off down the street.

Nick went back into Bright Visions. He stopped just inside. Octavia, Arizona, Virgil, and Carson were all looking at him with expectant expressions.

He surveyed the ring of interested faces. “Did I miss something?”

Carson could scarcely contain himself. “Wait'll you hear A.Z.'s really cool idea, Dad.”

Nick managed, just barely, not to groan aloud. He caught Octavia's attention, expecting a little understanding, maybe even some sympathy in spite of the tension between them. After all, everyone knew that any really cool idea that had been concocted by Arizona Snow was an accident waiting to happen.

But Octavia's expression reflected zero commiseration. Whatever this really cool idea was, it was getting serious consideration from her.

In desperation, Nick turned to Virgil.

“Nothing to lose,” Virgil said, stroking his goatee.

“Only chance we've got and that's a fact,” Arizona stated with satisfaction.

Nick surveyed each of them in turn. “Why do I have a bad feeling about this?”

Octavia cleared her throat. “Virgil's right. It probably won't work, but it's not like we have anything to lose. I say we go for it.”

“Yeah!” Carson cheered.

“What, exactly, are you all planning to go for?” Nick asked warily.

“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.”

“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 turned 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.