“Not at the moment.”
They walked back out into the gallery and went to stand at the window. Outside on the sidewalk several tourists meandered. The day was sunny and pleasantly warm.
Octavia had awakened feeling inexplicably good again today, even though there had been no wild and crazy sex last night and even though she still had the same set of problems she’d had before life had turned so adventurous here in Eclipse Bay.
Gail also looked better today. She seemed cheerful, even a bit enthusiastic.
She was dressed in a dark, lightweight suit with a little scarf at her throat. Her honey-colored hair was brushed sleekly back into a neat knot at the back of her neck. Very formal for Eclipse Bay, Octavia thought. But then, she had come here to apply for a job.
“It’s strictly a temporary position, I’m afraid,” Octavia said. “I’m planning to sell the gallery at the end of the summer and there’s no way to know if whoever buys it will want an assistant.”
Across the street at the end of the block she could see Nick leaning against the side of his car, talking to Sandy Hickson at the town’s only gas station. Just the sight of him, even from this distance, did things to her pulse. There was something deliciously compelling about the way the man lounged, she thought; a sexy, subtle, masculine grace that made her think extremely erotic thoughts.
Evidently the conversation with Sandy was a riveting one. She wondered if Nick was actively pursuing his investigation or just passing the time of day while Sandy put gas in the tank and washed the windshield. It was impossible to tell from this distance.
“I understand that you can’t promise anything beyond the summer,” Gail said quickly. “But this will buy me some breathing space to look around and try to line up something permanent up at Chamberlain or the institute. I really appreciate this, Octavia.”
“Not as much as I appreciate your agreeing to take the position,” Octavia said.
“I’m sure a few more questions will come up, but I think I’ve got the basics down. As I told you, I’ve had some experience in retail and I’ve always loved art. In a way, this is a perfect job for me. I’m going to enjoy it.”
“You might as well start this afternoon. If you’re free, that is?”
“Yes. Mom is looking after Anne. I’ll give her a call and tell her that I’ve started working. She’ll be very relieved.”
“Good. I’ve got a lot of things to do in the next few weeks. I’m planning to move, you know. And then there’s the Children’s Art Show. Also, I have to get started on making arrangements to sell both branches of Bright Visions.” The list of objectives had become her mantra, she realized. She ran through it in her mind whenever she felt dispirited or depressed about her life at the end of the summer. It kept her focused.
Gail hesitated. “I know it’s none of my business, but do you mind if I ask why you feel you have to sell your galleries and leave the state?”
“I’ve been sort of drifting for a while,” Octavia said. “Trying to decide what I want to do with my future. I don’t have all the answers yet, but I’ve definitely come to the conclusion that I need to move on.”
Gail nodded sympathetically. “Believe it or not, I know exactly what you mean. I felt that drifting sensation for a while after my divorce. It was hard to make decisions. But having Anne to support emotionally and financially did a lot to make me pull up my socks and move forward.”
“I’ll bet it did.” She watched Nick across the street and thought that, whatever else you could say about him, there was no denying that he was an excellent father. “Nothing like being responsible for a child to help you put your priorities in order.”
“True. Kids come first.”
I wonder if I’ll ever have one of my own, Octavia thought. A picture of Carson’s laughing face danced through her mind. She pushed it aside.
“I’ve got a question for you,” she said to Gail. “Why did you come back to Eclipse Bay?”
“Anne has reached the age where she’s starting to ask why her daddy doesn’t come see her,” Gail said. “I thought it would be good for her to spend more time with my father. The positive male role model thing, you know?”
“Yes,” Octavia said softly. “I know.”
Down at the station, Nick had straightened away from his car, preparing to leave. Anticipation crackled through her. She wondered if he was getting ready to drive here to the gallery to give her an update on his progress. Maybe she would suggest that they talk over lunch. Yes, that sounded good. A business lunch. She could leave her new assistant in charge of the gallery.
But Nick did not get behind the wheel of his car. As she watched, he started purposefully across the street, heading toward the entrance to the Total Eclipse.
“What on earth?” She stepped outside onto the sidewalk to get a better look. “Good grief, he’s going into that dive.”
“Who?” Gail came through the opening behind her. She glanced down the street with a puzzled expression. “Nick Harte?”
“Yes. It’s almost lunchtime. Maybe he decided to pick up a sandwich there.”
“At the Total Eclipse?” Gail wrinkled her nose. “Good way to get food poisoning, if you ask me.”
“You’re right.” Intuition kicked in. “I’ll bet he’s following a lead.”
Gail glanced at her with open curiosity. “It’s true, then? Nick Harte is playing private eye for you and A.Z. and the others?”
“He’s not playing private eye. He’s making serious inquiries into the situation.”
“Hmm. I don’t know how many serious folks he’s going to find inside the Total Eclipse, especially at this time of day.”
“Good point.” She’d been in town long enough to have learned something about the clientele of the Total Eclipse. “You know, I don’t like the looks of this. Who do you suppose he’s going to talk to inside that joint?”
“Well, there’s Fred, the owner,” Gail said.
“Of course.” She relaxed a little. “He tends the bar. Bartenders always pick up useful tidbits of gossip. The hero in Nick’s books often consults them.”
“And if memory serves,” Gail continued dryly, “you can usually count on finding Mean Eugene and his sidekick Dickhead Dwayne in there most days.”
“I know who you mean. I’ve seen them on the street and in Fulton’s occasionally. They’re always together. I’ve heard the Mean Eugene name but I hadn’t realized the skinny one was called Dickhead.”
“Dwayne and Eugene have been buddies for as long as anyone can remember. They tend to reinforce each other’s worst characteristics. Eugene calls the shots and Dwayne goes along. It is generally felt in these parts that anyone who would do whatever Eugene told him to do would have to be a dickhead. Hence the name.”
“I can see the logic.”
“Back in the big city, folks would probably say that Eugene and Dwayne are the products of dysfunctional families. But around here we just call them bums.”
Nick pushed open the door and stepped into the perpetual gloom of the Total Eclipse. He removed his sunglasses and let the smell of stale cigarette smoke, spilled beer, and rancid grease envelop him. The combination brought back a lot of memories.
Some things were a given in Eclipse Bay. A guy bought his first condom from Virgil Nash, not because Grover’s Pharmacy didn’t stock them, but because it was too damn embarrassing to buy a box from Pete Grover. The pharmacist knew everyone’s medical history from date of birth and did not hesitate to make his opinion of your sex life clear. And he always tried to get names. Even if you got up the nerve to risk his beady-eyed scrutiny, you faced the very real threat that he would notify your folks or, worse yet, the girl’s folks that the purchase had been made.
Showing up here at the Total Eclipse on the day you were finally old enough to buy a legal beer was another rite of passage for young males in Eclipse Bay. By the same token, if you were still buying a lot of your beers here at age twenty-five or beyond, it was understood that you
were never going to amount to much and that you were probably doomed to live out your life at the bottom of the town’s social ladder.
Mean Eugene and Dickhead Dwayne were shining examples of the accuracy of that hypothesis. They were in their mid-thirties and still bought their beers here.
Nick gave his eyes a few seconds to adjust to the shadows. The only lights in the Total Eclipse were the narrow spots over the pool tables in the room at the back, the green glass lamp next to the cash register at the bar, and the weak candles in the little red glass holders on the tables. The candles were Fred’s notion of ambience.
The place was nearly empty at this time of day. Being seen at the Total Eclipse at any time invited unpleasant comments from the more high-minded members of the community. The comments were always a lot more scathing if you hung out here when there was daylight outside.
But the prospect of societal disapproval did not worry guys like Eugene and his buddy, Dwayne.
Eugene Woods had been born to bully. In high school his size and weight issues had ensured that he went on to become a local football legend and a known thug at Eclipse Bay High. Eugene’s post-football years had not gone well, however. The layer of padding that had stood him in good stead on the field had increased in volume, and his brutish ways had earned him an extremely limited circle of friends. Sooner or later his poor work ethic screwed up any job he managed to land.
Dwayne was his constant companion. Dickhead was not really an accurate descriptor, at least not when applied to Dwayne’s features. He reminded Nick more of an oversized insect.
Dwayne was thin and brittle with spidery legs and arms. He looked as if he’d crunch if you stepped on him. He twitched a lot, too, like a bug that had been hit with a dose of pesticide.
Bar stools were uncomfortable for a man of Eugene’s proportions. Nick looked for his quarry in one of the booths.
Eugene was there, sitting at a grimy table with Dwayne. The big man faced the door, in true Old West gunslinger style. There was just enough light coming from the little candle in the red glass holder to reveal the meanness in his eyes and the ragged tears in the grimy tee shirt stretched over his belly.
Interviewing Mean Eugene was not going to be easy.
Nick went toward the booth. He nodded once at Fred when he went past the bar.
“Fred.”
“How you doin’, Nick?” Fred did not look up from the little television set he had positioned behind the bar. He was watching a long-running soap opera. Fred was addicted to the soaps.
“Doin’ okay, thanks,” Nick said.
Civilities completed, he moved on to the booth and stopped. He looked at Eugene and Dwayne.
“Can I buy you gentlemen a beer?” he asked.
Dwayne, who’d been concentrating on a dripping cheeseburger, started and looked up with a startled expression. Clearly the word gentlemen had confounded him. And with good reason, Nick thought.
But Eugene, always the faster of the two, chortled. “So we’re gentlemen now, huh? Hell, yes, you can buy us a couple of beers. Never say no to a free beer. Besides, it ain’t every day a Harte wanders in here and makes an offer like that, now, is it? Sit down.”
“Thanks.” Nick considered and discarded the prospect of sharing one of the torn, orange vinyl benches with either Eugene or Dwayne. When you dealt with guys like this you did not want to find yourself wedged into a tight place.
He glanced around, spotted a scarred wooden chair at a nearby table, and grabbed it. He reversed it and sat down astride, resting his folded arms on the back.
Eugene swiveled his head, an amazing feat considering that he lacked any sign of an actual neck.
“Hey, Fred,” Eugene called loudly. “Harte, here, is gonna stand me and Dwayne to a coupla beers. Give us some of that good stuff you’ve got on draft.”
Fred did not reply, but he reached for two glasses without turning away from the television screen, where someone was dying bravely in a hospital bed.
Eugene squinted malevolently. “You didn’t come here to be friendly, Harte. Your type doesn’t hang out with guys like us. Whatcha want?”
“Yeah,” Dwayne said around a mouthful of burger. “Whatcha want?”
Nick kept his attention on Eugene. “Mind if I ask you a couple of questions, Eugene?”
“You can ask.” Eugene polished off the last of the beer he had been drinking when Nick arrived. He wiped his mouth on the back of his shirtsleeve. “I’ll decide if I feel like answering.”
“I hear you’ve been speculating openly on the question of who might have taken that painting that’s gone missing from the gallery up the street,” Nick said casually.
“Hell, I knew it.” Eugene uttered a satisfied little snort, savoring his own brilliance. “So you’re playing detective, huh? Just like the guy in your books? What’s his name? True?”
Nick raised his brows. “You read my books, Eugene?”
“Nah. I don’t read much. I’m more into the sports channel, y’know? XXXtreme Fringe Wrestling is my favorite program.”
“Mine, too,” Dwayne volunteered. “That’s the one where the women fight almost buck-nekked. They just wear those little leather thong things, y’know? You oughta see those tits flapping around in the ring.”
“Hard for a book to compete with that kind of upscale entertainment,” Nick said.
“Yeah,” Eugene agreed. “But I seen your novels down at Fulton’s when they come out in paperback. They got that little rack next to the checkout counter, y’know?”
“Amazing that Fulton’s even bothers to stock my books, given that so few people around here are inclined to read them.”
“Hey, you’re our only local author and besides, you’re a Harte.” Eugene’s voice hardened. “Everyone thinks that gives you special status in Eclipse Bay.”
Nick was saved from having to respond directly to that tricky conversational gambit by a loud, jarring crash. Fred had just slammed two glasses of beer down onto the top of the bar.
“Come and get it, Eugene,” Fred called, turning back to his soap. “No table service until four-thirty when Nellie shows up for the evening. You know that.”
“Allow me.” Nick got to his feet and went to the bar to collect the beers. He set them on the table and sat down again.
“Well, well, well.” Eugene grabbed his beer and hauled it closer. “Never thought the day would come when I’d get served by a Harte.” He gulped some beer and lowered the glass. “How about that, Dwayne? One of the honchos of Eclipse Bay just bought us a beer and served it, too. What d’ya think of that?”
“Weird,” Dwayne said. He snickered and downed a hefty swallow from his own glass. “Damn weird.”
You couldn’t discuss things rationally with these two, Nick reminded himself. It would have been the equivalent of engaging in a conversation concerning the origins and meaning of the universe with a pair of particularly dimwitted bulls. The best you could hope to do was prod them in the direction you wanted them to take.
“Heard you’ve been doing a little detecting, yourself, Eugene,” Nick said. “Sandy over at the station says you’ve got a theory about just who might have made off with that painting.”
Eugene blinked a couple of times and then managed to make the intellectual leap required to grasp the meaning of the sentence.
“Yep, that’s me, all right,” Eugene said, sounding pleased. “Detective Eugene Woods.” He grinned at Dwayne. “Got a ring to it, don’t it?”
Dwayne snorted. “A real ring.”
Eugene turned back to Nick. “I know who took that painting, but you ain’t gonna like it.” He put the glass down with a decisive clang and wiped his mouth on the back of his shirt. “Makes you look downright stupid, Harte.”
“I’ve looked that way before,” Nick said. “I’ll get past it.”
Eugene cackled so hard he choked. It took him a while to recover his wind. “Always enjoyed the sight of a stupid-looking Harte.”
“I can’t he
lp feeling that this conversation is losing its focus,” Nick said gently. “Could we return to the subject at hand?”
Eugene stopped grinning. His heavy features twisted into an expression of deep suspicion. Probably worried that he had just been insulted and not quite certain how to react, Nick thought.
Eugene, being Eugene and therefore extremely predictable in some ways, did what he always did in such circumstances. He went on the offensive.
“You wanna know what I think, Harte? I’ll tell you. Only solid suspect far as I can see is your new girlfriend, the gallery lady. And you’re screwing her. Ain’t that a kick in the head? The big-time detective is screwing the prime suspect.” He looked at Dwayne. “Ain’t that a kick in the head, Dwayne?”
“Yeah,” Dwayne said obediently. “A real kick in the head.”
Eugene leaned across the table to make his point to Nick. “How do you like them apples, Mr. High-and-Mighty Harte? Looks like the lady has you by the short hairs. How’s it feel to be led around by your balls?”
“Before we go into that, maybe you’d like to tell me where you heard this theory,” Nick said.
“What makes you think I heard it somewheres else?” Eugene’s features transformed as if by magic, shifting from malicious glee to a twisted glare. “Maybe I came up with it all by myself. You think you’re the only smart one around here?”
Nick throttled back his temper with an effort. He was here to gather information, not get into a brawl. “You got any proof that Octavia Brightwell stole the painting?”
“Proof? I don’t have to show you no proof. You’re the private eye. Find your own proof.” Eugene leered. “Just keep digging away. Who knows what you might find?”
“Okay, you don’t have any proof,” Nick said evenly. “Would you, by any chance, have a motive?”
“Motive?” Eugene glanced at Dwayne.
“He means like a reason why she would steal it,” Dwayne said, surprising Nick with his insight and comprehension.
“Oh, yeah.” Eugene switched his attention back to Nick. “I can give you a reason, all right. That picture is real valuable and it ain’t insured or nothing. Not even mentioned in Old Man Thurgarton’s will. There’s no record it even exists, get it? No, whatcha call it, prominence.”