“I did notice the oversight,” Octavia admitted.
“If it’s any consolation,” Nick said, “Anne will get an invitation to Carson’s party next month.”
Gail smiled. “Thank you. She’ll be thrilled. She hasn’t had a chance to make any friends yet here in town.”
“She’ll have plenty of opportunity to meet other children her age at Carson’s party,” Nick said. “Every kid in town will get invited. Even Katy Dunne.”
chapter 18
Later that afternoon Octavia was in the back, framing the last of the entries in the Children’s Art Show, when she heard Jeremy’s voice in the other room.
“Gail?” Jeremy sounded surprised and somewhat incredulous. “Gail Johnson?”
“Gail Gillingham these days. Hello, Jeremy. It’s been a long time.”
“You can say that again. The last time I saw you, you were just a kid.”
“Not quite. I was in college the last time our paths crossed. I’m surprised you even remember. You had finished grad school and were getting ready to accept a position at a college in Portland, as I recall.”
“That’s right. My grandmother mentioned that you were back in town. Said you were looking for a job.”
“I found one, as you can see. It’s temporary because Octavia plans to sell her business at the end of the summer, but it will give me some time to look around. I’m hoping something will open up at the institute or at Chamberlain.”
“I’m working at the institute,” Jeremy said. “I’ll keep my ears open for you, if you like. There’s bound to be some turnover before the fall.”
“Thanks. I’d really appreciate it.”
There was a short pause.
“I guess you probably heard about my divorce last year,” Jeremy said.
“Your grandmother mentioned it,” Gail said gently. “I can empathize. I went through one a couple of years ago. That’s the main reason I came back to Eclipse Bay. I wanted my daughter to have more family around her.”
“Sounds like a smart move. Kids need a sense of belonging. Maybe everyone does.”
“Is that why you came back?” Gail asked. She sounded genuinely curious.
“Maybe. In a way, Eclipse Bay will always be home. When the institute offered me the position, it just felt like the right time to make a move.”
Octavia went to the door. Jeremy and Gail stood on opposite sides of the counter. They were looking only at each other, she mused. Neither of them noticed her. She could have sworn she felt vibrations in the air.
She cleared her throat discreetly. Both of them jumped a little and turned toward her with expressions of surprise. She nearly laughed. You’d have thought she’d been hiding in a closet and leaped out unexpectedly.
“Hi, Jeremy,” she said. “Did you bring in your paintings?”
“Are you kidding? Of course I did.” He gestured toward a wooden crate leaning against the counter. “Got two of them right here.”
Gail leaned over the counter. “Octavia said you painted. Let’s have a look.”
“I just brought the landscapes with me today.” Jeremy went to work opening the crate. “Octavia thinks that’s my most likely market here in Eclipse Bay.”
He hauled one of the pictures out of the crate and propped it against the closest wall. Gail and Octavia came out from behind the counter to examine it.
Gail reacted immediately, her approval evident in her excited tone. “The Arch at sunset. I love it. What’s more, I can sell it. It’ll be gone by the end of the week.”
Jeremy and Octavia exchanged amused glances.
“Tell you what,” Jeremy said to Gail. “If you sell this sucker in a week, I’ll buy you dinner at Dreamscape.”
Gail did not take her eyes off the painting. “It’s a deal.”
He ran Betty Stiles to ground outside Carla’s Custom Cut & Curl. Betty emerged from the beauty shop with a stiff, cotton-candy cloud of pink hair. The hairdo had been frozen in place with so much lacquer that Nick was pretty sure it could have withstood a nuclear blast. She wore a jaunty denim skirt with a matching vest over a red blouse.
Betty was a widow in her late seventies. She had made a hobby of following every nuance of local gossip for as long as Nick could remember.
“’Afternoon, Mrs. Stiles.” He came away from the fender of his car and walked toward her. “How are you doing?”
“Why, Nick Harte. How nice to see you. I heard you were in town for the summer.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Saw your new book down at Fulton’s the other day.”
“Did you?” He would not ask if she had read it, he promised himself.
“I would have bought it because I read a lot of mystery and suspense. But when I read the back cover it didn’t say anything about a serial killer.”
“Probably because I didn’t put one in the story.”
“I only read books about serial killers.”
“Figures,” Nick said.
“Who would have thought you’d have made a successful career as a writer? You know, the day I heard you’d quit Harte Investments I told Edith Seaton that you were making a big mistake. ‘Edith,’ I said, ‘that young man is going to ruin his life and break his grandfather’s heart.’”
“We all survived, interestingly enough. Mrs. Stiles, I wondered if I could ask you a few questions.”
“You’re trying to find that missing painting, aren’t you?” Betty sighed. “Of course you can ask me some questions, but if what I’ve heard is true, I’m afraid you’re wasting your time.”
“Why is that?”
She lowered her voice. “Well, dear, as everyone knows, the most likely suspect is Octavia Brightwell.”
“Funny you should mention that, Mrs. Stiles. I’ve heard the same thing and I’m trying to find out who started that rumor. Thought maybe you could tell me.”
“You want to know who started it?” Betty asked incredulously.
“That’s right.”
“But why does it matter, dear? I mean, it’s perfectly obvious when you think about it that Miss Brightwell is the person most likely to be the thief.”
“It’s not obvious to me,” Nick said.
“Oh.” Betty seemed baffled by that news. Then she gave him a pitying look and patted his arm. “Well, I suppose it’s understandable that you would want to think the best of her under the circumstances. But for what it’s worth, my advice is to find another girlfriend.”
Nick smiled coldly. The hard part about being a real private eye, he decided, was that sometimes it was extremely difficult to avoid losing your temper. But there was nothing to be gained by telling Betty Stiles that she was an interfering busybody.
“I don’t plan to take your advice, Mrs. Stiles. So that leaves me with no choice except to find the real thief.”
“But if Miss Brightwell took the picture—”
“Octavia didn’t take it.”
She made a tut-tut sound. “You seem very sure of that.”
“I’m sure, Mrs. Stiles.”
“Really, Nicholas, I wouldn’t have thought that you were the type to be so easily taken in by a woman’s wiles.”
“And here I thought you were too smart to be conned by a thief.”
Betty bridled. “I beg your pardon?”
“Isn’t it obvious? Whoever started the rumor is the person who stole the painting.”
“But that’s ridiculous.”
“Where did you hear it first, Mrs. Stiles?”
Betty drew herself up with great dignity. “I heard it right here at the beauty shop.”
Nick looked past her through the window and saw two women sitting under the hair dryers. They had magazines on their laps but neither was reading. Both were focused intently on the scene taking place outside the shop. The owner of the salon, Carla Millbank, was watching him in the mirror as she wrapped a client’s hair in little pieces of aluminum foil.
His conversation with Betty was going to be all over to
wn by nightfall.
His new problem loomed large. The gender divides in Eclipse Bay were still firmly entrenched. There were some places a man could not go. Carla’s Custom Cut & Curl was terra incognita for every male in the community.
Fifteen minutes later he walked into Bright Visions, still fine-tuning the details of his new scheme.
The place appeared to be empty except for Octavia, who was sitting on the high stool behind the counter. She looked up from some notes she was jotting down on a sheet of paper.
“There you are,” she said. “I was getting worried. Did you find Betty Stiles?”
“For all the good it did me.” He studied the two framed paintings leaning against the wall. “I don’t remember those. Are they new?”
An odd expression crossed her face. “Yes, as a matter of fact.”
“I’m no expert, but I like them.”
“So do I.”
“Nice view of the Arch. The scene of the pier at night is great, too. Sort of moody with the fog and the dark water and that little light on the boat. Who’s the artist?”
There was a movement in the doorway behind the counter. Jeremy appeared from the back room. He looked at Nick with a veiled expression.
“That would be me,” Jeremy said.
Gail came to stand beside him. “Isn’t he terrific?” She was bubbling with enthusiasm. “I’ve already got a client in mind.”
Of course it would be Jeremy, Nick thought. What the hell was the matter with him? How could he have forgotten Jeremy and his considerable commercial talent. If he’d been paying attention instead of concentrating on how to get someone inside the beauty shop, he would have put it all together instantly as soon as he saw the pictures. Now he was stuck with doing the polite, civilized thing in front of Octavia and Gail.
“Congratulations,” he said to Jeremy, keeping his voice absolutely level. “Nice work.”
“Be even nicer work if it pays,” Jeremy said. His tone was just as level as Nick’s. “But I’m not going to quit my day job anytime soon. I mean, what are the odds of actually being able to make a living by painting? A million to one, maybe?”
“I’m sure Nick knows exactly how you feel,” Octavia commented. “He must have had the same doubts when he put his first manuscript in the mail. Isn’t that right, Nick?”
She had him neatly cornered, he thought.
“Sure,” he said. “And every time I’ve put a manuscript in the mail since that first one. It always feels a lot like jumping off a cliff.”
Obviously it had been a mistake to tell her what lay beneath the surface of this little feud he and Jeremy had going. What was it with her, anyway? Why couldn’t she let the two of them conduct their private war without outside interference?
Jeremy looked serious. “The jumping-off-the-cliff thing never goes away?”
Nick shrugged. “Not that I’ve noticed. My advice is to get used to it. It’ll give you an edge.” He switched his gaze to Gail. “How would you like to play undercover agent?”
“Do I get to wear a trench coat?” Gail asked.
“Not unless you want to get the collar wet in the shampoo bowl.”
Octavia hopped off her stool. “Carla’s Custom Cut & Curl? You want Gail to see what she can pick up in the way of gossip in the beauty shop?”
“Yeah. Betty Stiles says that’s where she first heard the rumors.”
“You’re really serious about this detective thing, aren’t you?” Jeremy asked Nick.
“No, I just needed something interesting to put down in my journal under the subject of what I did on my summer vacation,” Nick retorted.
“Okay, okay, I get the point,” Jeremy muttered. “You’re serious.” He glanced at Octavia. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“You’ll have to ask Nick,” she said smoothly. “He’s in charge of the investigation.”
Jeremy did not look happy with that, but he dutifully turned back to Nick. “Let me know. My roots in this town run as deep as your own. I might be able to save you some time.”
“That’s very kind of you, Jeremy,” Octavia said. “What do you say, Nick?”
She was not going to let up, Nick thought. She wouldn’t be satisfied until he bit the bullet and invited Jeremy out for a beer. Maybe the easiest way out of this mess was to make the offer in front of her. Jeremy would turn it down and then they would both be off the hook.
He glanced at his watch and then at Jeremy. “It’s nearly five. I want to talk to Gail about what I need her to do at the beauty shop tomorrow. Then I’m going to have dinner with Octavia.” Out of the corner of his eye he saw her raise her brows at that news. But she kept silent as he expected. She knew where he was going with this and she wasn’t about to put up any roadblocks. “I figured I’d hit the Total Eclipse later this evening to pick up the latest gossip. You want to join me? I’ll buy you a beer and we can play a little pool, keep our ears open, and see what we come up with.”
Jeremy’s jaw went rigid. But to Nick’s astonishment he moved slightly. It was a single, robotic inclination of the head, but it was a definite nod of acceptance.
“Why not?” Jeremy said.
Damn. Now they were both trapped, Nick thought.
Octavia looked quietly pleased. She gave him a warm smile of approval.
An electrifying jolt of awareness shot through him. It was as if the floor of the gallery had opened up beneath his feet and he had plummeted into the abyss.
Oh, shit. He had been asking the wrong question all along, he thought. He had been wondering why Octavia insisted on meddling with his life. The really important question here was why was he allowing her to do so?
They ate at the Crab Trap, surrounded by tourists, summer people, and a sprinkling of locals.
“You won’t regret this,” Octavia said earnestly.
“Uh-huh.” He cracked open a crab leg and went after the tender meat with a vengeance.
“Jeremy wouldn’t have agreed to have a drink with you if he still believed that you’d had an affair with his wife.”
“Uh-huh.” He reached for another leg and assaulted it with grim enthusiasm. The sound of crunching shell was good.
“It’s obvious that he wants to mend the rift.”
“Uh-huh.”
“He was just looking for an opportunity and now you’ve provided it.”
“Uh-huh.” He looked around for another crab leg to destroy.
“It was the right thing to do, Nick.”
“I don’t like being manipulated.”
“I didn’t manipulate you.”
“Yes, you did.”
“I just made a suggestion.”
He looked at her, not speaking.
She swallowed. “Okay, it was a forceful suggestion.”
“You nagged me into this meeting tonight.”
She reddened. “I’m sorry if you feel that way.”
“I do feel that way.”
She sat back and folded her napkin very deliberately, her expression troubled now. “You’re really mad, aren’t you?”
“Yes. I’m really mad. But mostly at myself.”
“Because you’re allowing me to strongarm you into this meeting with Jeremy?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I see.” Her voice was steady but when she put down the napkin, her fingers shook slightly. “Well, if you feel that way about it, why don’t you cancel the arrangement?”
He smiled humorlessly, staring into the abyss. “It’s too late.” In more ways than you can possibly know, he added silently.
“I don’t understand.”
“Yeah, I can see that.”
Establishments like the Total Eclipse had their place in the universe, Nick thought. It was, for instance, the one venue in Eclipse Bay where two guys involved in a private feud could meet on neutral territory.
The tavern was starting to fill up for the evening, but the buzz of conversation was muted in the back, where the pool tables were located. Only one ot
her green-topped table was in use at the moment, and mercifully no one was smoking, so the air was still relatively clear. The gloom hung in thick curtains interrupted only by the narrow bright spot over the center of each table.
If the bar was the place for this conversation, Nick thought, pool was the game. Attitude was everything.
Nick adjusted his stance slightly, made a bridge with his fingers, and leaned into the shot. He stroked the cue gently. Going for a little spin. Concentrating on the follow-through, the way his grandfather and father had taught him. The way he would one day teach Carson. He stayed down until the ball dropped into the pocket.
“You do realize that we’ve both been set up,” he said, straightening.
On the other side of the table, Jeremy watched him from the shadows. “I got that impression. But, hey, she’s going to hang my paintings in her gallery. Shooting a little pool with you and letting you buy me a beer doesn’t seem like such a high price to pay for my chance at money and immortal fame.”
“Uh-huh.” Nick chalked his cue. “I figured that was the real reason you agreed. Octavia’s got this compulsion to make things right, you know. Has to do with what her great-aunt did to Harte-Madison all those years ago.”
“I figured that much out. She says she’s leaving town at the end of the summer.”
“Yeah.” He studied the position of the balls on the table, doing the strategy thing. “That’s what she says.”
Jeremy studied him across the green felt. “She also says that you didn’t have an affair with my ex.”
“She’s right. I didn’t.”
Jeremy did not respond to that. But he didn’t hurl any more accusations, either.
They played for a while, not speaking. The only sounds were the click and snap of the balls striking each other and the gradually rising noise from the front of the tavern. Someone had turned on the music. A country-western rocker was wailing away about a good woman gone bad.
Nick dropped another ball into the pocket. “You know, you’re not the only guy in the world whose wife had an affair.” He wasn’t sure why he said it. It just seemed the right time.