Sharp Edges (27 page)

"You're that woman from the Leabrook." He scowled at her. "The one who upset Rhonda. I don't have anything to say to you. Get out of here."

"Take it easy, Houston." Cyrus moved to stand beside Eugenia. "We're not leaving until you give us some answers."

Jacob's eyes flew wildly from Eugenia to Cyrus. "I said, I'm trying to work, goddamn it. I don't want to talk."

"My name is Cyrus Colfax. This is my nephew, Rick Tasker. Apparently you already know Ms. Swift."

Jacob squinted uneasily at Eugenia. "So?"

Eugenia gave him the smile she reserved especially for temperamental artists. "I'm a great admirer of your work, Mr. Houston. In fact, the package that you crushed today in my car contained your piece,
Sun
. I had just purchased it from the Midnight Gallery. I wanted it for my personal collection."

"
Sun?
" Jacob stared at her, shaken. "That was my
Sun
in that package?"

"I'm afraid so." Eugenia said gently. "It was incredible. A brilliant fusion of color and design. You captured the essence of the medium. Power and delicacy. Color and light. I loved it the minute I saw it."

"Christ." Jacob wiped his brow with the back of one bare, hairy arm. "I can't believe it. My beautiful
Sun
."

"Smashed to smithereens." There was cold-blooded good cheer in Cyrus's voice. "Nothing left but little itty-bitty pieces of glass."

Eugenia shot him a quelling look, but it was too late. She saw the tears well in Jacob's eyes. They rolled down his cheeks.

"I think we'd better talk," Cyrus said.

Jacob's one-room cabin was a gloom-filled cave studded with three glass sculptures that glowed like huge, brilliantly cut gems. Eugenia had a difficult time keeping her attention focused on the interview. Her gaze kept wandering to the three pieces of studio glass. Each was a magical construct seemingly fashioned out of pure light and color.

The most irresistible of the three was an elegant bowl conjured out of pale green glass. The color was the same inimitable green hue as Cyrus's eyes, Eugenia thought.

Cyrus faced Jacob across a battered formica table. "Why are you trying to protect Rhonda?"

"She says someone hit her and pushed her into the water." Jacob sat with his elbows on the table. He propped his head in his big hands. "Don't you understand? She thinks someone's tried to kill her."

"Do you believe that?" Eugenia asked quickly.

"I don't know." Jacob wiped his broad face with his palm. "I just don't know. Maybe."

"Why did you try to frighten Ms. Swift?" Cyrus gave him a disgusted look. "She's the one who went into the water after Rhonda."

"I knew Rhonda didn't want to talk to her. She didn't even want to see her. When I saw Ms. Swift follow her from the ferry dock, I went after her and smashed the package and left the note. I just wanted to make her go away and leave Rhonda alone."

Eugenia felt a wave of pity for the big man. She stepped in again before Cyrus could continue the questioning. "I understand why you did it, Jacob, but there was no need. I know why Rhonda tried to avoid me. It had to do with Nellie Grant's pictures. We talked it out. I don't think Rhonda is afraid of me anymore, but she is definitely afraid of someone else."

"The person she thinks tried to kill her," Jacob moaned.

"Why would anyone want to murder her?" Cyrus asked.

"I don't know." Jacob stared at the top of the table between his arms. "But she thinks it's because she saw something she shouldn't have seen the night of Daventry's last party."

Eugenia leaned closer. "What did she see?"

"That's the hard part." Jacob heaved a huge sigh. "She doesn't know. We've been over it a hundred times and neither of us can figure out who or what she might have seen that put her in danger. And we can't figure out why the attempt was made on her life now rather than right after the party."

"Were you at the party?" Cyrus asked.

"Sure. We were all there. Every artist on the damned island was invited. Daventry used us, you see. He served us up at his Connoisseurs' Club parties as if we were hors d'oeuvres. And we let him do it, God help us, because we all wanted a chance to promote our careers. His friends had money. Lots of it. They were important collectors."

Eugenia frowned at Cyrus. Then she turned back to Jacob. "Did you know Nellie Grant?"

"Nellie?" Jacob nodded. "Sure. I met her. Felt sorry for her in a way. She hadn't figured Daventry out yet. She still thought he could do big things for her career. It was the same garbage line he had fed Rhonda until he got tired of her."

"Rhonda told me today that she thinks Daventry may have been murdered," Eugenia said carefully.

"I know. She started wondering about that in the hospital." Jacob massaged his brow. "It was the only thing she could think of that would explain why someone's out to kill her."

"Assuming someone is out to kill her," Cyrus said dryly.

Jacob sighed. "I hear what you're saying. It's possible that someone shoved him down those stairs. But it's just as likely that he tripped and fell. I'm sure he was doing his special dope that night. Rhonda says it made him feel real powerful. Totally in control. Hell, maybe he stood at the top of that staircase and decided he could fly."

"Speaking of dope, what about his guests?" Cyrus lounged back in his chair and stretched out his legs. "Were they using the designer stuff, too?"

"Hell, no." Jacob's face twisted into a grimace. "The booze flowed freely, but that was it. I'm not saying there aren't a few people from the local crowd who wouldn't have said yes to the offer of some interesting pharmaceuticals. But Daventry kept the shit for himself. He didn't even give it to the members of his club. They all made do with fifty-year-old Scotch and French champagne."

Rick spoke up for the first time. "Was Daventry paranoid about getting busted because of the dope?"

Jacob jerked at the sound of his voice. He turned his head to look at Rick with a faintly baffled expression. "I don't think so. He always considered himself exempt from the rules. He thought he had enough money to buy his way out of any mess. Rhonda says he kept his own private stock of drugs because it was one more way of making himself feel special. Unique. He liked possessing things that no one else possessed."

Cyrus stirred slightly. "That fits."

Eugenia glanced at him, aware that he was thinking about the Hades cup.

Jacob scowled. "I've answered all your questions. Now, what about Rhonda?"

"What about her?" Cyrus asked.

"Whether or not someone is out to get her, the fact is, she's scared to death. She thinks she's in danger."

"I told her to call me if she decides she wants protection," Eugenia said.

Cyrus raised his brows. "Why in hell would she call you?"

Eugenia cleared her throat discreetly. "I said that I would arrange for your firm to help her if she decided she wanted help."

"Well, hell," Cyrus murmured. "Nice of you to drum up business for me."

Jacob's head swiveled on his large neck as he looked first at Eugenia and then at Cyrus. "What's this about you providing help?"

"I own Colfax Security. We do that kind of work." Cyrus gave Eugenia an irritated look. "I was trying to keep that fact quiet here on the island."

"Is this on the level?" Jacob demanded.

"Of course it is." Eugenia frowned at Cyrus. "Give him one of your cards."

"Cyrus is my uncle," Rick said. "I can vouch for him. Show him your private investigator's license, Uncle Cyrus."

Jacob gazed at Cyrus with a mute, beseeching expression.

"Okay, okay." Cyrus dug into his pocket and tugged out a worn leather wallet. He flipped it open to display an official-looking piece of paper. Then he pulled a card from one of the small pockets and handed it to Jacob.

Jacob closed his huge hand around the card. "Does this mean you'll help Rhonda?"

"Maybe." Cyrus's mouth was a hard line. "Assuming she wants help."

A faint ray of hope gleamed in Jacob's eyes. "I might be able to convince her to trust you."

"Don't go out of your way. I'm a little busy at the moment." Cyrus got to his feet. He looked at Eugenia. "I think we've accomplished more than enough here tonight. You've managed to blow my cover, and, lucky me, it looks like you've found me a new client who probably can't afford my fees. Let's get out of here before you do me any more favors."

"All right." Eugenia stood. "Just one more thing, Jacob."

He watched her anxiously. "What's that?"

"The Leabrook has an annual exhibition of Northwest studio glass in the fall."

"I know. Cutting Edge. I went into Seattle to see it last year. Fantastic show."

"I'd like to display some of your work in this year's exhibition."

"My work?" Jacob blinked several times. "In the Leabrook?"

She eyed the impossibly green glass sculpture on the mantle. "And I'd also like a piece for my personal collection to replace the one that was on the front seat of my car."

"Yes. Sure." Jacob glanced at her and then at the vase. He surged to his feet with an abrupt, awkward motion that knocked over his chair. "You can have that one, if you like."

"Oh, yes." Eugenia gazed hungrily at the piece as he lifted it down from the mantel. "I like."

Rain dripped from the eaves of Glass House and pounded on the windows. Eugenia lay alone in bed, listening to it.

Rain had a lot in common with glass, she thought. A transparent substance that transmitted and reflected light when light existed around it. Like glass it became opaque when there was no light.

It was midnight. There was no light in the rain that sheeted against the windows.

She turned, pushed aside the covers, and sat up on the side of the bed. Cyrus had not come to join her. She did not know if it was because he had decided to sleep alone tonight, or if he was still prowling through the glass-and-mirror rooms with his blueprints and his tape measure.

She sat very still, listening for the sound of his footsteps outside her door. She was aware that she had been waiting for those footsteps for the past hour.

When she heard nothing she got to her feet, pulled on her robe and slippers, and opened her door. She stepped out into the hall. No light showed from beneath either Rick's or Cyrus's door.

Tightening the sash of her robe, she walked toward the stairs. A faint glow from the first floor confirmed her intuitive feeling that Cyrus was still awake.

She went quietly down the stairs, crossed the hall, and saw that a single lamp had been left on in the living room. There was no sign of Cyrus.

She continued on through the house to the door of the sunroom. Inside the glass-walled chamber, all was in darkness. She sensed Cyrus's presence before she heard his voice.

"What's the matter, Eugenia? Couldn't sleep?"

"No." She walked into the room and waited for her eyes to adjust to the depths of the darkness.

She finally saw him. He lounged in one of the chrome and white leather chairs, gazing into the night-shrouded forest. His legs were stretched out in front of him, his fingers steepled.

"You couldn't sleep either, I take it?"

"I've been doing some thinking," he said.

She closed the door behind her, walked forward, and sat down in the chair beside him. The rainy night closed around them.

"Come to any conclusions?" she asked after a while.

"It has occurred to me that there are a couple of ways to look at this mess."

"By mess, I take it you mean my case?"

"Yeah. The mess. I admit that the most likely scenario is that the authorities were right when they declared Daventry's death an accident. But what if they were wrong?"

She was startled. "You're starting to believe he might have been murdered?"

"Maybe. Logic tells me that if Daventry actually was killed, the most likely explanation would involve the Hades cup, though. Not drugs. God knows, people have died in the past because of that damned piece of glass."

She knew he was thinking of his dead wife. "So you said."

"The thing that works against that possibility is that a shove down a flight of stairs is a crime of opportunity, not a planned event. And the outcome would be unpredictable."

"You said that anyone out to steal the Hades cup would be a pro."

"Right. So what if we start from another angle. What if we assume that Daventry was killed for some reason that had nothing to do with either dope or the Hades cup?"

"What does that leave?"

"A very personal reason," Cyrus said.

She frowned, thinking about it. Everyone agreed that Daventry had enemies. "You mean, what if he was killed because someone who hated him saw a golden opportunity to get rid of him and took it?"

"Maybe you've been right all along. Maybe your friend Nellie actually did see something she shouldn't have seen—"

"Daventry's murder?"

"Or something that convinced the killer that she might be able to identify him or her. And maybe Rhonda Price saw something, too."

Eugenia took a deep breath. "There's some logic to that. Nellie was supposedly washed overboard the day after Daventry died. But why would anyone wait this long to go after Rhonda?"

"I don't know. But I think it's safe to say that the one factor that changed in the equation is the appearance of the
Glass
paintings."

Eugenia glanced at him, startled. "You're right. Rhonda was shoved into the marina within a couple of days after she put one of them up for sale in the Midnight Gallery. But what could the pictures have to do with Daventry's death?"

"Beats the hell out of me," Cyrus admitted. "I'm just trying to view this from a fresh perspective. I'm looking for something to tie all the loose ends and three deaths together."

"Three? There have only been two. Daventry and Nellie."

"You're forgetting Leonard Hastings," Cyrus said softly.

"But he died of a heart attack."

"There was no autopsy. His physician of record was satisfied that it was a heart attack, and he had a long history of health problems. No one bothered to ask any questions."