Summer in Eclipse Bay (28 page)

“Way I figure it,” Mitchell said into the cell phone, “getting into a bar fight over a lady like Octavia is as good as a marriage proposal. You'd damn sure better speak to that grandson of yours or I'm gonna have to do it for you.”

“Stay out of it, Mitch,” Sullivan said. “Things will get sorted out a whole lot easier if you don't interfere.”

“Shoot and damn.” Mitchell stabbed at some weeds with his trowel. He could hear the muted background noises of a vehicle in motion. Sullivan was calling from the backseat of the limo. “The whole blamed town is talking about her.”

“Presumably the whole town is also talking about Nick.”

“Well, sure, but that's different. He's a Harte. Around here everyone talks about you Hartes and us Madisons.”

“If she's going to marry Nick, she'd better get used to being a subject of conversation there in Eclipse Bay.”

Progress at last,
Mitchell thought. The tough old bastard had at least used the word
marry
and Nick's name in the same sentence. He stopped assaulting weeds and tapped the trowel absently against a stake. “Just so long as he doesn't cut and run.”

“You ever known a Harte to cut and run?”

“Nah. You're all too damn stubborn.”

“Sort of like you Madisons, eh?”

“I reckon.”

There was a short silence on the other end.

“Just got to hang on until dawn, Mitch,” Sullivan said quietly.

The trowel went still in Mitchell's hands. The words echoed in his mind, bringing back the old memories.
Just got to hang on until dawn.

He pocketed the trowel and pushed himself up off the low gardener's bench. Grabbing his cane, he made his way along the graveled path that wound between the richly planted flowerbeds, heading toward the greenhouse.

But it wasn't the glorious blooms of his roses that he saw in his mind now. Instead he was suddenly hit with visions of the ominous, eerie green of a jungle plunging inevitably into darkness. It would be a night in which death stalked at every hand. There would be no hope of rescue until dawn.

Survival that night had depended on silence and not giving in to the panic. Most of all, it had depended on being able to trust the man who guarded his back and whose back he, in turn, had guarded.

Just got to hang on until dawn
were the last words that he and Sullivan had spoken to each other before they had settled in to keep watch in silence for the duration of that night.

The words had become a private code, a vow made between two young men who had gone through hell together. Neither he nor Sullivan would have made it until dawn if it hadn't been for the other and they both knew it.
Just got to hang on until dawn
meant
You can count on me. I'm with you here. We'll get through this together. You can trust me, buddy.

He shoved the old images back into the furthest corners of his mind and concentrated on the present. He opened the door of his greenhouse and stepped inside.

“You got your list finished?” he asked.

“Yes, but it's damn short. You?”

“Same here. Most of the folks who were involved in Harte-Madison at the time have either moved away or died. There was our secretary, Angie, remember her?”

“Sure,” Sullivan said. “But she died ten or twelve years ago. We both went to the funeral.”

“Her son still lives here in town. Took over the hardware store.”

“I can't see any connection. He wasn't even born when Claudia was with us. Besides, Claudia didn't do his mother any harm other than indirectly put her out of a job when the company went under. Angie wasn't all that upset about losing her position, as I recall. She went to work for George Adams and later married him. Who else have you got on your list?”

Mitchell fished the little notebook out of his pocket and flipped it open. He rattled off the names of the handful of other people who had been directly or indirectly connected with Harte-Madison in the old days. He paused when he came to the last person on his list.

“There is one more,” he said slowly. He read the name aloud. “Remember him?”

“Hell, yes. He's on my list, too.”

“You know, for a while I thought maybe he was the one who had screwed us.”

“That's because you were so dazzled by Claudia that you couldn't see straight. You were willing to blame anyone else except her.”

“Yeah, well, later when I got to thinking straight again.”

“Think she cut him in on some of the action? Made him an offer he couldn't refuse so he'd cover up for her?”

“Something like that,” Mitchell said.

They talked for a while longer, comparing notes, going over different scenarios, and eliminating other possibilities. At last they were both satisfied that they had a possible answer.

Neither of them was very happy about it.

“I'm not gonna take this to Nick and Octavia on my own,” Mitchell said. “What if we're wrong?”

“I don't think we're wrong, but either way this is going to be very unpleasant for everyone concerned. Sit tight. Carson and I will arrive sometime around noon. What do you say we keep this to ourselves until after the Children's Art Show tonight? I don't want to go upsetting everyone and spoil the big event. No reason this can't wait until tomorrow morning.”

“Yeah,” Mitchell said. “No reason to ruin the fun tonight.”

Nick sat in the old wooden porch rocker, heels stacked on the railing, and watched the gleaming black limo coast slowly toward him down the long drive.

He did not like the conclusions he had reached after his conversation with Mrs. Burke that afternoon, but he had to admit that when he put the pieces together, everything fit. The only problem now was how and when to confront the suspect.

It was going to be an extremely delicate operation, he thought. The reputation of an upstanding member of the community was at stake. And much as he would like to do so, he couldn't see any way to hush things up, not if Octavia was to be completely vindicated. And she was his top priority in this affair.

The truth would have to come out, he thought, watching the limo pick its way along the unpaved drive. He sure as hell was not going to let the cloud of rumor and suspicion hang over Octavia indefinitely. Someone had to take the fall and it wasn't going to be her. Which meant that there was no way around the unpleasantness that lay ahead.

The limo drifted to a halt in front of the cottage. The rear doors snapped open before the driver could extricate himself from behind the wheel.

“Dad.” Carson pelted toward him at a hundred miles an hour. “Dad, we're back.”

Sullivan levered himself out of the other side of the vehicle, cane in hand, and started around the rear of the car.

Nick looked at Carson running toward him.
My son.

And then Carson was in his arms and he was swinging his boy around in the familiar greeting ritual.

When he set Carson back on his feet, he caught Sullivan watching them. There was fierce love and pride in the old man's face. He did not speak, but there was no need for words. Nick knew exactly what he was thinking.
I didn't do everything right along the way but by God, one thing you can count on, I'd go to hell and back for you two, no questions asked.

Nick met Sullivan's eyes.
I'd do the same for you,
he thought.
No questions asked.

Sullivan smiled slightly and Nick knew that he understood.

The limo driver put two suitcases down on the porch and looked at Sullivan. “Anything else, sir?”

“No, thanks, Ben. We're all set for a few days. I'll give you a call when I need you. Take it easy on the way back to Portland.”

Ben nodded. “Will do.”

“Bye, Ben,” Carson said.

“So long, pal. I'll look forward to meeting your dog when you finally get him.”

“Okay,” Carson said.

Ben nodded to all of them and went back down the steps. He got behind the wheel of the big car, put it in gear, and drove off toward the main road.

Nick ruffled Carson's hair. “How was the trip?”

“We stopped along the way and I got ice cream and Great-Granddad and Ben got coffee and then we looked at some caves. Really big caves. Bigger than the ones we have in Dead Hand Cove,” Carson reported with excitement.

“We stopped to stretch our legs,” Sullivan said, coming up the steps, “but we made good time.” He raised his brows. “Didn't want to risk being late for the art show.”

Carson looked at Nick. “Has Miss Brightwell hung my picture yet?”

“When I stopped by the gallery a couple of hours ago it was closed to the public, so I didn't go inside,” Nick said. “Octavia and Gail were very busy getting things ready for this evening. They're probably hanging your drawing of Winston as we speak.”

“Oh, boy.” Carson whirled around and raced into the house.

Sullivan stopped beside Nick. They watched the screen door swing shut behind Carson.

“Had a long talk with Mitch today when we set out from Portland,” Sullivan said. “We came up with a name for you. But we think we ought to go with you when you confront the person. If we're right, this goes all the way back to the days of Harte-Madison. Mitch and I feel some responsibility for the situation.”

“That collateral damage you mentioned?”

“Afraid so.”

“What's the name of your suspect?” Nick asked.

Sullivan told him.

“That pretty well cinches it,” Nick said. He picked up one of the suitcases. “I came up with the same name.”

Sullivan hoisted the other suitcase. “No reason this can't wait until tomorrow, is there? When word gets out no one's going to be able to talk about anything else. Gonna be rough.”

“If Octavia agrees, it can wait until tomorrow,” Nick said. “But no longer. I'm sorry about what's going to come down when this becomes public knowledge, but I've got Octavia to think about.”

Sullivan nodded. “And she comes first now, is that it?”

“That's it.”

At six o'clock that evening every parking lot was full. A large crowd of locals, Heralds, tourists, and summer people thronged the street and sidewalk.

Colorful balloons bobbed from the open doors of the shops and gallery. The temperature had been above average during the day, a balmy eighty-two, and the late summer sun was fending off the evening chill. The Annual Eclipse Bay Summer Celebration was in full swing.

Octavia breathed a sigh of relief when several kids, dragging their parents, surged into Bright Visions the minute the door was opened.

“It looks like the show isn't going to be a disaster after all,” she said in a low voice to Gail, who was supervising the punch-and-cookies table.

Gail chuckled. “Told you not to worry. Did you really think anyone would stay away? Every kid with a picture in the show will be here tonight, and everyone else in town will come just to get a look at you and Nick together. After all, you're the lady who shattered the curse.”

“And then, of course, there is the fact that I am a noted local art thief,” Octavia said dryly.

“Hey, a little notoriety never hurts when it comes to publicity.”

“Just goes to prove the old publicity axiom, I guess. ‘I don't care what you call me so long as you spell my name right.'”

Gail's amusement faded. “It's true that people are very curious about your relationship with Nick. And I won't say that the rumors about the missing Upsall haven't piqued everyone's interest. But the bottom line is that a lot of people really like you, Octavia. You're a nice person.”

Octavia made a face. “You mean, for an art thief?”

“Gail is right.” Hannah appeared out of the crowd and helped herself to a chocolate chip cookie. “You and the Bright Visions gallery are part of this town. Folks wouldn't be talking about you if you weren't considered a legitimate member of the community. Local folks never talk about outsiders. They're not interested in the summer people or the casual visitors.”

“Like it or not, you belong here,” Gail said.

Hannah glanced toward the door. “And here come a couple of your biggest admirers.”

Octavia followed the direction of her gaze and saw Eugene and Dwayne enter the gallery. They looked different. It took her a few seconds to realize that both men had shaved and put on clean shirts and pants for the occasion. Eugene's hair was slicked down with some sort of shiny pomade, and Dwayne had tied his in a ponytail.

The pair came to a halt just inside the entrance, blocking traffic. Although they had walked into the gallery with a certain air of bravado, they now appeared uncomfortable. She got the feeling neither of them knew what to do next.