“You mean, tell him how you tried to run us off the road?” Jeremy asked neutrally.
“Maybe things got a little outta hand,” Eugene said. “Me and Dwayne were really pissed after you showed us up at the races that night. If you’d gone to Yates and told him your version of events, he’d have believed you on accounta you and Harte, here, come from such fine, upstanding families and all.”
“I don’t want to belabor the issue,” Jeremy said, “but our version of events would have been the truth.”
“We were just foolin’ around,” Eugene insisted. “Like I said, things got outta hand. But that ain’t the point. Point is, Yates and everybody else would have believed you guys. Nobody would have even listened to our side of the story on accounta everyone around here figures me and Dwayne for trash.”
Nick glanced at Jeremy. Eugene was right and they both knew it. Nobody in Eclipse Bay would have taken Eugene’s or Dwayne’s word over the word of a Harte or a Seaton, regardless of the circumstances.
Eugene looked at Nick. “The other night, I’d had a few beers. I maybe said some things about your girlfriend that I shouldn’t have said.”
Nick inclined his head. “True.”
“You know, that Miss Brightwell always says something nice when she sees us on the street,” Eugene continued. “Ain’t that right, Dwayne?”
“Yeah.” Dwayne drank more beer. “Always says some-thin’ like, Good morning, or How are you? or Beautiful day, ain’t it?”
Nick looked at Dwayne. “She says, Beautiful day, ain’t it?”
“Nah, that ain’t right.” Dwayne’s thin face twisted into a tight little knot with the effort of trying to think. “She says, Beautiful day, isn’t it? Yeah, that’s it. Isn’t it.”
“Sure glad we got that straight,” Jeremy said under his breath.
“Anyhow,” Eugene went on with a doggedly determined air, “point is, she’s a nice lady, even if she did swipe that painting. Me and Dwayne shouldn’t have said that stuff about her deliberately screwing your brains out just so you wouldn’t figure her for the thief. I mean, so what if that’s the reason she’s sleeping with you? It’s a damn good reason, if you ask me. Goes to show she’s smart.”
“It takes a real man to apologize,” Nick said. “Far as I can tell, you were among the first to hear the rumors at Fulton’s. If you really want to settle things between us, you can tell me the name of the person who gave you the story.”
Eugene and Dwayne exchanged nods. “It was that prissy old bitch, Mrs. Burke, wasn’t it? Remember, Dwayne, she was talking to Carla from the beauty shop? I was in the ice cream section getting a couple of quarts of chocolate fudge swirl and they were right across from me in frozen orange juice. Acted like they never saw us.”
“Sure,” Dwayne said. “I remember. Old Lady Burke and Carla from the beauty parlor.”
Nick saw Jeremy’s eyes narrow a little at the names. He put down his unfinished beer and got to his feet.
“Thanks, Eugene,” he said. “You, too, Dwayne. I appreciate the information. And the beer, too.”
“Same here.” Jeremy set his unfinished glass down on the bar next to Nick’s.
“Ain’tcha gonna finish your beers?” Eugene asked, looking offended.
“The thing is,” Nick said, “you’ve given us a hot new clue and we’ve got to get to work on it immediately.”
“A clue, huh?” Eugene sounded pleased. “How about that, Dwayne? We gave ’em a clue. If they find that missing picture it’ll be on accounta us.”
“You’ll have our undying gratitude,” Nick said.
“I like the sound of that,” Eugene said. “You sure you don’t want the rest of your beer?”
“I wish I could hang around to finish it, but time is of the essence,” Nick said. “Help yourself.”
“Don’t mind if I do.” Eugene picked up Nick’s unfinished beer and dumped it into his own nearly empty glass.
Dwayne did the same with the remaining beer in Jeremy’s glass.
“That strike you as sanitary?” Jeremy asked as they went through the front door into the sunlight.
“The alcohol probably kills all the germs,” Nick said.
“Sure. Eugene and Jeremy would have considered that.”
The sunshine was blinding after the endless night of the Total Eclipse. Nick reached for his dark glasses. “What’s with Mrs. Burke? You know her well?”
“No, but my grandmother does. Mrs. Burke is a member of her bridge group,” Jeremy said. “They’ve been playing together every Wednesday and Saturday for nearly forty years.”
“Which means your grandmother might be able to tell us where Mrs. Burke got the story.”
Jeremy exhaled heavily. “There may be a little problem with me interrogating Grandma at the moment.”
“She’s still upset about you being hauled off to the police station after the big brawl?”
“Yeah. I stopped by to see her again this morning. I wanted to explain things and then ask her some questions about her recollections of what happened in the past. But I didn’t get far. She was just sitting there at her kitchen table looking more depressed than she did after my divorce. Evidently I am proving to be just one major disappointment after another.”
“Want me to talk to her? Tell her it was all my fault?”
“She’s already decided whose fault it is,” Jeremy said. “Like everyone else in town, she blames Octavia.”
The door of the Total Eclipse opened again behind Nick. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Walter Willis emerge from the gloom. Something clicked.
“Hey, Walt, got a minute?”
“No problem.” Walt changed direction and veered away from the van at the curb. He went toward Nick, sunlight gleaming on his meticulously shaved head. “I need to get some tools but I’m in no rush. What can I do for you?”
“You and Torrance installed the security alarm system in Octavia Brightwell’s gallery, didn’t you?”
“Sure did. She asked us to put it in when she opened for business. Why? Got a problem with it?”
“No. I just wondered if anyone besides Octavia and her former assistant might have access to the code.”
“This is about the missing painting, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Any ideas?”
“Well, Torrance or I could override the system if need be. But we’ve never had to do it. A real solid alarm system. Hasn’t failed yet, not even during that big storm the other night.” Walter’s expression clouded. “See here, you thinking maybe one of us used the override code to sneak in and steal that painting?”
“Never crossed my mind,” Nick said with absolute sincerity.
Walter snorted and relaxed. “Should hope not.”
“But can you think of anyone else who might be able to override that system?”
Walter stroked his square chin, reflective and willing to be helpful now that he had been assured that he and his twin were not suspects. “Torrance and I never gave out the code to anyone except Miss Brightwell. I know she gave it to Noreen Perkins, but that’s about all I know. You’d have to find Noreen to ask her if she gave it to anyone.”
“Sean Valentine is working that angle,” Nick said. “Don’t think he’s tracked her down yet, but he will eventually. Thanks, Walt. I just wanted to make certain I wasn’t overlooking something obvious.”
“You bet.” Walter winked broadly. “I figure it’s the least I can do for you after what you and Seaton, here, did for me and Torrance. Told Fred years ago the place needed a new coat of paint but he kept putting it off on account of he was too damn cheap. But now he says he wants a first-class job. Bottom line, on behalf of the Willis brothers, I’d like to say thanks.”
“It was nothing,” Nick said. “Just doing our part to improve Eclipse Bay. Hartes and Seatons have got a deep sense of civic responsibility, you know.”
chapter 22
“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.”