Dawn in Eclipse Bay (31 page)

“I got scared. Really scared. This is Eclipse Bay. I knew that if a Harte and a Madison were putting pressure on Sean Valentine, he might actually conduct a serious investigation. I didn't know where that would lead. I thought that I would be safe if everyone continued to blame the break-in on a stalker who could conveniently just disappear.”

“Oh, Claire.” Lillian shook her head. “What were you thinking?”

The bitterness tinged Claire's voice. “How did you figure it out?”

“I suppose you could say it was a process of elimination. Gabe and a private investigator cleared the only real potential stalker we had on our list. When we talked to Anderson, he denied the break-ins here in Eclipse Bay. Adamantly.”

Claire widened in scorn. “And you actually believed that bag of sleaze?”

Lillian shrugged. “The forced entry didn't fit with what I knew about him. Anderson is the sort who tries to talk his way in and out of situations.”

“What about Marilyn? She should have been on your list. She was the one who had the most to gain from those files.”

“The thing about Marilyn is that she is very up-front about what she wants. She doesn't sneak around. You, on the other hand, have a history of sneaking around.”

Claire flinched. “What do you mean?”

“She was right when she said that you had an affair with Trevor Thornley, wasn't she?”

“I told you, I never slept with Trevor.”

“I don't believe you.”

Claire watched her warily. “Why not?”

“Because I found out that you were sneaking around with Larry Fulton in the back of his father's van the summer that he and I were dating.”

“Larry Fulton.” Claire's mouth fell open. “But that was years ago. We were in
college
.”

“I know. I was pretty sure that he was fooling around with someone else that summer. I just hadn't realized that the other woman was you. The Willis brothers set me straight a few days ago. They gave me a whole new perspective on you, Claire. Once I started asking the right questions, things fell into place.”

Claire backed out of the laundry room, never taking her eyes off Lillian. “You can't prove anything.”

“You keep saying that.” Lillian came away from the washer. “I'm not arguing the point. I came here today for some answers, not to get you arrested.”

“Get out.”

“I'm on my way.” Lillian crossed the living room, paused at the front door and looked back over her shoulder. “Just one more question.”

“I said, get out of here.”

“You told me that Trevor was into high heels and ladies' lingerie and that his tastes would be a real turn-off. Can I assume you lied about that, too?”

“I hated the dressing up part,” Claire explained. “But the man was on track to be a U.S. senator. I figured I could overlook a few eccentricities if it meant I would be a senator's wife.”

“Did he really tell you that he would divorce Marilyn and marry you after he was elected?”

“He promised.” Claire looked down at the blue shirt crumpled in her hands. “Just like Larry Fulton promised we would get engaged after he broke up with you. Nothing ever works out the way it's supposed to. It not fair, you know? It's just not fair.”

Gabe prowled back and forth across the cottage kitchen. “You shouldn't have confronted her on your own.”

“You've mentioned that several times already.” Lillian propped her elbows on the kitchen table and rested her chin in her hands. “I've explained that I went there on impulse.”

“What if she had turned violent?”

“She's not the type.”

“You can't be certain.”

“Gabe, she knows I can't prove anything.”

“Unfortunately.”

“I guess this is one of those situations where you have to let karma happen.”

“Karma never happens to people like her. Karma is bullshit. The Claires of this world always skate.”

Lillian looked out the window. “I wouldn't say that Claire has done a lot of skating in her life. She said that things have never worked out for her. None of her big plans ever jelled. Larry Fulton and I broke up but he didn't marry her. He married Sheila. Trevor Thornley crashed and burned, so she didn't get to marry him and become a senator's wife. She lost her job with Marilyn's campaign. All and all, Claire hasn't been what anyone would call a winner.”

They drove into town for warm croissants and coffee the next morning. Gabe parked in the lot in front of Incandescent Body. He studied the warmly lit interior of the bakery through the windows. A handful of people were clustered inside. The array of vehicles standing in the rain outside included Mitchell's big SUV, Arizona's aging truck and Sean Valentine's cruiser.

“Looks a little cozy in there,” he said. “Want to go somewhere else?” he asked.

“There is nowhere else where we can get croissants like the ones they make here.” Lillian pulled up the hood of her rain cloak and reached for the door handle. “Come on, we can deal with this.”

“I don't know about that.” Reluctantly he opened the driver's side door. “It's a little early for a Harte-Madison scene.”

“Nonsense. Never too early for one of those.”

He hunched deeper into his jacket and walked quickly beside her through the drizzle to the entrance.

He opened the glass door and immediately registered the serious tone of the atmosphere inside. The buzz of conversation was more intense than usual. His first thought was that the sight of Mitchell and Sullivan sharing coffee together had electrified the gossip circuit. But then he realized that no one was paying much attention to the pair, who were seated at a small table with Bryce and Sean.

Predictably, everyone looked toward the door when it opened. Lillian pushed back the hood of her cloak and bestowed a bright smile on the crowd. Gabe nodded brusquely and headed for the counter. He needed some coffee before he dealt with Mitchell and Sullivan.

“What's up?” he asked the Herald who took their orders for croissants and corn bread.

“Haven't you heard?”

Before she could explain, the curtain opened behind her. Arizona leaned out and beckoned urgently.

“Come on back here, you two,” she hissed. “I'll brief you along with the others.”

Gabe looked at Mitchell and Sullivan. They had resumed their conversation with Sean. He was in no great rush to join them, he thought. One of Arizona's briefings promised to be a lot more entertaining. He glanced at Lillian. She shrugged and turned to go behind the counter.

He picked up his corn bread and followed her.

A familiar group of Heralds, including Photon, was gathered at the large worktable. They nodded somberly when Lillian and Gabe joined them.

“'Morning,” Gabe said.

“What's going on?” Lillian asked.

Arizona rapped a rolling pin on the floured table. “A very interesting development has just occurred. Course, the mainstream media and the local authorities, including Sean Valentine, have bought into the cover story being handed out by the gang up at the institute. But that's only to be expected.” She shook her head. “Poor dupes.”

Gabe propped one shoulder against the wall and savored a bite of warm corn bread. “What's the story?”

“Official version is that Claire Jensen was injured in a single-car accident on her way out of town yesterday. She's in the Eclipse Bay hospital as we speak.”

“Good heavens.” Lillian stared at Arizona. “Is she all right?”

“Sean says she's pretty banged up but she'll be okay. He investigated the crash. Said she was driving like a bat outta hell in the rain. Took a curve way too fast. But we all know the truth.”

Heads nodded around the table.

Lillian cleared her throat. “Uh, what is that?”

“It's obvious. She must have seen somethin' she wasn't supposed to see up there at the institute. Probably stumbled into the underground lab.
They
faked an accident to try to get rid of her. Lucky for her they botched the job.”

Lillian looked at Gabe. “And you say you don't believe in karma.”

“I stand corrected,” Gabe said. “Learn something new everyday.”

He took her arm and steered her back through the curtain into the main room. Several pairs of eyes followed them as they made their way to the small table where Mitchell and Sullivan sat with Bryce and Sean.

Lillian leaned down to give Sullivan a kiss on his cheek. “'Morning, Granddad.”

“Good morning, honey.”

Gabe nodded at Mitchell and Sullivan. “Glad to see that the two of you didn't knock each other's teeth out last night.”

“When you get to be this age,” Sullivan said, “you have to think twice about risking your teeth. Not that many good ones left.”

She greeted the others and sat down beside Sullivan.

“Arizona give you her version of the accident?” Mitchell asked Gabe.

Gabe set his coffee and partially eaten corn bread down on the table and took one of the chairs. “All part of the big conspiracy up at the institute, according to A.Z.”

Sullivan chuckled.

“Got to admit that her take on local news is always a lot more interesting than mine,” Sean allowed.

“So it was an accident?” Lillian asked.

“Definitely.” Sean took a bite out of a large, jelly-filled pastry. “She must have been in a real hurry to get out of town. Had to be doing seventy when she took that curve out by the Erickson place.”

Bryce shook his head in solemn disapproval. “Everyone knows that's a real bad curve.”

“The medics who pulled her out of the car said she was spittin' mad when they got to her.” Sean swallowed the bite of pastry and reached for his coffee. “Kept saying something about how unfair it all was.”

On the night of the reception at the Eclipse Bay branch of the Bright Visions Gallery, Sullivan stood with Mitchell, a glass of champagne in his hand, and watched the large crowd ebb and flow around Lillian and her paintings. Warm pride flowed through him.

“Not like it was in Portland last week,” Mitchell observed. “Only press here is from the
Journal.
But, what the heck, Eclipse Bay isn't exactly the art capital of the western world.”

“Portland was all about publicity and media coverage,” Sullivan reminded him. “It worked just like Octavia Brightwell said it would. It introduced Lillian to important collectors and the museum and gallery crowd. But this event is special for Eclipse Bay.”

“And they're lovin' it.” Mitchell grinned. “Look at 'em, all dressed up and swilling champagne. I doubt if a lot of these folks know much about art, but they're sure having a good time.”

The throng that filled the gallery was composed largely of local townsfolk. Everyone from the Willis brothers to the strangely dressed group from Incandescent Body had turned out. Sullivan had a hunch that it wasn't a keen interest in art that had brought so many of the residents of Eclipse Bay out on a wet night. The driving motivation for this crowd was its lively curiosity about Hartes and Madisons. Everyone knew that both families would be in town for the event and they were all well aware that Gabe and Lillian were engaged.

The free drinks and hors d'oeuvres were just icing on the cake as far as most folks were concerned tonight.

“Who would have thought that a Harte would turn out to be an artist?” Mitchell said.

“Who would have believed that anyone in your family could create a profitable business like Madison Commercial?”

“Gotta say that Octavia sure knows how to give a party.” Mitchell helped himself to a cheese canapé. “First class all the way, too. Lot of people here tonight wouldn't have noticed or cared if she had served cheap champagne and second-rate food. But she pulled out all the stops, same as she did for the Portland crowd.”

“Showing respect for the locals.” Sullivan nodded. “Very smart. Good public relations.”

“She's a smart young woman. But she's real, too, if you know what I mean. She didn't put on this bash just for publicity purposes. She did it because she really wanted to show folks that she appreciates them as much as she does the Portland crowd.”

Sullivan took a sip of his champagne. “I'll buy that.”

“Huh.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Can't help noticing that she and your grandson, Nick, are having themselves a mighty serious conversation over there.”

Sullivan followed his gaze, searching for the pair over the heads of the crowd. He spotted Nick, dressed in formal black and white, standing with Octavia on the far side of the gallery.

The conversation looked more than serious, he thought. It had a close, intimate quality. Nick had one hand casually flattened on the wall behind Octavia's head. He leaned slightly in toward her, his broad shoulders angled in a way that subtly but effectively cut her off from the crowd around them. Sullivan recognized the body language and knew that every other man in the room understood it too, if only on a subconscious level. It was a clear statement of possession, a this-woman-is-mine-tonight message.

“Oh, brother,” he said softly. “Here we go again.”

“I wouldn't worry about it, if I were you,” Mitchell said cheerfully. “Like I said, Octavia's a nice young woman.”

“Red hair.”

“So what? You got a problem with red hair?”

“There's something familiar about her, Mitch.”

“You've seen her before. She attended Hannah and Rafe's wedding. And you met her at the Portland reception last week.”

“No, I mean something
really
familiar.”

“Like what?”

“The red hair, the profile. The way she holds herself. Take a good look, man. She remind you of anyone?”

Mitchell studied Octavia for a long time.

“Well, shoot and damn,” he said at last. “She's a dead ringer, isn't she? Funny, I never noticed before.”

“Might explain why you took to her right off, though.”

“Well, shoot and damn,” Mitchell said again, this time sounding dazed. “What the hell is going on here?”

“Beats me,” Sullivan said. “But I figure this isn't a coincidence.”

“Nope.” An expression of bemused wonder gleamed in Mitchell's eyes. “No coincidence. Tell you one thing, Nick better behave himself with her.”

“What business is it of yours, how he behaves?”

“Octavia's alone in the world. No family to protect her.”

“So you're going to take on the job, is that it?” Sullivan asked.

“Someone's gotta do it. That grandson of yours has a reputation for playing it fast and loose with the ladies.”

“He just hasn't found the right woman to take Amelia's place.”

“Way I hear it, he's not lookin' real hard for a wife,” Mitchell observed. “Seems like he prefers a more casual arrangement with his lady friends, one that doesn't involve rings and a ceremony and a commitment. I hear tell they call him Hardhearted Harte in some circles.”

“Damn it, my grandson's love life isn't any of your business.”

“I won't let him take advantage of Octavia, got that?” Mitchell set his jaw. “She's not gonna be just another one of his short-term flings. You better set him real straight on that score or there'll be hell to pay.”

Glumly, Sullivan studied the pair on the other side of the room.

“This could get complicated,” he said.

“Sure could.”

Sullivan didn't know precisely what Mitchell was thinking, but he was willing to bet his companion was recalling the same scene he himself remembered so well. It was a scene out of their shared past: an eerie, unsettling memory of the day a flame-haired woman in a short skirt and high heels opened the door of their little office on Bay Street and told them she would make them both very rich.

They both stared, fascinated at Octavia. No doubt about it, Sullivan thought, she bore an uncanny resemblance to Claudia Banner, the mysterious creature who had blazed through their lives all those years ago, singed them both badly and turned their world upside down before she disappeared with the assets of Harte-Madison.

“Who the hell is Octavia Brightwell and what is she up to here in Eclipse Bay?” he asked very quietly.