Deep Waters (45 page)

“I will feel much more comfortable if Mr. Colfax accompanies you to Frog Cove Island,” Tabitha said. “After all, if there is some question of murder here—”

“For the last time,” Eugenia interrupted, “there is no question of murder. The authorities declared Adam Daventry's death an accident. He fell down a flight of stairs and broke his neck.”

“The lawyer who is handling the Daventry estate called me an hour ago,” Tabitha said. “He told me that the executors insist that Mr. Colfax make some inquiries into the matter.”

“So let him make inquiries.” Eugenia spread her hands. “Why do I have to be involved in them?”

Colfax stirred at the edge of the beam of light cast by the Tiffany lamp on the desk. “The estate wants everything handled very quietly. Very discreetly.”

Eugenia eyed his bright, palm-tree-patterned aloha shirt. “No offense, but somehow I don't see you as the soul of restraint and discretion, Mr. Colfax.”

He smiled his slow, enigmatic smile. “I have many hidden qualities.”

“They are extremely well concealed,” she agreed politely.

“It will be an undercover operation.” Tabitha's eyes gleamed with enthusiasm. “Rather exciting, don't you think, Eugenia?”

“I think,” Eugenia said carefully, “that it sounds like a lot of nonsense. I read the articles in the
Seattle Times
and the
Post-Intelligencer.
There was no mention of any suspicion of foul play in Daventry's death.”

Tabitha peered at her over the rims of her reading glasses. “I must remind you, Eugenia, that the sooner the executors are satisfied, the sooner the Leabrook will be able to move the Daventry glass collection here to the museum.”

Tabitha was right, and Eugenia knew it. Adam Daventry had left his magnificent collection of glass to the Leabrook. For most of his time as a collector, he had focused on seventeenth- to twentieth-century glass. But a few months before his death, he had also begun to acquire some ancient glass.

Eugenia was eager to get her hands on the collection, but that was not the real reason she planned to spend her summer vacation on Frog Cove Island.

Adam Daventry's death had made the Seattle papers for two reasons. The first was that he was the last direct descendant of the Golden Daventrys, a prominent Northwest family that had made its early fortunes in timber and then moved on to amass even more cash in Pacific Rim shipping.

The second reason Daventry's death had garnered a mention was that five years earlier Adam Daventry had moved to Frog Cove Island off the Washington coast and established an art colony. The island had become a popular summer weekend destination for Seattlites, tourists and others who liked to browse the local galleries. The annual Daventry Workshops Festival, held in June, had become a major summer event that drew large crowds.

Although Daventry had plastered his name on the art colony and the summer festival, he, himself, had always avoided the public eye. The rare photos taken of him showed an elegantly lean, dark-haired, middle-aged man with smoldering eyes and Faustian features.

Eugenia had met him six months earlier when he had come to Seattle to consult with her in her professional capacity. She had quickly discovered that she had something in common with Daventry, namely an abiding passion for glass. But in spite of that, she had come away from the encounter with a one-word description of him. The word was
bloodsucker.

“I don't understand why you're so upset about this arrangement, Eugenia,” Tabitha said. “It's not as if you both won't have plenty of privacy. From what the lawyer said, Glass House is quite large. Three stories and a basement. There are any number of bathrooms and bedrooms, apparently. So many, in fact, that the executors plan to sell it off to a hotel firm to be converted into an inn.”

“Yes, I know, but—”

“The only thing you and Cyrus will have to share is a kitchen,” Tabitha concluded.

“Don't worry,” Cyrus said. “I'll bring my own food and do my own cooking, Ms. Swift.”

Eugenia chose to ignore that. She pitched her voice to a soothing tone, the sort she used when she urged possessive private collectors to donate their finest pieces to the Leabrook.

“No one's going to stop you if you want to go to Frog Cove Island, Mr. Colfax. But I fail to see why you should stay at Glass House with me, even if it is big enough to be an inn.”

“Because I need open, unquestioned access to the place, Ms. Swift. Among other things, I want to go through Daventry's papers and files. It's going to take time to do a thorough investigation. The easiest way to handle it is for me to stay at the house.”

Eugenia drummed her fingers on the desk. “I suppose that the estate has every right to hire an investigator. And I really don't care what you investigate, Mr. Colfax. But I fail to see why you have to attach yourself to me.”

“It's a perfectly logical move,” Tabitha insisted.

Eugenia clenched her fingers around the pen. Tabitha was a great fan of murder mysteries. She was obviously thrilled by the prospect of aiding and abetting a real-life private detective.

“I've got a job to do on Frog Cove Island,” Eugenia said steadily. “I'm going to inventory Daventry's collection. Make
arrangements to have it all crated and shipped back to Seattle. I don't have time to play Nancy Drew.”

“You don't have to assist in the investigation,” Tabitha assured her. “That's Mr. Colfax's job. But he needs a cover in order to do his work.”

“Why on earth can't he just be up front about what he's doing?” Eugenia retorted. “Why can't he tell people he's looking into Daventry's death?”

“I just told you, I'm supposed to be discreet,” Cyrus said. “Besides, the island community is a small one and very insular. It's not likely that any of the locals would talk freely to a private investigator if they knew who he was and what he was doing.”

“I'm sure Mr. Colfax won't get in your way,” Tabitha said with an encouraging smile.

Eugenia eyed Cyrus with brooding dismay. He most definitely
would
get in her way. She could tell that much just by looking at him. One could not simply ignore a man like this. The shirt alone made it impossible.

In the normal course of events, his presence would not have constituted a serious problem for her. An irritation, perhaps, but not a major problem. As Tabitha had pointed out, Glass House was reputed to be quite large. But the business she intended to pursue on Daventry Island did not come under the heading of normal.

She had her own agenda at Glass House, and that agenda had nothing to do with inventorying the Daventry glass collection.

Twenty-four hours after Adam Daventry had fallen to his death, his lover, Nellie Grant, had drowned in a boating accident. Her body had never been recovered.

The official verdict was that she had been washed overboard into the icy waters of Puget Sound. There had been some speculation that, despondent over her lover's death, she had committed suicide.

Eugenia did not believe that Nellie had taken her own life, and she knew her friend had experience handling small boats.

The problem was that she could come up with no other logical explanations for Nellie's death at sea. She knew only that she would not be able to sleep well until she got some answers.

She was, after all, the one who had introduced Nellie to
Adam Daventry. Any way she looked at it, Eugenia knew that if Nellie had never met Daventry and gone to Frog Cove Island, she would probably still be alive.

“Mr. Colfax can go to the island as a tourist,” she suggested in what she hoped was a calm, reasonable tone. “He can browse through the art galleries or hang out in the local taverns. Isn't that the way a
real
professional investigator would go about worming information out of people?”

Colfax did not even wince at the thinly veiled insult, she noticed. But Tabitha's surgically tight jaw became even tighter.

“Mr. Colfax is a very real professional investigator,” she said. “He has his own firm, Colfax Security, with two offices on the West Coast, including one in Portland.”

“We're planning to expand to Seattle this year,” Cyrus said easily.

“Is that so?” Eugenia narrowed her eyes. “Tell me, why does the Daventry estate suspect foul play in Adam Daventry's death?”

“It's not a matter of suspicion,” Cyrus said. “It's more a case of what the executors feel was an inadequate investigation by the local authorities. They just want a second opinion, that's all. And they want it done quietly.”

“But what possible motive could there have been?” Eugenia demanded.

“Haven't got a clue,” Cyrus said.

Eugenia made herself count to ten. “I hesitate to ask, but do you perhaps have any suspects?”

“Nope.”

She sighed. “You've asked the Leabrook to provide cover for you, Mr. Colfax. Just exactly how do you expect us to do that? What sort of excuse am I supposed to use in order to explain why I'm spending my summer vacation with you at Glass House.”

Tabitha spoke up before he could respond. “I thought we could send him along as your assistant.”

“My
assistant?”
Eugenia swung around in her chair. “Trust me, Tabitha, no one is going to believe for one moment that Mr. Colfax is an assistant curator or anything else involved in the museum business.”

Cyrus glanced down at the palm trees on his chest. “Is it the shirt?”

Eugenia refused to acknowledge the question. She kept her
pleading gaze fixed on Tabitha. “This is not going to work. Surely you can see that.”

Tabitha pursued her lips in thought. “He does have a certain eccentric style, doesn't he? Perhaps we could pass him off as a photographer hired to take pictures of the Daventry glass collection. Photographers are inclined toward eccentricity.”

“I have never,” Eugenia said between her teeth, “met one who looked this eccentric.”

“A photographer cover is too complicated, anyway,” Cyrus said. “I'd have to bring along a lot of fancy equipment which I wouldn't have time to figure out. Furthermore, there's always the risk that a real photographer on the island might want to talk shop, in which case I'd probably give myself away in the first five minutes. I'm not real good with gadgets.”

“Good grief.” Eugenia closed her eyes. “It's hopeless.”

“Cheer up,” Cyrus said. “I have an idea that I think might work.”

“Lord spare me.” Eugenia cautiously opened her eyes. “What is it.”

“We can go to the island as a couple.”

She gazed at him, uncomprehending. “A couple of what?”

“Of course.” Tabitha bubbled over with excitement. “A
couple.
That's a wonderful idea, Mr. Colfax.”

He gave her a modest smile. “Thanks. I think it has possibilities.”

Eugenia froze. “Wait a second. Are you talking about you and me? Together? As a
couple?”

“Why not?” He gave her what was no doubt intended to pass for an innocent, earnest expression. “It's the perfect excuse for us to spend some time alone together at Glass House.”

“Oh, you won't be entirely alone,” Tabitha said helpfully. “There's a sort of caretaker-butler on site. The lawyer said his name is Leonard Hastings. He used to work for Daventry. The estate kept him on to look after things, especially the glass collection.”

Eugenia knew the name. The box she had received that contained Nellie Grant's clothes and personal effects had been sent back to Seattle by someone named Leonard Hastings.

She planted her hands on her desk and pushed herself to
her feet. “This is beyond ludicrous. It's insane. Anyone with a slice of brain can see that it will never work.”

Tabitha tilted her head. “I don't know, Eugenia. I think it's a very clever plan.”

“Simple, too,” Cyrus said. “I'm a big believer in keeping things as simple as possible.”

Eugenia realized that the situation was deteriorating rapidly. “It's simple, all right. Simple-minded.”

“Everyone's a critic,” Cyrus said.

Eugenia tried hard not to grind her teeth. In spite of the abundant evidence to the contrary, she was very sure that whatever else he was, Cyrus Chandler Colfax was not simple.

Her eyes met his, and for a few seconds everything came to an abrupt halt. A frisson of awareness brought all of her nerve endings to full alert.

She knew this sensation. It was the same feeling she got when she looked into one of the first-century
B.C
. Egyptian glass bowls on display in the Ancient Glass Wing of the museum. There was power here. It drew her even as it set off alarms.

In fairness to a civilized society, Colfax should have been required to wear caution flags and a lot of flashing red lights to warn the unwary against approaching too close. The Hawaiian shirt did not do the job.

She was certain that Cyrus's laid-back ways were a facade. She knew that as surely as she knew the difference between fourteenth-century Islamic glass and Chinese glass from the early years of the Qing dynasty. His strong, ruthless hands and enigmatic green eyes told the real truth. Even as she tried to assess him, he was sizing her up with a hunter's focused interest and intelligence.

She was sure that he did not intend for her to learn anything more about him than he wanted her to know.

Two could play at that game, she thought.

Which meant they had a standoff.

She made one last stab at warding off the inevitable. “Tabitha, you can't possibly expect me to work under these conditions.”

“Nonsense.” Tabitha's shrewd eyes burned with the fires of excitement. “Where's your sense of adventure? Why, if I didn't have so many commitments here in Seattle during the next few weeks, I'd be tempted to go in your place.”

Not a chance, Eugenia vowed silently. She had no intention
of allowing anyone, not even Tabitha Leabrook, to go to Frog Cave Island in her stead. But she needed to be free to pursue her own plans, and that meant she had to be in charge of the situation. From what little she had seen, Colfax did not appear to be the easily managed type.