Grand Passion

by Jayne Ann Krentz

  Max watched him intently. “Anything interesting?”

  “Nothing for certain, but when you lay it all out some intriguing questions arise.”

  Before Max could ask what those questions were, the French doors opened again.

  “What's going on in here?” Cleo demanded from the doorway. Trisha and Sylvia hovered to one side, looking half irritated and half anxious. Andromeda and Daystar were standing just behind Cleo.

  Max looked at the phalanx of women and swore softly.

  “So much for trying to have a war council with just us guys,” O'Reilly said dryly. “Come on in, ladies.”

  “Thank you.” Cleo stalked into the room. The others followed with determined expressions. “We intended to do just that.”

  “Who's watching the front desk?” Max asked.

  “George is on duty,” Sylvia said. “He'll keep an eye on the handful of guests in the lounge.” She sat down next to O'Reilly. “Don't worry, gentlemen, everything is under control. Now, what are you up to in here?”

  “I was merely about to give my report,” O'Reilly said mildly. “Such as it is.”

  “You said earlier that you hadn't turned up much.” Cleo sat down next to Max. “What's to report?”

  O'Reilly flipped open his notebook. “The way I see this, there are three possible explanations for the incidents. The first is the one you and Max came up with, which is that we're dealing with a deranged critic out to punish you for writing The Mirror.”

  Max looked up, frowning. “You don't sound like you think that's the most likely explanation.”

  “I don't think it is,” O'Reilly said. “Mostly because as near as I can tell, no one in town had read the book until I started asking questions about it two days ago. The local bookshop didn't even have it in stock.”

  “It was a rather small print run,” Cleo said apologetically.

  “What about the possibility that it's someone from out of town who's read the book and tracked Cleo down?” Trisha asked.

  O'Reilly shook his head. “The only place a stranger could be staying here in Harmony Cove is at this inn, Cosmic Harmony, or the motel on the other side of town. None of those establishments have had any repeat customers in the past couple of months.”

  Ben considered that. “So there was no one person who kept showing up around here each time there was an incident, is that it?”

  “That's it,” O'Reilly said. “Now, I'm not saying someone couldn't have snuck into town and staged the incidents, but he would have had to know his way around. He would also have had to know something about Cleo. The fact that she was dating Nolan Hildebrand, for example. The time of night she usually goes upstairs to bed. Which room is hers. The fact that she often visits Cosmic Harmony. That kind of thing.”

  “Good heavens,” Andromeda said uneasily. “It sounds like someone has researched Cleo.”

  “Exactly,” O'Reilly said. “That kind of detail can only be learned by studying a person's routine over a period of time.”

  “All of which means that whoever is doing this knows a great deal about what goes on around here.” Max picked up his cane and got to his feet. He ignored the protesting twinge in his thigh as he walked to the window.

  It was raining outside, but Max felt warm and comfortable and replete. It had been a pleasant homecoming. Andromeda and Daystar had fixed a special meal of clam chowder, barley salad, and homemade bread. There had been new drawings by Sammy to admire on the refrigerator door. Everyone had exclaimed over Cleo's ring and had instantly begun making plans for the future. It was a future that included Max.

  A man could get used to this kind of life real fast, Max thought. But a smart man would never take it for granted. He prided himself on being a smart man.

  “Like I said,” O'Reilly continued, “it could be a complete stranger, but whoever it is has spent time in and around Harmony Cove. My gut feeling is that someone would have noticed him in a small town like this. Trust me. When we find out who's behind the incidents, the first words out of everyone's mouth will be ‘But he seemed like such a nice guy.’”

  “Or girl,” Cleo murmured.

  O'Reilly nodded. “Or girl.”

  Max braced both hands on the cane. “All right, what's the next possibility?”

  O'Reilly glanced down at his notes. “There's a clear connection between the start of these incidents and the death of Jason Curzon.”

  Cleo and the others went very still.

  “Damn.” Max gazed out into the rain. “You're right, O'Reilly.”

  “I usually am,” O'Reilly murmured.

  “I should have seen that for myself,” Max said, disgusted.

  “What on earth are you saying?” Andromeda asked anxiously. “How could Jason's death have anything to do with this?”

  “Because he left a quarter of a million dollars worth of art unaccounted for,” Max said grimly. “And everyone seems to think Cleo knows where the paintings are.”

  “Everyone meaning you and Garrison Spark?” O'Reilly asked dryly.

  Max set his back teeth. “I know Cleo doesn't know where the Luttrells are. But Spark still believes she does. He's already tried to talk her into turning them over to him for a fraction of what they're worth.”

  “You wouldn't believe how many people think I'm not real bright,” Cleo said. “My theory is that my choice in foot attire gives the wrong impression.”

  O'Reilly ignored her. “You think maybe these incidents are part of some sort of elaborate ploy to terrorize Cleo into producing the paintings, Max?”

  “It's a possibility,” Max said. “As you pointed out, the timing fits. They started shortly after Jason died.”

  O'Reilly hesitated. “Then why hasn't she received any notes warning her to sell or else?”

  Cleo held up a hand for attention. “Maybe Mr. Spark or whoever is behind this wants to get me really spooked first. When I'm totally traumatized and scared to death, he'll zing me with a demand to turn over the Luttrells.”

  “Maybe,” O'Reilly agreed. He didn't look convinced. He tapped his notebook with the tip of his pen. “Something else I wanted to mention while we're on the subject of the paintings. Nolan Hildebrand has to be counted as a suspect.”

  “Nolan?” Cleo's eyes widened. “Are you crazy? Nolan wouldn't stage those incidents.”

  “You can't be sure of that,” Max said. “He tried to get you to help him find the paintings so that he could collect Spark's finder's fee, remember?”

  Cleo grimaced. “Yes, but I just don't see Nolan as the sort who would concoct all those stagy incidents. Besides, he was genuinely shocked when he found out I'd written The Mirror. I know he was. He couldn't have known about it earlier.”

  “His shock could have been an act,” Max said. “He might have been trying to deflect suspicion from himself.”

  “I don't know.” Cleo's expression was dubious. “Nolan just isn't that convoluted in his thinking processes, if you know what I mean.”

  “You mean he's simpleminded?” Daystar asked bluntly.

  Cleo scowled. “Not quite. I just don't see him as the type to put together a real devious scheme like this.”

  “Maybe,” O'Reilly said. “Maybe not. I still think we have to consider him as a possibility.”

  Cleo threw up her hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. Nolan is a suspect. In that case, you might as well add Adrian Forrester to the list. The same logic applies. But I want you all to know that I'm going on record with my own private, personal opinion that neither one of them is behind the incidents.”

  Max looked at her. “You were willing enough to consider Forrester as a suspect earlier.”

  Cleo sighed. “I know, but I was annoyed with him at the time. I've had a chance to calm down, and I have to admit that I really can't see him doing this kind of thing.”

  Max considered that. He had to allow for the possibility that she was right. Cleo could see into people the way he could see into paintings. He should know. She had looked into
him and seen what he had wanted most in the world. And she had given it to him.

  A twinge went through his thigh. Max stirred, changing position slightly. The long drive from Seattle was taking its toll. He pushed the old, familiar ache to the back of his mind and concentrated on the problem at hand as he walked to the fountain.

  “If Spark is behind these incidents,” he said quietly, “I think we can squelch the problem fairly easily.”

  Everyone stared at him.

  “How?” Sylvia asked.

  “I'll call him tomorrow and arrange a meeting.” Max gazed into the turquoise blue fountain. “I'll tell him to forget the Luttrells. I'll also tell him that I want him to vanish.”

  O'Reilly eyed him in cool appraisal. “We're talking about a quarter of a million bucks here. What makes you think Spark will back out of the scene quietly when there's that kind of money involved?”

  “He'll go,” Max said.

  No one said a word. They all sat in tense silence, staring at him. Max felt their silent questions hammering at him, but he did not volunteer an explanation of just how he would get rid of Spark.

  “Okay,” O'Reilly finally said in a brisk, businesslike voice, “that takes care of the Spark angle. Which leaves us with a third possible explanation to consider.”

  Max met O'Reilly's eyes. “I think I like this one the least.”

  Cleo frowned. “You haven't even heard it yet.”

  O'Reilly smiled wryly. “Max has a very analytical brain. He's already figured out that the third possibility is a rather nasty one.”

  “What is it?” Trisha asked uneasily.

  Max looked down into the bubbling fountain water. “That there is something in Cleo's past that has triggered someone into coming after her.”

  “Shit,” Ben whispered, awed. He looked at Max. “Are you serious?”

  “Yes.” Max looked at Cleo, then continued. “I know we talked about this possibility briefly and then let it drop. I didn't want you worrying about it. But it looks like we need to look into it further.”

  “What is there to look into?” Cleo asked. “I've already told you that I don't have any strange, obsessive men in my past. Nothing bizarre has ever occurred in my life except for the deaths of my parents.”

  “Your parents died in a very unusual manner,” Max said quietly.

  “Yes, but there was a logical explanation for it,” Cleo reminded him. Her eyes turned bleak. “At least according to the authorities there was a logical explanation.”

  O'Reilly glanced at Max. Then he turned to Cleo. “I think this is as good a time as any to tell you that I did a little checking into the death of that investigator you hired last summer.”

  Cleo's gaze swung to O'Reilly. “You looked into Mr. Eberson's death? Why?”

  “Because you mentioned that he was working on your case at the time, and because I am a very thorough investigator myself,” O'Reilly said.

  “Well?” Cleo waited expectantly. “Was there anything strange about his car accident?”

  “Not officially. The records indicate that it was an accident. But when I phoned the insurance salesman who took over Eberson's office space, he mentioned that he'd had to wait quite a while before he could move in.”

  Max watched O'Reilly's face closely. “Why?”

  “Because there was some fire damage that had to be repaired first.” O'Reilly closed his notebook with a snap. “It seems that there was a small blaze caused by faulty wiring in the office. It completely destroyed Eberson's files.”

  “Is that so?” Max asked softly.

  Cleo wrapped her arms around her knees. Her eyes were huge with worry as she gazed at O'Reilly. “What are you saying? Do you think that Eberson had uncovered something about my parents' death that may have gotten him killed?”

  O'Reilly held up a hand. “Cleo, I will tell you honestly that I don't know where this is going to lead. It could very well be a dead end. In fact, in all likelihood, it is a dead end. But it's something that needs to be checked out.”

  “What are you going to do?” Ben asked.

  “I'm going to resume the investigation that was dropped when Eberson died,” O'Reilly said. “Now that Max is here to keep an eye on all of you, I'm going to Seattle to start looking into the background surrounding the death of Cleo's parents.”

  Max saw Cleo go absolutely rigid.

  “I'm not sure that's a good idea,” she whispered. “What if there is some crazy person out there?”

  “Then we'd better find out who he is, hadn't we?” O'Reilly asked calmly. “Before he does any more damage.”

  Sylvia shifted uneasily in her chair. “I don't want you to take any risks, O'Reilly.”

  Max noted the very personal note of concern in Sylvia's voice.

  O'Reilly beamed reassuringly. “Hey, I'm good at this. It's what I do.”

  “Sylvia's right,” Cleo said quickly. “If there's something dangerous going on here we should call in the police.”

  “There's no point doing that at this stage,” O'Reilly said. “We haven't got enough to go on. Like I said, we're probably chasing a dead-end lead. I just want to be sure we've covered all the bases.”

  Andromeda frowned. “You still think Spark is the most likely suspect, don't you?”

  “That's exactly what I think,” O'Reilly said. “The timing of the incidents and the amount of money involved make that the most likely possibility.”

  “I don't like this,” Cleo whispered. “I'm getting a weird feeling.”

  “What kind of feeling?” Trisha asked.

  “I don't know. It's just weird.”

  Max reached down to take her hand and pull her to her feet. “I think it's time we all went to bed.” She didn't resist when he tugged her up off the chair, but the coldness in her fingers worried him.

  Trisha looked at O'Reilly. “You're going to leave in the morning?”

  “Afraid so.” O'Reilly glanced at Sylvia.

  “But you'll be coming back, won't you?” Trisha asked. “You said you'd be here for the wedding on Friday.”

  “Wouldn't miss it for the world,” O'Reilly said. “I'll definitely be back on Friday. With my best suit.”

  “God help us,” Max muttered.

  Andromeda beetled her brows at him. “I'm sure O'Reilly's best suit is very nice.”

  “It's green, and it's made out of polyester,” Max said. “Need I say more?”

  Chapter

  17

  The following night, Cleo put her hands behind her head and gazed up at the shadowed ceiling of the attic. “I'm going with you tomorrow when you talk to Spark.”

  “No,” Max said from the other side of the bed. “For the last time, I don't want you there.”

  The argument had been festering since four o'clock that afternoon, when Cleo had discovered that Max had made arrangements to talk to Garrison Spark the next day. She had immediately announced her intentions of confronting Spark with Max. Max had put his foot down with a forcefulness that had not only startled her; it had hurt her.

  “Max, this is all happening because of me. I have a right to be there with you when you talk to Spark.”

  “Cleo, stop pushing. I told you, I'm going to handle this.”

  She sat up in bed, exasperated to the point of anger. “Why are you being so bloody-minded about it? Give me one good reason why I shouldn't be there.”

  “You don't know anything about handling someone like Spark.”

  “And you do?”

  “Yes.”

  “What makes you an expert?” she snapped.

  “I told you, I once worked for Spark. I know how he thinks. I also know how he operates.”

  “So?” Cleo challenged.

  “So I don't want you anywhere around when I talk to him about what's been happening.”

  “I'm not an idiot, Max. I won't mess up your plans, whatever they are.”

  “I never said you were an idiot.”

  “I am also not as naive as everyone se
ems to think.” Cleo paused suddenly. “Max, does it strike you that we're having our first major quarrel?”

  “We're not quarreling.”

  “Sure sounds like a quarrel to me.”

  “We are not quarreling, damn it.”

  Cleo was taken aback by the fierce insistence in his voice. “Okay, so we're having a heated discussion. Whatever you want to call it, I think the time has come for you and me to clear up a little communication problem we seem to have developed.”

  “What communication problem?” he asked warily.

  Cleo took a breath. “You once noted that you and I have different styles of management. Well, those two styles have just collided, and they will probably do so again in the future. We need to learn how to deal with each other when that happens.”

  “Damn. The last thing I need tonight is a conversation like this.”

  “Tough. We're having it.” Cleo touched his shoulder. “I think you and I need to get something settled here, Max. You can't walk into this family and just start throwing your weight around the way you apparently did when you worked for Curzon International. If you and I are going to make this relationship work, we're going to have to learn to work as a team.”

  Max did not move. The new tension radiating from him was palpable. “What's that supposed to mean?”

  Cleo watched him uneasily. She had the feeling that she had accidentally stepped into a minefield. “I'm just trying to talk about our mutual problem.”

  Max moved without any warning. He shoved the covers aside and sat up on the edge of the bed. He reached for his cane and got to his feet. “Are you telling me that if we don't do things your way, our relationship, as you call it, is over?”

  “Max.” Cleo clutched the sheet to her breast. “For heaven's sake, I never said that. I just said we needed to iron out some of our communication problems.”

  “Communication problems sounds like code for I'm having second thoughts about marrying you, Max.”

  “That's not true,” Cleo retorted. “We're having a little trouble relating to each other, that's all.”