"Weird," Dwayne said. He snickered and downed a hefty swallow from his own glass. "Damn weird."
You couldn't discuss things rationally with these two, Nick reminded himself. It would have been the equivalent of engaging in a conversation concerning the origins and meaning of the universe with a pair of particularly dimwitted bulls. The best you could hope to do was prod them in the direction you wanted them to take.
"Heard you've been doing a little detecting, yourself, Eugene," Nick said. "Sandy over at the station says you've got a theory about just who might have made off with that painting."
Eugene blinked a couple of times and then managed to make the intellectual leap required to grasp the meaning of the sentence.
"Yep, that's me, all right," Eugene said, sounding pleased. "Detective Eugene Woods." He grinned at Dwayne. "Got a ring to it, don't it?"
Dwayne snorted. "A real ring."
Eugene turned back to Nick. "I know who took that painting, but you ain't gonna like it." He put the glass down with a decisive clang and wiped his mouth on the back of his shirt. "Makes you look downright stupid, Harte."
"I've looked that way before," Nick said. "I'll get past it."
Eugene cackled so hard he choked. It took him a while to recover his wind. "Always enjoyed the sight of a stupid-looking Harte."
"I can't help feeling that this conversation is losing its focus," Nick said gently. "Could we return to the subject at hand?"
Eugene stopped grinning. His heavy features twisted into an expression of deep suspicion. Probably worried that he had just been insulted and not quite certain how to react, Nick thought.
Eugene, being Eugene and therefore extremely predictable in some ways, did what he always did in such circumstances. He went on the offensive.
"You wanna know what I think, Harte? I'll tell you. Only solid suspect far as I can see is your new girlfriend, the gallery lady. And you're screwing her. Ain't that a kick in the head? The big-time detective is screwing the prime suspect." He looked at Dwayne. "Ain't that a kick in the head, Dwayne?"
"Yeah," Dwayne said obediently. "A real kick in the head."
Eugene leaned across the table to make his point to Nick. "How do you like them apples, Mr. High-and-Mighty Harte? Looks like the lady has you by the short hairs. How's it feel to be led around by your balls?"
"Before we go into that, maybe you'd like to tell me where you heard this theory," Nick said.
"What makes you think I heard it somewheres else?"
Eugene's features transformed as if by magic, shifting from malicious glee to a twisted glare. "Maybe I came up with it all by myself. You think you're the only smart one around here?"
Nick throttled back his temper with an effort. He was here to gather information, not get into a brawl. "You got any proof that Octavia Brightwell stole the painting?"
"Proof? I don't have to show you no proof. You're the private eye. Find your own proof." Eugene leered. "Just keep digging away. Who knows what you might find?"
"Okay, you don't have any proof," Nick said evenly. "Would you, by any chance, have a motive?"
"Motive?" Eugene glanced at Dwayne.
"He means like a reason why she would steal it," Dwayne said, surprising Nick with his insight and comprehension.
"Oh, yeah." Eugene switched his attention back to Nick. "I can give you a reason, all right. That picture is real valuable and it ain't insured or nothing. Not even mentioned in Old Man Thurgarton's will. There's no record it even exists, get it? No, whatcha call it, prominence."
"Provenance," Nick corrected softly.
"Right. So the way I figure it, little Ms. Brightwell is pulling a fast one on all of you. Works like this, see, she hides the picture, pretends it got stolen and later, when the heat dies down, she leaves town, maybe goes to Seattle or some place like that and sells the damn thing. That way she gets to keep all the money. Now do you get it, Harte?"
"Interesting theory," Nick said.
"Yeah, it is, isn't it?" Eugene quaffed more beer and lowered the glass. Pleased with himself.
"And you say you came up with it all on your own?"
"Yep."
Dwayne opened his mouth, but he closed it again very rapidly when Eugene threw him a warning glare.
"In that case," Nick said, "can I ask you two gentlemen to refrain from spreading it any further until we find out exactly what is going on and maybe get some proof?"
Eugene looked intrigued. "Why should we keep quiet?"
"For one thing, there's a lady's reputation at stake."
"What reputation? Everyone in town knows she's screwing your brains out."
"I was speaking of her professional reputation."
"Who cares about that?" Eugene asked blankly.
"I do, for one," Nick said. "And I think maybe you and Dwayne, being gentlemen and all, should care about it, too."
They both looked at him as if he'd suggested that they should care about quantum physics.
Eugene recovered first. "Hell with her pro-fess-ion-al rep-u-ta-tion," he said, sounding each syllable out with sneering precision. "I don't give a shit about her reputation. You give a shit, Dwayne?"
"Nope," Dwayne said. "I figure the fact that she's screwing Harte's brains out is a lot more interesting than her professional reputation."
Nick rose slowly to his feet. They both watched him, taunting challenge in their faces.
"Let me put it to you this way, gentlemen," Nick said coolly. "If you two cannot manage to refrain from further public comment on either Ms. Brightwell's personal or professional reputation, I have two words of wisdom for you."
"What two words?" Eugene demanded, looking ready to pounce in victory.
"Lavender and Leather."
Eugene's face went slack as if he'd just gone completely numb. Maybe he had, Nick thought. With shock.
Dwayne gaped. He looked frozen with horror.
Satisfied that he had made his point, Nick turned and walked through the shadowy tavern. He pushed open the door and went out into the sparkling sunlight.
And immediately collided with Octavia, who had just put her hand on the door to open it.
"Excuse me, I-" She began, stepping hurriedly back out of the way. Then she recognized him. "Oh, it's you."
"Yeah, it's me."
The transition from night to day dazzled his vision. Or maybe it was the sight of Octavia in a dress that was roughly the color of a tequila sunrise and was splattered with impossibly oversized orchids. He took his sunglasses out of his pocket and put them on.
She glanced past him toward the door of the tavern. "What happened in there?"
"I confirmed something that I have long suspected."
"What?"
"No one in this town reads my books."
Chapter 14
"I read them," she said.
"You don't count. You're leaving town in a few weeks, remember?" He took her arm and steered her away from the entrance. "What the hell are you doing here? I hope you weren't planning to eat lunch at the Total Eclipse. You weren't raised in Eclipse Bay, so you probably lack the necessary immunity to survive Fred's cooking."
"I wasn't planning to eat there. I saw you go inside and I knew you had probably gone in to talk to someone about the painting."
"Brilliant deduction." Across the street, Sandy Hickson was watching them with great interest, a dripping squeegee dangling absently from one hand. Nick took Octavia's arm again. "Come on, let's get you out of here. There's enough talk about you going around as it is."
She skipped a little to keep up with him. "Did you learn anything in the Total Eclipse?"
"Always something to be learned in the Total Eclipse." he said flatly. "It is never less than an enlightening experience."
She frowned. "What happened in there?"
"Long story."
"It's lunchtime. Why don't we go somewhere and you can tell me this long story."
He looked at her.
"You know," she said with
a determinedly bright smile. "You can give me a report."
A report, he thought. First he was therapy and now he was business. This relationship was not improving. On the contrary, it seemed to be going sideways. But an invitation to lunch counted for something.
"Okay," he said. "But you're the client, so you're buying."
She flushed a little and did not seem amused. "Certainly. Where shall we go?"
"I assume you have to get back to the gallery right away. We can grab a bite at the Incandescent Body."
"Well, actually, no, I don't have to get back to the gallery right away," she said smoothly. "I just hired an assistant for the summer. Gail Gillingham. She said she could handle the place for the afternoon."
"Gail?" He thought about that. "Good choice."
"I think so. Unfortunately, I can't offer her anything permanent, but she said that the position will give her some breathing space in which to hunt for a better situation. You know what they say, the best time to look for a job is when you've already got one."
"Yeah, I've heard that." He kept his grip on her arm and angled her across Bay Street, steering toward the gas station, where his car was still parked at the pump.
"Gail has a very professional attitude and she's smart."
Octavia said, trotting briskly along beside him. "I think that eventually she'll turn up something at the institute or at Chamberlain."
"Probably."
Octavia finally noticed that they were halfway across the street. She frowned. "Where are we going?"
"To get my car."
"Oh."
When they reached the BMW, Nick opened the door on the passenger side and stuffed Octavia into the seat. He closed the door and reached for his wallet.
"What do I owe you, Sandy?"
"Twenty-three bucks." Sandy peered through the windshield, looking at Octavia. "Everything go okay in the Total Eclipse?"
"Sure." Nick handed him the cash and started toward the driver's side of the car. "By the way, turns out Eugene and Dwayne were mistaken about that rumor they were spreading around."
Sandy blinked. "You mean the one about Miss-" He broke off abruptly when Nick gave him a hard look. He swallowed heavily. "Wrong, huh?"
"Yeah." Nick opened the door. "Completely false. Be a good idea if you didn't pass it along. Know what I mean?"
"Right," Sandy said quickly and nodded. "Big mistake."
Nick got behind the wheel. "You got it," he said through the open window. "Big mistake."
He drove out of the station, aware that Octavia was watching him intently.
"What was that all about?" she asked.
"Nothing important."
"Don't give me that. You deliberately intimidated Sandy Hickson. I want to know why."
He turned the corner and drove up the street that led away from the waterfront. "I didn't do a damn thing to Sandy."
"Yes, you did. I saw you. Something about the way you looked at him. I call that intimidation. Why did you do it?"
He contemplated that question for a while. Then he shrugged. "Okay, you should probably know what's going on, seeing as how you're the client, and all."
"Absolutely." She put on her own dark glasses, settled back into her seat, and folded her arms beneath her breasts. "Talk."
"There's a rumor going around town that you're the one who swiped the Upsall."
For a couple of seconds she did not move, just sat there gazing blankly through the windshield. Then she whipped around in the seat.
"Someone thinks I stole it?"
"I picked up the story from Sandy. He said he got it from a couple of colorful types who hang out at the Total Eclipse-"
"Mean Eugene and Dickhead Dwayne."
He was a little taken aback. Somehow it was hard to envision her calling anyone dickhead. He had to keep reminding himself that the Fairy Queen was not all sweetness and light. Not anymore.
"Uh, yeah," he said.
"Those two are spreading the rumor that I'm responsible for the theft, hmm?"
"Yeah."
"Well, I hate to say it, but you must admit that there is some logic to their theory. I mean, I do have motive, opportunity, and a good working knowledge of the art world. How hard would it be for a slick operator like me to scam a bunch of locals like A.Z. and Virgil and the Heralds? All I'd have to do is make the picture disappear, tell everyone it got stolen, and then, a few months from now when I'm settled in some big city, make it mysteriously reappear. Presto, my name is suddenly legend in the world of modern art."
"Not hard," he agreed.
"And no one back here in Eclipse Bay would have a clue."
"No one but me," he corrected mildly.
"You wouldn't have any way of knowing what had happened, either. Not unless you made it a point to keep up with events in the art world."
He did not take his eyes off the road. "I'd do that, though."
"You would?"
"Let's just say I'd keep up with events concerning you."
"Oh." She mulled that over for a while and then, apparently not knowing what to do with it, let it go. She tightened her arms around her midsection. "Well, it's all moot because I did not steal the painting."
"I explained that to Eugene and Dwayne."
"You did?" Something in her expression lightened. "That was very nice of you."
"That's me. Mr. Nice Guy."
"I'm serious," she said. "That rumor about me taking the painting sounds quite logical when you think about it. I can see where reasonable people might start to wonder if I was the thief. After all, I am related to Claudia Banner and everyone knows what she did here."
He said nothing.
"I appreciate your support."
"Hey, you're the client. I lose you, I lose my fee."
"What fee?" she asked warily.
"Good question. Been wondering about that, myself. What fee?"
"You're not expecting a fee and you know it," she said crisply.
"That right? No fee, huh?"
They were in the woods now, climbing the hillside above the town. The cool, green canopy cut the bright sunlight. He watched for the familiar sign.
"Stop making a joke out of this," she said briskly. "We both know why you're looking for the painting. You want to help A.Z. and Virgil and the others."
"Not exactly," he said.
"What does that mean?"
"Means, not exactly."
The sign inscribed with the faded words Snow's Cafe came into view. The parking lot was crowded with vehicles ranging from bicycles to Volvos. Most of them, he knew, belonged to students and staff from nearby Chamberlain College. Arizona had catered to that particular clientele since she had opened the restaurant.
He turned off the road and parked next to a shiny little yellow Volkswagen.
"You know," Octavia said coolly, "the macho-cryptic private eye talk reads well in your books, but it doesn't go over so great in person."
"I hate when that happens."
He unfastened his seat belt and climbed out before she could pursue that line of inquiry. He was not in the mood to explain that the real reason he was playing private eye was because of her. Something Eugene had said came back to him. How does it feel to be led around by your balls?
That was Eugene for you, a real relationship guru. Downright insightful.
He shut the door and started around the rear of the car. By the time he got to her side she was already out of the front seat, moving toward him with a determined stride. She gripped the handbag slung over one shoulder very tightly and there was a dangerous look in her eyes.
Damn. He was getting hard.
He opened the door of the cafe and ushered her into the pleasant gloom of the comfortably shabby interior. Tough-looking rock stars of another era, thin and angry and wearing a lot of leather, glared down at them from the ancient posters that decorated the walls. The music piped through the old speakers came from the same time warp as the posters, but the decibel level was kept reasona
bly low so that you could hold a conversation without shouting.
Arizona did not spend much time here these days. She relied on employees she recruited from the work-study offices of Chamberlain. She trained a new crew at the beginning of each academic year and she paid them handsomely. The result was a remarkably loyal staff that, in turn, freed her to concentrate on what she saw as her chief mission in life: keeping tabs on the goings-on at the institute.
"Getting back to the way you explained things to Eugene and Dwayne." Octavia tossed her bag into the booth and slid in beside it. "Maybe you'd better tell me precisely what you said."
"Hard to recall precisely what I said." He flipped open the plastic-coated menu.
Portions of Arizona's bill of fare were occasionally updated to reflect passing trends such as soy products and veggie patties, but mostly A.Z. stuck with the basic student food groups: burgers, fries, and pizza.
"Talk to me, Nick. I'm very serious here. What did you say to Eugene and Dwayne?"
"Why is that conversation of such great interest to you?" he asked, not looking up from the menu.
"Because the more I think about it, the more it worries me. I don't know those two well, but from what I've heard about them, it would surprise me if they took good advice willingly."
"I tried to provide an incentive."
She went very still on the other side of the table. "That's what I was afraid of."
"Look, don't worry about it, okay?"
"I'm worried." She reached out and plucked the menu from his fingers. "What magic words did you use to make them back off those rumors?"
What the hell, he thought. She would probably find out sooner or later, anyway. He lounged against the padded seatback and contemplated her for a moment.
"Lavender and Leather," he said finally.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Lavender and Leather is the name of a gay bar located in the Capitol Hill neighborhood in Seattle," he explained. "About a year ago, Eugene and Dwayne went off to the big city, had a few beers, and decided it would be amusing to hang out in the vicinity of the establishment. They planned to entertain themselves hassling some of the patrons."
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