Summer in Eclipse Bay (23 page)

An electrifying jolt of awareness shot through him. It was as if the floor of the gallery had opened up beneath his feet and he had plummeted into the abyss.

Oh, shit. He had been asking the wrong question all along, he thought. He had been wondering why Octavia insisted on meddling with his life. The really important question here was why was he allowing her to do so?

They ate at the Crab Trap, surrounded by tourists, summer people, and a sprinkling of locals.

“You won't regret this,” Octavia said earnestly.

“Uh-huh.” He cracked open a crab leg and went after the tender meat with a vengeance.

“Jeremy wouldn't have agreed to have a drink with you if he still believed that you'd had an affair with his wife.”

“Uh-huh.” He reached for another leg and assaulted it with grim enthusiasm. The sound of crunching shell was good.

“It's obvious that he wants to mend the rift.”

“Uh-huh.”

“He was just looking for an opportunity and now you've provided it.”

“Uh-huh.” He looked around for another crab leg to destroy.

“It was the right thing to do, Nick.”

“I don't like being manipulated.”

“I didn't manipulate you.”

“Yes, you did.”

“I just made a suggestion.”

He looked at her, not speaking.

She swallowed. “Okay, it was a forceful suggestion.”

“You nagged me into this meeting tonight.”

She reddened. “I'm sorry if you feel that way.”

“I do feel that way.”

She sat back and folded her napkin very deliberately, her expression troubled now. “You're really mad, aren't you?”

“Yes. I'm really mad. But mostly at myself.”

“Because you're allowing me to strongarm you into this meeting with Jeremy?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I see.” Her voice was steady but when she put down the napkin, her fingers shook slightly. “Well, if you feel that way about it, why don't you cancel the arrangement?”

He smiled humorlessly, staring into the abyss. “It's too late.”
In more ways than you can possibly know,
he added silently.

“I don't understand.”

“Yeah, I can see that.”

Establishments like the Total Eclipse had their place in the universe, Nick thought. It was, for instance, the one venue in Eclipse Bay where two guys involved in a private feud could meet on neutral territory.

The tavern was starting to fill up for the evening, but the buzz of conversation was muted in the back, where the pool tables were located. Only one other green-topped table was in use at the moment, and mercifully no one was smoking, so the air was still relatively clear. The gloom hung in thick curtains interrupted only by the narrow bright spot over the center of each table.

If the bar was the place for this conversation, Nick thought, pool was the game. Attitude was everything.

Nick adjusted his stance slightly, made a bridge with his fingers, and leaned into the shot. He stroked the cue gently. Going for a little spin. Concentrating on the follow-through, the way his grandfather and father had taught him. The way he would one day teach Carson. He stayed down until the ball dropped into the pocket.

“You do realize that we've both been set up,” he said, straightening.

On the other side of the table, Jeremy watched him from the shadows. “I got that impression. But, hey, she's going to hang my paintings in her gallery. Shooting a little pool with you and letting you buy me a beer doesn't seem like such a high price to pay for my chance at money and immortal fame.”

“Uh-huh.” Nick chalked his cue. “I figured that was the real reason you agreed. Octavia's got this compulsion to make things right, you know. Has to do with what her great-aunt did to Harte-Madison all those years ago.”

“I figured that much out. She says she's leaving town at the end of the summer.”

“Yeah.” He studied the position of the balls on the table, doing the strategy thing. “That's what she says.”

Jeremy studied him across the green felt. “She also says that you didn't have an affair with my ex.”

“She's right. I didn't.”

Jeremy did not respond to that. But he didn't hurl any more accusations, either.

They played for a while, not speaking. The only sounds were the click and snap of the balls striking each other and the gradually rising noise from the front of the tavern. Someone had turned on the music. A country-western rocker was wailing away about a good woman gone bad.

Nick dropped another ball into the pocket. “You know, you're not the only guy in the world whose wife had an affair.” He wasn't sure why he said it. It just seemed the right time.

Jeremy went still on the other side of the table. “Amelia?”

“The man who was at the controls of that plane.”

“Jesus. I didn't know.”

“Not many people do. I'd like to keep it that way.”

“Sure. Believe me when I say I understand your feelings on that particular subject.” Jeremy paused a couple of beats. “Octavia said I should ask myself whether you or Laura had ever lied to me about other things.”

“Come up with any answers?”

“Yeah. Laura lied to me about a couple of other matters. Important stuff. Guess we had a communication problem.” Jeremy used the chalk on the tip of his cue. “Couldn't think of any times when you had lied to me, though.”

Nick studied the table. “No offense, but I didn't even like Laura very much. Always had the feeling that she figured she'd married beneath herself when she married you.”

“No offense, but I didn't care much for Amelia. Figured she was more in love with Harte Investments than she was with you.”

“You may have been right.” He took his shot and waited until the ball dropped. “But she was a good mother.”

“That counts,” Jeremy said quietly.

“Counts for a lot.”

“At least you have Carson. I found out the hard way that Laura didn't want kids. At least she didn't want them with me.”

“Carson made it all worthwhile,” Nick agreed.

The sound of the growing crowd in the other room got louder. Someone cranked up the music system another notch. The hard-driving song playing now was about guys getting drunk on cheap whiskey and engaging in bar fights over good women gone bad.

“And to think that we both thought we knew what we were doing when it came to the female of the species.” Jeremy drank some beer while he watched Nick take another shot. “Guess we had a lot to learn.”

“Yeah.”

The atmosphere around the table was more comfortable now. A lot of the tension was leaking out of it. Maybe it was the beer.

“So,” Jeremy said, “who do you think took the Upsall?”

“Whoever is trying to pin the blame on Octavia. This is personal. I can feel it.”

“Doesn't make sense. Octavia hasn't hurt anyone here in town.”

“No, but her great-aunt did.”

“According to the old stories, Claudia Banner's victims were Hartes and Madisons.” Jeremy made a bridge and angled his cue stick. “You think maybe there were others?”

“My grandfather used the term
collateral damage.
”

Jeremy banked a shot. “You know, my grandmother was a woman in her twenties when Harte-Madison fell apart. She grew up in this burg and knew everyone. Plays bridge every week with three other women who also have a lot of history in this town. They might remember something useful about the good old days. Want me to talk to her? See if she can get anything out of her bridge group? I'm sure she'd enjoy playing Mata Hari.”

“I'd appreciate that,” Nick said.

The music got louder and so did the crowd. Other players drifted into the back room and took over the remaining tables. Smoke from the cigarettes of neighboring players started to foul the air.

“Getting late,” Nick said.

Jeremy shrugged. “One more game?”

“Why not?”

Nick had just racked the balls for another round when a familiar voice rumbled from the opening that divided the pool room from the bar area.

“Well, if it isn't the SOB who thinks he's the king of Eclipse Bay.” Eugene slurred most of the
s
's and there were a lot of them in the sentence, but his meaning was clear. “And will you look at that, Dwayne? He's shooting a little pool with his good buddy Jeremy. Isn't that sweet?”

The players at the other tables did not look toward the pair in the doorway. Everyone pretended to concentrate on their games. But Nick knew that the crowd was listening intently to every word. The tension was suddenly so thick he could have carved it into topiary shapes.

“You were right,” Jeremy said quietly. He did not bother to glance at Eugene and Dwayne either. “Time to go.”

“What are you doin' here, anyway, Harte?” Eugene bellowed. “Shouldn't you be with that little redheaded suspect of yours? Everyone knows she's been screwing your brains out so's you'll overlook the fact that she stole that painting.”

Nick set the cue down very slowly. On the other side of the table, Jeremy did the same. This time they both looked at Mutt and Jeff.

The dark room fell silent. None of the other players moved so much as a finger. Everyone waited for the other shoe to drop.

Nick looked at Eugene. “You don't want to say anything more, Eugene.”

But it was obvious that Eugene was too drunk to worry about consequences.

“You think you can threaten me?” Eugene stalked closer, hands clenched at his sides. “You really think I'm gonna put up with that kind of shit from a Harte?”

“He's right, Eugene,” Jeremy said softly. “You don't want to do this.”

“I'm not takin' any crap off you, either, Seaton. You think you can come back to town after all these years and start actin' like you're better than the rest of us again just because your mama married a Seaton and you hang with Nick Harte? Got news for you.”

“Let's go,” Nick said to Jeremy.

“Fine by me.” Jeremy started around the table.

“Something me and Dwayne, here, been wondering about, Harte.” Eugene came to a halt, blocking the path to the door. He leered. “Is she a
natural
redhead? She as red
down there
as she is up on top?”

Nick moved around the corner of the table.

“Take it easy,” Jeremy said out of the side of his mouth. “The plan is to get out of here, remember?”

“The plan,” Nick said, coming to a halt directly in front of the pool table, “is to tell everyone here a little story about Eugene and Dwayne's excellent adventure in Seattle a while back.”

“Shut your mouth, Harte,” Eugene roared. “Just shut your damned mouth. Say one more word and I'll rip your head off your shoulders and use it for a cue ball.”

“Think so?”

“Hey, nobody cares if you're screwin' the redhead. Nobody gives a shit about your sex life, Harte.”

“Except you, apparently, Eugene,” one of the other players offered helpfully. “But maybe that's because Harte's sex life is a lot more interesting than yours.”

Eugene turned purple, drew his head into his shoulders in the manner of a large turtle, and lumbered forward. He was surprisingly fast for a man of his size and bulk. The old football training, Nick figured.

“Hell,” Jeremy muttered. “So much for a quick exit.”

Nick did not move until the last instant. Then he sidestepped the ferocious charge. Eugene still had speed, but his maneuverability was shot. He blundered straight on, past the point where Nick had stood a second earlier, and crashed into the table. He folded over and went facedown on the green felt.

“Okay,” Jeremy said. “Now we leave, right?”

Nick ignored him. He grabbed hold of one beefy shoulder. There was no need to try to haul Eugene erect. The big man came up off the table, one massive fist already arcing through the air.

Nick ducked the blow and slammed both clenched hands into Eugene's midsection. It was like hitting a very solid pillow. The impact felt good, but it didn't do much damage. Nick stepped back hurriedly, shaking his numbed hand.

Okay, maybe that had been a mistake.

Fortunately Eugene was off balance, thanks to too many beers and the collision with the table. When he charged a second time, flailing wildly, Nick stuck out a foot. Eugene obligingly tripped and went down with a crashing thud that shook the floor.

Dwayne squealed, grabbed the nearest pool cue, and launched himself at Nick. Jeremy snatched the stick out of his hands as he went past.