Summer in Eclipse Bay (30 page)

Something I should have said that first night at Lillian's show. Something I knew at the time. Something I've known all along. Just didn't quite recognize it until recently. Probably because I'm a little out of practice…I love you.

A deep sense of joy welled up inside her and shimmered through her senses.

Nick watched her set the tray down on the coffee table.

“Alone at last,” he said.

“Mmm.” She put one of the cookies on a napkin and handed it to him.

He took a healthy bite. “Okay, let's have the real story,” he said around a mouthful of cookie.

“You refer to the case of the missing Upsall, I presume?”

“What else? It's the only thing this town is talking about at the moment.” He stretched out his legs and sank deeper into the sofa. “With the exception of you and me, of course.”

“Mmm.”

He sounded so matter-of-fact about the
you and me
part.

“You can skip the version in which you miraculously discover the Upsall when you tidy up your back room, by the way. I'm not buying it for a second.”

She curled one foot under her leg and took a tiny sip of coffee. “The other version is a little complicated.”

“Let's start with the fact that Sullivan, Mitchell, and I all know that Edith Seaton took the picture.”

“She had her reasons.”

“Sullivan and Mitchell figured that out. Phil Seaton was their accountant in the old days. Can one assume that your great-aunt seduced him into covering her tracks for her?”

“I'm afraid so. And afterward Edith was so horrified at the thought of being caught up in the scandal that she covered up for Phil.”

“But never forgave your aunt, I take it?”

“She blamed Claudia for everything, not without considerable justification, I might add. When word got out that I was related to her old nemesis, Edith freaked. After all, I was having dinner with Jeremy, encouraging him to paint, and then I started sleeping with you. Clearly history was about to repeat itself. It was just too much for her to handle.”

“So she stole the picture and spread the rumors. Piss-poor sort of revenge, if you ask me.”

“It was the only kind that was left to her,” Octavia said simply. “And she could justify it to herself for a time because she truly believed that I was turning out to be a bad influence on Jeremy.”

“Because you encouraged him in his painting?”

“Yes.”

“Huh.” Nick ate the last of the cookie. “She didn't have any qualms about taking the easy way out, did she? Obviously she went along with your scheme to make the Upsall magically materialize in your back room.”

“To be fair, she was reluctant at first. But when I told her that we were doing it for Jeremy's sake and for the sake of the Seaton name, she went for it. I also told her that I was sure that was the way Aunt Claudia would have wanted it.”

Nick raised his brows and reached for his coffee. “Think it's true?”

“To be honest, I'm not sure Claudia even remembered Phil Seaton, let alone worried much about the damage she did to his family. But even if that was the case, one thing is certain—she definitely owed the Seatons. And now the debt has been paid in some small measure.”

“Thanks to you.”

She put her empty cup down on the coffee table. “It was the least I could do, given that I never got the chance to fulfill my mission of repairing the Harte-Madison feud.”

“I thought you had concluded that the real reason Claudia sent you here was so that you could get wild and crazy.”

“Yes, well, if that's true, all I can say is, mission accomplished.”

“Not quite.” His mouth quirked in sexy promise. He reached for her and started to pull her close. “But you know what they say, practice makes perfect.”

She spread her hands against his chest, holding him off for a moment longer. “Before we get to the wild and crazy stuff, there's something I want to tell you.”

“And that would be?”

“It may have been Aunt Claudia who sent me here to Eclipse Bay but you're the reason I decided to stay on even after it became apparent that the feud was ending.”

“Is that right?”

“I love you.”

He smiled slowly. The look in his eyes was so dazzling she could hardly catch her breath.

“I was hoping you'd say that,” Nick whispered against her mouth. “Now can we get to the wild and crazy stuff?”

“Of course,” she said demurely. “I'm sure Aunt Claudia would have wanted it this way.”

“Do me a favor.” He pushed her gently down onto the sofa. “Don't mention your aunt again for a while, okay?”

“Okay.”

She put her arms around his neck and kissed him with all the love and passion that she had discovered within herself here in Eclipse Bay.

Wherever you are, Aunt Claudia,
she thought,
thank you.

On a sunny afternoon in the fall, Mitchell stood with Sullivan at the end of the long veranda that wrapped around Dreamscape. Each of them held a glass of champagne in one hand. Their canes hung, side by side, over the railing. From their vantage point they had a clear view of the newlyweds, who were dutifully working their way through a seemingly endless reception line.

The entire town, from the current mayor and his likely successor and his wife to Mean Eugene and Dickhead Dwayne, had turned out for Nick and Octavia's wedding.

“Knew all along Octavia belonged here with us,” Mitchell said.

“You won't get any argument from me.” Sullivan smiled to himself at the sight of Nick standing so close to Octavia, one arm wrapped protectively and possessively around her waist, the other outstretched to shake hands with the next well-wisher in line. “She and Nick and Carson are a family already.”

Mitchell glanced at Rafe and the now obviously pregnant Hannah. The pair was busy supervising the buffet tables.

“And there's more family on the way,” he said proudly. “I'm gonna have me a great-grandkid, real soon now.”

“Probably more than one,” Sullivan said dryly. He motioned toward Gabe and Lillian, who stood with Jeremy and Gail. “I think I recognize that rosy glow on Lillian's face.”

“Yeah?” Mitchell followed his gaze and grinned. “Think so?”

“I do, indeed.”

Mitchell swallowed some more champagne and grimaced at the taste. “I think Rafe said he stashed some beer in the solarium. Want to go see if we can find it?”

“Good idea. This stuff tastes like fizzy water, which is a real shame, given what I happen to know it cost.”

They gripped their canes and made their way around the corner of the veranda to a side entrance. A bright red ball shot past in front of them. A small bundle of silver and gray exploded out of the open door. The young Schnauzer seized the ball in his jaws and kept going, heading for the open lawn at full speed.

Carson and Anne burst threw the door, chasing after the dog.

“Come back, Tycoon,” Carson shouted. “You're supposed to get the ball and bring it to me when I throw it for you. You're not supposed to run off with it.”

“Zeb always brings back whatever I throw,” Anne said with cheerful superiority. “He's a really smart dog.”

“Tycoon is smart,” Carson informed her as he dashed down the steps in pursuit of his dog. “He's still learning how to do stuff, that's all. Winston's teaching him.”

Winston trotted sedately out of the doorway, following in the wake of Tycoon, Carson, and Anne with an air of patient authority and attentive vigilance.

Sullivan watched the pack of dogs and children race across the lawn in pursuit of the renegade Tycoon. “I'd swear that dog of Hannah's must have been a butler or a nanny in his past life, the way he keeps an eye on those kids.”

“That's a fact.”

They went into the lobby of Dreamscape and made their way to the solarium. The beer was there, as promised, resting comfortably in a chest filled with ice.

Mitchell handed a bottle to Sullivan and opened one for himself.

They each took a long pull.

“Sure beats the hell out of champagne,” Mitchell said.

“It does.”

They went to the window and looked out at the happy scene.

“You know something,” Mitchell said, “it wasn't always easy, but in the end, we did okay, you and me.”

“We did just fine,” Sullivan agreed. “We hung on until dawn.”

Turn the page for a sneak preview of Jayne Ann Krentz's new novel,

LIGHT IN SHADOW

Coming soon from G. P. Putnam's Sons

The walls screamed at her.

“Oh, damn,” Zoe Luce whispered. She halted in the doorway of the empty bedroom and stared at the white walls.
Not now. Not today. Not this time. I really need this job.

The walls sobbed. Terror pulsed through layers of Sheetrock and the fresh coat of stark white paint that covered it. The silent shrieks ricocheted off the floor and ceiling.

She put her fingers to her temples in a purely instinctive, utterly useless gesture. She squeezed her eyes shut, bracing herself against the ragged bolts of icy lightning that were shooting through her and pooling into a glacial pond somewhere in the vicinity of her stomach.

Davis Mason had followed her so closely down the hall that he was only a pace behind her when she came to a sudden stop. He bumped awkwardly against her.

“Oops, sorry.” He caught his balance. “I wasn't paying attention.”

“My fault.” With what she hoped was an unobtrusive movement, she eased out of the doorway and back into the hall. Things were much better out here. She could cope. She gave Davis what she hoped was a bright, assured smile. It wasn't easy, what with the muffled cries still leaking out of the bedroom.

She wanted out of this house. Fast. Whatever had happened in the bedroom had been bad.

“Hey.” Davis touched her shoulder lightly. “Are you all right, Zoe?”

She gave him another shaky smile. It was relatively easy to smile at Davis. He had elegant lines and clean styling with just the right touch of roguish flair. If he'd been a car, he would have been a sleek, European roadster. Judging by the spacious home, the hand-tailored shirt and trousers and the onyx-and-diamond ring he wore, he was also wealthy. In short, she thought sadly, until that moment, she had considered him the ideal client.

Everything had changed now, of course.

“Yes, I'm fine.” She did a little on-the-spot deep breathing using the techniques she had learned in her self-defense class. Summoning up her teacher's instructions, she sought the calm, stable center that was supposed to be somewhere deep inside her. Unfortunately she had not yet mastered that part of the program. All she could feel was a bad case of the jitters coming on.

“What's wrong?” Davis was looking seriously concerned now.

“Just the start of a headache,” Zoe said. “I often get one when I forget to eat breakfast.”

The lies came so easily these days. But, then, she'd had a lot of practice. Too bad she wasn't yet clever enough to convince herself, she thought. A little self-delusion would be very welcome right now.

Davis watched her intently for a few seconds and then he relaxed. “Missed your morning shot of caffeine?”

“And food. It's a blood-sugar thing. I should know better.” Feeling an urgent need to change the topic of conversation, she looked back into the bedroom and blurted out the first thing that came into her mind. “What happened to the bed?”

“The bed?”

They both looked at the large, empty stretch of uncovered section of hardwood floor between two massive, Mission-style bedside tables.

Zoe swallowed uneasily. “The rest of the residence is fully furnished,” she said. “I couldn't help but notice that there's no bed in here.”

“She took it,” Davis said grimly.

“Your ex-wife?”

He sighed. “She loved that damned bed. Spent months shopping for it. I swear, it meant more to her than I did. When she left, it was about the only thing she insisted on taking with her in addition to her personal stuff.”

“I see.”

“You know how it is in a divorce. Sometimes the biggest fights are over the smallest, dumbest things.”

Whatever else it had been, Zoe thought, the missing bed had not been small.

“I understand.”

Davis searched her face. “Headache getting worse?”

“It'll be all right once I've had lunch and a cup of coffee,” she assured him.

“Tell you what. You've seen the rest of the house. I'm sure you've got the general picture. Why don't we take a break and get something to eat at the club? It will give us a chance to talk over your initial impressions.”

The thought of eating made her stomach churn. She knew from experience that she would not be able to keep any food down until the chills stopped. That could take a while. This had been a really bad experience and it had caught her totally off guard.

It was her own fault. She knew better than to enter a room so recklessly. But she had been caught up in her plans for the interior; completely focused, and the rest of the spacious residence had seemed so new, so
clean
. She simply had not been expecting trouble and, as often happened, she had paid the price.

“I'd love to join you for lunch but I'm afraid I'll have to take a rain check.” She made a show of glancing at her watch. “I've got another appointment this afternoon and I need to prepare for it.”

Davis looked hesitant. “If you're sure—”

“I'm afraid so.” She tried to inject a note of apology into her tone. “I really do have to run, and you're right, I've seen all I need to see for now.”
And sensed far more than I ever wanted to know, thank you very much.
“I've got the floor plan you gave me earlier. I'll make some copies and do some sketches that will give you an idea of what I have in mind.”

“I'd appreciate the drawings.” Davis glanced into the bedroom and shook his head somewhat ruefully. “I'll admit I'm not what you'd call a visual person. It's easier for me to grasp the concept when I can see a picture.”

“It's always easier when you can look at a drawing. Hang on while I check my calendar.”

She reached into her voluminous tote, one of six similar bags in different colors that she owned. Each functioned as a combination briefcase and purse. She had chosen the chartreuse-green one today because she liked the way it contrasted with her deep-violet pantsuit.

Groping in the vast depths, she pushed aside the small camera, a sketchbook, measuring tape, a clear plastic box containing an array of colored pens and felt markers, a folder of fabric samples and the large, antique brass doorknob attached to the ring that held the keys to her apartment.

The appointment calendar was at the bottom. She hauled it up to the surface and flipped it open.

“I'll get some ideas down on paper,” she said briskly, “and I'll try to have some preliminary layouts ready for you by the end of the week. What do you say we meet in my office Friday morning?”

“Friday?” Davis was clearly disappointed. “That's a week off. Do we have to wait that long? I'd like to get started as soon as possible. The truth is, this house has been damn depressing since my wife walked out.”

Yeah, I'll bet it has,
she thought.

“I understand,” she said aloud, trying to sound sympathetic. It wasn't easy, given the fact that the fine hairs on the nape of her neck were still tingling and there were goose bumps on her arms beneath the sleeves of her lightweight jacket.

“I'm trying hard not to be bitter,” Davis said. “But the divorce is costing me a bundle. Got a feeling I'll be getting bills from the lawyers for a long time.”

All the available evidence indicated that Davis Mason had come out of the divorce in excellent shape, financially. From what she could see, he possessed a very expensive residence—the interiors of which he was prepared to pay her handsomely to have redesigned—as well as a membership in a pricey country club. But she did not raise those points aloud.

She was rapidly learning to be diplomatic with the newly divorced, having discovered that they constituted a hot market niche for interior designers such as herself. People emerging from shattered marriages frequently yearned to redo their living spaces as a form of therapy to help them get past the negative emotional fallout caused by the breakup.

She flipped through the pages of her calendar pretending to study her schedule. Abruptly she snapped the leather-bound volume closed with a decisive air. “I'm afraid I'm booked solid. Friday is the only day I can give you the time this project deserves. Will two o'clock work for you?”

“Looks like I don't have much choice.” Davis was not pleased. He was used to getting what he wanted. “Friday it is. Didn't mean to sound so impatient. It's just that I'm very anxious to get moving on the project.”

“Of course. Once you've made the decision to redesign a personal living space, there's a natural urge to rush into the job.” She spoke quickly, trying to inject a professional, businesslike quality into her voice. “But redoing an entire residence is a major undertaking and mistakes at this stage can be extremely costly.”

“Yeah, I found that out the hard way.” He took one more look at the bedroom. “I got as far as repainting this room and realized I needed expert help. I didn't think I could go wrong just putting a coat of white paint on the walls but as soon as I finished I realized it didn't look right. I wanted to make it seem light and airy in here and instead—” He shrugged and let the sentence trail off with a
who knew
expression.

And instead, the bedroom had all the cozy ambience of an autopsy room or an embalming chamber, Zoe concluded silently. No amount of the bright Arizona sunlight dancing on the surface of the sapphire pool outside could counteract that effect. Some of the unpleasant sensation was attributable to the stark white paint but she knew that the real problem had been treated by whatever it was that had happened in this bedroom. Some things could not be covered with a coat of paint.

She also knew that Mr. Ideal Client was not consciously aware of the emotions trapped in the walls. To her everlasting regret, she had never encountered anyone else who picked up on that kind of stuff the way she did: as pure, raw energy. But she had seen enough instances of others reacting in subtle, unconscious ways to the atmosphere of a particular room to be convinced that a lot of people responded to a space on some deep, psychic level.

She had also learned the hard way to keep her inner knowledge to herself.

“You chose a stark, bright white.” She took another step back, putting more distance between herself and the bedroom doorway. “I know it seems like pure white should be simple and straightforward but it is actually very difficult to work with because it reflects so much glare, especially here in the desert. It also tends to create very cold shadows when you add furnishings. Ultimately that makes for a lack of harmony and tranquility. You were right to stop painting after you finished this room.”

“Knew it wasn't the right direction.” Davis made a casual gesture that invited her to go ahead of him down the hall. “I have to tell you, Zoe, when I decided I needed a professional designer, I didn't really put much stock in this feng shui thing that you do.”

“A lot of people have doubts about it until they experience the result.”

“I knew it was trendy and all. The women at the club are really into it. When Helen Weymouth gave me your name, she went on and on about how you had completely transformed her home after she got her divorce. She said she'd been on the brink of putting it up for sale because of all the bad memories. She credits you with changing the whole atmosphere of the place.”

“The Weymouth project was an interesting one.” Not much farther to the front door. A couple more minutes and she would be out of here. “Mrs. Weymouth gave me a free hand.”

“She advised me to do the same thing. A few months ago, after Jennifer left, I would have said that all this business of arranging the furniture to regulate the flow of negative and positive energy was way too far-out for me. But the longer I live here alone with everything just the way it was when she was here, the more I'm convinced that there may be something to your design theories.”

“I don't practice one particular school of feng shui.” To her horror she realized she was talking much too fast.
Act normal. You know how to do this.
“I use elements of several different approaches combined with organizational principles from other classic design traditions such as Vastu.”

“What's that?”

“An ancient Hindu science that sets out principals for architecture and design. I also incorporate what I consider the most useful elements from contemporary theories of harmony and proportion. My style is really quite eclectic.”

Actually, I pretty much make it up as I go along,
she added silently. But clients did not like to hear that.

She walked swiftly toward the front of the house, desperate to escape into the fresh air. Now that she had been sensitized by the experience in the bedroom, she was picking up wispy tendrils of dark, unwholesome emotions from other walls in the residence. She had to get out of this place fast.

She reached the terra-cotta foyer at last. Davis was right behind her. He opened the front door and she escaped into the reassuring warmth of the early November day.

“Are you sure you're feeling well enough to drive back to your office?” Davis asked.