"Want me to talk to her? Tell her it was all my fault?"
"She's already decided whose fault it is," Jeremy said. "Like everyone else in town, she blames Octavia."
The door of the Total Eclipse opened again behind Nick. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Walter Willis emerge from the gloom. Something clicked.
"Hey, Walt, got a minute?"
"No problem." Walt changed direction and veered away from the van at the curb. He went toward Nick, sunlight gleaming on his meticulously shaved head. "I need to get some tools but I'm in no rush. What can I do for you?"
"You and Torrance installed the security alarm system in Octavia Brightwell's gallery, didn't you?"
"Sure did. She asked us to put it in when she opened for business. Why? Got a problem with it?"
"No. I just wondered if anyone besides Octavia and her former assistant might have access to the code."
"This is about the missing painting, isn't it?"
"Yes. Any ideas?"
"Well, Torrance or I could override the system if need be. But we've never had to do it. A real solid alarm system. Hasn't failed yet, not even during that big storm the other night." Walter's expression clouded. "See here, you thinking maybe one of us used the override code to sneak in and steal that painting?"
"Never crossed my mind," Nick said with absolute sincerity.
Walter snorted and relaxed. "Should hope not."
"But can you think of anyone else who might be able to override that system?"
Walter stroked his square chin, reflective and willing to be helpful now that he had been assured that he and his twin were not suspects. "Torrance and I never gave out the code to anyone except Miss Brightwell. I know she gave it to Noreen Perkins, but that's about all I know. You'd have to find Noreen to ask her if she gave it to anyone."
"Sean Valentine is working that angle," Nick said. "Don't think he's tracked her down yet, but he will eventually. Thanks, Walt. I just wanted to make certain I wasn't overlooking something obvious."
"You bet." Walter winked broadly. "I figure it's the least I can do for you after what you and Seaton, here, did for me and Torrance. Told Fred years ago the place needed a new coat of paint but he kept putting it off on account of he was too damn cheap. But now he says he wants a first-class job. Bottom line, on behalf of the Willis brothers, I'd like to say thanks."
"It was nothing," Nick said. "Just doing our part to improve Eclipse Bay. Hartes and Seatons have got a deep sense of civic responsibility, you know."
Chapter 22
"Way I figure it," Mitchell said into the cell phone, "getting into a bar fight over a lady like Octavia is as good as a marriage proposal. You'd damn sure better speak to that grandson of yours or I'm gonna have to do it for you."
"Stay out of it, Mitch," Sullivan said. "Things will get sorted out a whole lot easier if you don't interfere."
"Shoot and damn." Mitchell stabbed at some weeds with his trowel. He could hear the muted background noises of a vehicle in motion. Sullivan was calling from the backseat of the limo. "The whole blamed town is talking about her."
"Presumably the whole town is also talking about Nick."
"Well, sure, but that's different. He's a Harte. Around here everyone talks about you Hartes and us Madisons."
"If she's going to marry Nick, she'd better get used to being a subject of conversation there in Eclipse Bay."
Progress at last, Mitchell thought. The tough old bastard had at least used the word marry and Nick's name in the same sentence. He stopped assaulting weeds and tapped the trowel absently against a stake. "Just so long as he doesn't cut and run."
"You ever known a Harte to cut and run?"
"Nah. You're all too damn stubborn."
"Sort of like you Madisons, eh?"
"I reckon."
There was a short silence on the other end.
"Just got to hang on until dawn, Mitch," Sullivan said quietly.
The trowel went still in Mitchell's hands. The words echoed in his mind, bringing back the old memories. Just got to hang on until dawn.
He pocketed the trowel and pushed himself up off the low gardener's bench. Grabbing his cane, he made his way along the graveled path that wound between the richly planted flowerbeds, heading toward the greenhouse.
But it wasn't the glorious blooms of his roses that he saw in his mind now. Instead he was suddenly hit with visions of the ominous, eerie green of a jungle plunging inevitably into darkness. It would be a night in which death stalked at every hand. There would be no hope of rescue until dawn.
Survival that night had depended on silence and not giving in to the panic. Most of all, it had depended on being able to trust the man who guarded his back and whose back he, in turn, had guarded.
Just got to hang on until dawn were the last words that he and Sullivan had spoken to each other before they had settled in to keep watch in silence for the duration of that night.
The words had become a private code, a vow made between two young men who had gone through hell together. Neither he nor Sullivan would have made it until dawn if it hadn't been for the other and they both knew it. Just got to hang on until dawn meant You can count on me. I'm with you here. We'll get through this together. You can trust me, buddy.
He shoved the old images back into the furthest corners of his mind and concentrated on the present. He opened the door of his greenhouse and stepped inside.
"You got your list finished?" he asked.
"Yes, but it's damn short. You?"
"Same here. Most of the folks who were involved in Harte-Madison at the time have either moved away or died. There was our secretary, Angie, remember her?"
"Sure," Sullivan said. "But she died ten or twelve years ago. We both went to the funeral."
"Her son still lives here in town. Took over the hardware store."
"I can't see any connection. He wasn't even born when Claudia was with us. Besides, Claudia didn't do his mother any harm other than indirectly put her out of a job when the company went under. Angie wasn't all that upset about losing her position, as I recall. She went to work for George Adams and later married him. Who else have you got on your list?"
Mitchell fished the little notebook out of his pocket and flipped it open. He rattled off the names of the handful of other people who had been directly or indirectly connected with Harte-Madison in the old days. He paused when he came to the last person on his list.
"There is one more," he said slowly. He read the name aloud. "Remember him?"
"Hell, yes. He's on my list, too."
"You know, for a while I thought maybe he was the one who had screwed us."
"That's because you were so dazzled by Claudia that you couldn't see straight. You were willing to blame anyone else except her."
"Yeah, well, later when I got to thinking straight again."
"Think she cut him in on some of the action? Made him an offer he couldn't refuse so he'd cover up for her?"
"Something like that," Mitchell said.
They talked for a while longer, comparing notes, going over different scenarios, and eliminating other possibilities. At last they were both satisfied that they had a possible answer.
Neither of them was very happy about it.
"I'm not gonna take this to Nick and Octavia on my own," Mitchell said. "What if we're wrong?"
"I don't think we're wrong, but either way this is going to be very unpleasant for everyone concerned. Sit tight. Carson and I will arrive sometime around noon. What do you say we keep this to ourselves until after the Children's Art Show tonight? I don't want to go upsetting everyone and spoil the big event. No reason this can't wait until tomorrow morning."