but she sensed that he was smiling.
His arm brushed against her shoulder. She felt the firmness of muscle beneath skin. Having him this close filled her with an odd restlessness.
She was intensely aware of him. And proximity was definitely not dulling the effect. In fact, it was having just the opposite impact. Even his scent intrigued her. She sniffed surreptitiously and confirmed what she had already learned. He did not wear aftershave.
Her nose tingled with the fragrance of soap and warm masculinity. She wondered why the combination made her toes curl. It wasn't as if she had not smelled both before in her life.
She made herself concentrate on the small plaque in front of the sculpture. It read Essence of Man , followed by two dates separated by three months. Beneath the dates was an inscription. She bent closer.
Possessed Only Average Artistic Ability But She Gave Exceptionally Good Head.
"Good grief." Eugenia straightened abruptly.
The top of her skull collided with Cyrus's chin.
"Ouch." He rubbed his jaw. "Not the usual sort of art note, I take it?"
"No, it isn't." She could feel the heat in her face. Thank heavens for the deep gloom, she thought. She moved quickly to the next pedestal.
A narrow beam of light shone on a series of interlocking metal rings. Cautiously she read the plaque. The title of the work, Worlds , was followed by two dates three weeks apart. The inscription below was blunt enough to make Eugenia wince.
Below Average Talent in Both Art and Bed.
"There aren't any artists' names," Cyrus observed. He stood looking down into a neighboring glass case. "Just titles, dates, and a sexually oriented inscription."
"I get the feeling that the notes refer to the artists, not the objects inside the cases." Eugenia wandered through the dense shadows between rows of pedestals. "I wonder what this room is all about?"
"You want the professional conclusion of an experienced investigator trained to observe minute details?"
"Why not? I've always wondered what one of those conclusions sounded like."
"I have a hunch that we're standing in a gallery devoted to the work of Daventry's ex-mistresses. According to my information, the guy liked to sleep with artists."
Eugenia shivered as she moved deeper into the gloom. She recalled the way Daventry's eyes had glittered when she had introduced him to Nellie. "Your information is correct. He had a thing for artists."
She was about to turn back toward the door when she caught the glint of glass at the far end of the room. Automatically, she went toward it.
She came to an abrupt halt a yard away from the last pedestal and stared at the object inside.
It was as if she had walked into a haunted crypt. Her blood ran cold. Her stomach tightened. Her palms became damp.
"My God."
"Something wrong?" Cyrus moved toward her through the shadows.
"That thing inside the case." It was hard to get the words out.
She found it literally painful even to look at the sculpture. It was composed of broken glass and bits of rusted metal. Everything about it was twisted and warped. It writhed with the artist's rage and madness, a monstrous creation that tainted the space around it.
"Take it easy." Cyrus put an arm around her shoulders. "Granted, I wouldn't want it sitting on my mantel, but it doesn't look any worse than a lot of modern art."
"It's horrifying."
"Yeah, it is kind of ugly, isn't it?" He leaned forward to read the plaque. "It's called Flower ."
Eugenia shuddered.
"The dates are from five and a half years back," Cyrus said.
"Just before Daventry moved here to Frog Cove Island."
"The inscription is a little more flattering than most of the others, but not much. Talented But Not Worth the Price ."
Eugenia took a deep breath, absurdly grateful for the heavy, comforting weight of his arm. "Whoever created that… that thing , was filled with fury. She must have been more than a little crazy, too."
"No offense, Eugenia, but I think you're letting your
His arm brushed against her shoulder. She felt the firmness of muscle beneath skin. Having him this close filled her with an odd restlessness.
She was intensely aware of him. And proximity was definitely not dulling the effect. In fact, it was having just the opposite impact. Even his scent intrigued her. She sniffed surreptitiously and confirmed what she had already learned. He did not wear aftershave.
Her nose tingled with the fragrance of soap and warm masculinity. She wondered why the combination made her toes curl. It wasn't as if she had not smelled both before in her life.
She made herself concentrate on the small plaque in front of the sculpture. It read Essence of Man , followed by two dates separated by three months. Beneath the dates was an inscription. She bent closer.
Possessed Only Average Artistic Ability But She Gave Exceptionally Good Head.
"Good grief." Eugenia straightened abruptly.
The top of her skull collided with Cyrus's chin.
"Ouch." He rubbed his jaw. "Not the usual sort of art note, I take it?"
"No, it isn't." She could feel the heat in her face. Thank heavens for the deep gloom, she thought. She moved quickly to the next pedestal.
A narrow beam of light shone on a series of interlocking metal rings. Cautiously she read the plaque. The title of the work, Worlds , was followed by two dates three weeks apart. The inscription below was blunt enough to make Eugenia wince.
Below Average Talent in Both Art and Bed.
"There aren't any artists' names," Cyrus observed. He stood looking down into a neighboring glass case. "Just titles, dates, and a sexually oriented inscription."
"I get the feeling that the notes refer to the artists, not the objects inside the cases." Eugenia wandered through the dense shadows between rows of pedestals. "I wonder what this room is all about?"
"You want the professional conclusion of an experienced investigator trained to observe minute details?"
"Why not? I've always wondered what one of those conclusions sounded like."
"I have a hunch that we're standing in a gallery devoted to the work of Daventry's ex-mistresses. According to my information, the guy liked to sleep with artists."
Eugenia shivered as she moved deeper into the gloom. She recalled the way Daventry's eyes had glittered when she had introduced him to Nellie. "Your information is correct. He had a thing for artists."
She was about to turn back toward the door when she caught the glint of glass at the far end of the room. Automatically, she went toward it.
She came to an abrupt halt a yard away from the last pedestal and stared at the object inside.
It was as if she had walked into a haunted crypt. Her blood ran cold. Her stomach tightened. Her palms became damp.
"My God."
"Something wrong?" Cyrus moved toward her through the shadows.
"That thing inside the case." It was hard to get the words out.
She found it literally painful even to look at the sculpture. It was composed of broken glass and bits of rusted metal. Everything about it was twisted and warped. It writhed with the artist's rage and madness, a monstrous creation that tainted the space around it.
"Take it easy." Cyrus put an arm around her shoulders. "Granted, I wouldn't want it sitting on my mantel, but it doesn't look any worse than a lot of modern art."
"It's horrifying."
"Yeah, it is kind of ugly, isn't it?" He leaned forward to read the plaque. "It's called Flower ."
Eugenia shuddered.
"The dates are from five and a half years back," Cyrus said.
"Just before Daventry moved here to Frog Cove Island."
"The inscription is a little more flattering than most of the others, but not much. Talented But Not Worth the Price ."
Eugenia took a deep breath, absurdly grateful for the heavy, comforting weight of his arm. "Whoever created that… that thing , was filled with fury. She must have been more than a little crazy, too."
"No offense, Eugenia, but I think you're letting your
Similar Books
