Summer in Eclipse Bay by Jayne Ann Krentz

you. You know
something about art. I'd be interested to get your opinion."
    Neither of the two men looked at her. They watched each other with the air
of two lions facing off over a downed zebra.
    I definitely do not look good in stripes
, Octavia thought.
    She cleared her throat. "Gentlemen, if you wish to continue this
conversation, you may do so outside. I would like to remind you that there is a
minor present. I would suggest you find someplace private where you can make
idiots of yourselves without an audience."
    That got their attention. Both men turned toward her. The chill in their
eyes would have thawed a frozen pizza in two seconds flat.
    "Can't wait to see the Upsall," Jeremy said tonelessly.
    "This way." She spun around and walked back into the room behind
the counter.
    Jeremy followed. Nick came to stand in the opening. He did not enter the
room. Carson hovered at his side.
    "What's an Upsall?" Carson asked.
    Octavia unwrapped the painting with a small flourish. "This," she
said, "is an Upsall. I think."
    Carson studied the swirling storm of color on the canvas. "Cool. Looks
like the painter dropped a big bucket of paint and it splashed all over the
place."
    Nick's mouth twitched. "Couldn't have said it better, myself."
    Jeremy said nothing, intent on the canvas. After a few moments of frowning
scrutiny, he crouched in front of the painting and examined the brushstrokes in
the corner of the canvas.
    "Well?" Octavia asked. "What do you think?"
    "It's certainly his style. Upsall had a way of putting paint on canvas
that was very distinctive."
    "Yes. That's how he obtained such incredible depth of color. It could
be a copy, of course, but it looks like there's several decades worth of dirt
and grime on it."
    "Which means that if it was a copy, it was made years ago."
    "Upsall's work didn't become popular until recently," Octavia
said. "There wouldn't have been any incentive for someone to take the time
and trouble to forge one of his paintings several decades back."
    "Could be the work of an admirer or a student," Jeremy said,
sounding doubtful. "What are the odds that an original Upsall has been
sitting in old man Thurgarton's house all these years?"
    "I'm no expert," Nick said from the doorway. "But following
your logic, Seaton, what are the chances that Thurgarton would have had an
excellent copy of the work of an obscure artist?"
    Jeremy did not look at him. "Like you said, you're no expert."
    "But Nick does have a point," Octavia said firmly. "It would
be just as difficult to explain a fine copy as it would an original. All things
considered, I'm strongly inclined to stick with my first instincts. I think
this is a genuine Upsall. I'm planning to get a second opinion next week,
though, just to be sure."
    Jeremy straightened and shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers.
He continued to regard the painting for another long moment. Then he nodded
once, abruptly.
    "I think you're right," he said. "It's an Upsall. Which means
that Arizona Snow, Virgil Nash, and the Heralds are all about to get a very
nice windfall."
    "Looks like it." Octavia rewrapped the painting.
    "Who'd have believed it?" Jeremy shook his head. "A genuine
Upsall hidden away in Eclipse Bay."
    Nick smiled with icy amusement. "Who says Eclipse Bay isn't the center
of the art world?"

Chapter 8
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    Another summer storm was headed toward Eclipse Bay. Not a yippy little
terrier of a storm like the one that had scampered through town last night and
left everything damp. This one promised to be a real monster. It prowled and
paced, sucking up energy from the sea while it waited for the cover of
darkness.
    Octavia stopped at the far end of the short stretch of beach and stood
looking out over the quietly seething water. The tide was out. The brooding
sensation was back.
    A couple of days ago she had convinced herself that leaving Eclipse Bay at
the end of the season was the right thing to do. Now she was not so certain.
The