Grand Passion

back of the frame with the screwdriver.
    Cleo watched, fascinated. “Max, do you really think that Jason…?”
    “Hid the Luttrells behind his seascapes?” Max's mouth curved with satisfaction as he undid the last of the screws. “Yes.”
    He lifted the back of the frame and set it aside. Then, with great reverence, he removed a white, flat board out of the frame. There was a note attached to it. Max opened it.
    Now that you've found this one, Max, you know where to find the others. I never could paint worth a damn, and I figured that sooner or later you'd wonder why I had bothered with these lousy seascapes. The Luttrells are only a portion of your inheritance, son. I trust you found the rest of it at Robbins' Nest Inn. How does it feel to have a family of your own?
    Love,
    Jason

    Max turned the board over. Cleo looked at the canvas that was fastened to the other side.
    It was a dark, elegantly savage painting full of swirling shapes and abstract tension, and yet it was not entirely bleak. Even to Cleo's untrained eye, it was a work of art perfectly suited to Max. The painting seemed to radiate both the potential for despair and the possibility of love.
    Cleo smiled softly. “Good old Lucky Ducky. I wonder why Jason went to the trouble of hiding the paintings if he wanted you to have them.”
    Max glanced up from the Luttrell. His eyes were brilliant. “Jason wanted me to find something else first. Something that was a lot more important than any painting.”
    “Did you?” Cleo asked.
    “Yes,” Max said with absolute certainty. He smiled, his love for her plain to read in his eyes. “I did.”