Grand Passion

felt a pang of regret. Until the other morning at the cove, Nolan had been a friend. She jumped down off the stool and took his arm. “I'll walk you out to the lobby.”
    Nolan was immediately mollified. “This business with the Luttrells is important, Cleo. There's a lot of money involved.”
    “I understand.” Cleo refused to look back at Max as she guided Nolan out of the lounge. “But I really don't know where the paintings are. Jason never said a word to me about them.”
    “You're sure?”
    “Absolutely certain.”
    “They've got to be around here somewhere. Spark is sure of it.” Nolan's mouth thinned in frustration. “Listen, Cleo, Spark says Fortune is a two-bit con man. He says the guy has no legal claim to those paintings.”
    “I think Max does have a claim to them,” Cleo said quietly.
    “Don't be a fool. Spark has a bill of sale. Damn it, it's obvious Fortune is trying to charm you into telling him where the paintings are. I don't want to see you get hurt, Cleo.”
    “Thoughtful of you.”
    “I mean it,” Nolan said. “Cleo, in spite of what happened, we're old friends. I only want what's best for you.”
    “Thanks for coming by, Nolan.” Cleo opened the front door. “I accept your apology. I'm glad we're still friends.”
    “Sure.” Nolan came to a halt at the door. His brows drew together in a frown. “Why the hell did you let Fortune read your book? You said you didn't want anyone to know you'd written it.”
    “It's okay, Nolan. Max is one of the family.” Cleo shut the door gently in his face and leaned back against it with a long sigh.
    Max had behaved outrageously. She would have to speak to him. The trouble was, she wasn't sure quite what to say. All she could think about was the key to the attic room that he had given to her.
    Cleo took a moment to regroup her forces. Then she straightened away from the door and stalked back into the lounge. The last of the guests were leaving to go upstairs to their rooms. Max was busy closing down the bar.
    “I want to talk to you,” Cleo said.
    “Watch out for Hildebrand,” Max said coolly as he shut off the lights behind the bar. “Spark has obviously gotten to him.”
    Cleo frowned, distracted. “What are you talking about?”
    “You heard me.” Max came around from behind the bar. He was leaning more heavily than usual on his cane. “Spark has convinced Hildebrand that it will be worth his while to find the paintings. Hildebrand has decided you can help him collect the twenty-five grand. That's the only reason he showed up here tonight.”
    “It wasn't the only reason. Nolan apologized to me,” Cleo said stubbornly.
    “Don't be a fool, Cleo.”
    “Funny, that's what Nolan just said. I'm getting all kinds of good advice tonight.”
    Max gave her a strange look. “Maybe you ought to take some of it.”
    Cleo took a deep breath. “Max, I'd like to talk to you about something important.”
    “I've got something I want to talk to you about, too,” Max said. “O'Reilly phoned this afternoon. None of the guests who stayed here at the inn the night the ribbon was left on your pillow checks out as obviously weird.”
    Cleo was disconcerted. “I'd almost forgotten that your friend was running a check on those people.”
    “It doesn't mean one of them didn't do it, only that there's no obvious suspect.”
    “I see.”
    Max slanted her a brooding glance. “O'Reilly thinks the best way to handle the situation is to ignore it. He says whoever is behind the incidents will grow bored with them if you don't give him the response he wants.”
    Cleo thought about it. “Do you agree with Mr. O'Reilly?”
    Max shrugged. “I'm not sure. But he's the expert on this kind of thing, not me. He says that, based on his experience, he thinks it's most likely someone from the local area who found out about The Mirror has decided to play some bad practical jokes on you.”
    “Some sour-minded malcontent who has nothing better to do, I suppose.”
    “His advice is to go to your local police chief if there are any more incidents.”
    “All right.” Cleo made a face. “I told you private investigators weren't very useful.”
    Max paused. “I wouldn't say that. O'Reilly also told me that he found Ben Atkins for you.”
    That stopped Cleo in her tracks. She smiled at Max in delight. “He did? Where is Benjy? I mean, where is Ben ? Is he all right?”
    “As far as I know. According to O'Reilly, Atkins is working at a gas station in a