Summer in Eclipse Bay

for the loss and I intend to do whatever I can to recover it."
    "You're trying to force my hand and I don't like it."
    "I have no idea what you're talking about."
    "Sure you do. You can't do this without me and you know it, so you're doing your best to manipulate me into a position where I have no choice but to play private eye for you."
    "I wouldn't dream of trying to manipulate you," she said austerely. "I'm sure it would be impossible."
    He folded his arms across his chest. He did not try to conceal his irritation.
    "Okay," he said at last. "You win. I'll ask your questions for you."
    "Thanks, but I really don't want you to do me any favors."
    "I'm not doing you a favor," he said. "I'm doing it for A.Z. and Virgil." He glanced at Carson. "Come on, son, let's go. We've got things to do."
    "Are we going to be private eyes?" Carson asked eagerly.
    "Yep. You can be my assistant, at least until you get bored with the job, which probably won't take long."
    "I won't get bored."
    "Sure you will," Nick said. "Heck, I already know that
I'm
going to get bored."
    "Look, if you don't think that you can keep your attention focused on this problem-" Octavia began.
    "I'm a Harte, I can focus. Even when I'm bored." Nick turned on his heel and headed for the door. "Let's go, kid. We'll start at Rumor Central."
    "Where's that?" Octavia called after him.
    Nick glanced back over his shoulder. "The post office, naturally."
    "I heard the Upsall disappeared sometime late yesterday or last night." Jeremy lounged back in his desk chair, cocked one tasseled loafer-shod foot on his knee, and tapped the tip of a pen against the armrest. "True?"
    "I'm afraid so," Octavia said.
    She sank down into the only other chair in the small office and admired the view through the window. The town, with its marina and pier, was spread out before her in a picture-perfect landscape that would have looked good hanging in her gallery.
    The tide was out again. Eclipse Arch, the massive stone monolith that dominated the long sweep of beach framed by the arc of Bayview Drive, was fully exposed. Sunlight sparkled on the water. The air had been scrubbed so clean by last night's storm that she could make out Hidden Cove and Sundown Point, the two rocky outcroppings that marked the southern and northern boundaries of the bay. She could even see the elegant old mansion that Rafe and Hannah had transformed into Dreamscape.
    She had gotten into the habit of taking a sandwich in to work with her, but she had neglected to bring one today. Feeling badly in need of a short break, she did something she almost never did: she closed up for the noon hour. She drove up the hillside above town with some vague notion of getting a salad at Snow's Cafe. Instead she'd steered straight on past to the institute. Luckily Jeremy had been in his office and had invited her to eat with him in the cafeteria. Now they were back, drinking coffee together.
    "I assume our noble chief of police is on the case?" Jeremy said.
    "Yes. Sean is looking into matters." She decided not to mention that Nick was also investigating.
    She was almost certain that Nick hadn't been serious when he had named Jeremy as a likely suspect, but there was so much bad blood between the two men that she did not want to risk pouring gasoline on the fire.
    "Got any theories?" Jeremy asked.
    "No." She frowned. "I think Sean feels it might be one of the Heralds."
    "A real possibility. No one knows much about that crowd down at the bakery. My grandmother still thinks they're some kind of cult. Not that the theory keeps her from buying her favorite lemon squares there, of course."
    "When it comes to good lemon squares, you have to do what you have to do."
    "Speaking of doing what you have to do, I think I've worked my nerve up at last. Can I persuade you to come up and view my etchings some evening this week?"
    "Any time."
    "Are you free this evening?"
    She thought about how she had hoped that she would not be free tonight. But things had changed.
    "As it happens, I am, indeed, entirely free this evening," she said.
    Late that afternoon Nick balanced, feet slightly apart, on the gently bobbing dock and looked down at the short, wiry man standing in the back of a boat. Young Boone was dressed in a pair of stained and faded coveralls that appeared to be at least thirty years old. He wore a blue peaked cap emblazoned with the logo of a marine supply firm.
    Even on his best days, Young Boone was not what anyone would call chatty.