Eye of the Beholder (30 page)

“The Dimensions Institute.” The voice was warm, welcoming, filled with peace and serenity. “May I help you?”

“This is Trask. Avalon Resorts, Inc.” He did not infuse his voice with any peace and serenity. “Get Webster Bell on the line.”

There was a short, startled pause. Trask glanced at Alexa. She was standing at the window watching the ambulance drive off toward town.

“I'm very sorry,
Mr. Trask, but Mr. Bell is unavailable at the moment. He's giving a seminar. We never interrupt him when he's teaching.”

“Get him,” Trask said. “Now.”

“Uh, one moment please.”

The receptionist put her hand over the receiver. Trask heard her speak to someone else. She sounded stressed.

She came back on the line a few seconds later. “Please hold, Mr. Trask.”

Another voice came on the line. “This is Foster Radstone. What seems to be the problem, Trask?”

“The problem,” Trask said deliberately, “is that I just watched two medics load Joanna Bell into the back of an ambulance.”

“Joanna?” Shock disturbed Foster's cushioned tones. “Are you certain? What's wrong? Is she—-?”

“She's alive, if that's what you're asking. Barely. Get Bell.”

“Yes, of course. Hold on a moment.”

There was another short silence before Webster Bell picked up the phone. Trask realized that Foster had not hung up. He was still on the line, listening.

“What's this about Joanna?” Webster asked urgently. “Is she all right?”

“She's on her way to the hospital,” Trask said. “Alexa Chambers found her here at her house. It looks like she took some tranquilizers and there was a problem with her new gas system. She's hallucinating, but she's alive and partially conscious. The medics said that was a good sign.”

“My God,” Webster whispered. “She didn't… That is, they don't think it was deliberate, do they?”

“I don't know,” Trask said quietly.

“I knew
she was under stress, but I had no idea that she… Never mind. Foster? Are you still on the line? I've got to get to the hospital.”

Foster answered in soothing tones. “I'll drive you, Webster. We can be there in fifteen minutes.”

“Yes. All right. I'll meet you at the car.”

There was a click as Webster hung up his extension, but the phone did not go dead. Foster spoke once more.

“Trask? Did you say Alexa found Joanna?”

“Yes.” Trask watched Alexa turn away from the open window. She looked at a stack of magazines on the end table. The sudden stiffening in her shoulders was visible from across the room.

“Where is she?” Foster asked.

“Alexa? She's here with me.”

“You're both at Joanna's place?”

“That's right.”

On the other side of the room, Alexa finally moved. She walked toward the pile of magazines as if drawn by magnets. When she reached the table she leaned down and picked up the glossy journal on top of the heap.

“I don't understand,” Foster said. “How did Alexa happen to find her?”

“Long story. Hadn't you better get moving? Bell said he'd meet you at the car.”

“Yes. Right. I've got to go. But if you're at Joanna's house…”

“Don't worry, the gas is shut off and the house has been aired out. Alexa and I will lock up before we leave.”

“Uh, well, thanks.”

Trask replaced the phone. Alexa did not look up
from the magazine in her hand. She stared at the cover with an expression of fixed intensity.

“Radstone is driving Bell to the hospital,” Trask said. “I told him we'd lock up the house.”

Alexa finally raised her eyes from the magazine. There was an odd expression on her face. As if she'd just seen a ghost, Trask thought.

“How did Bell react?” she asked quietly.

Trask shrugged. “Like you'd expect any brother to react to the news that his sister may have tried to take her own life.”

“She was hallucinating,” Alexa said slowly.

“I heard. Sounded like she was really out of it.”

Alexa looked down at the cover of the magazine. “She kept talking about monsters. But once or twice she seemed to recognize me. She tried to apologize.”

“For what?”

“I didn't understand. When I tried to find out why, she went back to raving about some monsters that were trying to kill her. She was terrified.”

Trask thought about the anxiety he had seen in Joanna's face the day she had met with him at the hotel. “She warned me to let the past stay buried.”

“I think Guthrie's death really unnerved her.”

“Maybe it's more than that,” Trask said bluntly. “Maybe she knows something about what's going on. Or maybe she only has some suspicions. Either way, I doubt if she'll talk to us because of her brother.”

“Her first loyalty is to Webster,” Alexa agreed. “If she thinks he's involved in something wrong she would be torn about what to do.”

“That might explain the stress that led to the overdose of tranquilizers.”

“It might also explain this.”
She held up the magazine in her hand.

Trask studied the glossy cover. It featured a photo of a bronze nude. “What's that?”

“TCA,”
she whispered.

Trask frowned. “What?”

“
Twentieth-Century Artifact
. A year-old edition. This is the issue that printed the first rumors of the McClelland Gallery forgeries. It was the article in this magazine that linked my name to the scandal.”

The implications hit him. He crossed the room, took the magazine out of her hands, and read the lead beneath the picture of the bronze.
Fakes and Frauds at McClelland
?

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“Trust me, I will never forget that cover as long as I live. I see it in my dreams.” Alexa took back the magazine and flipped it open to a page that had been turned down at the corner. “Joanna is not into twentieth-century art. And this magazine is more than twelve months out of date. I can think of only one reason why she might have it here in her living room.”

Trask read the title centered above the article.
Rumors of Fraud Strike McClelland. Assistant Implicated
. He met Alexa's eyes. “You said Joanna tried to apologize for something?”

“Yes. Do you think it's possible that she was the one who made those late-night calls?”

“Sort of looks that way, doesn't it? But why?”

“She must have realized that she couldn't stop you from digging into whatever she thinks is buried here in Avalon,” Alexa said. “So she tried to frighten me into staying away from you. I think she wanted to protect me.”

27
 

Trask leaned back in the lounger and looked up at the stars that gleamed above Alexa's patio. “What with all the excitement today, I haven't had a chance to tell you a couple of things. The first stories on the resort appeared in the Tucson and Phoenix papers.”

Alexa stretched out in the adjacent lounger. “Good press, I hope?”

“Yeah.”

“Did they call your hotel a fantasy come true?”

“What else?” He paused deliberately. “The articles mention the art collection.”

“That's nice.”

“Not excited?”

“I'm not going to get excited until
TCA
does a story that calls the collection the finest display of Deco outside of New York.”

“I was afraid of that.” He paused. “You don't think you're expecting a little too much under the circumstances?”

“No. The Avalon collection
is
the best outside of New York. One of the best in the country. When
TCA
acknowledges that, I can go public and take the credit.”

Trask contemplated the stars while he considered various strategies for bringing leverage to bear on the publishers of
Twentieth-Century Artifact.
He did not know many people in the world of magazine publishing, but he knew people who had contacts in that world.

“Don't even think about it, Trask.”

He assumed his most innocent expression. “About what?”

“About trying to intimidate
TCA
into printing a rave review of the hotel's collection.”

“You never let me have any fun.”

“It's a sweet thought,” she assured him. “But I doubt if it will work, and it could easily backfire. I don't need any more nasty press, thank you very much.”

“You underestimate me, my dear. I know how to apply pressure in very subtle ways.”

“I'll just bet you do.” She smiled. “Forget
TCA.
We've got bigger problems on our hands at the moment. What's your other news?”

“Radstone's a professional con man.”

She sniffed. “He always speaks highly of you.”

“I'm serious, Alexa. The guy used to go by the name of Fletcher Richards. Ripped off a bunch of seniors with some scam he ran as a so-called financial planner.”

Her head came around swiftly. She stared at him. “Are you serious?”

“Yes.”

“I can't believe it. He's Webster's righthand man.” She waved a hand. “I
dated
the guy.”

“Until I saved you from his clutches by keeping
you too busy with my art collection,” he said. “Makes you wonder if there might be something to this metaphysical stuff after all, doesn't it?”

She looked at him askance. “I beg your pardon?”

He moved one hand in a broad arc. “You know, it's as if there was some mysterious force at work all along.”

“Mysterious force?”

“Trying to bring us together,” he explained.

“I suppose that is a point of view.”

“Right. It's my point of view and I'm sticking with it.” Satisfied, he decided to move on. “Tell me again why you drove all the way out to Joanna's house in the middle of the afternoon?”

“Like I said, I was worried about her. She didn't open her shop this morning. Stewart said she wasn't feeling well. I tried calling her, but she didn't answer the phone.”

“So you just hopped into your car and drove out to see her? I don't suppose it crossed your mind to let me know what you were up to? We're supposed to be working on this project together, if you will recall.”

“That reminds me, how did you find out where I was?” she asked.

“Sure. Change the subject. Just when I'm really getting into my lecture.” He eyed her. “I called your shop. Talked to your assistant, Kerry.”

“Oh.”

“About this partnership of ours—” He broke off at the sound of a car in the drive. “I think you've got company.”

Alexa tilted her head, listening. “I wonder who would come by at this hour of the night?”

“Let's find out.”

Trask got to his feet and started around the side of the house. Alexa swung her legs off the lounger and hurried after him.

A gleaming Range Rover was parked in the drive. The driver cut the lights and the engine just as Trask rounded the corner of the house.

Two of the vehicle's doors opened. Foster Radstone got out from behind the wheel. Trask watched him flash his cap-toothed smile at Alexa. It hit him that no price would have been too high for his new Deco collection as long as working on it had kept Alexa from getting seriously involved with Radstone.

Webster Bell climbed from the passenger seat. The porch lights gleamed on the silver in his necklace and belt. His looked ten years older than he had the night of the hotel reception.

Alexa stepped around Trask. “Is Joanna okay?”

“She'll be all right.” Webster gave her a weary smile. “Thanks to you. I stopped by to say thanks. You probably saved her life today.”

“We hadn't realized that she was so deep into a state of clinical depression,” Foster said gravely. “She obviously needs intensive psychiatric care. Webster is going to make arrangements for her to go directly from the hospital into a private facility for a while.”

“Are you sure she tried to commit suicide?” Alexa gazed thoughtfully at Webster. “Maybe she just took too many tranquilizers by mistake.”

“I'd like to think that's the case,” Webster said quietly. “But I'm afraid she's very ill. She's still hallucinating.”

“The doctor
allowed Webster to see her for a few minutes,” Foster said. “She wasn't very coherent. Apparently she's anxious about her journal. We went to her house to get it for her, but we couldn't find it. You didn't happen to notice it when you were there earlier today, did you?”

“Are you talking about her Dimensions personal journal?” Alexa asked slowly.

“Yes,” Webster said. “Did you see it, by any chance?”

“No, I'm sorry,” Alexa said. “I didn't notice it.”

“We weren't in the house very long,” Trask added. “Things were hectic. After the medics left with Joanna, I called you, and then we locked the doors and left.”