Sharp Edges (11 page)

"A working vacation," Eugenia said smoothly. "I'm here to inventory the Daventry glass collection. I'm the director of the Leabrook Glass Museum."

Meditation looked quietly pleased. "I heard that Mr. Daventry left his collection to the Leabrook. I'm so glad. His glass should be in a museum. Perhaps the gesture will help his aura find serenity on the other side of the veil."

Peaceful studied the birds of paradise on Cyrus's shirt. "I take it you're a friend of Ms. Swift's?"

"He's my assistant," Eugenia said very firmly. "He's going to help me with the inventory."

Peaceful did not take his eyes off Cyrus's shirt. "Assistant, huh?"

"I live to serve," Cyrus said.

Seven

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E
ugenia surveyed the closed doors that lined the right side of the balcony. "Any more dead bodies in those rooms and I'm outta here."

The tour of Glass House had been disappointing from her point of view. A few minutes ago they had walked through the studio that Nellie had used. But the room was bare except for an easel and some old acrylic paints. Cyrus had shown a keen interest in the library on the second floor, with its extensive collection of books, papers, and files. Eugenia doubted that she would find anything in it that would assist her in her quest.

She was already having doubts about the wisdom of her late-night bargain with Cyrus. This morning he seemed suspiciously cheerful and easygoing, a little too complacent for her peace of mind. She had a nagging feeling that she had allowed herself to be manipulated.

She reminded herself that although they had struck a bargain, the truth was they each had entirely separate agendas here on Frog Cove Island.

"Come on, be a sport. Where's your sense of adventure?" Cyrus opened the first door on the right with a small flourish. "What are the odds that there's more than one dead body in this house?"

"I don't know. I was never very good at math." She went to stand beside him. The bedroom was typical of the others they had encountered on the tour. Lots of reflective surfaces, frosted glass tables, and white-on-white furniture.

Cyrus looked up at the mirrored ceiling. "On a sunny day you'd have to wear shades in here."

"I admit his designer may have gone a bit overboard with the mirrors." Eugenia started toward the next room. "I wonder who the architect was."

Cyrus looked suddenly thoughtful. "That, Ms. Swift, is an excellent question."

She glanced back at him, surprised by his serious tone. "Why do you say that?"

"Because if the Hades cup is hidden in this house, it will no doubt be in a concealed safe, which would have been engineered into the original design."

She stopped at the next door and paused with her hand on the knob. "You really do believe that cup exists and that Daventry had it, don't you?"

"You really do believe that Nellie Grant was murdered, don't you?" he asked dryly.

She'd asked for that, she thought. "You think I've cooked up a fantasy to explain her death."

"My professional opinion? Murder is a very outside possibility here. There's no obvious motive. Nothing more to go on than your intuition, when you get right down to it."

"You're the one who's following a few rumors about an old legend. In my professional opinion, the Hades cup doesn't exist."

He held her eyes. "All I need from you is your silence, not your expert opinion."

"And all I need from you is your professional expertise."

"You got it."

"This is crazy," she muttered. "Both of us think that the other is on a wild goose chase."

"Not exactly the basis for a good working relationship, but what the hell," Cyrus said. His eyes were very green. "We have a deal, right? I'll help you find out what happened to Nellie Grant if you'll keep quiet about the real reason I'm here."

"Yes." She shoved open the door. "We've got a deal"

She glanced into the room, expecting to see yet another mirrored ceiling, chrome bed, and lots of glittering glass surfaces.

Thick darkness spilled out of the chamber.

Eugenia was amazed. "Well, what do you know. A room in Glass House without any windows."

"Interesting." Cyrus reached around her to find a light switch.

There was a click. A series of pinpoint lights came on in the stygian gloom. The dramatic illumination revealed a maze of black glass pedestals. Each display stand was topped with a glass case that contained a work of art.

The lights had been arranged so that only the objects in the display cases were visible. All of the space between and around the stands was lost in inky shadow. A handful of paintings, also illuminated with pinpoint lights, hung on the walls.

"An art gallery." Curious, Eugenia walked into the heavily shadowed room. "But this one isn't devoted to glass."

"I wonder why it wasn't kept locked like the basement vault?"

Eugenia paused in front of one of the pedestals. She studied the sculpture of an oversized set of male genitalia.

"Probably because the contents aren't particularly valuable," she said.

Cyrus walked over to look at the large penis and scrotum. "That's your opinion."

She grinned in spite of herself. "I was referring to the quality of the artwork, not the subject matter."

"I'm relieved to hear that."

It was too dark to see his face, but she sensed that he was smiling.

His arm brushed against her shoulder. She felt the firmness of muscle beneath skin. Having him this close filled her with an odd restlessness.

She was intensely aware of him. And proximity was definitely not dulling the effect. In fact, it was having just the opposite impact. Even his scent intrigued her. She sniffed surreptitiously and confirmed what she had already learned. He did not wear aftershave.

Her nose tingled with the fragrance of soap and warm masculinity. She wondered why the combination made her toes curl. It wasn't as if she had not smelled both before in her life.

She made herself concentrate on the small plaque in front of the sculpture. It read
Essence of Man
, followed by two dates separated by three months. Beneath the dates was an inscription. She bent closer.

Possessed Only Average Artistic Ability But She Gave Exceptionally Good Head.

"Good grief." Eugenia straightened abruptly.

The top of her skull collided with Cyrus's chin.

"Ouch." He rubbed his jaw. "Not the usual sort of art note, I take it?"

"No, it isn't." She could feel the heat in her face. Thank heavens for the deep gloom, she thought. She moved quickly to the next pedestal.

A narrow beam of light shone on a series of interlocking metal rings. Cautiously she read the plaque. The title of the work,
Worlds
, was followed by two dates three weeks apart. The inscription below was blunt enough to make Eugenia wince.

Below Average Talent in Both Art and Bed.

"There aren't any artists' names," Cyrus observed. He stood looking down into a neighboring glass case. "Just titles, dates, and a sexually oriented inscription."

"I get the feeling that the notes refer to the artists, not the objects inside the cases." Eugenia wandered through the dense shadows between rows of pedestals. "I wonder what this room is all about?"

"You want the professional conclusion of an experienced investigator trained to observe minute details?"

"Why not? I've always wondered what one of those conclusions sounded like."

"I have a hunch that we're standing in a gallery devoted to the work of Daventry's ex-mistresses. According to my information, the guy liked to sleep with artists."

Eugenia shivered as she moved deeper into the gloom. She recalled the way Daventry's eyes had glittered when she had introduced him to Nellie. "Your information is correct. He had a thing for artists."

She was about to turn back toward the door when she caught the glint of glass at the far end of the room. Automatically, she went toward it.

She came to an abrupt halt a yard away from the last pedestal and stared at the object inside.

It was as if she had walked into a haunted crypt. Her blood ran cold. Her stomach tightened. Her palms became damp.

"My God."

"Something wrong?" Cyrus moved toward her through the shadows.

"That
thing
inside the case." It was hard to get the words out.

She found it literally painful even to look at the sculpture. It was composed of broken glass and bits of rusted metal. Everything about it was twisted and warped. It writhed with the artist's rage and madness, a monstrous creation that tainted the space around it.

"Take it easy." Cyrus put an arm around her shoulders. "Granted, I wouldn't want it sitting on my mantel, but it doesn't look any worse than a lot of modern art."

"It's horrifying."

"Yeah, it is kind of ugly, isn't it?" He leaned forward to read the plaque. "It's called
Flower
."

Eugenia shuddered.

"The dates are from five and a half years back," Cyrus said.

"Just before Daventry moved here to Frog Cove Island."

"The inscription is a little more flattering than most of the others, but not much.
Talented But Not Worth the Price
."

Eugenia took a deep breath, absurdly grateful for the heavy, comforting weight of his arm. "Whoever created that… that
thing
, was filled with fury. She must have been more than a little crazy, too."

"No offense, Eugenia, but I think you're letting your imagination get the better of you."

"No." She shook her head. "Not my imagination. When it comes to art, I rely on my intuition. And I'm almost never wrong."

She had gone for the deal.

Cyrus was not sure if that was good news or bad news. He had taken a calculated risk when he had told her his real agenda. But with the local law knocking at the door last night and a dead man in the basement, he had made a gut-level decision.

It was not as if he'd had a lot of options, he reminded himself later that morning as he stood at the counter of Burt's Gas & Grocery. He needed Eugenia's willing cooperation, even if she was lying through her teeth to him.

"Understand you folks stumbled across Leonard Hastings out at Glass House last night." The slightly built man behind the counter stuffed a half-gallon of skim milk into a sack. The name on his apron announced that he was the Burt of Burt's Gas & Grocery. "It's all over town that old Leonard's ticker finally gave out on him."

"That seemed to be the general consensus of opinion." Cyrus pulled cash out of his wallet. "Dr. Jones said he took a lot of medication for his heart problems."

"That's a fact. Well, hate to say it, but I doubt if anyone will miss old Leonard too much."

Eugenia looked up from a display of wilted fresh produce. "Why not?"

"Meditation Jones will tell you that he had a dirty aura." Burt made a face. "Hell, maybe she's right. All I know is that no one else except Daventry would have hired him. Old Leonard was kind of creepy. But, then, so was Adam Daventry. In a more high-class way, if you know what I mean."

"I didn't realize people around here thought Daventry was creepy." Eugenia walked toward the counter with a red pepper and some lettuce in her hands. "Did you know him?"

"Not hardly." Burt snorted. "Daventry didn't have time for us local folks. Did his shopping on the mainland. Claimed he couldn't get his fancy food here."

Cyrus was amused by the hint of red in Eugenia's cheeks.

"I see," she said stiffly.

"I ain't complainin', mind you," Burt continued. "If it hadn't been for Daventry we wouldn't have all these artists livin' here, and I'm makin' as much money off the tourists as everyone else. But just because his art colony idea worked don't mean Daventry was a nice guy."

"I understand Daventry gave some wild parties out at Glass House," Eugenia murmured.

"Yep. Deputy Peaceful had to go out there a time or two. Word is there was drugs and stuff at those parties. Couldn't prove it by me. The only ones who got invited were the artists and those friends of his who used to come from off-island."

Cyrus looked at him. "Did you see his guests from the mainland?"

"Sure. Same ones every time. Used to come in on the ferry. Five of 'em. Never stopped in town. Just went straight out to Glass House. Stayed the night and left the next day. Reckon they won't be coming back now that Daventry's pushing up daisies." Burt smiled. "I hear you two are here on vacation."

"A working vacation," Eugenia said glibly. "Daventry left his glass collection to the Leabrook Museum. I'm the museum's director. I decided to spend my time off inventorying the glass before it's packed and shipped back to Seattle."

"Uh-huh." Burt did not sound impressed. "Heard you worked for some little museum in Seattle."

"The Leabrook may be small compared to some museums," she said coolly, "but I assure you that when it comes to glass, it can hold its own with institutions several times its size."

Cyrus was amused by the haughty note in her voice and the arrogant tilt of her chin. She wore a pair of hunter green trousers topped with a rakish, military-style green shirt. A wide leather belt set off her slim waist. Two small circles of beaten silver gleamed in her ears.

Her proud, self-possessed composure intrigued him at the same time that it challenged him. There was strength in this woman. He had learned long ago that strength was frequently used to conceal or control powerful passions.

He wondered what kinds of passions simmered beneath Eugenia's sleek facade. He also wondered whether or not she had told him the truth last night when she claimed that she was here to find out what had happened to Nellie Grant.

He was still pondering the first question, but when it came to the second, there were two distinct possibilities. The first was that she had not lied, in which case she suffered from an overdeveloped sense of personal responsibility.