Sharp Edges (21 page)

"Maybe. Maybe not. If Nellie decided that she had to disappear for some reason, she could have faked the lost-at-sea bit. You said she knew her way around boats, right?"

"Yes," Eugenia whispered. "That's why I doubted that she'd been washed overboard by accident. I assumed she'd been murdered and someone had made the killing look like a boating disaster. But I never considered that she might have deliberately disappeared. I still think she would have contacted me by now if she were alive."

"Go with me on this. If she were alive, it's possible that she arranged for Rhonda to sell the paintings in order to raise some quick cash."

More questions without answers. Eugenia folded her arms very tightly beneath her breasts. "We have to talk to Rhonda."

"I think," Cyrus said, "that what we need right now is some coffee."

"No, thanks," Eugenia said.

"At the Neon Sunset Café," Cyrus added. "It's the closest thing to a coffee house that this island has, and everyone knows that artists like to hang out in coffee houses. Rhonda may have spent some time there."

"You're right." Eugenia brightened. "Someone who works there might be able to tell us a lot about Rhonda. Good idea, Cyrus."

"Thanks, but I can't take credit for it. I got the idea from chapter five of the detective manual."

"What detective manual?"

"The one that came with the correspondence course I took to get my PI license."

"A correspondence course, hmm? Nice to know I'm working with a real pro," Eugenia said.

The Neon Sunset was almost entirely deserted. A teenaged waitress dressed in a T-shirt and jeans lounged against the counter, flipping through a copy of a magazine that featured a malnourished model on the cover.

"Ten o'clock in the morning is not a fashionable hour for the artistic crowd." Eugenia sat down at a small table. "They go in for late nights."

"That means that the waitress will be bored. Bored people love to talk."

Eugenia watched Cyrus remove the worn leather jacket he had put on over his aloha shirt and lower himself into a chair. Every action was carried out with the slow, unhurried masculine grace that never failed to intrigue her.

After all this time with him, she still had not seen him make any fidgety or restless movements. He didn't drum his fingers or swing a foot or tap a toe the way she often did. He never fiddled with spoons or refolded paper napkins into new shapes. He simply commanded the space he inhabited. The man in the photographer's vest seated at the next table was a lot bigger and bulkier, but it was Cyrus who dominated the room.

"How do we get the waitress onto the subject of Rhonda Price without being obvious?" Eugenia asked.

Cyrus watched the waitress approach. "Something tells me that won't be a problem."

Eugenia frowned. "Why not?"

"You're an overnight celebrity."

" 'Morning." The young woman came to a halt beside the table. She looked at Eugenia with keen interest and snapped her gum. "You're the lady who jumped into the marina to save Rhonda Price last night, aren't you?"

"Uh, yes. That's right." Eugenia caught Cyrus's eye. He looked amused. She turned back to the waitress. There was a small name tag on her shirt. It read
Heather
. "Are you a friend of Rhonda's?"

"Not exactly. I know her, though. Everyone does. She comes in here a lot. Likes to pretend she's a real hotshot artist, but I've heard Fenella Weeks say she can't even draw a straight line."

"I don't agree," Eugenia said smoothly. "I bought one of Rhonda's paintings. It's very, very good."

Heather shrugged with complete disinterest. "I'm not, like, really into art, y'know? I just work here."

"No kidding." Cyrus smiled at her. "I thought maybe you were an artist, yourself."

"Nah." She blushed. "Not hardly. My Dad says if I get mixed up with that crowd while I'm workin' here, he'll make me quit my job."

"He doesn't approve of the local bohemian community?" Eugenia asked.

"Don't know about bohemians, but he doesn't think much of artists. Says they're all lazy. Won't get real jobs. He says the only thing they want to do is get high and party. Says the island was a nicer place before Adam Daventry set up the art colony. Personally, I think it was kind of a boring place."

"Does Rhonda like to party, too?"

"Oh, sure. She used to go up to Glass House all the time," Heather said. "She and Mr. Daventry had a thing going for a while. Boy, was she pissed when he dropped her to take up with that artist from Seattle. But that didn't stop her from going to his parties."

"Rhonda had an affair with Daventry." Eugenia folded her arms and watched Island Way Road untwist in front of the Jeep. "It makes sense. Another artist's scalp for Daventry's belt."

"Yeah. It also raises some new questions."

"It certainly works against your theory that Rhonda and Nellie were friends. The waitress implied that Rhonda was jealous of Nellie. Maybe she stole the paintings to get even."

"We can't be sure of that. Friendships can form under some unusual circumstances." Cyrus slanted her an assessing glance. "Just like other kinds of relationships."

Eugenia stiffened. Did he mean that he wanted to talk about their relationship? "I suppose we should discuss things."

He had the grace not to pretend that he did not have a clue. "I vote we don't. Call me intuitive, but I have a hunch that if we try to talk about it, we'll get into serious trouble."

Disappointment settled heavily in the pit of her stomach. "You may be right."

"You ever been involved in one of these before?"

"An affair?"

"An affair with a man you figure is all wrong for you," he clarified. "Someone like me who doesn't fit the profile."

"No."

"Guess that explains it."

She frowned. "Explains what?"

"Why you're so tense."

"I am not tense."

"You've been acting like a cat that got its tail caught in the screen door on Halloween, as my Grandpappy Beau used to say."

"I am not tense."

"Hell, you're making me tense."

She did not believe that for a moment. It was impossible to imagine Cyrus tense. She turned abruptly in the seat to face him.

"You just got through saying that it would probably be best if we did not discuss this," she said.

"Yeah, I did, didn't I?" He sounded morose.

She hesitated and then gave in to the impulse. "Do I fit the profile of the kind of woman you generally get involved with?"

"Nope, you sure don't."

"I see." She was amazed at the depressing effect that bit of news had on her. It was not as though she had not already known the answer, she thought. "Well, that makes us even, at any rate."

"Yeah." The cellular phone rang. Cyrus reached for it. "This is Colfax." He frowned. "Rick? Where are you?" There was a brief silence as he listened. "What happened to the summer job? All right, stay where you are. I'll come and get you."

Eugenia glanced at the phone as he set it down. "Who was that?"

"My nephew, Rick Tasker." Cyrus braked to a smooth stop. "He just arrived on the ferry. Says he wants to spend a couple of days here with me."

Surprised, Eugenia considered. Then she shrugged. "It's all right with me, if that's what's worrying you. There's plenty of room."

"Thanks, I appreciate it. But that's not the big problem."

She tilted her head slightly, trying to read him. "What is the problem?"

"I know Rick pretty damn well. Something's wrong."

Fourteen

«
^
»

"W
hat happened to the job at the video arcade?" Cyrus asked.

"The guy who hired me said he wouldn't need me for another couple of days." Rick was monumentally casual.

"So you just blew off the whole concept of a summer job?"

Eugenia glanced at Cyrus as she set two cans of soda down on the small chrome tables. The almost paternal note of criticism in his voice surprised her. He sounded more like an irritated father than an uncle related only through a very short marriage.

"Don't sweat it. I'll go back to Portland day after tomorrow. The job is still there." Rick picked up one of the soft drink cans and popped the top. "So, is it okay if I stay?"

"Yeah. Sure. It's okay. But we agreed you'd work this summer. The idea was that you would buy your own books in the fall, remember?"

"I remember." Rick swallowed some of his cola.

Eugenia sank down onto the padded chrome lounger and took a sip of the bottled spring water she had opened for herself. She studied Cyrus and Rick as they talked together. This was one of the clearest glimpses she'd had yet into Cyrus's personal life. It made her realize that she was hungry for any small insight she could get.

Physically, the two males had little in common. The lack of a blood relationship was obvious. Next to Cyrus, Rick was the epitome of the young, modern, suburban aristocrat, well-bred, well-dressed, and handsome in the manner of such beings.

His slender, youthful build was rapidly maturing into the sort of trim, athletic figure that would one day look terrific in power suits and silk ties. His teeth had been straightened to perfection. His light brown hair had been cut and styled in an expensive salon. Anyone could see that BMWs, designer labels, tennis, and good schools were in his genes.

Rick was fated to go through life with jackets that always fit well, Eugenia reflected. She was pretty sure that money for college textbooks would not be a genuine problem in the fall. This talk of getting a job had to do with principle, not financial necessity. Cyrus wanted Rick to contribute toward his own education.

What fascinated Eugenia was not the superficial differences between Cyrus and Rick, but the more subtle similarities. They spoke volumes about the relationship between the two.

Rick's easy, relaxed position in the lounger was nearly identical to Cyrus's. The heels of his pricey sneakers were stacked on the railing in an exact echo of the way Cyrus had propped his own moccasin-shod feet. Rick even held a can of soda the way Cyrus held his, fingers circling the rim with negligent control.

"Does your mom know you're here on Frog Cove Island with me?" Cyrus asked.

"Yeah." Rick gazed out at the waters of the Sound with the sullen, sulky expression unique to those on the brink of adulthood. "Sure."

"Rick…"

"I left her a note, okay?"

"A note." Cyrus took a swallow of his drink. "I don't think a note really cuts it. Go call her and tell her where you are."

An angry, mutinous look flashed across Rick's face. But he got up without an argument and walked into the house.

Cyrus waited until Rick was out of earshot before he turned to look at Eugenia. "Sorry about this."

"It's all right."

"He's going off to college in the fall. Hasn't made up his mind what he wants to study yet, though."

"No reason to rush the decision."

Cyrus frowned. "Can't put it off for long. He needs to get focused."

"He's only eighteen, Cyrus. There's plenty of time for him to settle on a career path."

"I think he should go into computer science. That's where the jobs are these days."

"Some of them. But not all of them."

"Things aren't the same as they were when I was his age. Back then, you could hustle a job if you had guts and determination. Today that's not enough. You've got to have technical expertise of some kind."

Eugenia smiled to herself. "That sounds like something my grandmother once said to me."

Cyrus shot her a frowning glance. Then his mouth quirked in a rueful line. "Is that a polite way of telling me that I'm coming across as an old codger?"

Eugenia thought about the heated lovemaking that had kept her awake for a good portion of the night. "Actually, you're pretty spry for an old codger."

His brows rose. "Spry?"

"If I think of a better word, I'll let you know."

"You do that." Cyrus took another swallow from the can and leaned his head back against the lounger. "I wonder what really happened to the video arcade job."

Rick came out onto the veranda. His face was set in stubborn lines. "Mom wants to talk to you, Cyrus."

"Figured she would." Cyrus exhaled deeply, took his feet down off the rail, stood, and went indoors.

Rick glanced warily at Eugenia as he sat down. "Is he mad?"

"You know him better than I do."

"Sometimes it's hard to tell what Cyrus is thinking."

Eugenia smiled. "I know. For what it's worth, I don't think he's mad."

"But he's not real thrilled to have me show up on the doorstep like this."

"He's worried about your summer job."

"Not a problem." Rick's fingers clenched around the rim of the can. "It's still there, waiting for me when I get back day after tomorrow."

Eugenia said nothing. She and Rick sat in silence for a while. After a time, Cyrus reappeared. His eyes were grim.

"I think we'd better talk, Rick."

Eugenia glanced at Rick and saw the stiffness in his shoulders. She stood quickly. "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to do some work in the glass vault."

Neither Cyrus nor Rick took any notice of her as she slipped inside. She closed the French doors behind her, aware of the brooding weight of the stillness that settled on the veranda in her wake.

The phone rang just as she started to descend the stairs into the basement. She picked it up on the third ring.

"Hello?"

"I'm trying to reach Cyrus Colfax," a brusque male voice announced. "He there?"

"Yes." Eugenia hesitated, glancing toward the glass-paned doors. She could see that Cyrus and Rick were locked in tense conversation. "He's a little busy at the moment. Can I take a message?"

"Better interrupt him. This is important. He'll want to hear what I have to say."

Eugenia scowled at the phone. "May I say who's calling?"

"Tell him it's Quint Yates."

"Excuse me." She infused her voice with the brisk, cool tone she used when she dealt with telephone solicitors. "I'll be right back."