Sharp Edges (35 page)

She drank in the colors and the abstract shapes that surrounded the Hades cup. A disorienting lightheadedness swept through her.

Impossible.

"There's an impression of fire around the cup," she whispered hesitantly.

Cyrus looked dubious. "Maybe. Lot of red and orange. What about it?"

"It makes sense. Glass is born in fire. It would be a logical background. But the other colors, the ones Nellie used on the perimeter of the picture…" She trailed off, still shocked by her own conclusions.

Cyrus scowled at the picture. "Lots of green and yellow."

"Not yellow. Amber." Eugenia gripped the edge of the counter behind her. Memories of Nellie's last visit flashed through her mind.

The unfinished wall next to her fireplace stuffed with thick, fluffy pink insulation. The stacks of hand-painted glass tiles waiting to be grouted into place around the hearth.

"I can't wait to see how it looks when it's finished, Eugenia. It's going to be spectacular."

Eugenia swallowed twice before she found her voice.

"I recently finished redecorating my condo, Cyrus. Those are the exact shades of green and amber that Nellie used to paint the glass tiles that surround my gas fireplace."

"So?"

"I told you that the last time I saw her was the day she died. She stopped by my place to tell me that she was going back to Frog Cove Island to get her things. My living room wall was still open near the fireplace. There had been a mistake with the wiring."

"What are you saying?"

She took a deep breath. "I know this sounds crazy, but it would have been easy for her to stuff an object the size of the Hades cup through the opening in the wall and conceal it behind the wallboard.

Cyrus looked stunned. "Are you serious?"

"The insulation would have concealed it and cushioned it while the contractor finished covering and painting the wall." She raised her eyes to meet Cyrus's gaze. "I never understood why Nellie traveled all the way from Frog Cove Island for that short visit and then went all the way back to pack her things. It made no sense."

He watched her. "Are you telling me that you think she hid the cup in your
wall?
"

"Yes." Eugenia met his eyes. "And she repainted the background of this picture to tell me where to look for it."

"Why stick it in Daventry's hidden safe, where you might never have found it?"

Eugenia shook her head slowly. "She must have assumed I would find it."

"Why would she leave a clue for you?" Cyrus tossed his hastily packed duffel bag into the back of the Jeep.

The overriding urgency that gripped him had sprung, fully grown, from the revelation that the Hades cup might be in Eugenia's house. He could feel more of the jagged pieces of the puzzle slamming into place. They were sharper than broken glass and they could cut more deeply.

Eugenia stuffed her red leather suitcases into the trunk of her Toyota. "I don't know."

"Hell, you didn't even believe that the Hades cup existed. Why didn't she tell you about it? She must have known you'd be interested in something like that."

"You're the one who keeps saying that the cup is dangerous." Eugenia dropped the garment bag that matched the suitcases into the trunk. "Maybe she figured that the less I knew, the safer I would be."

"Bullshit." Cyrus walked to the Toyota and closed the trunk lid. "It wasn't your safety she had in mind. If she wanted to protect you, she would never have hidden the cup in your house. With friends like that, trust me, you don't need enemies."

"She was very tense that day."

"She had just witnessed a murder and stolen a piece of glass that could get her killed. She had a damned good reason to be nervous." He took Eugenia's arm and steered her to the driver's side of her car.

"She went back to the island that afternoon, though," Eugenia reminded him as she got behind the wheel. "Why would she do that if she had just stolen the cup? She should have been concentrating on getting herself as far away as possible from the scene of the crime."

"I can think of one real good reason," Cyrus said. He shut the Toyota door. "To fake her own death at sea."

Shock washed through Eugenia. "Oh, my God. Do you really think… ?"

Cyrus looked at her through the car window. "She was a woman with two very big problems. Like I said, not only was she a witness to a murder, but she had stolen an object that could get her killed. She needed to disappear."

"But she would have contacted me, Cyrus."

"I'm sure she will contact you. When the heat dies down and she's ready to retrieve the cup." He straightened. "See you at the ferry dock. Drive very, very carefully."

Eugenia got out of the car and went to stand at the ferry rail. The brisk breeze off the water snapped at her black windbreaker and whipped her hair into a froth. Behind her, Frog Cove Island receded swiftly into the distance.

She sensed rather than heard Cyrus come up behind her. He did not touch her. He rested his forearms on the rail, linked his fingers, and looked out over the gray-green waters. He had put his battered leather jacket on over a fuchsia and green aloha shirt that was covered with a mass of hibiscus flowers. The crisp breeze ruffled his dark hair, revealing the flecks of gray at the temples.

He looked as centered and relaxed as always, but she could feel the hunter's readiness in him. It hummed just beneath the surface. She stared at his powerful hands. Memories of those strong, incredibly sensitive fingers on her body brought a rush of heat deep inside her.

She wondered what would happen if they found the Hades cup. For the first time it seemed a real possibility. Would Cyrus disappear from her life once he had it in his hands?

The thought brought a wave of melancholy. She struggled valiantly to squash it.

"Regardless of whether or not we find the cup, I want you to know that Colfax Security will look for Nellie Grant," Cyrus said.

His words jarred her out of the depression that was gathering around her. "Do you really think that Nellie is alive?"

"Put it this way, I think there's a very good possibility that you were right when you said you didn't think she had drowned in a boating accident."

"But I assumed she had been murdered. I never had any reason to believe that she might have faked her own death."

"One way or another, we'll find out what happened."

Eugenia believed him. "What about Jacob Houston and Rhonda Price?"

"I think they'll be safe once we put out the word that all four of the Nellie Grant paintings have been located. Whoever searched their cabins must have been looking for the pictures."

Eugenia gripped the rail very tightly. "If you're right, that means that someone knows that one of the paintings holds a clue about the location of the Hades cup."

There was a long silence from Cyrus. For a moment she thought he hadn't heard her. When he did respond, she knew that he had already arrived at the same conclusion.

"Yeah," he said finally, "I think we can assume that someone knows about the importance of the fourth
Glass
painting."

"Who?"

Again he took much too long to answer. "Could be one of the members of the Connoisseurs' Club."

She could tell that he did not really believe that. "Or?"

"Damien March."

Eugenia was suddenly aware of the chill in the wind. She hugged herself very tightly.

After a moment Cyrus put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her against his side.

They stood together at the railing until the ferry drew close to the docks.

Cyrus stopped just inside the front door of the condominium, dropped his duffel bag and two of Eugenia's suitcases on the floor, and gazed around with deep curiosity.

He thought he'd grown accustomed to the veneer of sleek sophistication that Eugenia wore so easily. Once he'd discovered the intelligence, the earthy passion, and the strength beneath the surface, he'd ignored the fancy trappings. But the glossy decor of her home was a glaring reminder that she inhabited a very different world than the one in which he moved.

"Damn. It's definitely you," he said.

Eugenia grimaced. "That doesn't sound like a compliment." She opened the hall closet and hung the garment bag inside.

He walked through the hall to stand in the arched opening that framed the living room. He studied the expanse of white carpet. "Should I take off my shoes?"

"Please." She stepped out of her loafers and kicked them into the coat closet. Then she slipped her feet into a pair of soft, black ballet-style slippers. "You can put your things in here."

He felt the weight of the gun he wore beneath the jacket. "I think I'll hang on to my jacket, if you don't mind. It's a little cold in here."

She glanced at him in surprise. "I didn't notice. I'll be glad to turn on the heat."

"Don't bother." He stepped out of his moccasins and used his big toe to push them into the closet. "I'll be fine."

She hesitated, as if not quite certain what to do with him now that he was right there on her turf.

He smiled slightly. "Guess I clash with your decor, huh?"

"Don't be ridiculous." She glanced toward the arched opening. "Well, I suppose you want to look at the fireplace."

"Yeah."

"It's in the living room." She went past him into the white-carpeted room beyond the hall.

He followed slowly, glancing at the various pieces of studio glass on display. "Your own private collection?"

"Yes."

He nodded. The white-on-white condo with its elegantly restrained touches of color and its refined lines were infused with a stark purity that worried him.

"You know something, Eugenia? You live in an art gallery."

She gave him a strange smile. "Funny you should say that. I was just thinking the same thing. I never noticed the similarity until today."

He looked at the left wall and saw the fireplace. "I see what you mean about the colors in the tiles. They are the same as the ones in the painting of the cup."

"I told you so. The picture over the fireplace is the one Nellie gave me the last time I saw her."

He glanced at it and then walked across the room to examine the hand-painted tiles that surrounded the gas fireplace. "Which part of the wall was open the day Nellie was here?"

"The lower section just to the right of the fireplace."

He shoved his hands into the back pocket of his chinos. "Might as well get to it. Got a hammer and a large knife?"

She groaned. "I have a feeling that this is going to hurt me more than it does you."

"Colfax Security will pay all the repair costs."

Her brows rose. "I take it you haven't done any redecorating lately. The repair costs are the least of it. The real problem is getting a contractor out for such a small job."

"You're right. I haven't done any redecorating recently." No point in it, he thought. A man who lived alone and ate a lot of tuna fish didn't waste a lot of time and energy on fancy interior design work.

Ten minutes later, armed with a hammer and a utility knife, Cyrus got a fix on the location of the studs behind the wallboard. When he thought he had them pinpointed, he crouched and went to work on the lower section of the wall.

Eugenia flinched at the first blow.

"You're not going to cry, are you?" he asked as he aimed the utility knife.

"If you only knew how much time and money I put into that wall."

"Relax." He angled the knife for another cut.

A few minutes later he pulled the first square of wallboard free and set it down. Fluffy pink insulation billowed forth.

Cyrus reached inside the wall and probed carefully.

A knock on the door made Eugenia turn. "Who in the world? It must be the manager. Probably saw my car in the garage and wants to know why I'm back from my vacation so soon. I'll be right back."

"Keep her out of this room. I'd just as soon not have to explain the hole in your wall…" He trailed off as his questing fingers touched an object enfolded in what felt like protective bubble wrap.

He heard the door open. A woman's voice rose on a soft wail.

"Eugenia, oh, God, I'm so sorry…"

"
Nellie
. You're alive. I don't believe—" Eugenia's voice broke off with alarming abruptness. "Oh."

"Well, shit," Cyrus said very softly to himself.

Then he heard another voice, cultured, plumy, laced with condescending humor. He had not heard that particular voice in three years, but he had not forgotten it. He would never forget it as long as he lived.

"Good evening, Ms. Swift. Kindly close the door and lock it, or I will blow your brains and those of Ms. Grant all over your very nice white walls."

Twenty-two

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"N
o, please, Colfax, don't bother to get up." Herding Eugenia and a pale woman with flame-red hair ahead of him, Damien March came to stand in the arched opening that divided the living room from the hall. His patrician features registered icy amusement at the sight of Cyrus half-sprawled on the floor. "I insist. I much prefer you where you are."

Cyrus abandoned a belated effort to scramble to his feet. He slumped back into a reclining position against the gaping wall and looked at Eugenia. She stood, frozen, beside the redhead. Her face was rigidly composed, but he could see the shock in her eyes.

He turned back to Damien and smiled humorlessly at the other man's elegant white linen sport coat, perfectly tailored blue trousers, and handmade Italian leather shoes. In addition to a gun, which he held in his right hand, he carried a pricey-looking leather briefcase.

"Still got that GQ look, I see. Been a long time, March."

"Unfortunately, not long enough. I would have preferred that we never met again. Speaking of clothing, however, I must ask you to remove your jacket." Damien shifted the gun closer to the nape of Eugenia's neck. "I feel obligated to point out that it was a fashion mistake."