"Look, I know folks here in Eclipse Bay like to say that losing her broke Nick's heart." There was a note of gruff sympathy in Mitchell's voice. "Expect it's true, what with him being a Harte and all. But that ain't no excuse for him playin' fast and loose with a nice girl like Octavia. She's had a rough time of it, too, damn it. But unlike your grandson, I don't think she's tough enough to protect herself."

"So you've decided to do it for her?"

"Someone's gotta do it. Not like she's got any family around to take on the job."

Sullivan hesitated. "All right, you've made your point."

"Got another one to make while I'm at it," Mitchell said grimly. "Your grandson spent last night at her place."

That gave Sullivan pause. "The whole night?"

"Well, maybe not the entire night-"

Sullivan relaxed slightly. "Didn't think so."

"But it's pretty damn obvious those two are foolin' around."

"Obvious to you, maybe."

"Yeah, obvious to me. You should have seen the way

Octavia jumped to Nick's defense this afternoon when I cornered him down at the marina."

"What the hell do you think you're doing, cornering my grandson?"

"I was just makin' sure he understands he can't have his way with Octavia."

"Damn it, Mitch-" Sullivan broke off abruptly and backtracked to the other part of Mitchell's comment. "What did you mean when you said Octavia jumped to his defense?"

"She claimed he's sort of working for her."

"Nick? Working for Octavia Brightwell? Doing what, for crying out loud?"

"Playing private detective, I hear. Like that fellow in his novels."

Sullivan struggled valiantly to hang onto the few remaining wisps of logic that still dangled from the conversation. "Why does Octavia need an investigator?"

"Long story. That painting Thurgarton left to A.Z. and Virgil and the Heralds got stolen from her shop last night."

"What was it doing in her gallery? Never mind. I assume she notified Valentine?"

"Sure. But he's got his eye on the Heralds and she doesn't think he's looking in the right place. Neither does A.Z. or Virgil."

"So she hired Nick." Sullivan sank down onto the corner of his desk and digested that information. "And he agreed to investigate?"

"Appears that way."

"This is bizarre."

"Like I said, we've got a situation here, Sullivan. I hate to admit it, but I think I'm gonna need some help straightening this one out."

"Now, just a minute-

"I'll keep you posted."

Mitchell cut the connection.

Very slowly Sullivan reached across the desk and punched in another, very familiar number. He needed advice from the one person whose insight he had come to trust the most over the years.

His wife, Rachel, answered on the second ring.

"Something wrong?" she asked.

"Why do you say that?" he grumbled.

"Because it's the middle of the day and you're supposed to be deep into the intricacies of the merger of Harte Investments and Madison Commercial."

He could hear birds. Somewhere in the background, water splashed. He knew that she was out by the pool of their desert home with his daughter-in-law, Elaine. The two women were holed up together in Phoenix, keeping each other company, while their menfolk worked the merger details with Gabe Madison.

Sullivan summoned up a vision of Rachel in her swimsuit, her body sleek and wet.

She was still the only woman for him, he thought. There had never been another since he had met her all those years ago in the wake of the financial disaster of Harte-Madison. He had been a driven man in those days, completely obsessed with the task of rebuilding his business empire.

But he had learned the hard way that the great strength in the Harte genes was also a potentially devastating flaw. It was the nature of a Harte to be goal-oriented and so focused that other things, important things, sometimes got pushed aside. If Madisons were driven by their passions, Hartes were sometimes inclined to be cold-blooded and relentless in their pursuit of an objective.

Rachel had quietly acted to counter his single-minded obsession with Harte Investments. She had centered him, given him a sense of connection. During the long, hard years when he had thrown himself into the struggle to create H.I., Rachel had been there, sometimes going toe-to-toe with him to remind him that he had other priorities, too. It was Rachel who had taught him the meaning of family. It was Rachel who had saved him from going down a path that would have left him a hollow shell of a man.

"Gabe and Hamilton don't need my help," he said. "They've shunted me off to a corner office on the floor beneath the CEO's suite and made it clear they'll call me if they need me."

"I take it they don't call often?"

"Nope. I'm getting a little bored here, to tell you the truth. I'm thinking of going over to the coast for a couple of days."

"What's wrong in Eclipse Bay?" she asked instantly.

"Nothing's wrong."

"Nick and Carson are there."

"So? Thought I'd spend a little time with my great-grandson. Carson's got a lot of me in him. Going to run an empire one of these days. He needs my guidance during his early, formative years."

"You still haven't told me what's wrong."

The problem with being married to a woman like this for so many decades was that she could read a man's mind.

"Just had a call from Mitch," he said carefully. "Seems like Nick and Octavia Brightwell are involved. Sort of."

"Well, well."

"What, exactly, does that mean?"

"It means it's about time Nick finally got serious about a woman."

"That's the problem, according to Mitch," Sullivan said. "He doesn't think Nick is serious about Octavia."

"Surely Nick wouldn't have an affair with her?" Rachel sounded genuinely concerned now. "Not there in Eclipse Bay. Think of the gossip."

"It's the thought of Mitch trying to manage the situation on his own that worries me." Chapter 12

"Honest opinion, Octavia." Jeremy looked at the five pictures propped against the walls of the bedroom he was using as a studio. "I can handle it. Really. I think."

She gazed into the depths of the painting in front of her. It was a portrait of Jeremy's grandmother. It showed Edith Seaton seated in her antiques shop, a small, purposeful figure surrounded by the clutter of the past. There was an almost surrealistic quality to the old dishes and small relics housed in the glass cabinets and displayed on the tables.

The painting showed a room crowded with a lifetime of memories. Edith's face was a rich tapestry of emotions and determination layered on each other with such a strong, clear vision that it was possible to see the personality of the woman in every stroke.

"It's really quite wonderful, Jeremy." She did not look up from the painting. "When you said that you wanted to show me some pictures, I had no idea they would be of this quality."

Jeremy visibly relaxed. He looked pleased. "I did that one of my grandmother from a photo I took last year. You know, she's lived her whole life in this town. Hardly ever traveled even as far as Portland. Eclipse Bay is her whole world."

"How long has she been alone?"

"Let's see, Granddad died eight, maybe nine years ago. That's him in the framed picture hanging behind the counter. They both grew up here. Got married the day after they graduated from high school. They were together for nearly sixty years."

She studied the picture-within-a-picture and was able to make out the features of a man with the thin shoulders that often accompanied age. There was a certain self-confident, almost rakish quality to the tilt of the man's head. The viewer got the impression that at one time the senior Seaton had been a good-looking man and knew it.

"Sixty years is quite a marriage," she said. "No one in my family ever managed to stay together that long."

"Mom told me once that Granddad ran around a bit in his younger days. But Grandmother pretended not to know about his little escapades."

"Your grandfather had his affairs right here in town?"

"I guess so. He lived here all of his life and didn't do any traveling to speak of."

She shuddered. "Must have been hard on your grandmother."

"I'm sure it was. She's got a lot of pride in the Seaton name."

"Marriages are always mysterious when viewed from the outside." She turned away from the painting. "I'd love to give you a show, Jeremy. But as I explained, to be important to your career, it would have to be held at the Portland gallery, not here in Eclipse Bay."

"I know. Eclipse Bay isn't exactly on the art world's radar screen."

"No, and I'm afraid that I'm booked solid in the city. I've got shows scheduled every month until the end of summer there and then I plan to sell both galleries."

"I understand," he said.

"But I can certainly hang a couple of your pictures in my gallery here in town and see if they sell. I have a hunch they will. You've got a real commercial talent. What do you say?"

"I'll go with your intuition. You've got the eye, at least when it comes to art."

"Meaning that I don't have it when it comes to other things?"

"Okay, okay, I admit that I have some strong reservations about you seeing Nick Harte."

"I thought so." She folded her arms and propped one hip on the edge of the table. "He told me that you think he had an affair with your ex-wife."

Jeremy looked stunned. Then his expression darkened and his face tightened with suppressed anger. "I can't believe that he actually talked to you about that."