"Huh?"

"That attitude about winning that we discussed a moment ago. It's possible that your father decided that persuading me to go out with him was a sort of game. He wanted to win, so he kept calling me until I said yes."

"Oh." Carson gave that some thought and then shook his head. "Nah. I don't think that's how it is with him. Dad says he doesn't like people who play games."

"Neither do I." Resolutely she turned back to the floor plan. "I think that the house pictures would look good on the two panels in the center of the room. What do you think?"

The door of the gallery opened. She looked up quickly, expecting to see Nick returning from the mail run. But it was Jeremy Seaton who strolled into the showroom.

He was good-looking in an angular way. His light-brown hair was cut in a close, conservative style as befitted a member of the institute staff. His clothes were left over from his days in academia: khaki trousers, an open-throated, button-down shirt, and expensive-looking loafers.

"Good morning, Jeremy. Something tells me you've heard about the Upsall."

"Yep. Couldn't resist coming by to see it for myself." He gave her a quick, easy smile and then looked at Carson. "I know you. You're Nick Harte's son, right? You're looking more like your dad every day. I'll bet you don't remember me. We haven't seen much of each other in the last couple of years. I'm Jeremy Seaton."

Carson shook his head. "I don't remember."

"Figured you wouldn't. Well, it doesn't matter. Your dad and I used to hang out together a lot in the old days."

Carson looked intrigued. "You knew Dad when he was a kid?"

"Sure did. We played some baseball together. And when we got a little older we also played a little pool down at the Total Eclipse."

"What else did you do?" Carson asked eagerly.

Jeremy stroked his jaw, looking thoughtful. "As I recall, we spent an inordinate amount of time cruising up and down Bayview Drive on Friday and Saturday nights showing off our cars and trying to get girls to look at us. Wasn't a whole lot to do here in Eclipse Bay in those days."

"Still isn't, as far as I can tell," Nick said from the doorway. "Hello, Jeremy. Been a while."

Octavia could have sworn that the temperature in the gallery plummeted at least twenty or thirty degrees. There was a definite chill in the air.

Jeremy lowered his hand and turned around with a deliberate air and a politely bland expression. "Harte." His tone remained civil, but all the warmth had leached out of it. "Heard you were in town for the summer."

"Heard you've taken up full-time residence and got yourself a job at the institute," Nick said in a voice that was equally lacking in inflection. "Giving up the academic life for good?"

The gallery was flooded with toxic levels of testosterone. Nick and Jeremy might have been good friends in the past, Octavia thought, but something had gone very wrong somewhere along the line.

"Thought I'd try something a little different," Jeremy said. "Everyone needs a change once in a while. How's the writing going?"

"Swell."

"Rumor at the post office this morning is that you're planning to use Octavia here to help with some in-depth research for your next book," Jeremy said coolly.

"You've lived in Eclipse Bay long enough to know better than to listen to post office gossip."

"I sure wouldn't want to think that there was any truth to the rumors I heard today."

"When you get right down to it, it doesn't much matter if there's any truth to them or not," Nick said. "Either way, it's none of your business."

Confusion and something that might have been the beginnings of unease appeared in Carson's small face. She knew exactly how he felt, Octavia thought. This uncomfortable little scene had gone far enough.

"I've got the Upsall in my back room, Jeremy," she said briskly. "Come around behind the counter and I'll show it to you. You know something about art. I'd be interested to get your opinion."

Neither of the two men looked at her. They watched each other with the air of two lions facing off over a downed zebra.

I definitely do not look good in stripes, Octavia thought.

She cleared her throat. "Gentlemen, if you wish to continue this conversation, you may do so outside. I would like to remind you that there is a minor present. I would suggest you find someplace private where you can make idiots of yourselves without an audience."

That got their attention. Both men turned toward her. The chill in their eyes would have thawed a frozen pizza in two seconds flat.

"Can't wait to see the Upsall," Jeremy said tonelessly.

"This way." She spun around and walked back into the room behind the counter.

Jeremy followed. Nick came to stand in the opening. He did not enter the room. Carson hovered at his side.

"What's an Upsall?" Carson asked.

Octavia unwrapped the painting with a small flourish. "This," she said, "is an Upsall. I think."

Carson studied the swirling storm of color on the canvas. "Cool. Looks like the painter dropped a big bucket of paint and it splashed all over the place."

Nick's mouth twitched. "Couldn't have said it better, myself."

Jeremy said nothing, intent on the canvas. After a few moments of frowning scrutiny, he crouched in front of the painting and examined the brushstrokes in the corner of the canvas.

"Well?" Octavia asked. "What do you think?"

"It's certainly his style. Upsall had a way of putting paint on canvas that was very distinctive."

"Yes. That's how he obtained such incredible depth of color. It could be a copy, of course, but it looks like there's several decades worth of dirt and grime on it."

"Which means that if it was a copy, it was made years ago."

"Upsall's work didn't become popular until recently," Octavia said. "There wouldn't have been any incentive for someone to take the time and trouble to forge one of his paintings several decades back."

"Could be the work of an admirer or a student," Jeremy said, sounding doubtful. "What are the odds that an original Upsall has been sitting in old man Thurgarton's house all these years?"

"I'm no expert," Nick said from the doorway. "But following your logic, Seaton, what are the chances that Thurgarton would have had an excellent copy of the work of an obscure artist?"

Jeremy did not look at him. "Like you said, you're no expert."

"But Nick does have a point," Octavia said firmly. "It would be just as difficult to explain a fine copy as it would an original. All things considered, I'm strongly inclined to stick with my first instincts. I think this is a genuine Upsall. I'm planning to get a second opinion next week, though, just to be sure."

Jeremy straightened and shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers. He continued to regard the painting for another long moment. Then he nodded once, abruptly.

"I think you're right," he said. "It's an Upsall. Which means that Arizona Snow, Virgil Nash, and the Heralds are all about to get a very nice windfall."

"Looks like it." Octavia rewrapped the painting.

"Who'd have believed it?" Jeremy shook his head. "A genuine Upsall hidden away in Eclipse Bay."

Nick smiled with icy amusement. "Who says Eclipse Bay isn't the center of the art world?"