"You mean like put all the animal pictures together?"
"Exactly." She made some more notations on the piece of paper. "In addition to your picture of Winston, I received a lot of pictures of horses and one or two cow portraits."
"You didn't get any other dogs besides Winston, did you?" he asked quickly.
"Not yet."
"Good. That means mine will be the best."
"I sense a certain streak of competitiveness here."
"Huh?"
"Everyone knows that Hartes are very goal-oriented. They like to win."
"Great-Granddad says winning is a lot better than losing."
"I'm not surprised to hear that. I suspect it's a family motto. And there's certainly some truth to it. But that viewpoint overlooks the fact that not all situations have to be viewed in terms of win-lose."
"Huh?"
She smiled. "Never mind. I was just thinking out loud.
The point is, the Children's Art Show is not a competition. There won't be any prize for the best picture."
"Oh." He shrugged and let it go. "Mind if I ask you a question?"
"What is it?"
Carson looked up from the floor plan. "Do you like my dad, Miss Brightwell?"
She was amazed when she did not miss a beat in her response. "Yes, I do."
"A lot?"
"I like him enough to go out with him," she said cautiously.
"He likes you, too. A lot. That's why he called you so many times. He didn't mean to make you mad or anything."
"Carson, I really don't think—"
"He never, ever asked a lady to go out so many times after she turned him down once or twice."
She wrinkled her nose, amused in spite of herself. "I suspect that I may have unwittingly aroused those Harte competitive instincts we were just talking about." Aroused might not have been quite the right word under the circumstances, she thought. "Make that triggered."
"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.