Summer in Eclipse Bay (Eclipse Bay #3)

"Needed a change." Nick went up the steps and shook Virgil's hand. "Thought Carson would enjoy the beach."

"Good thing you drove Octavia out here." Virgil smiled ruefully at her. "I got to thinking later that it might not be easy for you to find this place, what with being new to the community and all."

"You were right," she said. "Left to my own devices, I'd probably still be looking for the turnoff."

"Thank you so much for coming all the way out here to look at the paintings. We certainly appreciate it."

"Happy to be of service," Octavia said. "Where's A.Z.?"

"Right here," Arizona boomed through the screen door. "You met Photon, here?"

"Yes, of course." Octavia nodded at the tall man in the long, flowing robes who stood behind Arizona. "Good evening, Photon."

"May the light of the future brighten your night, Miss Brightwell." Photon inclined his gleaming, shaved head in Nick's direction. "Light and peace, Mr. Harte."

"Thanks," Nick said. "Same to you, Photon."

Another resident eccentric, Nick thought. Photon was the leader of the New Age crowd that operated the Incandescent Body bakery. The group styled itself the Heralds of Future History. Their philosophy was a little vague, but their baking skills were outstanding. The incredible muffins, pastries, and cornbread produced at the bakery had gone a long way toward quelling local concerns that Eclipse Bay had been invaded by a cult.

"Come on inside." Arizona thrust open the screen door. "Got the paintings lined up here in the living room."

"We had to clear out two pickup loads of junk to make space to display them," Virgil said dryly.

Nick grinned. "There goes the inheritance, huh?"

"Let's put it this way," Virgil said. "It was nice of Thurgarton to think of us, but it's starting to look like being the beneficiaries of his will is more trouble than it's worth. The furniture is in such bad shape it isn't even worth the effort of putting on a yard sale. Other than the paintings, everything else is just junk. Personally, I'm not holding my breath that the pictures are worth much, either."

Nick ushered Octavia ahead of him into the cramped, dark living room. She came to an abrupt halt.

"Oh, my," she said. "This is really quite amazing."

"That's one word for it." Nick stopped just behind her and whistled softly at the sight of the truly monumental clutter. "The term firetrap also comes to mind."

Faded magazines and yellowed newspapers spilled from the tops of row upon row of cardboard boxes stacked to the ceiling. Old suitcases were heaped in a corner. One of them was open, revealing a tangle of old clothes. The surface of the desk near the window was buried beneath piles of file folders and three-ring binders stuffed with notebook paper.

In addition to the desk and its accompanying chair, the only other furnishings in the room were a recliner and a reading lamp.

Octavia gave Virgil, Arizona, and Photon a quick, laughing smile. "And to think that this is all yours now."

Virgil chuckled softly. "You know, this is the first time anyone was thoughtful enough to remember me in his will."

"The property is worth something," Nick said, trying to be optimistic.

"Something," Photon agreed, "but not a lot. No view of the water. The house, itself, is a tear-down. The plumbing is in bad shape and the wiring is decades out of code."

Nick was mildly surprised by Photon's assured assessment of the house and land value. For the first time he wondered what the man had done before he became the leader of the Heralds of Future History. Everyone had a past.

"Hold on, here," Arizona said. "There's more to this than meets the eye. Only one reason Thurgarton would have left us in his will, and that's because he knew we were the only ones he could trust. He must have been working on something mighty big there at the end."

Nick exchanged a knowing glance with Octavia and Virgil. He was pretty sure they were both thinking the same thing he was thinking. Here we go with the ever popular, never dull Snow conspiracy theories.

Virgil cleared his throat. "A.Z. has concluded that Thurgarton stumbled onto a secret operation at the Eclipse Bay Policy Studies Institute." He motioned with one hand to indicate the piles of papers that surrounded them. "She believes that he collected all of this in an attempt to unravel the conspiracy."

"Most of this is just camouflage, of course," Arizona explained. "Thurgarton probably figured that if he piled enough out-of-date newspapers and magazines around the place, folks would write him off as a crackpot. They wouldn't realize that he had hidden the results of his investigation here."

"Camouflage?" Octavia picked up an ancient, tattered copy of Playboy and studied the bouncy-looking woman on the cover with grave interest. "That certainly explains some of these magazines. And it definitely beats the old line about just reading them for the articles."

"I resent that remark," Nick said. "In our younger days, my friends and I learned a lot from those magazines."

She gave him an arch look. "I don't think I'll ask you to tell me exactly what it was you learned."

"Examining all of these papers and magazines is gonna take some time, unfortunately," Arizona continued, ignoring the byplay. "Not like we aren't already plenty busy with Project Log Book, eh, Photon?"

"The light of future history will show us the way to accomplish all that must be done in due course," Photon said.

He was out of his real estate assessor's role and back into his fathomless serenity mode, Nick noticed.

He looked at Arizona. "What's Project Log Book?"

"Photon and I talked it over and we decided that the only safe way to ensure that none of the data in my logs gets destroyed by the operatives up at the institute is to put it all online," Arizona said.

"I thought you didn't trust computers," Nick said.

"I don't like 'em and that's a fact. But we've got to move with the times. Got to take advantage of technology if we're going to stay ahead of the bad guys. The Heralds are building a Web site and they're inputting the contents of my logs and journals as we speak. This is all real hush-hush, naturally, but I trust you and Octavia here to keep your mouths closed. And of course Virgil will keep it to himself."

"I won't tell a soul," Virgil promised.

"Loose lips sink ships," Octavia said solemnly.