Summer in Eclipse Bay
tension
that had leaped to life in the room.
    "Does anyone know where or how Thurgarton got this picture?"
Octavia asked, never taking her attention away from the painting.
    Virgil shook his head. "We found it with the others in a closet. No way
to tell how he came by it. Why?"
    "I hesitate to say anything at this point because I don't want anyone
to get too excited."
    "Too late," Nick said. "We're excited. Is this thing
valuable?"
    Arizona frowned. "Looks like the artist dumped the contents of several
tubes of paint on the canvas and smeared them around."
    Virgil smiled. "That's mid-twentieth-century art for you."
    Photon contemplated the abstract painting with a considering air. "The
longer one looks at it, the deeper it appears. It is clearly an exploration of
the absence of light."
    Nick looked at him. "You think?"
    "Yes." Photon inclined his gleaming head. "It is a statement
of man's craving for light and his simultaneous fear of its power."
    Octavia rose slowly to her feet and turned around to face the others.
    "I agree with you, Photon," she said quietly. "And if we're
right, it may be the work of Thomas Upsall. The signature certainly fits. He
always signed his work in a very distinctive manner. And his technique was also
quite unique. A very time-consuming method that required layer upon layer of
paint."
    "Wow," Nick said. "A genuine Thomas Upsall. Who would have
believed it? Wait until this news hits the art world."
    She gave him a reproving frown. "Very funny. Obviously you don't
recognize the artist."
    "Nope, can't say that I do."
    "Me, either." Arizona looked hopeful. "This Thomas Upsall,
was he famous or anything?"
    "He produced most of his paintings in the nineteen-fifties,"
Octavia said. "His pictures were not very popular at the time, but in the
past few years they have become extremely collectible. There isn't a lot of his
work around because he destroyed a great quantity of it during the last year of
his life. He died in the mid-eighties, alone and forgotten."
    "What do you think this thing's worth?" Arizona asked.
    Octavia looked at the painting over her shoulder. "If, and I stress the
word
if,
it is a genuine Upsall, it could easily fetch a couple hundred
thousand at auction. Maybe two hundred and fifty."
    They all stared at her.
    Virgil exhaled deeply. "A couple hundred thousand
dollars
?"
    "Yes. The market for Upsall's work is hot at the moment and getting
hotter." Octavia gave them all a warning look and held up one hand.
"But to be on the safe side, I'd like to get a second opinion from a
colleague of mine who specializes in mid-twentieth-century abstract art. She
works in a museum in Seattle. Unfortunately, she's on vacation until next
week."
    "Think we can get her to take a look at the picture when she
returns?" Arizona asked.
    "Yes, for a fee," Octavia said. "She consults. She may even
want to purchase it for her museum."
    "That brings up the question of what to do with it until we can get
your colleague here to examine it," Virgil said. "Now that we know
it's worth two hundred grand or more, I don't like the idea of leaving it
here."
    "I could take it home with me," Arizona replied. "My security
is top of the line. But the spies up at the institute keep a round-the-clock
watch on me. If they see me take something from this place into my house, they
might get curious. Don't want to draw any attention right now while we're at
such a critical point in Project Log Book."
    "I've got a security system for the paintings in my gallery,"
Octavia said slowly. "I suppose I could store the Upsall in my back room
for a week."
    "Good idea," Virgil agreed. "It should be fine in your back
room. Not like Eclipse Bay is home to a lot of sophisticated art thieves."
    Photon smiled benignly. "You illuminate us with the radiant light of
your kindness." Chapter 6
    The row of shops that lined the street across from the pier was dark and
silent at this hour. The last rays of the summer sun were veiled behind the
thickening

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