In Search of Trovinger

by Kate

Something different for me, light, frilly and fun. Thanks to my usual crew, Theresa, Liz and Diane. Thanks to Vic too for coming onboard. In the order of my stories (although you needn’t have read the others to appreciate this), “In Search of Trovinger” would take place in season four of the series, coming after “Ageless,” but before “Depth of Field.” Feedback welcomed at veniceplace12@verizon.net.  

Chip Morton was in a panic.

It started out fairly mild when he’d first realized his blunder. Sure, he’d made a dumb mistake, but it wasn’t the end of the world, or at least it shouldn’t have been. By the time he drove from the Web Spinner (a gallery his girlfriend, Dey Montgomery, owned in partnership with his sister, Veronica) to Lee Crane’s beach house, minor alarm had mushroomed into deep-seeded dread.

He tried to tell himself he was being silly. It was a just a painting and an old one at that. How upset could Dey really be that he’d sold it? He wouldn’t even have known he’d fouled up except for Veronica’s theatrics when she realized it was missing:  You’ve got to do something, Chip! That painting was special to Dey. I can’t believe she never mentioned it to you. Even Ricky knew what it meant to her.

“Ricky” was Rick Kowalski, senior rating on Seaview and, much to Chip’s chagrin, Veronica’s steady boyfriend. 

“Oh, sure, Ricky knew,” he muttered under his breath, putting snide emphasis on Veronica’s name for Ski. That’s because ‘Ricky’ could do no wrong. Veronica had probably told him not to make any comments about the god-awful ugly thing. Dey was an extremely talented artist, but the subject matter of the painting was revolting. Definitely not her normal style. He’d been proud of himself for unloading the hideous thing. He’d even gotten some sap in a bright orange pick-up to give him eighty bucks for it. How was he supposed to know Dey was attached to it? He’d never even seen the painting before. He’d found it stuffed behind a filing cabinet and had just thrown it in with the other paintings she’d set aside for the Web Spinner’s first highly-promoted gallery sale. 

I’ll just find the guy in the pick-up, Chip said to himself, panic sitting like a heavy glob of molasses in his gut. It can’t be that hard. Especially if Lee helps.

He pulled his Trans Am into his friend’s driveway and glanced at his watch. Just after 0600.  

He’d had all night to toss and turn and stew about the stupid mistake. When Dey had called yesterday evening from Pennsylvania to see how the sale had gone he’d lied through his teeth and said everything went perfectly. But he hadn’t been able to sleep all night and had crawled out of bed before the sun was even above the horizon. 

Still feeling that frustration, he pounded on Lee’s front door then rang the bell. So what if it was Saturday and Lee probably had other plans? Chip was perfectly confident he could coerce his friend into lending him a hand. Impatient, he held his thumb down on the doorbell listening to the insistent ding-ding-ding reverberate throughout the house.

Good thing Alyssa’s out of town for the weekend. He never would have had such bad manners if he thought Lee’s fiancée might still be sleeping. Lee didn’t matter - - at least not when there was an emergency of this magnitude.

“All right, all right!” Lee snarled from behind the door two minutes later. He wrenched it open, ready to rip off the offender’s head. 

“Took you long enough,” Chip grumbled and breezed past him into the foyer. He did a quick once-over of Seaview’s captain - - jeans, bare feet, no shirt, rumpled curly hair - - and quickly determined he’d dragged his friend out of bed. Ouch! Okay, he’d half expected that. The downside was that his rude doorbell symphony had probably put Lee in one hell of a cranky mood. Time to do some damage control.

“I’m in trouble,” he said before Lee could spit a single ticked-off demand in his direction. Turning quickly, he headed for the family room knowing Lee was certain to follow. 

It wasn’t a lie. He was in trouble and, if he didn’t do something about it in the next sixteen hours, he was going to be in one hell of a mess.

“Chip?” As expected, Lee trailed behind him, pacing into the family room. Also as expected - - and cleverly calculated on Chip’s part - - the mention of trouble had immediately smothered Lee’s agitation beneath a visible wave of concern. “What’s going on? What’s wrong?”

Chip drew a breath. Time to unload the truth. Time to own up to the stupid, miserable, unforgiveable, I-need-a-way-out-of-this-and-I’m-counting-on-you-to-help-me blunder he’d made. Steeling himself, he faced Lee.

“I sold Dey’s Trovinger.” It sounded awful just saying it.

Lee waited. Stared blankly. He blinked a few times as if trying to displace the fog of sleep. “What’s a Trovinger?”

“A cat.”

“A cat?” Lee dragged a hand through his hair and muttered something about not being awake. “You sold a cat?” 

“No, the cat’s dead. I sold a painting.”

“Of what?”

“Of Trovinger.”

“You sold a painting of a dead cat?”

“Yes. No!” Geez, it wasn’t that complicated, was it? Had he suddenly lost the ability to speak English? “The cat wasn’t dead in the painting!” he said, exasperated.

Lee frowned. “Oh.” That at least appeared to have penetrated. His friend waited a beat, measuring the enormity of it all. “Where’d you get a painting of a cat?”

“I told you - - it was Dey’s.”

“The painting?”

“Yes. And the cat.”

“I didn’t know Dey had a cat.”

“She doesn’t.”

“So she had a painting of someone else’s cat?”

“No. Damn it, Lee, stop making this so freaking complicated! Dey had a cat. A long time ago. She did a painting of it back when she was in college. Then the cat died, and the painting had sentimental value for her. I didn’t know that and I sold the painting by mistake.”

Lee sighed. “Why didn’t you just say that in the first place?”

“I thought I did.”

Lee snorted what he thought of the idea. “Do you realize you dragged me out of a perfectly good dream involving champagne, a hot tub, and Alyssa to tell me about a dead cat?” Yawning, he turned away. “I’m going back to bed.”

“You can’t!” Chip was seized by immediate panic. The horror must have bled through in his voice because Lee stopped and turned, raising a quizzical eyebrow. 

“Do you know something I don’t?”

“Yeah. Like if you don’t help me I’m going to end up as dead as that stupid cat. I’ve got a good thing going with Dey, but this is serious. No, it’s . . . it’s monumental!” Wound up, he spread his hands in a huge looping arc and stalked forward. “Ron tells me the painting is like some kind of talisman for Dey. It’s like an heirloom . . . the Hope Diamond of cats.”

Lee rolled his eyes. “Come on, Chip. You’re exaggerating.”

“All right, maybe, but the painting was one of the first she ever did, and the cat was special to her. A feline soul-mate.” He grimaced, remembering the skinny angular tube of bones, saucer eyes and bat ears in the painting. With effort, he suppressed a shudder. He wasn’t overly fond of cats to begin with, more partial to dogs, but Trovinger had been nothing short of Halloweenish. Either that, or Dey was a very bad artist.

Which he knew she wasn’t.

“Look. I know the guy I sold it to. All we’ve got to do is go and get it back.”

“Why we?”

Chip managed to look affronted. “You wouldn’t send me off on a Saturday scavenger hunt by myself would you?”

Lee’s grin was sharp. “Gleefully.” He headed for the foyer and the stairs. “It’s Saturday and I’ve got a romantic date with a hot tub and my fiancée.” 

“In your dreams, Crane.” Frustrated, Chip trailed after him. “Besides, you can get laid anytime.”

“Excuse me?” Lee pivoted to face him. 

“You know what I mean. Come on...” He tried another track. “The guy I sold it to was driving a bright orange pick-up. How hard can it be to find a pumpkin rolling around on four wheels?”

“That depends. Cinderella you’re not.”

“And you’re a riot. Quit being a jerk and help me out.”

Lee exhaled loudly, the look in his eyes telling Chip he’d reached his limit and just wanted to crawl back into bed. “Mister Morton...”

Sensing Lee was getting ticked, Chip rolled out the heavy guns. “This is important to me, buddy. I’m not screwing around here. I think . . . I think Dey could be ‘the one.’” He was fully aware the statement was like dropping a bomb. Not some penny-ante firecracker or a Molotov cocktail, but a nuclear blast. “If I don’t get that painting back who knows what kind of damage it could do to our relationship.”

He watched the fallout wash over Lee, his friend’s obvious anger checked first by shock, then interest and, finally, frustration.

“You’re manipulating me.”

“True.” And we both know you’re going to cave so just get it over with. “Are you going to help me track down the truck or not?”

Lee frowned. “In Santa Barbara?”

“Not exactly.” Chip hedged, averting his eyes. “Try Breakers Bay.”

“You’re joking.”

Chip did his best not to squirm. “The guy mentioned it in passing.”

“That’s a four-hour drive one way!” Lee exploded. “It’ll shoot my whole Saturday.”

“Which is why we’ve got to start now.” Taking the bull by the horns - - or in this case, the captain by the shoulder - - Chip pushed him toward the stairs. “Go take a shower. I’ll make coffee, and we’ll grab breakfast on the road. You’ll never find your way back into that dream anyway. In a few days Alyssa will be in town, and you can have the real thing. I’ll even buy you a bottle of champagne to celebrate.”

“You’re all heart.”

“Yeah, I know. Which is why you’re going to help me out.” Another shove got Lee to the bottom step. Chip heard him mutter something under his breath but at least he wasn’t protesting any longer. 

Score one for the exec. On the boat he might have to take Lee’s orders, but off it he was usually able to twist his friend’s arm into doing exactly what he wanted. He almost felt bad for manipulating Lee until he imagined Dey’s wrath if she came back and found “Trovinger” (as he’d come to think of the painting) missing. For as tiny as she was, his girlfriend had a fiery temper.

As Lee started up the stairs, Chip headed for the kitchen and the coffee-maker. “Hey, you wouldn’t happen to have a map of Breakers Bay would you?” he called.

Lee’s answer was less than flattering.

“Hookay,” Chip said under his breath. “I guess I’ll take that as a ‘no.’”

***********

Lee scrunched down in the soft leather interior of Chip’s Trans Am and slipped his sunglasses over his eyes. His window was down, and Chip had the moon roof open, flooding the car with the breeze off the coast. His friend had sprung for breakfast at a fast food place, insisting they’d make better time than ordering in a regular restaurant. That had been several hours ago, and Lee was beginning to think the winding coastal road would never end. 

It was obvious Chip enjoyed driving the car, banking it through the tight S-turns with his foot on the accelerator. He wasn’t reckless, but the silver sports car had become every bit as much a toy as Lee’s Cobra was to him. Maybe his blond friend wasn’t quite as fanatical about its care but the car was still fairly new, only a few months old, and Chip was still adjusting to the novelty after driving a Bronco for so long. Lee had never been fond of Beverly Cole, Chip’s girlfriend prior to Dey Montgomery, but at least the social-climbing attorney had convinced him to sell his rusting four-wheel drive.

“I’m going to need lunch soon,” Lee announced, making sure he sounded disgruntled.

Chip shot him a sideways glance, his eyes hidden by a pair of mirrored aviator sunglasses. “I just fed you four hours ago.”

“Yeah. Four hours ago. It’s after twelve now. You promised me food.”

“I promised you breakfast. And since when do you care about eating?”

“Since I’ve got nothing better to do than sit here and watch the scenery breeze by.” Lee straightened in his seat, stretching as best he could. The car was sleek and sporty, but it wasn’t designed for comfort over a four-hour drive. “If we hadn’t hit that detour outside of Ridgehaven we would have been there by now.”

Chip glanced at his watch. “Twenty minutes. I know your stomach can hold out that long. On Seaview, Cookie practically has to chase you around with a plate to get you to eat. I’m going to remember this the next time Jamie tells you that you need to put on weight.”

Lee grinned, secretly enjoying their sparring. He hadn’t been overly enthusiastic about being dragged out of bed by the doorbell, but he hadn’t really made any definite plans for the day. In all likelihood, he would have ended up puttering around the house or wandering down to the Institute and poking around. He just liked yanking Chip’s chain. Especially since that chain had become intricately attached to a pretty raven-haired conservation artist. 

He’d known his friend long enough to know when Chip was playing around and when he was genuinely worried. And right now he was worried. Terrified, actually. He’d blundered with the painting, was fearful he wouldn’t be able to retrieve it, and Dey would never forgive him. It was a stupid fear in Lee’s opinion. Maybe the painting was special to Dey, but she didn’t seem the type of woman who’d hold a grudge over an honest mistake - - especially not against someone she cared about.

She wasn’t Beverly Cole.

“Why didn’t Dey hold the gallery sale herself?” Lee asked, curious. “I know she went out of town.”

Chip nodded. “Home to Pennsylvania. Her brother was in an accident - - nothing serious, thank God - - but she didn’t know that at the time and flew home the minute she heard. She was going to cancel the sale because she didn’t want to stick Veronica with all the work. It was a lot to handle.”

Lee imagined it would be. “So you decided to earn merit points and volunteered to help.”

Chip flashed a grin. “Not that I need merit points with Dey, but it never hurts. Besides, I wanted to help. She and Ron had a lot invested in the promotion, and I didn’t want it going bust. I figured all I had to do was ring up sales, keep the stock displayed and make change. I was actually proud of myself for pawning off that painting. I got eighty bucks for it. If you ask me, it wasn’t worth eight.”

Lee was surprised. He knew from personal experience Dey was an exceptional artist. He even had one of her paintings - - a rendition in oils of the lightship Seven Stars - - hanging above the fireplace in his family room. It had been a gift from Chip who knew of his fascination with lightships, the Seven Stars (and the Flying Reef), in particular.

“I don’t get it,” he said truly puzzled. “Everything I’ve seen of Dey’s work has been remarkable.”

Chip nodded, his hands on the wheel. “I thought so too. But this . . .” He shuddered. “If I were a kid, it would have given me nightmares.”

Lee laughed. “Be serious.”

“I am serious. It was like some kind of freakish monster.”

“The painting?”

“The cat.” Chip turned off the main thoroughfare, taking a fork to the right. The road doglegged, then evened out, settling into a gradual incline. Houses sprouted on the roadside, not nearly as sprawling as Santa Barbara’s sun-drenched residences but every bit as pristine. “You know how artists are.” He gave a shrug as if that explained it. “Dey probably felt sorry for the thing and gave it a home. I’m just glad it doesn’t have any offspring still hanging around.” Another shudder, more theatrical than the last.

Grinning, Lee flopped back in his seat. A steakhouse breezed past on the right, but he’d forgotten his stomach, or at least the fabricated protest he was hungry. The complaint had really been voiced solely to harass Chip for dragging him out of bed before he was ready. Grumbling had been replaced by keen interest when he realized just how far Chip was willing to go to please Dey. Thinking about it, he gave a low whistle and laced his hands across his stomach.

Chip eyed him suspiciously. “What was that for?”

 “What?”

“You know what - - that sound. Why’d you whistle like that?”

“Can’t I whistle?” Lee played dumb. 

“Not when I know it’s a set-up for something else. You think I’m being overly sensitive about Dey? Okay, so maybe I am.” He paused as if considering, a brief look of panic crossing his face. “Or maybe I’m being unduly sensitive. What if she takes this for some kind of macho quest thing, like I’m out to prove I’m infallible? What if it backfires in my face?”

“I wish I had a tape recorder.”

“Like you haven’t jumped through hoops for Alyssa?”

“That’s different. We’re in love.”

“Well, I’m ...” Chip stopped abruptly, realizing what he’d almost said.

Lee looked at him sharply and sat forward. “You’re what?”

“Nothing.” He swallowed hard.

Lee continued to eye him, certain his friend had been close to using the word ‘love.’ Was it possible? Chip had only been with Dey a few months but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. Lee had known he was in love with Alyssa after just two months, but then he’d always fallen harder and faster than his precisely-minded friend. Of the two of them, Chip was far more outgoing overall, but casual when it came to romance. Lee knew he’d been through several relationships but none of them - - at least none that he could recall - - had been serious to the point where Chip flirted with the L-word. Part of that had been Chip’s choice. He hadn’t wanted the constraints of a serious relationship, focused more on his career. He liked female companionship, but he valued his freedom more highly.

Lee remembered a pretty brunette named Lucy who’d lasted the longest. Unfortunately, she’d made the fatal mistake of thinking she could put demands on Chip’s time. That attitude had eventually soured the whole deal. In a tug-of-war between Seaview and a steady girlfriend, Chip would always choose the boat.

But Dey was different. The relationship was still fairly new, and she didn’t seem the type to make demands, far too free-spirited herself. Lee liked that about her. True, she tended to the temperamental side, opinionated and strong-willed, but Lee couldn’t see Chip with a woman who didn’t speak her mind. There was a lot of steel in Chip, and he needed an equal when it came to his relationships.

But love?

Lee looked away, glancing out the window to hide a smile. Chip had admitted Dey might be ‘the one.’ He was driving eight hours in a single day to track down a painting he thought was revolting just because he knew it had special meaning to his girlfriend. It wasn’t that he’d blundered and was trying to cover up his mistake - - maybe that was part of it - - but the larger part was because he didn’t want to disappoint Dey.

Because he cared about her. Maybe even loved her.

Lee settled into the seat again, amused and content to be along for the ride.

It was shaping up to be an interesting day after all.

***********

Chip steered the Trans Am through Breakers Bay’s Main Street. The town was small, on the quaint and charming side with an old-fashioned ice cream parlor, theater for the arts, a community library, several cafes and churches, a post office, bakery, jeweler and bank. The outlying streets were filled with an eclectic hodgepodge of turn-of-the-century cottages and contemporary homes. Fortunately for Chip, the town was small, one of those places where (he hoped) everyone knew everyone else.

“So how do you propose to find this guy?” Lee asked. “Other than knowing he drives an orange truck?”

“He said his name was Abe.”

“Okay, that’s a starting point,” Lee consented. He looked comfortable and relaxed, wearing faded jeans and a white cotton shirt, the sleeves cuffed on his forearms - - a completely different picture than when he was ‘Captain Crane,’ dressed in uniform. Leaning forward, he watched the procession of shops and businesses roll by, lightly drumming the fingers of one hand against the dash as he kept an eye out for the orange truck. “I don’t suppose Abe told you what he did for a living?”

“No. He said he was visiting friends in Santa Barbara and was on the way home when he spied the gallery sale.”

Lee shot him a glance. “So he likes art?”

“I wouldn’t go that far. He bought Trovinger, Lee. I’d hardly call that skinny splat of fur art.” Distracted, he pointed to the side. “Hey, look. A sheriff’s office. Maybe I can pick up a lead there.”

As it happened a uniformed man was making his way to a police cruiser parked at the curb. Chip pulled in beside him, sliding the Trans Am into an angled parking stall, and rolled down his window.

“Excuse me, Officer,” he called. “I wonder if you could help me out.”

“Sheriff,” the man corrected, drawing abreast. He looked to be of average height, thickening through the middle, with blond hair going silver. His manner was slightly on the terse side, but his voice left room for Chip to recover from his faux pas address.

“Sorry. Sheriff...” Chip read the name tag pinned to the man’s chocolate brown uniform. “Webb.” He flashed a smile, idling the Trans Am in park. “I was hoping you could help me find someone.”

Webb stood back and eyed the car. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

“No, Sir. From Santa Barbara. I’m Chip, and this is my friend Lee.” He motioned to Lee in the passenger’s seat who leaned forward so Webb could see him. “We’re looking for a guy named Abe. He drives an orange pick-up.”

The respectful use of ‘Sir’ seemed to please Webb. He stepped closer, bracing a hand on the car’s roof so he could bend down and talk at eye level. “Abe Barr?”

“That sounds right.” Chip had no idea what the man’s last name was but guessed there couldn’t have been too many Abes living in Breakers Bay driving orange trucks.

“You a friend of his?” the sheriff asked.

“Not exactly. I met him in Santa Barbara yesterday. Would you know where I can find him?”

“Depends.” Webb glanced at his watch. “Right about now he’s probably getting ready to close for lunch. He owns the barber shop on the north end of town. You take Main to the Square, then go right on Skyview and left on Keating. You can’t miss it.” He paused, looking them both over. “You boys staying long?”

“No, Sir.” Chip said quickly. “We’ve got to be back in Santa Barbara tonight.”

“A day trip, huh?”

“Sort of.” Chip dropped his hand to the gearshift, anxious to leave. There was a trace of mild suspicion in Webb’s voice, but he was only behaving as any small town sheriff would - - making sure two strangers in a flashy sports car weren’t looking for trouble. The fact that Chip had voluntarily asked how to find Abe Barr factored in his favor. 

“Well, you boys have a good stay.” Webb drew back with a craggy grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Tell Abe I said hello and that I’ll be down in an hour for my usual haircut.”

“Sure thing, Sheriff Webb. Thanks again.” Chip backed the car out of the parking stall, aware Webb watched until they were halfway down the street. “Suspicious cuss, isn’t he?”

Lee propped his elbow on the door and slid a hand through his hair. “Small town mentality. How much you want to bet he’s got no plans to get his hair cut today? That was just to let us know he’d be checking in on Barr in case we have anything shady planned.”

Chip gave a disgusted snort. “Hell, all I want to do is get Trovinger back. For all I care, the guy could have escorted us there personally. The sooner we get the painting, the sooner we can head back to Santa Barbara. Dey’s flight gets in late tonight.”

“Fine, but we’re not leaving until you buy me lunch.” 

“All right, I’ll buy you lunch,” Chip groused. “Geez. For a guy who never eats you suddenly developed an insatiable appetite.”

Lee grinned, actually hungry now. “Sure. Because it’s your dime.”

Ten minutes later, they’d found their way to Abe’s shop, tucked on the first floor of a gingerbread duplex. The orange truck was parked at the curb, every bit as pumpkin-bright as Chip remembered. A sign suspended from the covered porch read “Barber Barr” along with a logo incorporating the classic red-and-white striped pole. As predicted, Abe was cleaning up, preparing to leave as they stepped through the front door.

“Sorry, gents.” In the process of sweeping up trimmings around his cutting chair, Barr cast them an amiable glance. “I’m just getting ready to close for lunch. You’ll have to come back in an hour.”

“That’s okay,” Chip assured him. “We’re not here for cuts.”

It took a few seconds for the gleam of recognition to dawn in Abe’s eyes. “Hey, I know you. You’re that guy from the Santa Barbara gallery. The Web Spinner, wasn’t it?”

Chip grinned. This was going to be easier than he thought. They’d gotten a little delayed with the detour on the way to Breakers Bay but had found Barr quickly enough once reaching the town. Piece of cake. “That’s right. You bought a painting of a cat from me.”

Barr blinked rapidly. “That was a cat?”

“Of course it was a cat. What’d you think it was?”

“I don’t know . . . some kind of mutated rat. If it was a cat, it sure was one ugly son-of-a-gun.”

At his side, Chip was conscious of Lee bowing his head, snuffing away a grin. He was starting to worry. Hopefully, he hadn’t done damage to Dey’s reputation as a quality artist by selling the ghastly thing. He had to remind himself it wasn’t the painting that was bad, just the subject matter. 

“That’s beside the point,” he told Barr. “The truth is I made a mistake when I sold it to you. It turns out the artist didn’t want that particular piece sold.”

“You the artist?”

Chip laughed. “No. I was just working the gallery for her.”

“So now you’re in trouble? Did something you shouldn’t have?”

“That’s about the size of it.”

“Look, Mr. Barr,” Lee interrupted. “We drove all the way from Santa Barbara. Could you just give my friend the painting back, and he’ll refund your money?”

Barr looked between the two of them. “I’d like to help you out, gents. Really, I would. But the truth is I don’t have it any more.”

Chip felt his heart plummet to the floor. In the back of his mind he could hear Veronica shrieking about how special the painting was and that unless he got it back, Dey was never going to forgive him. The cocky confidence he’d felt seconds ago vanished in the blink of an eye. “You don’t have it?” he asked bewildered.

“Nope.” Stooping, Barr did a tidy job on the hair trimmings, sweeping them into a dust pan then dumped the mess in a wastebasket. “I gave it to my kid. He just got his own place . . . renting an apartment above the Bountiful Baker from Old Man Jenks. I gave him some furniture from my rec room, but he wanted to dress up the walls. You know - - art and stuff. Kid’s got this skewed taste for the bizarre, so I thought he’d like the rat. Uh, excuse me...” He grinned sheepishly at Chip. “I meant cat.”

“You don’t have it?” Chip repeated, still stuck on the impossible. 

“Thanks, Mr. Barr.” Lee grabbed Chip by the arm, wrenching him from his daze, and pulled him toward the door. “I saw the Bountiful Baker in town. I think we can find it.”

“But . . . but . . .” Chip protested weakly as Lee pushed him outside. He was mumbling now, conscious of the cold panic that slithered into his gut. “It was supposed to be here. I mean we found the truck!” 

“Brilliant deduction, Holmes.” 

How could he have screwed up so badly? “I should just call Dey and own up to the mistake,” he conceded, overlooking Lee’s sarcasm.

His friend tugged him down the steps. “She’s on a plane. Besides, it’s no big deal. We’ll just find Barr’s kid and renegotiate with him. We can still make it back to Santa Barbara before Dey’s flight gets in.” He snapped his fingers, remembering something. “Hold on a minute. I’ll be right back.”

Chip puffed out his cheeks and exhaled loudly. Maybe if he softened Dey up with champagne and roses. Or groveled. It just might come down to that given how emphatic Veronica had been about Dey’s attachment to the painting. And the truth was, he had no one to blame but himself. After all, he’d been the one to insist Dey not cancel the gallery sale, that he could handle things. 

“Come on,” he could still hear himself telling her. “I’m the executive officer of a nuclear submarine. You think I can’t handle selling a few paintings?” Now that he rewound it through his mind it sounded condescending. But he hadn’t meant it that way. He’d just wanted to help out. It was definitely going to be the last time he volunteered for anything. 

A few seconds later, Lee was back, jogging toward the car. “Let’s go. I’m still hungry.”

Chip doubted that. “What were you doing?” At the car, he tugged open the driver’s door.

“Getting the name of Barr’s kid. I thought it would help to know who we’re looking for.”

“Good idea.” Chip slid into the car, deciding it wasn’t the end of the world. They had a name and a destination:  The Bountiful Baker. It was no different than when they’d started, searching for Barr in Breakers Bay with only his first name and vehicle to work from. Feeling slightly better, he turned over the ignition. “So what’s his name?”

“Clark.”

Chip paused as it sank in. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Nope.” Lee reached for his seatbelt. “It’s no wonder he likes bizarre things. With a name like Clark Barr he’s got to be a little unusual.”

************

Unusual didn’t begin to cover it.

Clark Barr looked a bit like a rat himself with close-set eyes, a pointy face and caramel-brown hair tied in a long ponytail. Lee and Chip caught him just as he was exiting his apartment tucked on the second story of the building that housed the Bountiful Baker. An outside wooden staircase was attached to the side of the structure, ending in the small lot where Chip had parked his car. Oblivious to their presence Barr clumped down the stairs, dressed like a refugee from a bad hippie movie. He carried a crumpled brown paper sack from which he grabbed a handful of something or other and shoved it into his mouth.

“Guess we better catch him,” Lee said, though he was more focused on the tantalizing aromas wafting from the bakery. He spared it a hungry sidelong glance as the scent of freshly-baked cinnamon rolls, plump fruit pies and cheese bread made his stomach rumble. 

As if reading his thoughts, Chip frowned. “Lunch after we get the painting.”

Lee was tempted to tell him he had a one-track mind, but the exec had already turned away, sprinting to catch up with Barr who was heading for a bicycle propped against the building. Slightly amused by his friend’s continued panic over the missing painting and his determination to get it back, Lee followed more slowly.

“Clark? Are you Clark Barr?” he heard Chip ask as he joined the other two.

“Yeah. That’s me.” Clark eyed them warily. He didn’t look much older than nineteen, twenty tops, and was every bit as bedraggled as something fished out of the sewers. It wasn’t that he was grubby, but his clothes hung on his lanky frame sloppily. Lee guessed the messy, ill-fitting attire was a matter of preference, matching the stringy hair that hung halfway down his back. 

“Old Man Jenks send you for the rent?” Clark reached into the bag and popped something in his mouth. Up close, Lee noticed the sack was filled with red licorice bits, the kind of penny candy he remembered as a kid. The bite-sized pieces looked fresh, gooey and soft, prompting his stomach to grumble its unpleasantness.

“Jenks told me I had ‘till the fifteenth,” Clark said, still eying them guardedly. “I’m not settled in yet.”

“Hey, no problem.” Chip held up his hands. “We’re not here about the rent.”

“You’re not?” That brought a relieved smile.

“We don’t even know Jenks,” Chip assured. “We’re from Santa Barbara. I’m Chip and that’s Lee.”

Lee nodded hello. “Is that penny licorice?”

“Sure. You want some?” Clark offered the bag, and Lee claimed a handful with a grateful grin. At least the kid wasn’t eating chocolate with a peanut butter crunch center. That would have been a little too weird. He munched contentedly as Chip shook his head to the offer of licorice.

“No thanks. I wanted to ask you about a painting your dad gave you - - probably yesterday.”

“Oh, you mean the gargantuan hamster!” Clark grinned, all white teeth and dimples, the toothy smile a startling contrast against his grungy appearance. “Man, talk about a sci-fi classic. That was some warped rodent with those funky ears and tail.”

Lee grinned, aware Chip was striving for patience. He was starting to wonder just how repulsive Trovinger really was.

“It’s a cat,” Chip said tightly.

“You’re shittin’ me.”

“No, I’m not shitting you. And I’d like to buy it back.” He pulled out his wallet and began flipping through a stack of bills. “Your Dad gave me eighty bucks for it.”

“Eighty bucks?” Clark’s eyebrows winged into his hair. “Now you’re really shittin’ me.” He shoved another handful of licorice into his mouth, eying the money hungrily. “Man, I wish I’d known that freakizoid rat was worth that kind of dough.”

“Cat,” Chip corrected tersely.

“Whatever. If I’d known the little hairball could pull down that kind of cash I never would have given it to Dorie.”

“Dorie?” Chip blanched. He froze in mid bill-flip and swallowed audibly. “You gave it away?”

“Had to. It was my girlfriend’s birthday. I fouled up and didn’t get her the necklace she wanted. With the move and all...” He hooked a thumb in the direction of the apartment. “...I just forgot. Plus I was short on cash. It’s not like she asked me to buy her Queen’s latest or something. Do you have any idea what it costs to keep a girlfriend these days?”

Chip sighed, deflating. “I have a feeling I’m going to find out.”

Lee heard misery in his voice and knew he was anticipating how Dey would react when they returned to Santa Barbara without Trovinger. It might have been comical watching him sweat through the mess he’d made except he looked so pitifully forlorn.

“Maybe we could talk to Dorie,” Lee suggested.

“I’ve got a better idea.” Clark licked his lips, still focused on the money that might have been his. “She doesn’t live that far. I could be there and back in half an hour. In the meantime you guys could grab lunch or something.”

Lee liked the sound of that. “You think you can talk her into giving it back to you?”

“Won’t be easy. I’ll probably have to pull out all the stops.” He fished his wallet from his back pocket and showed them a picture of Dorie. “She’s on break right now but she’s working toward a Bachelor's at UCLA.”

Lee angled closer to study the picture, surprised by the pretty blonde in the snapshot. He’d expected someone on the bohemian side, but Dorie was the typical California golden girl. Fresh-faced and neatly dressed, she looked like someone who should be on the arm of a collegiate football star.

“She’s smart,” Clark explained. “One of those brainy chicks, but she’s into all this relationship garbage. Reads too many women’s magazine and psychology books. It’s probably going to take a lot to get her to part with that painting. I think she fell in love with the damn thing.”

Chip sighed, hearing the cash register ring in Clark’s head. “How much?”

“Um . . . well . . .” Clark returned his wallet to his pocket and chewed around another mouthful of licorice. “I thought maybe there should be a finder’s fee, or an up-charge. I mean I gave her the painting for her birthday and now you want me to take it back.”

“How about an even hundred?” Chip suggested. “You deliver the painting, and I give you one hundred dollars cash.” He tilted his head to the side. “Probably go a long way in helping you meet Old Man Jenks’ rent.”

Clark grinned his toothy smile. “Man, this must be my lucky day.” He stuck out his hand. “Deal.”

***********

Lee gave his order to the waitress (a cheeseburger and fries) then sat back in the blue vinyl upholstered booth and savored the smells of the restaurant - - cooking grease, fried foods and a hint of the pine cleaner used to wipe down the tables. Courtney’s Corner was far from upscale, but he was hungry and sometimes the best food came from diners and hole-in-the-wall establishments. As far as he was concerned, the half hour break while Clark tried to wheedle the painting back from Dorie couldn’t have come at a better time.

“Can you believe that guy?” Chip shook his head. “Too cheap to buy his girlfriend a birthday present and now he wants to profit off her. You see her picture?” He took a long swallow of Coke and drummed his fingers on the table. “What’s a girl like that doing with a cave dweller like him?”

Lee tried not to laugh. Chip was clearly tightly wound and needed a diversion to keep his mind off Trovinger. “Maybe he’s an okay guy.”

“He’s an idiot, Lee.” Chip slouched in the booth, looking surlier as the seconds ticked by. “He reminds me of Mason Weller, Veronica’s ex. I never understood what a bright, outgoing girl like Ron was doing with a knuckle-dragging Cro-Magnon.”

Lee had never met Weller, but he’d heard enough about him to realize he probably was a colossal jerk. “You don’t have to worry about that anymore since Ronnie’s with Kowalski now.” Forsaking the straw the waitress had left he took a swallow of his iced tea then reached for a packet of sugar, deciding it wasn’t sweet enough. He had a good view of the town, the booth they occupied beside a large window overlooking the sidewalk and Main Street. Courtney’s Corner was full, busy catering to the lunch crowd. Outside, more cars and pedestrians arrived, every bit as eager as he was to fill their stomachs. “I think there must be something going on in town,” he commented remembering a sign on the way in for some kind of tournament in Puddlehoppers Park. “Baseball or something,” he mused aloud.

Chip wasn’t listening, still focused on Clark and Dorie - - and apparently - - Veronica and Kowalski. “What the hell is Ron doing with Ski anyway?” he groused.

Lee was surprised by the complaint in his tone. “What’s wrong with Ski?”

Chip shrugged. “Nothing.” They’d been down this road before. “It’s just Ron seems completely gone on him and that bothers me. Every time she opens her mouth it’s ‘Ricky this,’ and ‘Ricky that.’”

Lee was tempted to point out that Chip had fallen into a similar vein, frequently talking about Dey but decided to stay mute on that point. Part of the newness of love was the bubbly gloss that went with it. He was fairly certain Veronica was in love with Ski and, suspected - - though he might not admit it - - that Chip had fallen just as hard for Dey.

“What if they end up married someday?” Chip complained.

Lee laughed. “Kowalski for a brother-in-law? You could do a lot worse. Ski’s a good guy, and he treats Ron well. And let’s face it - - as much as we both love her, your sister is high maintenance.”

Chip parted with a half smile. “The drama queen? You should have heard her when she found out I’d sold Trovinger. The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse couldn’t have put more fear into me.” The smile crumbled as he bowed his head, rubbing his temple. “Damn it, Lee, if I don’t get that painting back, I’m dog meat!”

“Dey will get over it,” he assured. He was starting to think Chip was taking the whole thing entirely too seriously. What the hell had Veronica said to him anyway? “Look, Chip - - Dey’s a reasonable person. You made an honest mistake. Besides, it’s not like you sold her cat. It’s just a painting.”

Chip blinked at him bleakly. “You don’t get artists, do you? They don’t own things. They create them . . . give birth to them. Dey’s paintings are like her children.”

Lee snorted. He’d had enough. “Where’s the food?” he grumbled.

“That’s like telling Nelson Seaview is just a bucket of bolts,” Chip persisted. He leaned forward, his manner every bit as intense as his gaze. “Are you going to tell me you don’t have an intrinsic connection to your beloved Gray Lady?”

Lee was saved a reply by the arrival of his burger. He threw some salt on his fries then dug into the cheeseburger as soon as the waitress left. Across from him, Seaview’s most notorious eater poked his own burger half-heartedly, peeling back the roll and reaching for the ketchup. “What do you think Alyssa would do?”

“Huh?” Lee looked up, swallowing a mouthful of grilled Angus beef. Darn, but it was good, better than the pricey gourmet burgers The Loft tried to pass off as haute cuisine. His plate was littered with sesame seeds and pickle juice but that would only make the fries taste better. He set the burger down and picked up a single crisp spud. Forget ketchup, it would kill the taste. “Alyssa doesn’t paint.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, okay.” He did. He thought about it a moment, finishing off the French fry. “Trust me, Chip, she’d get over it. She might be disappointed at first - - not angry - - but we love each other too much to let anything material come between us. Besides...” He grinned, returning to the burger. “Clark’s going to come through for us. I’ve got a good feeling about that kid.”

If Chip had any optimism left it vanished ten minutes later when Clark Barr pushed through the door of Courtney’s Corner sans painting.       

***********

“I struck out.” Looking every bit as dejected as Chip, Clark dropped down on the bench seat next to Lee. He plopped his arms on the table, fighting to keep his lower lip from protruding in a pout. The lip won. “Can you believe it? She said it was a gift, and I must be some kind of parasite to ask for it back.”

Lee had a feeling Clark’s misery was more about the $100 Chip had offered him than any real remorse over his girlfriend’s objection. 

“Did you tell her Chip needed it back?” he prodded.

Clark blinked at him. “Nah. I just said I wanted it and that I’d get her something else.”

“Great finesse. Let me guess - - Queen’s latest?”

“Hey man, Freddie Mercury rules.”

Across the table, Chip let out a tortured sigh and bowed his face into his hands. “That’s it. I’m road-kill.”

Lee shook his head and polished off the last of his fries. He was glad he’d gotten a decent meal out of their break. From the looks of things, he was going to have to initiate clean-up detail on Trovinger. If he didn’t do something soon, Chip was going to ooze into a puddle of blond misery. Has to be love.

“Clark, where’s Dorie live?”

“How come?”

“Maybe Chip and I can talk to her.”

Clark grunted but gave a disinterested wave of his hand in the general direction. “Five blocks off the Square. 412 Brighton. She’s staying with her parents until she goes back to college.” He grabbed a handful of fries from Chip’s plate - - the exec had barely touched his food - - and popped one in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “I don’t get the whole chick thing.”

“No kidding,” Lee mumbled.

“Huh?”

“Nothing.” He watched as Clark helped himself to another handful of fries. The younger man eyed the exec’s untouched burger. “Hey, man, you gonna eat that?”

Chip shoved it across the table at him. “Knock yourself out. I don’t have an appetite.” His gaze flashed to Lee. “So you think it’s worth talking to her?”

“Why not? We came all this way. We might as well give it a shot.” He nudged Clark in the ribs. “Slide out and let me through.” Clark complied and Lee climbed to his feet. Across the table, Chip did the same thing. The crowd in the restaurant had started to thin, opening up space by the door and the cash register. Overlooking that his friend had promised to buy him lunch, Lee left a few bills on the table for a tip and grabbed the check. 

“Wait here until we get back,” he told Clark.

“Yes, Sir!” The younger man grinned sloppily. “Hell, you make it sound like some kind of order.” His amusement faded quickly as another thought struck. “Hey, if Dorie gives you the painting, I still get the cash, right? You’re not going to stiff me?”

“You’ll get your cash,” Chip said with a frown. He started to turn and immediately bumped into Sheriff Webb who was walking in the other direction. 

Lee caught Chip’s arm before he could stumble. “Sheriff,” he said with a surprised grin. “You’ll have to excuse my friend. He didn’t see you.”

“Guess not.” Webb brushed a hand over his sleeve, smoothing his uniform. He eyed Chip critically.

“Sorry, Sheriff,” Chip mumbled, a red flush rising to his face.

Webb grunted a dismissal but his eyes swept between the two of them, then fastened on Clark in the booth. “I thought you were looking for Abe Barr, not Clark?”

Lee exchanged a glance with Chip. “It’s kind of a father-son thing. Actually we were just on our way out.”

“Of town?”

“Not yet, Sir,” Chip inserted. “But soon. As soon as we finish our business.”

“And that would be?”

“Uh . . .”

Lee came to his rescue. “Just some sightseeing.” He grabbed at the first thing he could think of. “Isn’t there something going on in the park?”

“Yeah. Baseball tournament. The volunteer fire crew is getting their butts kicked by a couple of the town boys and a few of my deputies.”

“No confusion about where you stand,” Lee joked with a congenial grin. “Sounds like fun. Excuse us.” Turning quickly, he gave Chip a shove in the direction of the door. He could feel Webb staring after them as they made their way to the cash register. After a few seconds the sheriff continued toward the back of the restaurant where he paused to chat with some patrons seated at the lunch counter. At the booth they’d vacated, Clark was making short work of Chip’s burger.

“Come on,” Lee urged as he settled the bill and tucked the change in his wallet. “We need to see Dorie before Clark gets bored and decides to wander after us.”

Chip fished his keys from his pocket. “Think she’ll be reasonable with us?”

“Sure.” Lee grinned easily. “You be sincere; I’ll be charming. Who could refuse that?”

************

Dorie could.

Not only that, she did it emphatically with a decisive stamp of her foot and a toss of her shiny blonde hair. They found her in the front yard of 412 Brighton weeding flower beds overflowing with a colorful array of marigolds, petunias and variegated hostas. A sprawling covered porch with a painted white railing and high-backed wooden rockers made the scene look like something out of a storybook. Hanging baskets of violets, daises and something green and viney that Chip couldn’t identify added to the postcard charm. After a quick hello, he gave their first names and launched into the reason they were there, confident they could coerce the girl into parting with the painting. He was sincere, Lee was charming.

Neither worked.

“No, I will not give Clark his painting back,” Dorie snapped when Chip had finished. “And you can tell that weasely, no good boyfriend of mine, the next time I hint I want a dolphin necklace from Janelle’s Jewelry Joint, I don’t expect him to foist an emaciated squirrel on me instead!”

“It’s a cat,” Chip said wearily. He wondered if Dey would take into consideration the many times he’d been forced to defend the utterly homely Trovinger when someone wanted to label the creature a bizarre freak of nature. Which, Chip admitted reluctantly, he was.

Didn’t that count as some form of chivalry? He’d even undertaken a quest - - a quest damn it - - to get the shudder-inducing feline back. “I wonder if the Knights of the Round Table had to wade through all this muck,” he muttered to Lee.

His friend grinned. 

Dorie was still babbling on about Clark’s lack of attentiveness and how a particular piece of jewelry - - not just any old piece, but the one she wanted - - was far more romantic than some painting of a withered chipmunk or even a compendium on Freddie Mercury.

“... which Clark would surely blow his money on before he spent a dime on me. Do you realize for Valentine’s Day he wrapped up a copy of Queen’s Sheer Heart Attack and gave it to me with a Clark Bar? For Valentine’s Day! He thought he was being cute.”

Chip had a feeling Clark had probably struck out in the romance department on February 14th. It was a miracle the couple was still together. Once again he found himself wondering about the oddity of a girl like Dorie with a guy like Clark. 

“Gee. Sorry.” Chip knew his voice was flat, but the truth was he just wanted Trovinger back and had hit rock bottom on his well of earnestness. If Dorie had any sense, she’d dump Clark and hook up with someone more deserving. “I’m sorry about your troubles with Clark, but it’s important I get the painting back.”

“Well, I’m sorry too. Clark needs to learn a lesson. I let him off the hook on Valentine’s Day, and I’m not about to again.” She stooped to retrieve a pair of gardening gloves and tugged them briskly over her hands. Almost distractedly, she glanced aside at Lee. “Do I know you from somewhere?”

Lee seemed surprised. “No. I doubt it.”

“Hmm. You look familiar. What’s so special about the painting anyway?”

“It belongs to a friend,” Chip said. “It never should have been sold in the first place.” He was beginning to grow desperate. “Look, I’ll offer you double what I was going to give Clark. That’s two hundred dollars.”

“Two hundred dollars!” Lee blurted before he could stop himself. “Chip, that’s crazy!”

Dorie looked as though he’d lost his mind. “For that funny-looking squirrel?”

“Yes,” Chip ground out, clenching his teeth. “And for the last time, it’s a cat! Not a hamster, rat, mole or any other four-legged fur-ball you can think of. It’s a feline! A common housecat. An animal that meows, purrs and chases mice.”

“Actually, no one ever called it a mole,” Lee felt compelled to point out.

Chip glared at him. “Crane...”

“Okay, okay, I get it.” Dorie held up both hands. “But I’m still not parting with the painting. If Clark wants it back, he can buy me the necklace. Then maybe I’ll consider it. He’s such a hagfish sometimes!” Dismissing them both, she went back to her weeding. 

Chip stood dumbly, watching her tug a clump of crab grass from a grouping of marigolds and begonias. “I must be cursed,” he mumbled to no one in particular.

“Come on. We’re done here.” Lee grabbed his arm and steered him toward the Trans Am. 

Chip stumbled along numbly, wrapped in a haze of disappointment. 

“Why do you think she called Clark a hagfish?” Lee mused aloud, ignoring his depression.

“Probably because he is. Right now I’m ready to call him a lot worse.” 

“But a hagfish, Chip?” Lee looked thoughtful as he headed for the passenger’s side of the vehicle. “Clark never did say what she was taking in college . . .”

“Clark never said a hell of a lot, other than he owes Old Man Jenks some rent and thinks Freddie Mercury is a demigod. Do you know how much time we’ve wasted?” Agitated, he folded his arms on the top of the Trans Am and stared at Lee across the roof. “This is freaking hopeless.”

“So you want to toss in the towel?”

“I don’t have a choice!” The dead-end realization made his gut roil. “I never screwed up like this before, Lee.”

His friend gave a short bark of laughter. “Think so? What about the time you backed your mom’s Granada into a tree?”

Chip winced. The car had only been two months old. “I forgot about that one.”

“And the time you locked yourself out of your house - - in your underwear!”

That one had been particularly embarrassing. Thank God Lee had been on his way over and had his own key.

“Then there was the time...”

“Yeah, okay I get it!” Chip snapped. His anger faded quickly when he saw the deviling grin on Lee’s face. It was hard to stay aggravated with his friend when he grinned like that. “You wouldn’t find this so damn comical if our roles were reversed and you were worried about Alyssa,” he protested.

“Probably not.” Lee popped open his door. “Want me to drive?”

“No, I don’t want you to drive.” They slid into the car on opposite sides. Chip sat staring straight ahead, letting the misery of his predicament wash over him. The second hand on his watch was like a time bomb in his ear, ticking down to zero-hour. How long before Dey’s flight touched down? “Got any ideas?” he asked.

“Just one.”

Chip looked at him surprised. “Plan on sharing it?”

Lee reclined in the seat and laced his hands over his stomach, smug as a Cheshire cat. “Start the car. We’ve got to pick up Clark.”

“What for?”

“He’s going to buy Dorie her necklace.”

***********

Chip felt like he’d been kicked in the gut. “Got any other bright ideas?” he groused.

Seated beside him in a booth at Courtney’s Corner, Lee scowled. “It was a good plan. Admit it.”

“Maybe. But right now it’s as belly up as the real Trovinger.”

Lee sighed, watching as Clark downed a chili dog. Apparently the going rate for keeping an annoying long-haired kid in your company was to supply him with food. Clark chewed contentedly, enjoying the afternoon as if the whole thing were a fun-filled excursion. 

After visiting Dorie, Lee and Chip had picked him up at Courtney’s Corner, then walked down the street to Janelle’s Jewelry Joint. Lee’s plan had been to invest the money they would have given Clark for the painting into Dorie’s necklace. She’d get what she wanted, Clark would come out a hero and, hopefully, Chip would get Trovinger back. 

“It’s like paying a ransom,” he’d explained to Chip on the drive back to the restaurant. A ransom for a dead cat. No one was ever going to believe him. His friend agreed it could work.

Clark needed convincing.

“There goes my $100,” he’d whined, causing Chip to revert to ballistic executive officer mode. 

Five minutes later - - after more whining from Clark, glaring from Chip, and a lot of coddling intermediary work on Lee’s part - - they mutually determined Dorie’s necklace was $30.00, which left Clark with a net profit of $70.00. 

“Okay. I guess I can live with that,” Clark conceded grudgingly.

Lee shoved him out the door, pulling Chip behind. “I hope you appreciate everything I’m doing for you, Morton,” he complained. “Arranging a pay-off for a freaking dead cat!”

Unfortunately when they arrived at Janelle’s Jewelry Joint, the manager told them he’d sold the necklace an hour ago and it was the last one he had. “A gentleman bought it for his daughter.”

Lee felt his gut plummet. 

“Who was he?” Chip demanded.

“I don’t know. I didn’t ask his name. He said he was driving home to Sickle Hill.”

“What did he look like?” Lee persisted.

A shrug. “Slightly overweight. Thinning hair. I’m not a police sketch artist.”

Chip looked ready to decapitate the man.

“Thanks,” Lee said.

With Chip alternately mumbling and swearing, and Clark complaining the walk had made him hungry, they returned to Courtney’s Corner and their booth by the window. Lee shoved a menu under Clark’s nose and told him to order what he wanted. Ten minutes later, with Clark stuffing his face full of chili dog and cheddar cheese and Chip looking like someone had shot his dog - - cat, Lee mentally corrected - - they sat mutely, listening to the din of the restaurant.

“Okay. So I’m out of ideas,” Lee admitted. He heard a bark of laughter and looked toward the door where a large group of men in red ball caps had just entered. Their tee-shirts were smudged with dirt and most were noticeably sweaty, but they were obviously in a boisterous mood, clapping each other on the back and calling out greetings to different people in the restaurant.

Clark wolfed down the last of his dog. “Looks like the town guys and Sheriff Webb’s deputies got whooped by the volunteer fire crew. Webb’s going to be in a nasty mood.”

“Trust me,” Chip muttered. “He’s got nothing on me.”

Lee fought the urge to grin. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Chip so miserable. Even his normally impeccable clothing was wilted and wrinkled. True, he wasn’t in Seaview’s crisp khaki uniform, but the jeans and blue pull-over jersey he’d started out the morning with looked on the ragged side - - probably because of his dejected slouch. 

At the front of the restaurant a large cheer went up as several more of the ball cap-wearing players spilled through the door to join their teammates.

“Wow! Check it out.” Seated near the window, Clark craned his neck to stare outside. A few feet away, a balding man had plopped down on a squat wooden bench. He carried several packages, one which proudly proclaimed Janelle’s Jewelry Joint in flowing violet letters. As they watched, he pulled a crushed velvet box from the bag, carefully raising the lid. Sunlight danced off a frolicking silver dauphin suspended on a delicate mesh chain. “Hey! That’s the necklace Dorie wanted.”

“What?” Chip sat up with a lurch. “Where?”

Clark pointed out the window. “The fat dude on the bench.”

The portly man tucked the box back in the bag then produced a handkerchief to mop his brow. A few seconds later he gathered his packages, preparing to stand. 

“He’s leaving!” Chip cried, nearly tripping in his haste to get from the booth. “We’ve got to stop him!”

“Clark, take care of the bill,” Lee snapped, bolting to his feet.

“Man, I don’t got any cash.”

“Shit!” Lee dug into his wallet aware Chip was already making a mad dash for the front door. Outside, their quarry had moved across the street and was opening the trunk of a blue Ford. Lee pulled a ten from his wallet and tossed it at Clark. “Take care of the bill,” he repeated and darted for the door.

He’d managed all of two steps before colliding with one of the ballplayers. Caught off guard, the man grunted at the impact and stumbled backward, falling onto his butt. 

“Hey, what’d you do that for?” his teammate demanded. “You one of those Webb supporters?”

“Oh, hell,” Lee muttered. He bent to offer his hand to the man he’d sent sprawling. “Look, I’m sorry. I...” Before he could finish, someone shoved him roughly in the back. Off balance, he stumbled into another ballplayer and got a nasty push for the insult. 

His temper spiked. “Back off!” he snarled. “It was an accident.”

“Sure it was. Just like that foul ball in the eighth was an accident. Try this the next time you yahoos think you’re going to cheat...” 

Lee barely managed to duck the man’s wild swing, but wasn’t fast enough to dodge a leg-swipe from the guy on the ground. He felt his knees cut out from under him. 

Suddenly there was a lot of yelling, a chorus of “get ‘em, Bobby,” a shriek and clatter of silverware. He took a blow to the cheek before lobbing an uppercut of his own. From somewhere in the vicinity of the door Lee heard a rush of footsteps and realized Chip had run back inside. From the corner of his eye he saw his friend take a swipe at the first person who put their hands on him.

Unfortunately, that person was Sheriff Webb.

***********

Chip decided the day couldn’t get any worse. He’d wasted all of his morning and a good chunk of the afternoon in a fruitless search for Trovinger. Not only had the man with the dolphin necklace driven off before he could catch him, but he’d mistakenly nailed the sheriff with an uppercut to the jaw. Only later did he learn Webb had been in the back of the restaurant having lunch with Old Man Jenks, commiserating over the second year in a row his team had lost to the volunteer fire crew. When Lee had gotten into a scuffle near the front door, Webb had barged in, intending to break it up. Instead, he’d nearly gotten his jaw broken by Chip.

Fortunately, the sheriff wasn’t inclined to slap him in handcuffs, but he did round up Lee, Chip and Clark and march the three of them down to his office. Chip had a feeling the man’s temper had gone from simmer to boil and, if they weren’t careful, would erupt like Mount Vesuvius.

The sheriff’s office was small with two desks and a reception counter in an outer room and a private office in the back for Webb. A woman with short gray hair and a desk plate that proclaimed she was “Mrs. Wilton” looked up as they entered. She smiled briefly at the sheriff, untroubled by his thunderous expression, then went back to pecking away at a manual Smith Corona.

“Hold my calls, Ashley,” Webb said, herding the three of them toward the rear.

Chip guessed there was a lock-up somewhere off to the right where he noticed a security door. Next to it was a small break room with a water cooler, coffee pot and soda machine. Someone had left a box of donuts from the Bountiful Baker on the table and he caught a whiff of cinnamon as they filed past.

“Inside.” Webb yanked open the door to his office. 

It smelled of cigarette butts and lemon furniture polish, the latter doing little to mask the former. A mahogany desk occupied the bulk of the room with two straight-backed chairs positioned in front of it. Webb grabbed a third from beneath a large rectangular window and jammed it in with the other two.

“Sit down.” There wasn’t room for discussion in the order. Chip and Lee complied, Clark, moving more slowly, fell into the chair with a pronounced slouch.

Webb kicked him in the foot. “Sit up straight, damn it.”

The younger man complied but not without sulking. “I wasn’t even involved in that mess at Courtney’s,” he protested. “Since when is it a crime to eat a chili dog?”

“Clark,” Lee said wearily.

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

A faint flicker of amusement threatened to curve Webb’s lips. He hitched a hip onto the edge of his desk in a manner that proclaimed he was ready to get down to business. “ID.”

With a glance for Lee, Chip reached into his back pocket and pulled out his billfold, passing it to Webb. Beside him, Lee did the same. The sheriff tossed both onto his desk without examining them, prompting Chip to hope they might get by with a simple lecture. Or at least that was his hope until he noticed the bruise rising on Webb’s jaw. Someone was going to pay for that, and he had a feeling that someone was going to be him.  

“Let’s start with some answers.”

“Wait a minute,” Clark protested indignantly. “If I’m gonna get grilled, I wanna know why the guys from the fire crew aren’t here. They’re the ones who started the whole thing.”

“They’re not going anywhere. I know those guys and the last thing they want to do is tick me off right now. Especially after taking my team to the cleaners two years in a row.”

“Uh, yeah. We heard about that.” Chip offered. “Sorry.”

Webb eyed him coolly. “Well, Mr. Santa Barbara, let’s talk about something to take my mind off it. You can start by telling me what you and your friend are doing in my town. And don’t give me any garbage about sightseeing.”

“Man, they’re chasing some freakizod rat!” Clark exploded before Chip could form a single word.

Irritated, he glared at their tag-along cohort. “It’s a cat!”

Webb looked from one to the other. “You drove all the way from Santa Barbara to find a cat?”

“No, the cat’s dead,” Lee inserted, speaking for the first time.

“So you’re looking for a dead cat?” 

“I didn’t know the rat was dead,” Clark piped up.

“The rat isn’t dead,” Chip said, glaring. “Trovinger is.”

“Who’s Trovinger?” Webb looked between the three of them. “I thought you were looking for a cat?”

“We are.”

“Then who the hell is Trovinger?”

“The cat,” Lee supplied.

“You just told me the cat was dead.”

“It is.”

Webb drew a breath, striving for patience. “Are you three clowns trying to be stupid or does it come naturally?”

Chip shook his head. “We’re not being obtuse, Sheriff. We’re telling you the truth.”

“Bullshit. I want straight answers without the Mutt and Jeff routine.”

“Okay.” Chip tried to sort it through but, when he thought about it, the whole thing was pretty damn comical. He’d blown his last chance, was going to have to go back to Santa Barbara, confront Dey and own up to his blunder. He might as well find some humor in the pandemonium he’d made. Beside him, Lee struggled not to laugh. He had a feeling if the captain so much as grinned Webb would skewer them alive. 

“Actually,” he said, trying to unravel the muddle in a way that made sense. “We came to buy a painting.”

“You just told me you were looking for a cat.”

“Yes. A painting of a cat.”

“Who the hell paints a dead cat?”

Lee bowed his head, covering up a grin.

You’re not helping, Chip wanted to snap at him. He was running out of glares but managed a behemoth for his superior officer. “The cat wasn’t dead in the painting,” he explained, refocusing on Webb. 

“Should’ve been,” Clark grumbled, slouching lower in his seat. “Looked like the lead in Attack of the Zombie Cat.”

Chip ignored him. “Clark’s dad bought the painting off me in Santa Barbara for eighty bucks. I should have never sold it, so I came to buy it back.”

“He paid eighty bucks for a dead cat?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Yeah, but then he gave it to me for my new pad,” Clark chimed in “They were going to give me $100.00 for it.”

“The same dead cat?”

“Yes. Except Clark had already given it to his girlfriend, Dorie,” Chip continued.

“Dorie Kilpatrick?” Webb looked at Clark. “What for?”

“It was her birthday. I needed a gift.”

“You gave your girlfriend a painting of a dead cat? For her birthday? Are you nuts, boy?”

Clark dropped his eyes uncomfortably. “Okay, so I mighta blown it there. It didn’t go over too good.”

“No wonder.”

“And Dorie wasn’t in the mood to give it back,” Chip elaborated.

“Even for two hundred,” Lee added.

“Two hundred dollars?” Webb and Clark exclaimed in unison.

Clark looked at Chip. “No fair, man. You were only gonna give me a hundred.”

Chip scowled at his friend who was grinning openly now. “Just had to throw that in there, didn’t you, Lee?”

Webb stood, hitching up his pants. “All these shenanigans aside, you still haven’t explained how you ended up in a brawl with the volunteer fire department.”

“It wasn’t a brawl,” Lee protested. “Just a few punches. And it was an accident.”

“That so?” Webb rubbed the dark spot on his chin. “I don’t consider it an accident I got clonked on the jaw.”

Chip colored and lowered his head. “I’m sorry, Sheriff. I didn’t realize it was you. See, I’d been chasing the man with the dolphin and when I came back inside my friend was on the floor with some guy taking a swing at him.”

“Dolphin?” Webb’s tone was skeptical. “So now we have a cat and a dolphin?”

Chip exchanged a glance with Lee and Clark. “Yes, Sir,” he admitted at last, realizing how ridiculous the whole thing sounded.

“Are you going to tell me the dolphin’s dead too?” The last trace of patience withered from the sheriff’s face. “You’re making this up as you go along, right? I’ve had just about enough of you three.” Before he could work himself into a tirade, he was distracted by a clamor of voices outside the door.

“Dorie,” Chip heard a woman protest. “He’s busy right now. You can’t go in there.”

Seconds later, the door flung open and Dorie Kilpatrick burst inside, an unframed canvas tucked under her arm. Surprised by the interruption, Chip and the others immediately stood.

“I’m sorry, Sheriff,” Ashley Wilton said, hovering in the doorway. “I tried to tell her you were busy, but...”

“It’s all right.” Webb held up a hand, forestalling further protests from his secretary. “She’s kind of involved in this mess whether she knows it or not.”

Breezing past him as if he didn’t exist, Dorie honed in on Lee. She stopped in front of him, smiling up into his face. “I’m such an idiot. I know who you are now.”

“Dorie?” Webb frowned openly, turning to address the girl as if she’d lost her mind. “What the hell are you talking about?” She looked more than a little star struck, a glowing smile on her face, her eyes dreamy and glazed with a far-away gloss. “He’s a pain in my posterior, that’s what he is!”

Dorie roused as if being rudely awakened from a pleasant dream. “Is that how you address distinguished guests, Sheriff?”

Webb snorted loudly. “Distinguished?” 

“Yes, distinguished. This is Captain Lee Crane of the submarine Seaview and his executive officer, Lt. Commander Chip Morton. They’re from the Nelson Institute of Marine Research.”

Clark made a sound like a whale’s blowhole erupting. “No shit.”

Without a word, Webb grabbed the two billfolds from his desk, flipped them open and gave them a quick perusal. His expression shifted from irritation to surprise to mild amusement. “My, my, my.” He cast a sardonic glance at Lee, returning his ID. “Perhaps you’d like to explain, Commander Crane, why Admiral Nelson’s Institute has taken an interest in my town.”

“I . . . Sheriff . . .”

Dorie burst out with a loud huff of dismissal. “The town has nothing to do with it,” she said emphatically. “It’s the painting they’re after.” Her eyes shifted between Lee and Chip. “Aren’t you curious how I figured it out . . . I mean who you are?”

Chip exchanged a glance with Lee. His friend didn’t seem any more enlightened than he did.

“We’re curious,” he admitted.

Dorie beamed. “I’m in my second year of oceanography at UCLA. Of course I know everything there is to know about Seaview and the Institute. I thought you looked familiar but you’d only given me your first names. It didn’t dawn on me who you were until after you’d left. I was so mad about the whole thing with Clark and the painting, and then I realized that you... ” She pointed at Chip, “called your friend ‘Crane.’ When you first introduced yourselves, you said his name was Lee. I thought he looked familiar, but when I put the first and last names together ...” She grinned even broader. “I’ve seen him in the society pages with his fiancée, Alyssa Halston. And you ...” Her attention was back on Chip, the gleam in her eyes a notch above clinical admiration. “I’ve fantasized about meeting you.” Her lashes dipped coyly, veiled with obvious infatuation. “You’re taller and younger than I thought you’d be. I’d give just about anything to spend twenty minutes with you. You’ve got to know everything about Seaview ever imagined.”

Chip hedged, embarrassed by her fawning. “I wouldn’t go that far. I’m not Admiral Nelson.”

 

“But you’re her executive officer. You know the boat inside and out.”

Clark rolled his eyes. “Give me a break. He’s not Freddie Mercury.”

Dorie ignored him, still swooning over Chip. “I’m just sorry I didn’t realize it sooner. Of course I’d never keep anything you wanted. I admire you far too much for that. Here...” She shoved the painting of Trovinger at him. “I didn’t want this anyway. I was only keeping it because I was mad at Clark. Please, take it.”

“I . . .” Having it suddenly thrust upon him, Chip didn’t know how to react. Under normal circumstances, his first impulse would have been to take the painting and hightail it for Santa Barbara, but the girl’s flattery left him feeling awkward. Thankfully, Lee intervened.

“That’s awfully kind of you, Dorie. I know Chip really appreciates it. His girlfriend painted that.”

“Girlfriend?” She drew back as if stung.

“Let me see that thing.” Sheriff Webb insisted. Claiming it from Chip, he laid it flat on his desk, moving close to study it. Lee looked over his shoulder, getting his first good look at Trovinger.

“Hell, Chip,” he mumbled.

Webb blanched. “You did say this thing is dead, right? Thank God someone had sense enough to put it out of its misery.”

Chip grimaced. “Okay, so it isn’t an attractive cat.”

“Chip,” Lee said flatly, staring at the painting. “That is not, by any stretch of the imagination, a cat.”

“Sure it is.” He tilted his head trying to convince himself. It had four legs, a pointed face, ears and a tail. True, it wasn’t like any cat he’d ever seen before but it was feline in nature. Vaguely. 

“What the hell else would you call it?”

“A rat,” Webb said decisively.

“Squirrel,” Dorie inserted.

“Nah, it’s some kind of mutated hamster,” Clark chimed in.

Lee shrugged. “I don’t know what it is, but it’s not a cat.”

 

“Whatever the hell the freakish thing is, you’re telling me this is what all the fuss was about?” Webb shook his head. “You two must really need a break from that submarine, driving from Santa Barbara to retrieve this.” He waved a hand over the painting, his face contorting. “I don’t want to know why. I just want this... thing... out of my office. And the two of you along with it.”

“Does that mean we’re free to go?” Chip asked hopefully.

Webb nodded. “The press would skewer me alive if I arrested Seaview’s top two officers. Not to mention what that admiral of yours might do. I’ve had enough excitement for one day. I don’t need him coming up here and stirring up trouble looking for you.”

Chip breathed a sigh of relief and shook Webb’s hand. “Thanks, Sheriff.” 

It was early enough that if he and Lee left immediately they’d beat Dey’s flight and still have an hour or two to spare. He’d tuck the painting back where he found it, pick up a bottle of wine for later, then head to the airport to meet Dey. She’d never even know Trovinger had taken a foray from the gallery. 

“But you can’t leave yet,” Dorie protested. “There’s so much I want to ask you, so much I want to know.” Upset, she looked between Lee and Chip. “And I did bring the painting back. Isn’t that worth a few hours of your time?”

Chip glanced at his watch. “Uh, Dorie...” He hated to disappoint her, but there was no way he was going to blow his evening with Dey after all the hoops he’d jumped through to track down Trovinger. “I’d like to stay and chat, but...”

“You’re leaving?” She blinked, her eyes threatening tears. Damn, how did women manage that at the drop of a pin?

“Maybe we can work something out,” Lee suggested quickly. “I have an idea.”

**********

“So . . .” Lee glanced over at his friend, glad to have Breakers Bay behind them. Ten minutes on the road and already he could feel Chip’s relief to be headed back to Santa Barbara. Outside, the sun had started a slow descent from its zenith, sinking closer to the earth as noon gave way to late day. Chip stayed within the speed limit, unconcerned with time now that he had the painting and would reach Santa Barbara several hours ahead of Dey. 

Before leaving, the exec had given Clark his $100.00 along with a stern lecture that if he had any sense, he’d buy something nice for Dorie. Whether that would actually happen was debatable. Lee had a feeling the relationship wouldn’t be lasting much longer, which was probably for the best. Sheriff Webb had been glad to see them go and even Dorie was pleased, ecstatic with the arrangements Lee had made.

“So . . .” he prodded again.

“So what?” Chip asked, his eyes hidden by the mirrored sunglasses he favored.  

“So you owe me a ‘thank you.’ I got your butt out of there on time and even made Dorie happy.”

“Now you’re keeping score? I would have thought of it eventually,” Chip groused. “You’ve just had more practice at getting out of jams than I have.”

“Admit it,” Lee persisted. “It was a good idea.”

“Okay, it was a good idea,” Chip conceded grudgingly. “Thanks.” A second later he grinned, shedding his feigned grumpiness. “I can’t believe we actually pulled it off. We got the painting!”

Lee grinned in return. It was pretty spectacular when he thought about it. A four-hour drive to retrieve a painting of a . . . a . . .well, Trovinger . . . with nothing more than a first name and the description of Abe Barr’s vehicle. It was a good thing Breakers Bay was so small and that not many residents (other than Barr) had orange pick-ups. 

They’d had several hurdles to overcome, but even Dorie Kilpatrick had been happy with the result. She might not have gotten her dolphin necklace but Lee had arranged for her to visit the Institute and Seaview later in the month and get a guided tour of both from Chip. When he’d proposed the idea, she giddily bounced up and down like a kid at Christmas. Lee still wasn’t sure if she’d been more excited about the prospect of actually seeing the boat and the Institute or spending time with the man who appeared to be her idol - - Lt. Commander Chip Morton. 

“What are you going to tell Dey?” he asked.

“Are you nuts?” Chip looked taken aback he would even ask. “I’m not going to tell her anything. She’ll never even know Trovinger was missing from the gallery.”

“You’re sure about that?”

“Positive,” Chip said with conviction. 

Four-and-a-half hours later they pulled into the parking lot of the Web Spinner, greeted by the sight of Dey’s new red Jeep in a spot near the back door.

Chip went from looking happy and smug, to stunned in a matter of seconds. Hunched over the steering wheel, he peered through the windshield, all color rapidly draining from his face. “This can’t be happening!” he protested. “Her flight wasn’t supposed to get in until ten o’clock.”

“Looks like there was a change of plans, buddy.” Lee popped open the door on the Trans Am. “This is where I bow out.”

Chip clamped a hand over his wrist. “Wait! Where are you going?”

“Down the street. I’ll grab dinner somewhere then catch a cab home.” He couldn’t stop an impulsive smile. Chip looked as panicked as he had that morning when he’d first shown up on Lee’s doorstep. “Or maybe I’ll hook up with the admiral and tell him what kind of day I had.”

Chip still had a death grip on his arm. “Lee, this isn’t funny. After all I went through to get that damn cat back I can’t believe I’m going to blow it now.”

“Maybe you can sneak the painting in when she isn’t looking.” If Lee didn’t leave soon, he feared he would burst out laughing. There was a part of him that felt sorry for Chip, but the other part was having too much fun imagining the whole mess blowing up in Chip’s face. His friend wouldn’t be reacting so anxiously if he weren’t utterly smitten with Dey. In the past, Chip had enjoyed more than a few laughs at Lee’s expense over his relationship with Alyssa, so it was hard not to enjoy the shoe being firmly on the other foot.

“Look, Chip,” Lee said, trying not to laugh. “You managed to get the painting back, so she can’t be angry about it. Put the right spin on it and you could even come out a hero.”

Chip blinked. “What do you mean?”

Lee twisted his wrist free. “You drove all the way to Breakers Bay to get Trovinger back because you knew how much the painting meant to her. You spent your entire day tracking it down, determined you weren’t coming back without it. Just for her.”

“Yeah, I did, didn’t I? I even belted the town sheriff when he got in my way,” Chip added getting into the spirit of the idea.

“Don’t push it,” Lee said. He slid from the car, bending to peer inside. “Call me tomorrow and let me know how everything went.” He started to turn then remembered Chip’s promise from that morning. “And don’t forget you owe me a bottle of champagne when Alyssa gets back in town. I want the good stuff, Morton. Nothing cheap.”

Chip grumbled something in return but Lee closed the door on his complaint, leaving Trovinger’s fate in Chip’s hands. 

Or maybe, he thought, whistling contentedly as he strolled from the parking lot, it was the other way around.

**********

Chip pulled the painting from the back seat, careful to keep the bare canvas side facing outward. It was afterhours, nearing eight o’clock in the evening. The Web Spinner was closed, but Dey had given him a key in order to work the gallery opening. He used it now to let himself in the back door, stepping cautiously into a small office.

“Dey?”

Deyanne Montgomery, his girlfriend of the last eleven weeks was sitting at her desk, flipping through a large ledger book. The main section of the store - - the gallery - - was dark, visible through a connecting door. Thank God it was afterhours and there weren’t any customers to witness his blunder. He could smell the faint aroma of paint, candles and linseed oil that always seemed to linger in the shop.

“Chip!” Dey glanced up as he stepped inside, her face breaking into a wide smile. “What are you doing here?” In the next second, she bounded across the room and flung herself into his arms. “Not that I care. I’m just glad to see you.” She kissed him eagerly. “Miss me? I can’t believe it’s been a week since I’ve seen you.”

“Mmm.” He couldn’t really speak, his arms full of Dey, his lips on hers. He held the painting behind her back as he hugged her, her waist-length black hair brushing his knuckles with the cool touch of silk. Her energy still caught him off guard at times, but she was only twenty-eight and had the creative liveliness of an artist, something he was still adjusting to. Something he liked - - a lot.

“I couldn’t wait for you to get home,” he mumbled against her lips, the feel of her in his arms more than a little distracting. Okay, majorly distracting.

“I guess you figured I caught an earlier flight.”

“I guess I did.”

She smiled. “I tried to call, but I couldn’t reach you at home or the Institute.”

“Uh, yeah . . . I was out with Lee.”

“I should have known. Hopefully, you two stayed out of trouble.”

“Well, I . . .”

She drew back to gaze up at him, already off on another track. “You and Ron did a great job with the gallery sale. I was looking at the books. You even sold the large oil I did of Pelican Beach.” 

“The owner of that new yacht club on the pier bought it,” Chip said absently. “He wants it for the pub room.”

“Really? That’s fantastic!” Becoming aware of an unfamiliar pressure against her back, Dey craned her neck to see over her shoulder. “What are you holding?”

Chip released her, immediately tucking the painting behind him. “Um . . . it’s sort of why you couldn’t reach me today.”

“What is it?” Curious, she tried to peer around him but, even in her wedged, cork-soled sandals her head barely reached his shoulders. “Is that a painting?”

“Dey, I need to talk to you about something. Come here and sit down.” Taking her elbow, he steered her toward a small sofa adjacent to the door. 

Her levity immediately changed to concern. “What’s wrong? Did something happen? Is Lee okay? Ronnie and Rick?”

“They’re all fine.” He guided her to a seat, trying to think how to start. “How’s your brother doing?” he asked, buying time.

“Danny’s great. I told you that on the phone the last time we talked.” She bit her lip. “Chip, you’re worrying me.”

That was definitely not the mood he wanted her in. The whole thing was so damn frustrating because of how he felt about her. He’d always been attracted to professional business types - - military career women, doctors, teachers, attorneys. Dey was a professional - - she owned her own business - - but she was unlike anyone he’d ever dated. She tended to react off the cuff and react passionately. Which meant if he ticked her off she was likely to get hot, not just angry. All of that aside, he was beginning to think he might be in lo . . . lov . . .

Well, he liked her a lot and didn’t want to screw that up.

“I made a stupid mistake.”

“Mistake? You mean with the gallery sale?” Her violet eyes were sympathetic, encouraging him to continue. “That’s okay, Chip.”

“No. It’s not. See . . . Ron told me about Trovinger.”

Dey looked confused. “My cat?”

Chip nodded. “I know how much the painting of Trovinger means to you, Dey. I’m not sure why you never told me about it.”

“Well . . . I just . . .” She was clearly having problems keeping up with the conversation. “Chip, what does Trovinger have to do with the gallery sale?”

He drew in a breath, sucking up his nerve. “Because I sold him by mistake.”

“You sold Trovinger?”

He nodded. “But it’s okay. See, I got him back.” He flipped the painting around so she could see that he had indeed rescued her precious cat. “That’s where I’ve been all day. The guy I sold the painting to lived in Breakers Bay. So when Ron told me how important it was...”

“You drove to Breakers Bay?” Dey’s eyes went from the canvas to his face. She stood slowly, her expression unreadable. “Chip, I don’t know what to say.”

“I’m sorry I screwed up,” he insisted. “But you’ve got to understand it was an honest mistake. Then when Lee and I got to Breakers Bay...”

“You took Lee with you?”

He nodded, speaking quickly. “Abe Barr, the guy in the orange pick-up...”

“What pick-up?”

“That was the truck he was driving - - the guy who bought the painting. I didn’t even know his last name when we went looking for him.”

“And Lee went along with all of this?” She sounded incredulous. “How did you track him down?”

“Through the sheriff . . . well, sort of.” Chip set the painting aside and laced a hand through his hair. He was pumped on adrenalin now and talked as fast as he could, pacing back and forth as he unloaded the story. 

“Barr was a barber with a kid named Clark. He gave his kid the painting instead of rent money which is what Clark really needed. Clark, on the other hand, was short one birthday gift so he gave the painting to his girlfriend, Dorie. But Dorie got ticked because she wanted a dolphin necklace not a painting of a  . . . a . . .” He stumbled over the word. “. . . cat.” He waved absently at Trovinger.

“Chip..." 

“...or even Queen’s latest album. Which is what Clark really wanted. For himself, not her. Apparently Dorie rated somewhere below Freddie Mercury and red licorice bits on his priority list. She got royally ticked at him, and who can blame her? The guy was a jerk of the Cro-Magnon variety. Unfortunately, that meant Dorie wouldn’t give me the painting . . . until she figured out who we were, but that came later when she showed up with Ashley. Lee had to promise her - - Dorie, not Ashley - - a tour of Seaview and the Institute. ”

“Chip...”

“In the meantime, all she was concerned about was teaching Clark a lesson. Which is a losing proposition if you ask me. The guy’s clueless.” Chip spun his finger in a circle by his temple. “Then again, how much can you seriously expect from someone named ‘Clark Barr?’ Lee and I had to drag him to the jewelry store to buy the necklace to give to Dorie, so she’d give us the painting. Follow?” He grinned, realizing he sounded like an imbecile.

“Chip...”

“By the time we got there, the dolphin had been sold. We spied the guy who bought it on the street, but the volunteer fire crew got in the way and Lee ended up in a fight. I tried to break it up but punched the sheriff by mistake. He was already in a foul mood because of the baseball tournament, so he dragged us down to his office and...”

Dey burst out laughing.

He stopped abruptly, his rambling monologue coming to a thunderstruck halt. Sure, he sounded like an idiot, but...

“You think this is funny?” How could she possibly be laughing? Didn’t she understand Trovinger had almost ended up hanging beside a poster of Freddie Mercury? Not only that, he’d been beating himself up for the last twenty-four hours because he’d sold the damn thing and was afraid she’d never forgive him. He hadn’t expected her to laugh about it. “I’ve been on the road since six o’clock this morning,” he protested.

“But Chip.” Dey pointed at the painting, covering her mouth to contain her laughter. “That’s not Trovinger!”

The world came to a halt. A spinning tilt-a-whirl-grinding-to-concrete halt. “What?”

Dey giggled. “That’s a conceptual painting I did for an art class in college. The assignment was to create an imaginary animal reflecting our mood at the time.” She tilted her head to study the canvas better. “Hideous, isn’t it? I must have been PMSing. Either that, or I’d just dumped the jerk I was dating.”

Chip still hadn’t recovered. “It’s not Trovinger?” He felt like the floor was going to cave in beneath him.

“No. Where did you find it?”

Feeling numb, he pointed across the office at a four-drawer horizontal cabinet. “Stuffed behind that.”

“And you think that’s where I’d put a painting I cherished? Stuffed behind a metal filing cabinet?”

“But.” Chip blinked, bewildered. “Veronica said...”

“Veronica means well but sometimes she gets her stories muddled. I had the painting of Trovinger in the gallery one day because I was reframing it. When I was through I put it behind that filing cabinet,” she pointed to a wooden lateral file near her desk. “Out of the way, so it wouldn’t get damaged. Ron must have automatically assumed if you mentioned a painting and a  filing cabinet that you were talking about Trovinger, not realizing that I’d already taken the painting home.”

“So there really was a Trovinger?”

Dey nodded. “A beautiful silver short-hair with green eyes and a loving disposition.”

“What a minute,” Chip said, puzzled. “I’ve been to your apartment. A bunch of times. How is it I’ve never seen this painting?”

“Because you’ve never been in my bedroom.” Dey folded her arms across her chest, sending him an arched glance.

“Oh. Yeah.” He flushed. They’d yet to take their relationship to that level. He had nothing against sex but hadn’t wanted to rush Dey. She was too special to him, and he wanted both of their hearts involved before taking her to bed. Besides, she hadn’t given any indication she was ready.

“I guess that explains it,” he said, embarrassed. “Damn, I feel like such an idiot. Driving all the way to Breakers Bay...”

“I think what you did is amazing. And very sweet.” Dey wrapped her arms around his neck, staring up into his eyes. “You went through all of that trouble for me. It’s almost like a fairy-tale.”

“Well, I . . .” He pulled her closer, playing on modesty. “You’re important to me, Dey. I didn’t want you coming home and being disappointed because of something I did.” He bent his head, brushing his lips over hers, sensing more than a casual willingness on her part. The scent and nearness of her made his head reel. It had been a crazy day, but even knowing the unnecessary trouble he’d gone through, he was glad he had and would do it again. She meant that much to him. “I think maybe I love you,” he announced, surprising himself.

“You think?” She smiled, her violet eyes twinkling. “That’s generally not what the knight says after completing a quest for his fair maiden.”

“No, I guess not. But I do love you - - no thinking involved - - just gut reaction.” He wrapped her tightly in his arms. “I could have picked a more romantic way of saying it.”

“Hmm, hearing it at all works fine. But I’ll give you a second chance to improve on it later.”

He arched a brow. “When?”

“After we picked up a bottle of wine and go back my apartment.”

“I like the sound of that. Then what?”

“Then, Mr. Morton, I think it’s time I showed you the real Trovinger.” 

*****End*****

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