Irene held the poker like a sword and drove straight for Claudia’s midsection.
Claudia reeled to the side in a desperate effort to avoid the poker. She stumbled and went down. The gun fell from her hand. Irene turned aside long enough to kick the weapon across the tiled floor, out of Claudia’s reach.
Gripping the poker in both hands, she stood over Claudia.
“Move and I’ll smash your head just like you crushed Peggy’s head,” Irene said.
Crouched on the floor, Claudia stared up at her. “You’re crazy.”
“Right now? Definitely.”
The front door slammed open.
“Nobody moves,” Oliver thundered in a voice that had once electrified audiences.
Irene and Claudia went utterly still for a beat. Then they both looked at Oliver. He had a gun in his hand.
“You can put that poker down now, Irene,” he said.
She took a couple of steps away from Claudia. She was breathing hard.
“She murdered Peggy,” she said. “She killed all of them.”
“I understand,” Oliver said. “But she won’t kill again. You can put the poker down.”
Irene focused on the poker. She realized she still had a death grip on it. She took another deep breath.
“All right,” she said. She set the poker down with great care. “The guard. I think Henry Oakes did something to him. Oakes said something about the gardening shed.”
Another guard showed up at the door. He was red-faced from running. He looked at Oliver for direction.
“Find Randy Seaton,” Oliver said. “He may be hurt. Search the gardening shed first.”
“Yes, sir.”
The guard raced off.
Irene went to Henry Oakes. She put two fingers to his throat. And nearly collapsed with relief when she found a pulse.
“He’s alive,” she whispered.
“Get the gun, Chester,” Oliver said quietly when his uncle appeared behind him. “Use a handkerchief. There will be fingerprints.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” Chester muttered.
He whipped a handkerchief out of his overalls and moved to scoop up the weapon.
Another voice spoke from the front doorway.
“What’s going on here?” Nick Tremayne said. He took two steps into the room and stopped short. “Claudia? What have you done?”
Oliver looked at him. “The more interesting question at the moment is, what are you doing here?”
Nick switched his attention to Irene. He looked stunned. Probably sees his career going up in flames, she thought.
“I couldn’t find her,” he explained in a dull, defeated voice. “No one seemed to know where she was. That’s not like her. She usually sticks to her routine. I went to the front desk and asked if they had seen her. They said no. But the hotel operator said that Claudia had recently taken a telephone call from Seattle. That didn’t make sense. I got a bad feeling.”
“So you came here?” Oliver said.
Nick groaned. “Yeah. I was afraid she might have decided to confront Miss Glasson. Maybe do something terrible.”
The red-faced guard reappeared in the doorway. He was panting now.
“Found Randy,” he gasped. “He’s tied up in the shed but he’s not hurt. Kind of sick, though. Says a workman showed up saying he had been sent to fix a plumbing problem. Randy was suspicious. He started to turn around to knock on the door to see if anyone had called a plumber, and that’s the last thing he remembers.”
“Go take care of him,” Oliver said.
“No,” Claudia shrieked. She scrambled to her feet. “It doesn’t end this way. Not after all I’ve done.”
“You’re wrong,” Irene said. “It does end this way. And it ends now.”
Claudia burst into tears. She turned to Nick, pleading now. “You need me, Archie. We’re a team. The studio knows that. The studio will protect me.”
“No,” Oliver said. “The studio won’t protect you. You’re not the star. You’re just Nick Tremayne’s personal assistant. You can be replaced.”
Claudia succumbed to another round of tears. No one offered comfort.
Oliver looked at Irene. His usually unreadable eyes were intense with some fierce emotion.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked.
“No,” she said. “But I will be just as soon as I get to a typewriter.”
Chapter 63
Irene walked into the offices of the Burning Cove Herald and stopped at the front desk. The sign read Trish Harrison, Society News.
“I’d like to speak with the editor,” Irene said.
The forty-something woman behind the desk stopped typing long enough to take the cigarette out of the corner of her mouth.