“It probably won’t last, you know,” Nick said.
“The stardom? Nothing lasts forever. My advice is to enjoy it while you can. Meanwhile, be careful how you invest the money.”
Nick laughed. The California sun streaming through the windows caught the handsome angles of his face and gleamed on his dark hair. The atmosphere around the little table was infused with a magnetic energy. Heads turned.
A little thrill whispered through Irene. She was having tea with a movie star.
Chapter 66
The special evening edition of the Burning Cove Herald hit the newsstands shortly after five o’clock that afternoon.
Irene was waiting at the front desk of the Burning Cove Hotel when the newsboy arrived. She threw some money at the kid, pounced on a copy, and savored the headline.
CRAZED FEMALE KILLER
ARRESTED AT BURNING COVE HOTEL.
ACTOR NICK TREMAYNE A HERO, SAY THOSE AT THE SCENE.
The byline read Irene Glasson.
One of the front desk clerks leaned toward her. “The hotel operator says there’s a telephone call for you, Miss Glasson. You can take it on the house phone.”
“Thanks.” Irene hurried to the ornate telephone that sat on a nearby console. She picked up the receiver. “This is Irene Glasson.”
“First edition is sold out,” Edwin Paisley announced. His voice vibrated with excitement. “We’re going back to press. I want a follow-up piece for the morning edition. Get me some more quotes from Tremayne. I want stuff that won’t be in the L.A. papers. I want exclusive material.”
“Does this mean I’ve got a job?”
“Yeah, yeah, you got the job. You’re my new reporter on the crime beat. Now go write me another hot story.”
“I’ll get right on it, Boss.”
Edwin hung up. Irene admired her headline again, and then she hurried down the hall to Oliver’s office. Elena was in the process of putting the cover on the typewriter.
“Hi, Irene. I was just about to leave for the day. Congratulations on the front-page story.”
“You’ve seen it?”
Elena chuckled. “Are you kidding? Mr. Ward gave orders for a copy to be delivered by special courier as soon as it came off the press. To tell you the truth, I think he was a little nervous. He has this thing about reporters and photographers, you see.”
“I’ve heard that,” Irene said.
“Well, that’s it for me,” Elena said. “I must say it’s been a busy day.” She headed toward the door. “See you tomorrow.”
“Bye, Elena.”
Irene waited until the outer door closed behind Elena, and then she crossed the room to the door of Oliver’s office and opened it.
“Good news,” she said. “I’ve got a job.”
Oliver was lounging back in his chair, his good leg propped on the corner of his desk. He had a copy of the special edition of the Herald in his hands.
“Figured you would after this story of a crazed female killer prowling the grounds of the Burning Cove Hotel.” He took his foot off the desk and rose. “You made my security look bad but you did a great job of transforming Nick Tremayne into a real hero.”
“It’s the crazed female killer and the movie-star hero that people will love. That’s all they’ll remember. They won’t care about your security.” She went behind the desk and wound her arms around Oliver’s neck. “Thanks for the quotes, by the way. I may need another one.”
“Figures. Tell me about the job.”
“Meet the new crime reporter for the Herald.”
“According to the local authorities, we don’t have much crime in Burning Cove.”
“With luck, that will change now that there is an actual reporter on the beat.”
“For some reason I do not find that a comforting thought,” Oliver said.
“Nonsense. There’s absolutely nothing to worry about. I’m a professional.”
“Don’t remind me.” The amusement vanished from Oliver’s eyes. “So, this means you’ll be staying in town?”
And just like that, the frothy, sparkling sense of delight and excitement that had made her almost giddy went flat. She went very still.
“Yes,” she said. “I like it here. It’s not as though there is any place else that feels like home.”
“Does Burning Cove feel like home?”
“I think,” she said, choosing her words with care, “that under the right circumstances, Burning Cove could definitely feel like home.”
“Let me be more specific. Do you think that Casa del Mar could feel like home?”
The weight of caution descended on her. Her future was hanging in the balance. She had to be certain that she understood exactly what Oliver was offering.