The Girl Who Knew Too Much(31)

Irene glanced at the storm-filled paintings on the wall. They looked as if they had been inspired by violence.

“Tremayne claims he was at the Paradise Club when Gloria Maitland was murdered,” she said. “I want to find out if his alibi is solid.”

“Pell agreed to talk to you about one of his customers? Got to say I’m damned surprised.”

Irene glanced at the closed door. “Oliver Ward, the owner of the Burning Cove Hotel, told me that Pell was his friend. Ward made the arrangements.”

“That’s even more interesting. How did you convince Ward to cooperate?”

“He thinks he can control the story if he gets involved.”

“He’s probably right, damn it. He’s got a few connections, too.”

“I think Ward is serious about wanting to find out what happened to Maitland. He doesn’t like the idea that someone thought he could get away with murder in the hotel. He took it as a personal affront or something.”

“Huh.” Velma cleared her throat. “Sorry to pry, but I’ve got to ask you if there’s any chance the burglar might have found something in your place that the studio can use to silence you?”

Irene tightened her grip on her handbag. “No. There wasn’t anything for the bastard to find.”

“That’s a relief. All right, stay on the story, at least for now. Let me know if you get anything solid. Until then we’ll keep our heads down. Let Ogden think that his threats are working. And Glasson?”

“Yes, Boss?”

“Be careful. Good reporters are hard to find. I don’t want to have to replace you.”

“You think I’m a good reporter, Boss?”

“Peggy said you had what it takes. Just be damned careful.”

“I will. Don’t worry, Boss.”

The line went dead. Irene put down the receiver and sat quietly for a moment, contemplating the very convincing illusion that was Oliver’s office.

What are you concealing behind the scenes, Magician?

She got to her feet, crossed the room, and yanked open the door.

“What’s up with the dress and the shoes?” she said.

Oliver was standing in front of Elena’s desk, reading a typewritten letter. He looked at Irene.

“Mrs. Firebrace in housekeeping suggested that you might not have anything to wear to the Paradise Club this evening.”

“It’s just an interview,” Irene said. “If I wear a cocktail dress and heels, people will get the idea that I’m your date for the evening.”

“That’s the plan,” Oliver said.

“What plan is that?”

“After we are seen together at Pell’s club, people will assume that the management of the Burning Cove Hotel does not consider you a threat to the hotel or its guests.”

He had a point, Irene thought. There was, of course, the very real possibility that people would think she had allowed herself to be seduced by the owner of the Burning Cove Hotel, but so what? As far as everyone in town was concerned she was just a small-time reporter chasing a Hollywood gossip story for a third-rate paper. Pretending to be Oliver’s date for the evening might be a very useful cover.

“It could work,” she said.

Elena turned away very quickly and concentrated on inserting a blank sheet of paper into her typewriter. But Irene was pretty sure she had caught the glint of amusement in the secretary’s dark eyes.

“It’s all about creating an illusion,” Oliver said. “One that will distract the attention of the audience from the real purpose of your visit to the club. It’s called misdirection.”

“I get to be the magician’s assistant for the evening, is that it?”

It was Oliver’s turn to look amused.

“That’s it,” he said.





Chapter 14




Oliver Ward was waiting for her in the lobby of the Cove Inn. Irene paused at the top of the stairs and allowed herself a few seconds to deal with the impact he made on her senses.

He wore a white dinner jacket, a white shirt, a perfectly knotted black bow tie, and dark trousers with the ease of a man accustomed to formal attire. No surprise there, she thought. He had, after all, spent his first career onstage.

The aura of cool, controlled power and masculine grace should have been undercut by the ebony cane, but the effect was the opposite. The cane served notice that Oliver was a survivor.

She started down the stairs, intensely aware of a little rush of heat and a pulse-quickening flicker of excitement. She reminded herself that she was not going out on a date. She was working on an assignment. Nevertheless, she was suddenly very, very glad that she was wearing the clothes that had been given to her as compensation for her ordeal in the spa.