The Girl Who Knew Too Much(37)

It wasn’t entirely an act, Oliver thought. It was clear that she was curious about Luther but it was also plain that she wasn’t falling under his spell. That was interesting because Luther was very good at charming others, especially women, when it suited him. Very few looked beneath the surface.

Oliver had long ago concluded that the real Luther Pell was revealed in the dark seascapes that hung on the wall. He found it interesting that Irene had cast several covert glances at the paintings as if she was searching for something in them.

Pell was tall and lean. His jet-black hair was cut in the sleek, discreetly oiled Hollywood style—parted on the side and combed straight back. He was a well-educated man with wide-ranging interests. He could converse on almost any subject—the latest books, the economy, the news, or the results of a recent polo match—with an easy, polished manner.

It was obvious that he was as curious about Irene as she was about him, but Luther wasn’t making any progress getting past her invisible defenses. For some reason Oliver found that both entertaining and gratifying.

There was nothing more intriguing than a woman with secrets, he thought, and Pell was definitely intrigued. We both are, Oliver thought. The hot flash of possessiveness that burned through him caught him off guard. Damned if he would let Pell be successful where he, himself, had failed. I’m going to be the man who solves the mystery.

He suppressed his unexpectedly fierce reaction with an act of will, but the fact that he’d even experienced the electrifying heat left him bemused.

“Enough about me, Mr. Pell,” Irene said. “I’m just a journalist working a story. Mr. Ward said that you had agreed to answer a few questions about Nick Tremayne.”

Oliver had been about to drink some of the martini. He paused and lowered the glass.

“Oliver,” he said.

Irene glanced at him, bewildered. “What?”

“My name is Oliver,” he said.

“Oh, right.” Irene flushed and turned back to Luther. “About my questions, Mr. Pell.”

Luther smiled. Oliver swallowed a groan. The smile was just as much an illusion as the Lady Vanishes in the Mirror act that had been a signature of the Amazing Oliver Ward Show.

“I understand that you want to know if I can vouch for Tremayne’s alibi,” Luther said. “He’s letting it be known that he was here in my club at the time Miss Maitland died.”

“That’s right.” Irene set her pink lady on a table, opened her large handbag, and removed a notebook and pencil. “The police have established that Gloria Maitland died sometime between eleven forty-five and about twelve fifteen, which is when I found the body.”

Luther eyed the notebook. “You do realize that by answering your questions, I’m doing a favor for Ward.”

Irene hesitated, wary now. “A favor?”

Luther’s smile got a little brighter. “He’ll owe me one in return.”

Irene looked at Oliver. “Is there a problem?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Oliver said. “Stop teasing the lady, Pell. Answer her questions so that we can finish our drinks and have dinner.”

“Very well.” Luther turned back to Irene. “But I want to make it clear that anything I say is off the record.”

Irene’s mouth tightened. “If you insist.”

“I’m afraid I must. I’m a businessman, Miss Glasson. I can’t afford to make any more enemies. I’ve got enough as it is. If my name shows up in your paper in a story that hurts my club, I’ll make sure that Whispers goes out of business before the ink is dry.”

Irene gave him an icy smile. “I understand, Mr. Pell. I’ll add your name to the list of people who have threatened to destroy Whispers.”

Luther’s black brows rose. “Is it a long list?”

“And getting longer by the minute. Which tells me that I’m on the right track.”

“No, Miss Glasson. It tells you that you are putting your hand into a bag that may be filled with rattlesnakes.”

“Don’t waste your time trying to scare her,” Oliver said. “It won’t work. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

Luther exhaled slowly. “I see. Well, in that case, I’ll tell you what I can, Miss Glasson, but I don’t think it will do you much good. According to my security staff, Tremayne arrived around ten last night. He had evidently spent the earlier part of the evening at the Carousel.”

“What’s that?” Irene asked.

“It’s a former speakeasy just outside of town. The owner runs an illegal casino disguised as a private club. In addition to liquor and gambling, the management also provides other forms of entertainment aimed at the gentlemen’s market.”