“It’s worth a try,” she said. “I don’t have any other leads.”
“You’re not going to let it go, are you?”
“No,” she said. “I can’t. By any chance, do you know Miss Jennings?”
“I know her,” he said. “She’s all right but she’s wasting her life chasing a dream.”
“She wants to be an actress?”
“Daisy Jennings spends her nights at the Paradise Club and sometimes in the lounge at my hotel because she hopes that if she sleeps with the right person, she’ll finally get that screen test, the one that will transform her into a movie star.”
“That’s so sad.”
“She’s hardly alone. Hollywood is filled with dreamers like her. Some of them find their way to Burning Cove because the stars and directors come here.”
“I know,” Irene said. “In the time I’ve been working at Whispers, I’ve met a lot of people with stars in their eyes. Everyone has dreams.”
“What’s your dream?” he asked.
“Dreams change. I lost my parents when I was little. My grandfather raised me. I used to dream about traveling around the world. But Grandpa died when I was fourteen. I wound up in an orphanage for a couple of years. For a while my dream was to have a family of my own. But it soon became obvious that what I really needed was a way to make a living. My dreams are a lot more pragmatic these days. What about you?”
“Like you said, dreams change. There was a time when I wanted to become the next Houdini. Now my goal is to make sure the Burning Cove Hotel keeps turning a profit.”
“Sounds like we’ve both been able to adapt our dreams to our circumstances.”
“Probably less frustrating that way,” he said.
“Probably.”
“What happens if your investigation goes nowhere?” he asked.
“I’ll go back to my job and find another story to cover. Speaking of my big story, I’m grateful to you for opening some doors for me. It was nice of you to introduce me to Luther Pell tonight.”
“You can skip the gratitude,” he said. “I don’t want it.”
He had evidently spoken more sharply than he had intended because she stiffened and then threw him a quick, searching glance.
“I was trying to be polite and civil,” she said coldly. “Are you always this prickly?”
He groaned. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to snap at you. Just wanted to make sure you knew I wasn’t expecting anything more out of this partnership.”
“Anything more?” she repeated much too carefully.
The wooden boards on which he was standing might as well have been transformed into eggshells. He was afraid to make another move but he felt compelled to try to explain.
“Gratitude can be misunderstood,” he said.
“Really? I have no problem understanding exactly what it means.”
“I’m trying to tell you that I don’t expect you to fall into bed with me as a way of thanking me for opening those damned doors.”
“Don’t worry,” she said. “I have absolutely no intention whatsoever of sleeping with you as a way of repaying you for your help. Are we clear on that?”
“Perfectly clear.”
“Good. In that case, I’m going back to my room. Alone.”
She stepped smartly to the side, whipped around him, and marched swiftly back along the pier.
“Damn it, Irene, you’re twisting my words.”
He grabbed his cane off the railing and started after her. Pain ripped through his bad leg. For a couple of seconds, he could scarcely breathe through the agony. He gritted his teeth, tightened his grip on the cane, and kept going.
Irene did not look back but her dainty heels slowed her down. He had closed most of the distance between them by the time she reached the front steps of the Cove Inn.
He saw the two men hunkered down in the shadows on the porch before Irene did because she was busy rummaging around in her big handbag for the key.
“Irene, stop,” he said, using his stage voice, the one that carried all the way to the back row of the theater.
Startled, she froze.
“What?” she asked.
The two men surged out of the shadows. One of them held a boxlike object in his hands.
Oliver braced himself on his cane and grabbed Irene. He pulled her close, trying to shield her from what he knew was coming.
The flashbulb exploded. Oliver turned his head to avoid being blinded by the dazzling light.
“Comment for the press, Mr. Ward?” one of the men said. “How long have you and Miss Glasson been seeing each other?”
The second man fired his camera. The flashbulb went off, searing the night.