Anticipation sparked inside her. She tried to squelch it. They were partners in the investigation, she reminded herself. That was the extent of their association.
She went out into the hall and hurried down the stairs. Mrs. Fordyce motioned toward the receiver lying on the front desk.
“If you continue tying up my telephone, there will be an extra charge,” she warned.
“Just put it on the bill. My paper will cover it.”
“I’ll do that,” Mrs. Fordyce said. “Now I’ve got to get back to the kitchen. Got a full house this morning.”
She bustled off. Irene glanced over her shoulder into the cozy breakfast room. All of the tables were occupied by guests, and every last one of them seemed to be watching her from behind a copy of the morning newspaper.
I’m getting paranoid, she thought.
She picked up the phone and composed herself. She wanted to sound cool and professional—not like a woman who had been waiting by the phone for a man to call.
“This is Irene Glasson.”
“Miss Glasson, you don’t know me but I think we should talk.”
Not Oliver. Anticipation evaporated. Not Velma, either. The voice on the other end of the line was female, husky, and a little breathless. It was pitched at the level of a whisper.
Another kind of excitement spiked.
“Who is this?” she asked.
“Someone with information you want. I’m willing to sell it to you.”
Irene tightened her grip on the phone.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific,” she said, doing her best to sound disinterested. “I’m a journalist. I get crank calls all the time from people who claim to have useful information to sell.”
There was a short, startled pause on the other end of the line. Evidently the would-be informant had not expected to be brushed aside.
“Trust me, you’ll want to hear what I’ve got to tell you. I know what really happened the night Gloria Maitland died.”
“Is that so?” Irene injected a tincture of mild curiosity into her voice. “Were you at the scene?”
“What? No.” Panic spiked in the whispery voice now. “I was nowhere near the Burning Cove Hotel that night.”
“Then I doubt you have anything useful to tell me. I’m going to hang up now.”
“Wait. I wasn’t at the hotel but I was at the Paradise Club.”
“You’ve got sixty seconds,” Irene said. “Talk fast. Tell me something I can believe.”
“I am the woman who was in the garden with Nick Tremayne at the Paradise Club.” The words came out in a rush.
“You’re Daisy Jennings?”
Another startled pause.
“How did you know my name?” Daisy demanded.
“I consulted a psychic.”
“Really?” Daisy sounded uncertain, half believing. “Which one? There are several in town.”
“We’re wasting time, Daisy.”
“I’ll tell you what happened the night that woman drowned in the spa, but not on the phone, understand? The money comes first. Then I’ll talk.”
“Why would you tell me anything about Nick Tremayne?”
“Because I need some money and I need it in a hurry. I’m going to leave Burning Cove on the morning train. Are you interested or not?”
“How much money?”
“A hundred bucks.”
“Forget it,” Irene said. “Who do you think you’re talking to? Rockefeller? I don’t carry that kind of money on me.”
She did have her emergency stash in her handbag. She could dig into it if necessary. But if Daisy had solid information to sell, Velma would be willing to cover the expense of purchasing it. She wouldn’t go as high as a hundred dollars, however.
“All right, all right, make it fifty,” Daisy said.
“My rate for useless information is zero,” Irene said. “But if I like what I hear, we can negotiate.”
“Twenty?” Daisy said quickly.
“I can manage that much if the information is good. When and where do we meet?”
“There’s a phone booth on the corner of Olive and Palm streets. Be there at eleven thirty tonight. I’ll call you and tell you where to meet me. Make sure you come alone or the deal’s off, understand?”
The line went dead before Irene could get in another question.
She closed her notebook and stood quietly for a moment, thinking. One thing was certain—she wouldn’t be making the drive to Los Angeles that day. If she got delayed for any reason—engine trouble or a road closure—she might not be able to get back to Burning Cove in time to make the rendezvous that night.
She picked up the phone and dialed Oliver’s office number. Elena put her through immediately. Oliver did not bother with the usual pleasantries.