The Girl Who Knew Too Much(58)

“That’s the sort of problem that studios fix all the time,” Irene said. “You don’t kill someone because of a pornographic film.” She hesitated. “Do you?”

“That probably depends on what’s on the film.”

“Are we going to give this script to Detective Brandon?” Irene asked.

“Not until we know for sure what’s going on.”





Chapter 28




The assistant had given him the wrong key. It did not fit the lock that secured the chains. He was trapped in the steel cage.

That was all the warning he got.

He wasted precious seconds extracting the backup key from its hiding place and unlocking the chains that bound him. He knew then that he had not been given the wrong key by mistake. There were no mistakes in an Oliver Ward illusion.

He was going to die if he did not free himself.

The first shot ripped into his thigh. Blood poured out in a hot fountain. The second shot grazed the same leg.

The third shot missed, just barely. He heard the shriek of metal as the bullet struck the chains.

He could hear the audience screaming now. The sound seemed to come from another dimension. He could not see anything because of the black curtains draped around the Cage of Death.

The horrified shouts and screams got louder. He realized the blood was leaking out of the cage and falling onto the stage.

His leg burned with cold fire. So did the truth. What had happened was not an accident . . .



Oliver came awake in an icy sweat, the way he always did when the nightmare struck. He sat up slowly, wincing at the throbbing ache in his thigh. The combination of whiskey, aspirin, and ice had taken the edge off earlier, allowing him to fall into a restless sleep, but the effects had worn off.

He thought about the medication that his doctor had given him for the really bad nights and decided against it. He hated the stuff. It dulled his mind and his senses for hours and put him into a peculiar twilight state.

It was close to dawn. He had to be sharp in the morning. The killer was now targeting Irene. Plans had to be made. Action had to be taken.

Energized by that reality, he grabbed his cane and stood up. He shoved his feet into slippers, pulled on a bathrobe, and let himself out into the hall.

For a moment he stood in the shadows, listening intently. He was accustomed to solitude. At night Casa del Mar echoed with silence.

Tonight was different. All was quiet on the floor above, but he did not feel the deep sense of aloneness that he usually experienced in the hours between midnight and dawn. Irene was there.

He walked across the moon-streaked living room, opened the French doors, and went out onto the patio. He stopped at the edge of his private pool.

The atmosphere was infused with the first faint light of dawn. The scents of the garden and the sea mingled in an invigorating tonic.

Dawn was always the best antidote to the nightmare and the memories.

He lowered himself onto the cushion of one of the fan-back rattan chairs and absently rubbed his leg while he contemplated options.

He heard the soft sound of Irene’s footsteps when she came down the stairs, walked through the living room, and emerged onto the patio. It occurred to him that he was not surprised that she had awakened. Her presence felt right. He could get used to this feeling of not being alone in Casa del Mar. Just an illusion, he thought.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked.

“I got some rest,” she said, “thanks to the whiskey.”

“The universal if temporary cure. Doesn’t last forever but while it does, it works fairly well.”

“Yes.”

She sat down in one of the other rattan chairs. In the early light he could see that she once again wore one of the hotel’s thick white spa robes. Her hair looked as if she had raked it back behind her ears with her fingers. He could sense the anxiety that was riding her but he could also feel the gritty determination that was so much a part of her being. What secrets are you keeping, mystery woman?

“I’ll drive to L.A. with you today to pick up your things and check out the situation at your apartment,” he said.

She gave him a quick, skittering, sidelong glance. He knew he had touched on the mystery beneath the surface.

“There’s no need for you to make that long drive,” she said. “I’m sure it would be uncomfortable for you, given your poor leg.”

Irritation sparked through him. “It’s my leg. Let me worry about it.”

“If you’re so convinced that I need a bodyguard, perhaps one of the people on your hotel security staff could go with me.”

She wasn’t objecting to the idea of having someone accompany her, but she was definitely uneasy with the prospect of having him as her companion. He realized that she didn’t want him with her when she examined her apartment to see if anything had been stolen. She was afraid of what he might observe.