The Girl Who Knew Too Much(60)

“In other words, Hollywood Mack rents out his tough guys to the fixers who are in charge of cleaning up the messes created by the studios’ stars.”

“Cleaners, fixers, studio execs, whatever you call them, it’s their job to make scandals disappear,” Oliver said.

“So, someone at Tremayne’s studio hired those two stuntmen to get rid of me?”

“Brandon says Springer is sticking to his story. He was hired to torch the warehouse. He and his pal knew you would be there. But the idea was to scare you, not kill you.”

“But what about Daisy Jennings? How did Springer explain her body?”

“That’s the really interesting part,” Oliver said. “Springer swears up and down that he didn’t know there was a dead woman at the scene. Says all he and his pal were told was that a woman would be there and that they were to scare the hell out of her by setting fire to the place. You weren’t supposed to die, Springer says. He insists they didn’t know that old warehouse would go up like a torch. He expected you to come running out.”

“No. I’m sure that I was supposed to be dead or unconscious in that warehouse before Springer and Dallas arrived. The fire would have destroyed all the evidence at the scene. You were right. It would have looked like I accidentally died in a blaze that I started to cover up the murder of Daisy Jennings.”

“Yes,” Oliver said evenly. “I think that was the killer’s plan.”

“But everything went wrong because you accompanied me to the warehouse.”

“Finish your coffee. My car should be ready by now. Chester checked it over this morning and topped off the gas tank.”

A little thrill of excitement pulsed through her.

“We’re taking your car?” she asked, trying to make it sound casual.

“Yeah. I don’t trust that old sedan of yours. It’s a long drive to L.A. and back, and most of it is open, empty country. Not a lot of gas stations on the way. We don’t want to get stranded.”

“Right. A long trip. No need for you to do all the driving. I’ll be happy to give you a break.”

“No.”

“Several hours of driving will be hard on your leg.”

“No.”

“It’s a lovely day. We can put the top down.”

“Yes.”

“Do you ever let anyone drive your car?”

“No.”





Chapter 30




The offices of Hollywood Whispers were on the second floor of a small nondescript building. Oliver looked around the grimy lobby, hoping to spot an elevator. There wasn’t one.

Irene paused at the foot of the stairs. “Why don’t you wait here? I won’t be long.”

He managed to squelch the flare of temper but it wasn’t easy. She was just being thoughtful, he told himself. But, damn it to hell, he was really tired of having his infirmity pointed out. The last thing he wanted from Irene was sympathy.

“I’ll come with you,” he said.

He was careful to keep his tone neutral but she blinked and looked a little taken aback. He realized she must have seen something in his eyes warning her that she was getting too close to the invisible line he had drawn.

“Suit yourself,” she said.

She took the stairs like a gazelle.

He watched her curvy rear disappear down a hallway. While the view was gratifying, he knew he probably deserved to get left behind in her dust. He was too touchy about the damned leg. He tightened his grip on his cane, grasped the handrail, and started up the stairs.

At the top, the relentless clacking of typewriter keys emanated from a large room crowded with desks and reporters. Several office doors stood open but the one labeled Editor was closed.

He raised his hand to knock but the door was yanked open before he could do so. Irene glared at him. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were hot with temper.

“We’re leaving,” she announced. “I’ve been fired.”

Behind her, a large, middle-aged woman with improbably red hair sat behind a battered desk. Velma Lancaster, he decided. Although she was sitting very still, she seemed to vibrate with nervy energy.

She studied Oliver through a pair of spectacles perched on her sharp nose.

“So you’re the Amazing Oliver Ward,” she said.

“And you’re Irene’s ex-boss.”

“It’s a little more complicated than that,” Velma said. “Why don’t you both sit down and we’ll discuss this like civilized people?”

She had a voice that would have projected quite well from a stage.

Irene rounded on her. “I’m not feeling very civilized today. Last night I almost got burned alive and now you tell me I’m out of a job.”