The Girl Who Knew Too Much(63)
“I can’t tell you,” Oliver said. “Magicians’ Code.”
“Huh?”
Oliver looked at Irene. “Let’s get your things.”
Irene turned on her heel and started down the hall. She heard the door slam shut behind her. There was a very final-sounding snick as the bolt slid home.
An odd sensation ghosted through her, a mix of wistfulness and resignation. The Ocean View Apartments—for rent by week or month—didn’t have an actual view of the ocean. It didn’t offer much in the way of amenities. But it had been her home since she had arrived in Los Angeles.
It wasn’t the first time she had lost a roof over her head, she reminded herself. Maybe permanent homes were for other people.
She glanced back at Oliver, who was following her down the hall.
“You knew what had happened when my key didn’t work,” she said. “You realized my landlady had locked me out of my apartment. That’s why you insisted on coming back downstairs with me to see about getting a key.”
“Someone once gave me the wrong key.”
“I see.”
“Had a feeling that whoever is trying to make you back off the story might have decided to put the squeeze on you in every way possible.”
She stopped in front of the broom closet and opened the door. Three boxes tied up with string sat on the floor next to a bucket, mop, and broom. The name Glasson was scrawled on each box. She reached down to hoist one.
“Aren’t you going to open them to make sure all your things are inside?” Oliver said. “Norma Drysdale may have helped herself to a few items.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Irene started back down the hall with the first box. “There was nothing valuable in my apartment. It was just a place to sleep.”
Chapter 32
The Ocean View Apartments had been more than just a place to sleep, Oliver thought. It had been Irene’s home or, at least, her refuge from the world. And now it was gone, stolen by a studio fixer who made a nice living paying off corrupt cops and judges and threatening the Norma Drysdales of the world.
He arranged the last of the three pitifully small boxes in the back of the car and got behind the wheel. For a moment he sat quietly, watching Irene. She was gazing straight ahead at the front door of the apartment house. Her coolly composed expression gave nothing away, but he could feel the storm brewing just under the surface.
It was the second break-in that had unnerved her the most, he realized. She’d had herself under control until Norma Drysdale told her that 2B had been broken into twice. Now Irene looked like she was in a trance.
“It’s all right,” he said. “You’re staying with me until we figure out what is going on, remember?”
At that, she finally looked at him.
“Thank you,” she said very politely. “But we both know that won’t work indefinitely. I need to make some progress in my investigation before anyone else gets killed.”
“I agree.” He turned the key in the ignition. “But I think we’ll have more luck back in Burning Cove than we will here in L.A.”
“Because of the power of Tremayne’s studio here in the city?”
He put the car in gear and drove away from the curb. “The studios may control Hollywood and, by extension, L.A., but their reach does have limitations. They’re not the only game in town in Burning Cove. Neither Luther Pell nor I take orders from the studios.”
“Still, the studios have a lot of influence. If they were to forbid their stars from patronizing your hotel or the Paradise Club—”
“You need to keep some perspective, Irene. First of all, we’re only dealing with one studio—Tremayne’s—and it’s not even the biggest or most powerful one in Hollywood. Second, as far as the studio is concerned, this is all about business. Yes, Tremayne is a valuable property, at least for now. They’re trying to protect their investment. But if the executives at the top conclude that he’s more trouble than he’s worth, they’ll drop him without a second’s hesitation.”
“Just business.”
“Exactly.”
“So I have to find some evidence that will convince the studio that Tremayne isn’t worth protecting.”
“That’s our goal. Ready to go home?”
She shook her head and turned back to contemplate the front door of the Ocean View Apartments.
“I can’t go home,” she said. “I just got kicked out of my apartment.”
“Slip of the tongue. I mean, are you ready to go back to Burning Cove?”
“I guess so. It’s not like I’ve got anywhere else to go.”