“Smart,” Oliver said. “Switching cars and hitchhiking for a time may have been what saved your life. Tell me more about this notebook that’s supposed to be so dangerous.”
“Evidently it belonged to someone named Dr. Thomas Atherton, who worked at that laboratory I told you about.”
“Saltwood. You said someone there told you that Atherton is dead?”
“Yes.”
“Mind if I take a look at the notebook?”
She hesitated. Force of habit, she thought. For four long months she had been obsessed with concealing the notebook. It felt strange to bring it out into the light of day and show it to someone else.
Oliver waited, not rushing her.
She took the stenography notebook out of her bag and flipped it open to reveal the hidden compartment she had created beneath the pad of paper.
“Very clever,” Oliver said.
She pried Atherton’s notebook out of the small compartment and handed it to him. He took off his sunglasses and opened the leather cover. She watched him slowly turn the pages.
“It’s filled with numbers and charts and calculations, but they mean nothing to me,” she said. “There weren’t a lot of science or math classes at the Gilbert School for Secretaries.”
Oliver turned a few more pages. “They didn’t spend much time on either of those subjects at the magicians school, either.”
“There’s a school for magicians?”
“Sorry. Poor joke.” He closed the notebook and handed it back to her. “I have no idea what any of those calculations mean, but I know someone who might be able to help us.”
“We must not show it to anyone else. I told you, I have no idea who can be trusted.”
“Relax, we can trust Uncle Chester.”
Chapter 34
No doubt about it, Julian Enright thought, he had fallen in love with California, and the Burning Cove Hotel was the very essence of everything he adored about the state. From the palm trees that lined the long, elegant drive to the gracious Spanish colonial walkways and sparkling fountains, the place was a real-life version of a movie set.
His kind of hotel.
He chose a seat at the long, polished bar. The French doors on one side of the lounge stood wide, providing an unobstructed view of the sparkling pool and the swimsuit-clad bodies lounging around it.
The bartender was remarkably good-looking. His coppery brown hair was slicked straight back off his high forehead. He had a slender, graceful build and big blue eyes framed with long lashes.
“What can I get you, sir?” he asked.
The voice went with the rest—low and smooth with just the right touch of smoky sensuality.
“What do you recommend?” Julian asked, mostly because he wanted to hear more of the lush voice.
“House special is the sunrise. Rum and pineapple juice.”
“Sounds a little too sweet for me. I’ll have a scotch and soda.”
“Coming right up.”
Julian smiled. “You know, you ought to be in pictures.”
“I’ve heard that.”
“Mind if I ask your name?”
“Willie.”
“Got a last name?”
“Yes, sir, I do have one of those.”
Willie smiled faintly and glided off to prepare the drink. Julian watched him for a moment, trying to figure out just what it was about the bartender that made him so interesting. Generally speaking, he was not attracted to men. But beauty, regardless of gender, always drew his eye.
He waited until Willie put the drink on the bar in front of him and moved off to attend to another customer. Then he smiled at the morose-looking man sitting next to him. Another very handsome specimen, Julian thought, but in a more conventional way.
“You’re Nick Tremayne, aren’t you?” he said.
Nick swallowed some of his gin and tonic and set the glass down hard.
“So they tell me,” he said.
“According to the papers, you’ve got a problem.”
Nick shot him a wary look. “Who the hell are you?”
“Relax. I’m here to help.”
“Did Ogden send you?”
Julian looked around, making it appear that he was deeply concerned about the possibility of being overheard. Then he lowered his voice.
“No names,” he said. “If the press gets wind of my purpose for being in Burning Cove, the studio will deny all knowledge of me. Is that clear?”
“Yeah, sure.” Nick lowered his own voice but there was a note of hope in his words. “They sent you to clean up the mess?”
“Someone has to do it. It isn’t just your future that is at stake here. The studio has made a considerable investment in you.”
“Don’t you think I know that?”
“Let’s go someplace where we can talk in private.”