“Evidently his studio was very annoyed,” she said, “because I am now a former reporter.”
“Miss Glasson is with me tonight,” Oliver said.
Irene could have sworn that the temperature in the room dropped to a glacial chill.
“Is that so?” Enright did not take his eyes off Irene. “It occurs to me, Miss Glasson, that you could improve your relationship with Tremayne’s studio by dancing with me. After all, he and I are friends. If we dance together, it will make people think that you are no longer hounding Tremayne.”
Irene sensed that Oliver was about to intervene. She used the toe of her shoe to send a subtle under-the-table message to keep him quiet and simultaneously gave Julian a cool smile.
“Did Mr. Tremayne send you over here for that purpose, Mr. Enright?” Irene asked.
“I insist you call me Julian. And I must admit it was my own idea.”
“Why?” Irene said.
“Because I’m curious about the woman who has the guts to take on a powerful movie studio.”
“As it happens, I lost the fight, Mr. Enright. You can tell Nick Tremayne that he has nothing more to fear from me.”
“I’ll do that. I’m sure he’ll be relieved to hear the news. But it doesn’t mean we can’t dance.”
“You heard Mr. Ward. I’m here with him tonight.”
“In that case, it looks like you won’t be having much fun, will you? A cripple doesn’t make a very good dance partner. Oh well, Irene, perhaps we’ll have another opportunity to get to know each other later.”
Julian glided away into the shadows. Irene remembered to breathe.
“I can’t believe the gall of that man,” she said.
“I can. We’re right about him. He’s here because of you and the notebook.”
“You’re sure of that?”
“I am now.”
Irene watched Julian return to the booth he shared with Nick Tremayne.
“You seem very sure of your read on Julian Enright,” she said. “But what about Tremayne? You haven’t said too much about him.”
“At the moment, Enright is the more dangerous of the two. Tremayne isn’t as smart but he’s far more cautious. He may be a killer but if that’s the case, he’s got a clear motive—to protect his career. It’s probably the only thing he cares about. He won’t take chances unless he thinks he has no alternative. Right now he’s hoping the studio has things under control.”
“You know, when I came to Burning Cove, I never expected to spend an evening in a fancy nightclub watching a couple of killers drink and dance.”
Oliver tasted his martini and lowered the glass. He watched Tremayne and Enright with an unreadable expression.
“Enright was correct about one thing,” he said after a moment.
“What?”
“I’m no good on the dance floor.”
She smiled.
“Lucky for you, you’ve got other talents,” she said.
Chapter 50
She awoke to find herself alone in the bed. The sheets were still warm from Oliver’s body heat. She waited a moment to see if he would return. But the clink of crystal on glass in the living room told her that he expected to be gone for a while.
She pushed aside the covers, stood, and pulled on her robe. She made her way down the darkened hall and stopped at the entrance of the moon-shadowed living room. At first she did not see him.
“Didn’t mean to wake you,” he said.
He spoke from the depths of the big, leather-upholstered reading chair. He was wearing a dark robe. His feet were bare. The moonlight slanted across his injured leg propped on the hassock.
She moved across the room and sat down in the other reading chair.
“How bad is it?” she asked.
“No worse than usual,” Oliver said.
He swallowed some of the whiskey in his glass. It was clear that her question had irritated him.
She started to apologize for inquiring about the level of his discomfort but stopped herself in the nick of time.
“It wasn’t the leg that woke me,” he said after a while. “It was Enright.”
“Do you think we’re wrong about him?”
“No. What I’m thinking is that we need to move fast if we’re going to trap him. We need to come up with a way to force his hand. Can’t risk letting him take the initiative.”
“What if there’s nothing to our suspicions?” Irene said. “What if he really is just a rich, starstruck tourist who managed to charm a famous star?”
“If that’s the case, he won’t take the bait.”
“What bait?”
“The notebook. He won’t want to take the chance of losing it again. We’ll need to set the stage. Get the props and the lighting in place. I’ll talk to Chester and Luther in the morning.”