“Who the hell—?” he began. He stopped and squinted at her over the top of the glasses perched on his nose. “Wait, I recognize you. You’re Ward’s new girlfriend.”
“I’m Irene Glasson, a reporter. I’m here to apply for a position on your staff.”
“No job openings,” Edwin said. He scowled. “Tell Ward if he wants me to hire you, he’ll have to come up with the money for your salary. He’ll also need to supply a desk and an office. And a typewriter.”
“You’d hire me if Oliver Ward insisted on it?”
“He owns the Burning Cove Hotel, and Luther Pell is his best friend. Between them, those two control a big chunk of this town. I’m just the editor of the local paper. Not like I’m William Randolph Hearst. So, yeah, if Ward applies pressure to hire you, I’ll do it.”
“But you won’t like it.”
“Would you?”
Irene smiled. “Relax, you’ve got nothing to worry about. Mr. Ward is not going to push you to hire me. In fact, I think he’s rather hoping that you won’t.”
“That’s supposed to reassure me? Look, I don’t need another reporter on the local society beat, which is about the only beat this paper covers unless you count births and obituaries.”
“I’m well aware of the narrow focus of the reportage one finds in the Burning Cove Herald.”
Edwin snorted. “Reportage?”
“Never mind.” She planted her handbag on his desk. “What you need is a good crime beat reporter. That’s the job I want.”
Edwin stared at her as if she’d turned a peculiar shade of purple. “We don’t get much crime in Burning Cove. At least, we didn’t until you arrived in town. I’ll admit things have gotten a little more exciting lately.”
“Good news, Mr. Paisley. I’ve decided to stick around.”
“I am, of course, overjoyed that you have chosen to settle down here in our little corner of paradise. But I’m not giving you a job unless Ward threatens to break my arm. Or make me disappear. Sometimes I forget he was a magician.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure Oliver doesn’t apply any pressure. And I’m not asking you to give me a job, by the way. I’m going to earn it. Starting with my first story.”
Irene opened her handbag and took out the pages she had typed that morning on Elena’s typewriter.
Edwin eyed the pages. “What’s this?”
“The story that will be all over the front pages of the L.A. press tomorrow. It will be in one of the Seattle papers, too. I made some promises. But it’s yours to break tonight.” She handed him the first page.
“Who’s Claudia Picton?”
“A crazed killer who murdered four women, including Daisy Jennings, a local resident. What’s more, Picton would have kept right on killing if not for the heroic actions of Nick Tremayne.”
“Tremayne? The actor?”
“Right. Turns out he plays heroes not only on the silver screen, but in real life, too. Miss Picton is now in custody at the Burning Cove Police Station. The cops expect an insanity plea.”
“You’ve got a story featuring Nick Tremayne and a deranged female killer? Why aren’t you taking this to your paper, Whispers?”
“Because I was fired.”
“Oh, yeah. Heard about that.”
“Don’t worry, Whispers will have the story along with every other paper in L.A. for their morning editions. Nick Tremayne’s studio will make sure of it. But I’m offering you an exclusive today. You can run with it in your evening edition tonight.”
“We don’t have an evening edition.”
“Make it a special edition. All I ask is that I get a byline.”
“And a job?”
“Read the story, Mr. Paisley.” She put the typewritten pages on the desk. “I’ve got quotes from Nick Tremayne, himself, not to mention Oliver Ward and Luther Pell.”
“Ward and Pell never grant interviews.”
“They made an exception for me. Go ahead, read the story, and then tell me you’ll print it.”
Chapter 64
“Why aren’t I dead?” Irene asked. “Claudia had a gun. She got off two shots. I should be dead.”
The four of them were on the patio of Oliver’s villa—Oliver, Chester, Luther, and herself. Oliver kept casting worried glances in her direction, so she did her best to look like the coolheaded journalist who had just concluded a successful investigation.
It was Luther who answered her question. His eyes were bleak with a dark knowledge, and there was an oddly remote quality in his voice.
“It’s true that Picton had a gun, but it’s surprisingly difficult to hit someone who is charging straight at you,” he said. “Especially when your attacker is armed with a lethal weapon like a poker. In addition to the problem of aiming at a moving target, there is the added psychological factor. Your first instinct is to dodge the sharp object that is aimed at you.”
Irene looked at him. They all did. No one commented, but she knew they were all thinking the same thing. Luther was not speaking theoretically. He was remembering scenes from nightmares. He wasn’t thinking about pokers; he was thinking about fixed bayonets.
It was Oliver who broke the short silence that followed the observation.
“Luther’s right,” he said. “By charging Picton with that poker, you took an enormous risk but you also presented the ultimate distraction. She panicked.”
“What made you realize that Claudia had come after me?” Irene said.
Her nerves were still on edge and she knew she would not sleep well that night. She might not sleep well for a long time to come. She would never be able to forget the feral expression in Claudia’s eyes.
“I didn’t,” Oliver said. “Not until I opened the door and saw you standing over Claudia with that poker in your hand. The reason I went back to the villa was because someone in housekeeping spotted an unknown workman matching Oakes’s description on the grounds.”
Irene smiled. “You did say housekeeping was the front line of security here at the hotel. No one pays any attention to the maids.”
Luther leaned back in his chair. He contemplated Irene. “Any idea what it was that made Claudia Picton choose today to attack you? She must have been desperate to take such a risk right here on the grounds of the hotel.”
“She felt she had to act,” Irene said. “She had just gotten a warning, you see. I made some telephone calls to Seattle this morning. One of them was to Phyllis Kemp, the landlady in Seattle. Peggy Hackett made the same phone call. I’m sure it was that call that led to her murder. Calling Kemp almost got me killed today. It was the second time I’d called, you see.”
Chester’s brows scrunched together. “Kemp called Claudia Picton and told her that you had just telephoned asking about Betty Scott?”
“Yes. The news clearly terrified Claudia,” Irene said. “She panicked because she knew I was closing in on the story. She probably assumed the odds were very good that Oliver wouldn’t be home during the day. He’s an executive, after all. He was likely to be in his office. She took a chance and came to the villa, hoping to find me alone. She ran into Henry Oakes, who was watching me because he believed I was a threat to Nick Tremayne.”
“So much for my ability to read a member of the audience,” Oliver said. “I knew Claudia Picton was a nervous, overanxious woman. I assumed that she wanted to protect her job, but I’ve got to admit it never occurred to me she would risk her life or a murder rap to do so.”
Chester shook his head. “It was the money. Reckon all Picton could see were the millions of dollars that she would someday collect.”
“No, it wasn’t just the money,” Irene said. “She wanted revenge. I think she believed that she had sacrificed her own dreams for the sake of Nick Tremayne’s career. You read her correctly, Oliver, but you didn’t have all the facts. None of us did. We didn’t know tha
t Claudia had once been married to Nick Tremayne and that she had been paid to get a quickie divorce.”
“That fact changes everything,” Oliver said quietly. “It makes it all personal.”
“Yes,” Luther said. He looked thoughtful. “It does.”
Oliver’s eyes tightened a little. “There’s only one reason why the landlady, Phyllis Kemp, would have made that phone call to Picton today. She must have been involved in Picton’s blackmail scheme.”
“She was.” Detective Brandon spoke from the living room doorway. He walked out onto the patio. He looked at Oliver. “The housekeeper guarding your front door let me in. Hope that’s all right.”
“Mrs. Taylor is there to make sure no members of the press sneak into the front garden,” Oliver said.
Irene raised her brows. “Except me, of course.”
Brandon chuckled and lowered himself into a chair. He looked tired but satisfied.
“Phyllis Kemp is now talking to the Seattle police,” he said. “Turns out she’s Claudia Picton’s aunt—Picton’s only close relation. Kemp is maintaining her innocence but Picton says she was in on the scheme from the beginning. It was Kemp who made certain that Betty Scott was alone in the boardinghouse the night Picton confronted her about the blackmail threat. In fact, according to Picton, Phyllis Kemp helped her stage the bathtub scene.”
“When I called Mrs. Kemp again and asked more questions, she realized that yet another Hollywood reporter was closing in on the truth. She hung up and immediately called Claudia.”
“Who panicked,” Oliver said. “She grabbed a gun and a crowbar from the trunk of her car and went looking for Irene.”
“So Tremayne’s ex-wife was his personal assistant?” Chester said. He snorted. “That had to be a strange setup.”
“Stranger things happen in Hollywood,” Luther said.
“So they tell me,” Brandon said. “Speaking of Hollywood, the studio cut Claudia Picton loose immediately, as you said they would, Oliver.”
“I wonder how much Daisy Jennings knew about what was going on,” Luther mused.
“Very little,” Brandon said. “From what I can tell she had a onetime fling with Nick Tremayne in the garden of the Paradise Club. Later, Claudia Picton offered her cash to lure Miss Glasson to the warehouse.”
“Picton also gave Jennings a script to read that contained two film titles. Jennings must have known something dangerous was happening,” Oliver said.
“Maybe,” Brandon said. “Regardless, it looks like she took the money and didn’t ask too many questions.”
Chester scowled. “What about that studio executive, Ernie Ogden? How much did he know?”
“According to Claudia Picton, Ogden didn’t know that his star was being blackmailed, so he couldn’t have known why women with a connection to Nick Tremayne had a bad habit of turning up dead,” Irene said. “But he must have been getting concerned. What’s more, I think Claudia Picton knew that. It’s probably why she was so desperate today. If the studio dumped Tremayne, her blackmail scheme would go down the drain. She’d have committed several murders and have nothing to show for it. I’m sure that situation was an additional source of stress for her.”
“No wonder she always looked so nervous,” Chester said.
“She’s looking a lot more anxious now,” Brandon said. “She’s doing a good job of acting like she’s nuts. Got a hunch she’s going to go with an insanity plea.”
“What will happen to Henry Oakes?” Irene asked. “I think he’s a little crazy but he wasn’t a killer.”
Brandon grunted. “He’s going to recover from his head wound. That’s the good news. The bad news is that he’s still crazy. Thinks he’s Nick Tremayne’s special friend and that he has to protect the star. I’ll have a little chat with him before he leaves the hospital, but if that doesn’t work, I guess the studio will have to deal with him.”
“That’s what men like Ernie Ogden get paid to do,” Luther said.
“I know,” Brandon said. He shook his head. “I’ve seen that kind of crazy before and there’s no cure.”
Irene glanced at her watch and got to her feet. “It’s almost three o’clock. If you gentlemen will excuse me, I have an appointment with Nick Tremayne.”
The men rose.
Chester looked surprised. “Tremayne agreed to another interview?”
“Not exactly,” Irene said. “I owe him an apology. He has graciously agreed to accept it. We’re having tea together.”
“Be forewarned,” Oliver said. “There will be a studio photographer and a publicist present. Ogden sent them here in a chauffeured limo.”
“In that case I’ll go upstairs and put on some fresh lipstick,” Irene said.
Brandon chuckled. “I thought the Burning Cove Hotel had a firm policy when it came to photographers and publicists. They aren’t allowed on the grounds.”
“It’s my hotel,” Oliver said. “I made the policy. I can make exceptions.”
Luther gave him a knowing look. “You kept the lid on a major scandal involving a fast-rising star and you arranged things so that Tremayne came out of a messy situation looking like a real hero. His studio is going to be very grateful.”
“I’m counting on it,” Oliver said.
Luther smiled. “In other words, casting Tremayne as the hero is good for business. Ernie Ogden owes you a very big favor. Having him in your debt is bound to be useful. On top of that, the gossip columnists will fall all over themselves retelling the story of Tremayne’s heroics, and the Burning Cove Hotel will be featured in every single piece that appears in papers across the nation.”
“Nothing like good publicity,” Oliver said.
Brandon got to his feet. “Sounds complicated. I think I’ll stick with the detective business. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going back to work.”
He nodded politely at Irene and disappeared into the living room. A moment later the door closed quietly behind him.
Luther looked at Oliver. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe there is one more reason for making Nick Tremayne the star of your little story. It will dominate the news. No one will pay any attention to a much smaller piece about a certain automobile accident that took the life of another guest of the Burning Cove Hotel.”
“In the magic business we call it misdirection,” Oliver said.
Chapter 65
Nick Tremayne eyed the elegantly wrapped gift box with a wary expression. “What’s inside?”
“Two cans of film,” Irene said. “The negatives of those two movies that you made in Seattle. They were found in Claudia’s hotel room. I can’t guarantee that there are no copies floating around somewhere, but I very much doubt it. Claudia seemed quite sure that she was the only one who possessed Island Nights and Pirate’s Captive. I had a hunch she would keep them close at hand. Her whole future was tied to them.”
Nick looked up, his expression watchful. “You found them?”
“Yes.”
There was no need to explain that Oliver was the one who had realized that Claudia’s suitcase had a false bottom.
She and Nick were sitting in a corner of the tearoom, alone at last. The studio photographer had taken several pictures of Nick looking both heroic and modest. The publicist had jotted down several quotes from Irene and the management of the Burning Cove Hotel that verified Nick’s timely arrival at the scene of the attempted murder. Both the photographer and the publicist were on their way back to L.A.
Nick studied the box as though it contained a cobra. When he turned back to Irene, there was anger and resignation in his eyes.
“How much do you want for them?” he asked, his voice flat.
“Nothing. They’re yours. It’s the least I can do after dragging your name into a murder case.”
Nick stared at her in disbelief. In his world there was a price tag att
ached to everything.
Irene picked up the teapot and filled the two cups. By the time she set the pot down, Nick’s expression had transformed into cautious hope. He glanced at the box again and turned back to her.
“You know what’s on those films?”
“Claudia told me.”
“Either film could kill my career.”
“If I were you, I’d take them down to the beach and burn them.”
Nick nodded slowly. He put one hand on the box.
“I’ll do that,” he said. “I thought she loved me, you know.”
“Maybe she did back at the start.”
“Something happened after I made Sea of Shadows and Fortune’s Rogue.”
Irene smiled. “Something happened, all right. You became a star.”
“I shouldn’t have pleaded with her to get the divorce. Shouldn’t have let the studio pressure her into going to Reno.”
“For what it’s worth, I doubt that would have made much difference. Being married to you would not have been enough. She wanted what you have. She longed to be a star.”
“It probably won’t last, you know,” Nick said.
“The stardom? Nothing lasts forever. My advice is to enjoy it while you can. Meanwhile, be careful how you invest the money.”
Nick laughed. The California sun streaming through the windows caught the handsome angles of his face and gleamed on his dark hair. The atmosphere around the little table was infused with a magnetic energy. Heads turned.
A little thrill whispered through Irene. She was having tea with a movie star.
Chapter 66
The special evening edition of the Burning Cove Herald hit the newsstands shortly after five o’clock that afternoon.