by Amanda Quick
“Why did the Broker contact Pell?”
“He did it as a favor. He reasoned that the death of Calloway might be linked to the theft of the journal because of the timing and because he’s not a great believer in coincidence.”
Vivian stopped pacing and fixed her attention on a large photograph of a smiling, vivacious young woman.
Nick had never met the lady in the picture but there was so much personality radiating from the portrait he felt as if he knew something important about her.
Vivian glanced at him and followed his gaze.
“My sister, Lyra,” she said.
“She looks . . . interesting. Like you.”
Rex sat down beside Vivian and leaned his big furry body against her leg again. She reached down and patted him. He looked thrilled.
Vivian finally turned around. Her expression was resolute.
“Why you?” she asked. “Why did this Luther Pell choose you to protect me?”
“Probably because my uncle recommended me and Pell trusts my uncle’s judgment. It’s not as if he has a lot of choice.”
“What do you mean? There must be any number of people who work as bodyguards here in the Los Angeles area. I’m sure some of the stars have personal guards.”
“Luther Pell doesn’t trust easily.”
“How does this bodyguard business work?”
“Beats me,” Nick said. “I’ve never done this sort of work before.”
“You’re serious, aren’t you? What exactly do you do?”
“I investigate, Miss Brazier. I’ve never had a case that required me to stick close to the client night and day. Looks like we’ll have to figure it out as we go along.”
Vivian narrowed her eyes. “No offense, Mr. Sundridge, but that is not very reassuring.”
“Try to look on the bright side,” Nick said. “It’s not as if I’m working alone. I’ve got Rex.”
Rex’s ears shot up at the sound of his name.
Vivian glanced at him, her gaze softening. “Rex looks like he can take care of himself.”
“Definitely,” Nick said. “And you, too. He was trained by a friend of my uncle’s, a man who used to school war dogs. Actually, Harry trained both Rex and me. He told me on more than one occasion that of the two, I was the more difficult student. Rex is a very fast learner.”
Vivian smiled. “Just like Rin-Tin-Tin. Growing up I saw every movie he ever made. I even wrote him a fan letter.”
Nick kept his mouth shut. Rex was clearly his best asset at the moment.
“We’ll need an explanation for your presence here in my house,” Vivian said. “I suppose we could pretend that you’re a distant relative visiting from back East.”
“I’ve been thinking about that,” Nick said. “It would be best if we left town.”
Vivian stared at him, clearly flabbergasted. “I can’t possibly do that. I’ve got two weeks’ worth of bookings.”
“We’re talking a few days, a week at the outside. If we’re right about the killer’s obsession with sticking to his personal timeline, he’ll make his move soon.”
He saw the shock of what he did not say—that if she did not leave town she might end up dead within the week—flash in her eyes.
“How am I supposed to explain my sudden disappearance from Adelina Beach?” she said; the bleak expression in her eyes made it clear her heart was no longer in the argument.
“You can tell your clients that something personal has come up,” he said. “A family situation. Leaving town will force the killer to take a few more risks because he will probably try to find you. With luck it will draw him out into the open where Pell and his people can spot him.”
“What about my family? They’ll be scared to death if I tell them what’s going on.”
He hesitated. “I don’t want to tell you to lie to your family, but the truth is, it will be easier to deal with this situation if they aren’t involved. It could put them in danger.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Then I suggest you let everyone think you’re taking a few days off to get some fresh creative inspiration.”
“Right. Creative inspiration.”
Vivian did not appear enthused by that plan. He cast about for a little inspiration of his own.
“How does a honeymoon at the Burning Cove Hotel sound?” he said.
He was rather pleased with the cleverness of the idea until he realized that Vivian was staring at him, horrified.
“Honeymoon?” she said. “Are you out of your mind?”
“It has been suggested on occasion,” he admitted.
“Is that right? By whom?”
“The woman I married, among others.”
Vivian’s eyes widened. “Are you telling me you’re married? After you suggested we have a fake honeymoon together at the Burning Cove Hotel? Your wife must be amazingly open-minded when it comes to your professional work.”
“She’s not my wife. According to the court, she never was.”
“Now what are you talking about?”
“My marriage was annulled.”
“Oh,” Vivian said. She opened her mouth and shut it again.
Nick wasn’t surprised. Over the course of the past year he had discovered that an announcement of an annulment had a way of terminating a conversation. It immediately raised questions that few people dared to ask aloud.
The doorbell chimed. Vivian turned toward the door of the office, clearly grateful for the interruption.
“That must be Sam,” she said. “We’ll have to continue this discussion later. I’ve got bills to pay.”
“I thought your family was wealthy.”
She shot him an annoyed look as she headed toward the doorway. “I’m on my own here in Adelina Beach. My parents don’t approve of my desire to pursue a career as an art photographer. Father assumed that if he cut off my allowance I’d give up and go home to San Francisco.”
“Why? What are the odds of making it as an art photographer?”
“About the same as the odds of getting discovered by a studio executive and becoming a red-hot movie star.”
“That bad, huh?”
“Yep. Which is why I am only too happy to do bargain portraits for handsome, well-built men from Muscle Beach. They help pay the bills.”
She went through the doorway. He followed, Rex at his heels.
“Your neighbors seem to have noticed the steady stream of Muscle Beach clients,” he said.
“Hard not to notice them.” Vivian glanced over her shoulder and gave him an icy smile. “I am the main source of entertainment on Beachfront Lane.”
Chapter 12
Let’s say I agreed to go with you to Burning Cove for a few days,” Vivian said. “How exactly is this fake honeymoon plan supposed to work?”
She had tried to focus on composing Sam’s portrait but her mind kept leaping back to the unnerving fact that someone wanted her dead badly enough to hire an assassin. She had managed to get through the shoot with what she felt was a successful picture, but as soon as Sam had left, the anxiety had settled on her once again.
Someone wants to murder me. I may have less than a week to live. Who hates me so much?
She opened the door of the refrigerator and tried to concentrate on dinner. It was going on six o’clock. She had poured a couple of glasses of wine, one for herself and one for her new, unwanted houseguest. She had put a bowl of water on the floor for Rex.
There appeared to be little prospect of getting rid of Nick Sundridge and his dog even if she wanted to. The truth was it was comforting to have them with her. She really did not want to be alone tonight.
Dinner for three, however, was something of a challenge.
She was by no means an expert chef. She had grown up in a household that employed a housekeep
er and a cook. But during the past few months her next-door neighbors had taught her some of the basics. She could do a halfway decent omelet and she could assemble a salad. She would need three omelets in all, she decided. Nick had produced a can of dog food from the trunk of the Packard, but Rex did not appear excited about it. Nick had explained that the dog usually ate whatever Nick ate.
“We’ll keep a low profile,” Nick said. “Pell says the best thing about the Burning Cove Hotel is that the security is excellent.”
“Because so many wealthy celebrities stay there?”
“Its claim to fame is that it guarantees privacy. Pell assures me that you’ll be safer on the grounds of the Burning Cove than you will be here in Adelina Beach.”
“Who is going to pay for all this?”
“Pell. This is his case.”
She took a carton of eggs, some cheddar cheese, and lettuce out of the refrigerator and set them on the counter.
“I can’t stay there indefinitely,” she warned. “I’ve got a life here in Adelina Beach. Clients. My art photography. You’re sure this will be over in a week?”
“Pretty sure,” Nick said. “One way or another.”
She glared at him. He winced.
“Sorry,” he said. “That didn’t come out quite the way I intended. I can’t say for certain that we’ll get control of this situation within the week, but moving you to Burning Cove may give us the edge we need.”
“What makes you so sure of that?”
“Burning Cove is a small town—a wealthy, exclusive small town, but nevertheless a small town,” Nick said. “Very little goes on there that escapes the notice of the movers and shakers.”
“Who are they?”
“Luther Pell and Oliver Ward. I mentioned that Pell owns a hot nightclub, the Paradise. Ward is the proprietor of the Burning Cove Hotel. Between the two of them they have eyes and ears everywhere in that town.”
“Do you think the hired assassin will figure out we’ve gone to Burning Cove?”
“If he’s following his usual pattern he’ll be watching you.”
She shuddered. “Stalking me.”
“Yes.”
Something about the way Nick said the single word made Vivian glance at him. Icy certainty shivered in the atmosphere around him. And suddenly she understood.
“You want him to follow us, don’t you?” she said.
Nick gave her an approving look. “Here in Adelina Beach it’s easy for him to fade into the shadows of Los Angeles. He’s more likely to stand out in a small, isolated town like Burning Cove.”
Vivian picked up her glass of wine, took a sip, and set the glass down on the counter. She started to crack eggs into a bowl. Rex observed the process with an intent expression. She glanced at him and decided to add a few more eggs. He was, after all, a large dog.
“For all we know the assassin could be a woman,” she said.
“True.”
His ready agreement amused her. “You don’t have any illusions about the female of the species?”
“I know they can be just as deadly as the male,” he said.
She smiled a little. “Obviously you are a man with modern attitudes when it comes to women. About this investigative work of yours—”
“What about it?”
“Judging by your clothes and that very nice custom Packard convertible parked out front I assume it pays well?”
“Occasionally. But if you’re wondering how I can afford the clothes and the car, the answer is that after my parents were killed I went to live with my uncle. He’s very good at investing. He taught me a lot. I’ve been . . . lucky.”
“You’ve made money in the middle of the Depression?” She sniffed. “Something tells me more than luck is involved.”
“Uncle Pete has a knack for spotting good investments. He taught me everything I know. I look for companies engaged in activities that are vital to an economic recovery. Mining. Oil. Steel. Firms involved in agriculture.”
Vivian nodded. “The basics that the country needs to survive.”
“That’s the idea.” He drank some coffee.
Vivian smiled. “My father would approve of your approach. So would my sister.”
“Your sister?”
“Lyra got Father’s talent for business. If he wasn’t so old-fashioned he would have the sense to put her in charge of Brazier Pacific when he retires. He loves us very much but unfortunately he is not at all modern in his thinking. He wanted me to marry a man of his choosing, someone qualified to take charge of the company. I refused. Now that I’m gone he’s putting pressure on Lyra to take my place. Same man, incidentally.”
“Is she going to marry the man your father wants her to marry?”
“Looks like it.” Vivian cracked the last egg into the bowl. “Next month she and Hamilton Merrick are planning to celebrate their engagement.”
“Who is Merrick?”
“The man I was supposed to marry. My father and Hamilton’s have been close friends and business associates for decades.”
“So Merrick is set to take over your father’s firm?”
The speculative edge on the question caught her attention.
“Don’t go down that road,” she said. “If Hamilton marries my sister, he’s going to end up running Brazier Shipping. Why take the risk of having me murdered now? It would be more sensible to wait until he’s safely married to Lyra.”
“People are not always logical when it comes to large financial windfalls.”
Vivian picked up a whisk and started thrashing the eggs. “I admit I can’t say I trust Hamilton to be a faithful husband, but I refuse to believe he would hire a professional assassin.” She paused, thinking about it. “How does one even go about finding someone who is in the murder-for-hire business? I doubt if they advertise in the telephone book.”
“Good question.”
Chapter 13
Nick dreamed the dream that had haunted him for the past year . . .
It is one o’clock in the morning. The rooftop of the hotel is cloaked in fog. Down below, the streetlamps infuse the mist with a ghostly light, but here on the roof visibility is limited to less than a yard.
The gunfire has finally ceased but he had been counting the shots. Six in all. Fulton Gage is out of ammunition.
“She’s mine.” Gage’s voice came out of the fog. “She belongs to me. She betrayed me and she will pay for that. But you die first because you’re the reason she left me.”
“She left you because you hurt her.”
“I punished her when she deserved it. She knows that.”
“You’re not only violent, you’re insane,” Nick says. He keeps his voice neutral. Clinical. Stating facts. That was how you manipulated a man like Fulton Gage.
“She made me lose my temper. She pushed and pushed until I snapped.”
“I understand,” Nick says. “You have no self-control.”
“That’s not the way it is. She made me hurt her.”
“So she is more powerful than you? Interesting . . .”
There is a click. Nick knows that Gage has just discovered that there are no more bullets in his pistol. Now he will panic and make a run for the stairwell.
“You’re out of ammunition, Gage,” Nick says.
Suddenly Patricia is on the roof, too. She isn’t supposed to be there. Gage has her.
“Looks like she dies first, after all,” Gage says.
Now Nick understands the enormity of the miscalculation. Gage is going to throw Patricia off the roof . . .
Nick awoke from the dream on a sudden shock of acute awareness that told him something was wrong. He did not question the sensation. He had made that mistake a few times early on in his career and again in his nonmarriage. Things had not ended well on any of those previous occa
sions, so he took such warnings seriously.
It was not enough to be alarmed, however. He required more information.
For a few seconds he lay motionless on Vivian’s sofa. He tried to open all of his senses for clues to the source of whatever it was that had awakened him. Rex had been curled up on the rug in front of the sofa but he was on his feet now, gazing into the deep shadows of the hall.
There were no telltale creaks of the floorboards. No click of a door lock or a draft of cold air indicating an intruder had pried open a window. But something had changed.
Rex whined softly. He glanced at Nick and then turned his attention back to the hallway.
Nick swung his legs over the edge of the sofa, pulled on his trousers, and got to his feet. He ignored the stiffness in his muscles—the sofa was not very large—and then he picked up the gun he had left on the coffee table.
Cautiously, using moonlight as his guide, he made his way through the jumble of equipment cases, cords, and other photography paraphernalia that littered the living room. He told himself he was probably lucky that Vivian had left the couch and the coffee table in the space. Otherwise he would have been sleeping on the floor.
He started down the hall. When he reached Vivian’s door he paused and listened again. Silence.
Rex padded on ahead into the darkened kitchen. The dog was interested in the rear door of the house, not the front entrance. If there was someone out there he was in the backyard.
Nick flattened his back against the wall beside the kitchen window and twitched the shade aside. The porch light was on but the yellow glow of the bulb did not penetrate far into the darkness. The backyard lay in shadows.
Beyond the yard was the wide esplanade that bordered the beach. In the distance, strings of lights illuminated the pier.
Rex lowered his nose and sniffed at the threshold beneath the door. Nick was paying close attention, trying to read the dog’s body language, when he heard the door of Vivian’s room open. A moment later she appeared, a robe wrapped snugly around her. Her feet were clad in a pair of fluffy house slippers.
“What’s wrong?” she whispered.