Page 109 of The Girl Who Knew Too Much

Julian came to a halt in front of the table. Irene’s pulse jumped and her breath got tight. If she and Oliver were right, she was face-to-face with Helen Spencer’s killer.

For his part, Oliver seemed to go preternaturally still.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Julian said in an easy manner that implied he didn’t give a damn. He smiled at Irene. “Allow me to introduce myself. Julian Enright. You must be Irene Glasson, the reporter forWhispers. My friend Nick told me all about you. Evidently you managed to annoy his studio.”

“Evidently his studio wasveryannoyed,” 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 hehas 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.