Page 18 of The Girl Who Knew Too Much

“I see you readWhispers.”

“Not until today,” Mildred said cheerfully. “But I picked up a copy at the newsstand this morning after I saw the front page of the local paper. Can’t rely on theHeraldto give you the whole story, not when the story involves Oliver Ward’s hotel.”

She pushed a copy of theBurning Cove Heraldacross the desk, turning it around so that Irene could read the headline.

TRAGICACCIDENTATLOCALHOTEL

“Yes, I saw the piece that ran in theHerald,” Irene said. “You’re right. It’s not the whole story, not by a country mile. More like a small obituary notice.”

Mildred tapped the front page of theHerald. “According to this, that woman’s death was accidental. It says the cops think she slipped and fell on some wet tiles. Cracked her head and went into the pool. Probably unconscious so she drowned.”

“That does seem to be the prevailing theory at the moment,” Irene said.

Mildred got a speculative expression. “But the article inWhispersclaims that there was someone else in the spa.”

“There was someone else there,” Irene said. “I didn’t get a good look but I heard him. Or her.”

“You couldn’t tell whether it was a man or a woman?”

“No. It was quite dark and sound gets distorted in that big, tiled room.”

“How do you know that person killed Gloria Maitland?”

“I don’t know for sure,” Irene admitted. “But I think that, under the circumstances, the situation warrants a full investigation.”

“You mean because Miss Maitland had an affair with Nick Tremayne?And because rumor has it that he ended things, and because Tremayne just happened to be staying at the Burning Cove Hotel at the time of the death?”

“I see you read my story very carefully.”

“Yes, indeed,” Mildred said.

“There was someone else in the spa last night,” Irene said. “I think that at the very least the police should find and interview that individual, don’t you?”

Mildred pursed her lips. “I’m afraid it’s not going to be that simple. This is Burning Cove.”

“You mean the authorities here are as corrupt as they are back in L.A.?”

“You didn’t hear me say that.” Mildred raised one shoulder in a dismissive shrug. “According to theHerald, the lady who discovered the body was very upset. It says she was likely suffering from a case of shattered nerves.”

“Do I look like I’m suffering from a case of bad nerves?”

“No,” Mildred admitted. “What are you going to do next?”

“I’m here to cover a story,” Irene said. “That’s what I intend to do.”

“We’ll see. Good luck to you is all I can say.”

Chapter 9

“What is it with actors?” Earnest Ogden tossed the copy ofWhispersonto his desk, got to his feet, and walked to the window. “They’re all the same. I swear, the hotter the star, the more likely he is to get into trouble. If only their brains matched their looks and their talent. Damned fools, all of them. Pardon my language, Miss Ross.”

Maxine Ross glanced up from her stenography notebook. “Of course, Mr. Ogden.”

As usual, she was cool and unruffled. It was, after all, not the first time she had heard the lament about temperamental, neurotic actors or a bit of rough language. She was a professional. She also happened to be one of the few females employed by the studio who had never had aspirations to become a star. She was unflappable, a steady, calming influence in a business built on overheated passions, dreams, ambitions, and too much money.

Glumly, Ogden contemplated the scene outside his second-floor office window. From where he stood he could see an array of large,enclosed soundstages, the commissary, and the wardrobe department. Beyond was the big backlot used for outdoor scenes. That week they were filming a western, a staple of the business. You could always sell westerns, Ogden thought. The façade of a frontier town had been set up—a saloon, the sheriff’s office, the bank that was destined to be robbed, and a general store—and all of it fake. That was the movie business for you. It sold illusions. He did love it so.

The whole establishment, from backlot to executive offices, was, in effect, a secure compound surrounded by high walls. Access was controlled through high, ornate gates manned by tough security guards. Theoretically the walls and the guards were there to protect the privacy of the stars and prevent interference with the filmmaking process. But sometimes it felt as if he worked for a fancy prison or a secret government agency.