Page 22 of The Girl Who Knew Too Much

“Which I will be only too happy to hear. I suggest we meet for coffee at one of the local cafés.”

“I’m afraid that would be difficult to arrange. Mr. Tremayne is famous. He can’t just walk into a café and expect to go unrecognized. He would soon be surrounded by a crowd of people wanting his autograph. The reason he stays at the Burning Cove Hotel is precisely because he knows he can expect that his privacy will be respected.”

Irene shrugged. “All right. I’ll meet with him at the hotel but not in his villa. I want a more public location. And keep in mind that it might not be easy to arrange for me to get through the front gate of the Burning Cove. I understand management has a strict policy when it comes to members of the press. Evidently journalists are not allowed on the premises.”

“I’m sure the hotel management will make an exception for Mr. Tremayne,” Claudia said. “Would this afternoon be convenient for you?”

“Certainly.”

“I suggest three o’clock. You and Mr. Tremayne could meet for tea in the Garden Room at the Burning Cove Hotel.”

“I’ll be there at three. If you don’t see me, it will be because I couldn’t get past the guards at the gate.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of that end of things. Thank you, Miss Glasson. You won’t regret this, I promise you.”

Irene gave her a cool smile. “I’m sure you didn’t expect me to turn down an interview with Nick Tremayne.”

Claudia looked pathetically grateful. “To be honest, I didn’t know what to expect. Miss Maitland’s death has been so upsetting for everyone, especially Mr. Tremayne. Three o’clock.”

Claudia turned and fled back into the lobby.

Irene waited a moment before she opened her handbag and took out her notebook. She unclipped the pencil and started to jot down her impressions of Claudia Picton.Nervous. Anxious. Scared?

I know how you feel, Claudia Picton.I’ve been nervous, anxious, and scared for the past four months.

She had driven some three thousand miles, traded her prize Packard for a far more anonymous car, changed her name, changed her career, and invented a new life. But she was still looking over her shoulder, still listening for footsteps in the night, still jumping at shadows.

Finding another body last night certainly hadn’t helped soothe her nerves. Three women whose lives had touched hers were dead within four months: Helen Spencer, Peggy Hackett, and Gloria Maitland.

Logic and common sense told her that the deaths of Peggy Hackett and Gloria Maitland could not possibly be connected to the grisly murder of Helen Spencer. But logic and common sense did little to allay the fear that churned deep inside her. It was fear of a link between the three dead women that had caused her to become obsessed with finding out the truth about Peggy Hackett’s death.

So be it,she thought. She had run as far as she could, all the way tothe opposite edge of the country. There was nowhere else to run. She had to discover the truth for the sake of her own sanity.

A large shadow fell across the open page of her notebook.

“I doubt that she’ll last very long,” Oliver said.

Irene was so startled she nearly levitated out of her chair. She took a sharp breath and looked up. Oliver was standing slightly behind her, his cane gripped tightly in one hand.

She should have heard him approach, she thought. She had been so lost in her own thoughts that she hadn’t heard the tapping of his cane or the hitch in his stride.

She glanced down and saw that there was a thick rubber cap on the end of the cane. That no doubt explained why she hadn’t heard it thumping on the paving stones of the patio. Oliver had moved very quietly for a man with a bad leg. The wordstealthycame to mind.

He was dressed in a pair of excellently tailored trousers, a crisply pressed shirt, and a lightweight linen jacket cut in the drape style. The fashion had become very popular because the design emphasized the width of a man’s upper chest and shoulders. But Oliver didn’t need the illusion created by a good tailor, she thought. His shoulders would have looked good with or without the jacket.

It occurred to her that the style had something else going for it. The slightly angled drape of the fabric above the waistline was far less restrictive than the older style, which fit the body quite snugly. The ease of movement allowed by the new fashion probably appealed to a man who needed to use a cane.

“I didn’t hear you,” she said.

She knew the comment sounded like a thinly veiled accusation.

“Sorry,” he said. “Didn’t mean to startle you. Do you mind if I join you?”

“No,” she said.

She slipped the pencil into her notebook and closed the cover.

He eased into the chair that Claudia had just vacated. Irene watchedthe small action carefully, trying to determine if he really did need the cane or if he used it as a prop. As if an otherwise healthy specimen of manhood would deliberately go about with a fake limp, she thought.I’m suspicious of everyone these days.