Page 40 of The Girl Who Knew Too Much

“Who doubles as a bodyguard.”

“There seem to be a lot of those around here.”

“It’s a nightclub, Irene, run by a man who made his money in speakeasies and the gaming business.”

“I take your point. Again.”

“I’ve got a question for you.”

She had been starting to enjoy the adventure but that stopped her cold.

“What?” she asked.

“It’s about the blood.”

Startled, she looked at him. “The blood?”

“The little splashes of blood that you noticed under the bathtub and the sink in Peggy Hackett’s bathroom. I’m also interested in the fact that you noticed that the towel and bath mat were missing. A lot of people who stumbled onto a scene like the one you described would have been too shocked to take in such small details. Just wondered what made you pay attention to them.”

For a couple of seconds she was too stunned to respond. She couldnot tell him the truth—that after the discovery of Helen Spencer’s body, she had become unnaturally sensitive to the details that indicated an act of violence. Some people might say she had developed a phobia. Others would conclude that her nerves had been strained to the breaking point.

She turned her attention back to the ornate gate. A tall, burly man dressed in butler’s attire was coming toward them. Another man with a coat cut to conceal a weapon, she thought.

It suddenly occurred to her that in some surreal way, the scene—a graceful, luxurious garden and an elegant mansion protected by men who probably carried guns—somehow represented the entire town of Burning Cove. She had entered a charming, glamorous paradise that hid dark and dangerous secrets.

This is my new life,she thought. Everything looks great on the surface. I’ve made a fresh start, got a good job and my very own car, and tonight I’m going out to dinner with the most interesting man I’ve ever met and I’m wearing an amazing dress. But underneath it all I’m keeping some very scary secrets.

“Oh, the blood?” she said, striving to sound as cool as possible. “I probably noticed it because I’m a journalist. In my profession, you learn to pick up on the details.”

“Same in my field,” Oliver said.

The butler was almost at the gate. Irene shot a quick, sidelong glance at Oliver.

She had a feeling that he wasn’t buying her answer—not for a second.

“Which field would that be?” she asked. “The business of magic or the business of running a classy hotel?”

“Both. I told you, they have a lot in common.”

Chapter 15

She had lied about the blood. The question was, why?

Oliver tasted the martini that Blake had mixed, and watched their host try to charm Irene, who was sipping a pink lady and pretending to appear enthralled.

It wasn’t entirely an act, Oliver thought. It was clear that she was curious about Luther but it was also plain that she wasn’t falling under his spell. That was interesting because Luther was very good at charming others, especially women, when it suited him. Very few looked beneath the surface.

Oliver had long ago concluded that the real Luther Pell was revealed in the dark seascapes that hung on the wall. He found it interesting that Irene had cast several covert glances at the paintings as if she was searching for something in them.

Pell was tall and lean. His jet-black hair was cut in the sleek, discreetly oiled Hollywood style—parted on the side and combed straight back. He was a well-educated man with wide-ranging interests. He could converse on almost any subject—the latest books, the economy,the news, or the results of a recent polo match—with an easy, polished manner.

It was obvious that he was as curious about Irene as she was about him, but Luther wasn’t making any progress getting past her invisible defenses. For some reason Oliver found that both entertaining and gratifying.

There was nothing more intriguing than a woman with secrets, he thought, and Pell was definitely intrigued.We both are,Oliver thought. The hot flash of possessiveness that burned through him caught him off guard. Damned if he would let Pell be successful where he, himself, had failed.I’m going to be the man who solves the mystery.

He suppressed his unexpectedly fierce reaction with an act of will, but the fact that he’d even experienced the electrifying heat left him bemused.

“Enough about me, Mr. Pell,” Irene said. “I’m just a journalist working a story. Mr. Ward said that you had agreed to answer a few questions about Nick Tremayne.”