Page 45 of The Girl Who Knew Too Much

They reached the entrance to the pier. Twin rows of lights illuminated the wooden-planked walkway. The far end was lost in moon-infused fog.

Irene did not object when he guided her onto the pier. The silence was interrupted by the gentle lapping of the waves beneath the wooden boards.

Irene was so close that now and again he caught a trace of her scent, a mix of some flowery cologne and her own feminine essence. He was sure his pulse was beating a little harder than usual. Instinctively he tightened his grip on her arm. He wanted to keep her there, next to him, for as long as possible.

“Sorry Pell couldn’t give you what you wanted tonight,” he said at last.

She sighed. “I didn’t think it would be easy to prove that Tremayne is a killer.”

“No. It won’t be easy. More likely impossible.”

“You think I’m wasting my time, don’t you?”

“What I think,” he said slowly, “is that you are taking some very big risks.”

She slanted him a sidelong look. “Risks you’re willing to take, as well. What will you do if we find out for certain that Nick Tremayne murdered three women but we can’t prove it?”

“I’ll worry about that problem if it becomes a problem.”

She stopped short. “What does that mean?”

He was forced to stop, too. He released her, hooked the handle of the cane over the railing, and leaned against the wooden barrier.

“It means that this is Burning Cove, not L.A.,” he said. “The rules are a little different here.”

“Mr. Ward—”

“Oliver.”

“Oliver. I appreciate that you have an interest in finding out what happened in your spa and I’m grateful for your help, but I don’t want to be responsible for you doing something that could get you arrested.”

He smiled a little at that. “Trust me, if I get arrested, it will be my own fault.”

She folded her arms under the protective cloak of his coat and looked at him. In the weak glow of the nearby lamp, he could see the shadows in her eyes.

“I assume your next step is to try to interview Daisy Jennings?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Luther was right, you know. She won’t talk. By now the studio people will have gotten to her.”

Irene angled her head a little and studied his face in the dim light. He realized that she was trying to read him.

“It’s worth a try,” she said. “I don’t have any other leads.”

“You’re not going to let it go, are you?”

“No,” she said. “I can’t. By any chance, do you know Miss Jennings?”

“I know her,” he said. “She’s all right but she’s wasting her life chasing a dream.”

“She wants to be an actress?”

“Daisy Jennings spends her nights at the Paradise Club and sometimes in the lounge at my hotel because she hopes that if she sleeps with the right person, she’ll finally get that screen test, the one that will transform her into a movie star.”

“That’s so sad.”

“She’s hardly alone. Hollywood is filled with dreamers like her. Some of them find their way to Burning Cove because the stars and directors come here.”