Page 46 of The Girl Who Knew Too Much

“I know,” Irene said. “In the time I’ve been working atWhispers, I’ve met a lot of people with stars in their eyes. Everyone has dreams.”

“What’s your dream?” he asked.

“Dreams change. I lost my parents when I was little. My grandfather raised me. I used to dream about traveling around the world. But Grandpa died when I was fourteen. I wound up in an orphanage for a couple of years. For a while my dream was to have a family of my own. But it soon became obvious that what I really needed was a way to make a living. My dreams are a lot more pragmatic these days. What about you?”

“Like you said, dreams change. There was a time when I wanted to become the next Houdini. Now my goal is to make sure the Burning Cove Hotel keeps turning a profit.”

“Sounds like we’ve both been able to adapt our dreams to our circumstances.”

“Probably less frustrating that way,” he said.

“Probably.”

“What happens if your investigation goes nowhere?” he asked.

“I’ll go back to my job and find another story to cover. Speaking of my big story, I’m grateful to you for opening some doors for me. It was nice of you to introduce me to Luther Pell tonight.”

“You can skip the gratitude,” he said. “I don’t want it.”

He had evidently spoken more sharply than he had intended because she stiffened and then threw him a quick, searching glance.

“I was trying to be polite and civil,” she said coldly. “Are you always this prickly?”

He groaned. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to snap at you. Just wanted to make sure you knew I wasn’t expecting anything more out of this partnership.”

“Anything more?” she repeated much too carefully.

The wooden boards on which he was standing might as well have been transformed into eggshells. He was afraid to make another move but he felt compelled to try to explain.

“Gratitude can be misunderstood,” he said.

“Really? I have no problem understanding exactly what it means.”

“I’m trying to tell you that I don’t expect you to fall into bed with me as a way of thanking me for opening those damned doors.”

“Don’t worry,” she said. “I have absolutely no intention whatsoever of sleeping with you as a way of repaying you for your help. Are we clear on that?”

“Perfectly clear.”

“Good. In that case, I’m going back to my room. Alone.”

She stepped smartly to the side, whipped around him, and marched swiftly back along the pier.

“Damn it, Irene, you’re twisting my words.”

He grabbed his cane off the railing and started after her. Pain ripped through his bad leg. For a couple of seconds, he could scarcely breathe through the agony. He gritted his teeth, tightened his grip on the cane, and kept going.

Irene did not look back but her dainty heels slowed her down. He had closed most of the distance between them by the time she reached the front steps of the Cove Inn.

He saw the two men hunkered down in the shadows on the porch before Irene did because she was busy rummaging around in her big handbag for the key.

“Irene, stop,” he said, using his stage voice, the one that carried all the way to the back row of the theater.

Startled, she froze.

“What?” she asked.

The two men surged out of the shadows. One of them held a boxlike object in his hands.