Page 74 of The Girl Who Knew Too Much

“Why would he do that?” Irene asked.

“How should I know?” Norma shrugged. “First time he made a mess. It looked like the real deal—a straight-up burglary—so I called the cops and then I called you to let you know what had happened. But after the second break-in last night, I figured the bastards were trying to send a message.”

“What message?” Oliver asked.

“Just trying to scare Irene, I guess. Let her know she wasn’t safe anywhere—that they could get to her.” Norma broke off to cough a few more times. When she had composed herself, she eyed him more closely. “You’re the Amazing Oliver Ward, aren’t you? The magician who bungled his last act and nearly got himself killed? There was a picture of you and Irene inSilver Screen Secretsyesterday morning.”

He ignored that. “What was the threat that convinced you to toss Miss Glasson out into the street?”

Norma shrugged. “I was told that if I didn’t get rid of a certain troublesome tenant, there would be an accidental fire. Might lose the whole apartment house. This building is my retirement. Can’t afford to risk it.”

Irene pulled herself together and took a step back. “I’m sorry I got you involved, Mrs. Drysdale. Where are my things? I’ll get them and leave you in peace.”

“I put your stuff in some boxes,” Norma mumbled. She did not make eye contact. “Broom closet at the end of the hall.”

“I’ll get them,” Irene said.

She started to turn away.

Norma grunted. “Here’s a tip, honey. The studios own this town. You don’t cross ’em, not if you want to make a living. The sooner you figure that out, the better off you’ll be.”

Irene paused. “I’m getting the message.”

Norma switched her attention back to Oliver. “Saw your act once. You were darn good, at least back before you messed up. I liked the way you made that pretty woman in the skimpy dress walk straight into the mirror and disappear. What went wrong that day you were almost killed?”

“I can’t tell you,” Oliver said. “Magicians’ Code.”

“Huh?”

Oliver looked at Irene. “Let’s get your things.”

Irene turned on her heel and started down the hall. She heard the door slam shut behind her. There was a very final-sounding snick as the bolt slid home.

An odd sensation ghosted through her, a mix of wistfulness and resignation. The Ocean View Apartments—for rent by week or month—didn’t have an actual view of the ocean. It didn’t offer much in the way of amenities. But it had been her home since she had arrived in Los Angeles.

It wasn’t the first time she had lost a roof over her head, she reminded herself. Maybe permanent homes were for other people.

She glanced back at Oliver, who was following her down the hall.

“You knew what had happened when my key didn’t work,” she said. “You realized my landlady had locked me out of my apartment. That’s why you insisted on coming back downstairs with me to see about getting a key.”

“Someone once gave me the wrong key.”

“I see.”

“Had a feeling that whoever is trying to make you back off the story might have decided to put the squeeze on you in every way possible.”

She stopped in front of the broom closet and opened the door. Three boxes tied up with string sat on the floor next to a bucket, mop, and broom. The nameGlassonwas scrawled on each box. She reached down to hoist one.

“Aren’t you going to open them to make sure all your things are inside?” Oliver said. “Norma Drysdale may have helped herself to a few items.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Irene started back down the hall with the first box. “There was nothing valuable in my apartment. It was just a place to sleep.”

Chapter 32

The Ocean View Apartments had been more than just a place to sleep, Oliver thought. It had been Irene’s home or, at least, her refuge from the world. And now it was gone, stolen by a studio fixer who made a nice living paying off corrupt cops and judges and threatening the Norma Drysdales of the world.

He arranged the last of the three pitifully small boxes in the back of the car and got behind the wheel. For a moment he sat quietly, watching Irene. She was gazing straight ahead at the front door of the apartment house. Her coolly composed expression gave nothing away, but he could feel the storm brewing just under the surface.