Page 31 of Tightrope

“What about them?”

She glanced at the copy of theHeraldon the table. “It was like a scene out of a horror movie, wasn’t it?”

Distracted, Matthias came forward to study the photo of Futuro and the accompanying headline. “Huh.”

Amalie watched him, fascinated by the edgy energy that charged the atmosphere around him.

“Yes, it was,” he said very softly. “Exactly like a scene from a movie.”

“Right down to the inventor’s dying words.” Amalie tapped the second paragraph of Irene Ward’s story and intoned the quote in a theatrical voice.“The creature turned on me. I should have known better than to play Frankenstein.”

Matthias looked up, his eyes sharp and fierce.

“Interesting.”

“Give me a break,” Amalie said. “You don’t really think that Dr. Pickwell actually said that with his dying breath, do you? He wouldn’t have been in a mood to philosophize about the nature of man-made machines. I’ll bet the ambulance attendant quoted some horror movie dialogue just to get his own name in the papers.”

Matthias picked up the newspaper, snapped it open, and took a closer look at the story. “If that was his plan, it worked perfectly. Thanks to Irene Ward’s attention to detail, we know that the ambulance attendant’s name is Seymour Webster. We also know where he is employed. He works the night shift at the local hospital. Shouldn’t be hard to find him.”

“Why do you want to talk to him?” Amalie asked.

“Pickwell was going into shock when he was loaded into the ambulance,” Matthias said. “He was dead by the time they got him to the hospital. But maybe he really did have some last words.”

“What are you thinking?”

“That I need to talk to the ambulance attendant.”

Chapter 15

Hazel was aghast. “You rented one of our rooms to that mobster pal of Luther Pell’s? Are you out of your mind?”

She was propped up on the pillows of her hospital bed, her head swathed in bandages. She had looked pale and pathetic when Amalie had walked into the room but the news of their new paying guest at the inn had revived her more effectively than a shot of whiskey. There was an unmistakable glitter of strong emotion in her eyes. Disbelief, maybe, or possibly horror.

Amalie was not surprised by the transformation. Circus people were show people. That went double for the aerialists, who were usually the stars. They possessed an innate talent for drama.

“We don’t know for certain that Mr. Jones is connected to the mob,” Amalie said.

“He’s a friend of that nightclub owner, Luther Pell. Trust me, Jones has mob ties.”

“You need to look at this from the positive angle,” Amalie said.

“What is positive about renting a room to a known criminal?”

“We don’t know for certain that he’s a criminal,” Amalie said, striving for a soothing tone. “Innocent until proven guilty, remember?”

“We are not running a courtroom at the Hidden Beach. We’re in the inn-keeping business. Has Jones checked in yet?”

“He came by earlier today to drop off his suitcase and pick up his key.”

“Where is he now?”

“I don’t know,” Amalie admitted. “When he left he said he was going to try to find one of the ambulance attendants who took Dr. Pickwell to the hospital.”

“Why would he want to do that?”

“Mr. Jones seems to be some sort of private investigator.”

“Who works for a mob boss?”