Page 45 of Tightrope

“I was literally shivering with fear that night and I still had some of the drug in my system. I have absolutely no facts to back up my theory, and the police didn’t find any evidence, either.”

The icy waves of truth oscillated powerfully through the fog of strong emotion. Whatever she was about to tell him, there was no doubt but that she believed it.

He braked very gently for a stop sign at a deserted intersection.

“Evidence of what, Amalie?” he asked.

“I think someone else was there that night,” she said. “I heard him laugh from time to time, a kind of excited giggle. Whoever it was watched it all from the shadows. It was as if he was just another paying customer who had bought a ticket to my performance. He couldn’t wait to see me fly to my death.”

Chapter 21

The small casino in the back of the Carousel was smoky, crowded, and illegal. The rattle and clang of dice and slots created a dull roar. The smell of the hot sweat unique to gambling fever infused the room.

“Who are you and what the hell do you want with me?” Seymour Webster asked. He did not take the cigarette out of the corner of his mouth. “I’m busy here.”

He shoved another nickel into the slot machine, pulled the handle, and stared, mesmerized, at the whirling fruit. He was a narrow-faced, thin-lipped man in his early thirties. He gazed at the front of the machine with the intense concentration of a confirmed gambler.

“I want to ask you a couple of questions,” Matthias said. “I’m willing to compensate you for your time.”

He took out his wallet, removed a couple of bills, and very deliberately placed the money on the table in front of the machine. Webster did not notice. He was focused on the whirling fruit.

When the wheels stopped spinning, the cherries did not line up ina neat little row. Neither did anything else. Seymour grunted in disgust and looked down at the cash. He was clearly startled but he reacted immediately. He grabbed the money, shoved it into a pocket, and shot straight up from the stool. His pale eyes glittered with eagerness.

“What questions?” he asked.

“Let’s talk in the other room.”

Webster cast a longing look at the slot machine. “Is this gonna take very long?”

“No,” Matthias said.

He led the way through the throng of eager gamblers. A big guard in an ill-fitting suit opened the door.

Amalie was waiting in a booth. She was not alone. Matthias suppressed a groan. She had been by herself for only the three minutes it had taken him to locate Seymour Webster, but that was long enough for two bar patrons with heavily oiled hair to move in on her.

Not that she needed him to protect her, Matthias concluded. Somehow she managed to get rid of both of her visitors before he and Webster got to the table.

Webster dropped into the empty seat. Matthias slid in beside him, blocking the only available escape route, and looked at Amalie across the table.

“What did you tell those two that made them disappear so fast?” he asked.

Amalie gave him her mysterious smile. “I mentioned that the man I’m with tonight carries a gun and has mob connections.”

Webster’s eyes widened. “What?”

Matthias sighed. “My reputation here in Burning Cove continues to sink lower with each passing day.”

Amalie gave Webster a bright, vivacious warm-up-the-crowd smile.

“You must be Mr. Webster,” she said. “Thank you so much for talking to us tonight.”

Webster stared at her, slightly stunned. “Look, I don’t want no trouble.”

“Neither do we,” Matthias said. “I thought I made it clear—we just have a couple of questions for you.”

Webster beetled his brows. “Yeah?”

“You told the reporter for theHeraldthat Dr. Pickwell had a few last words,” Matthias said. “What were they?”