Tightrope (Burning Cove #3)(36)

Amalie tensed. “I think she knows the truth now.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Willa and I grew up together. Our friendship runs deep. She was devastated by what happened in Abbotsville but she said herself she’s had six months to think about it. She knows now that I’m telling the truth.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You don’t believe me?”

“I believe that you want to believe that she’s telling you the truth.”

Amalie flashed him a steely smile. “Are you always this suspicious?”

“Always.”

“It must be a hard way to go through life.”

“You have no idea,” he admitted.

“Is that why you aren’t married? Has your obsession with finding a road map to the truth made it impossible for you to trust anyone, especially a lover?”

He felt as if she had just kicked him in the gut.

“I probably had that coming,” he said.

“Tell me,” Amalie said, “have you ever been wrong in your suspicions?”

“Sometimes.”

“Only sometimes?”

“Emotions complicate things,” he admitted. “Strong emotion is like a fog across the highway. I have to slow down and go through it very carefully in order to find the road on the other side.”

“Let me take a wild guess here. I’ll bet that while you’re taking your own sweet time picking a path through the fog, the woman you’re dating gives up on you and looks for someone else.”

The sign he had been watching for came up in the headlights. He slowed the speedster and turned onto the road that would take them to the Carousel.

“Let’s change the subject,” he said.

She smiled. “Sure. What do you want to talk about?”

“Are we finished with Abbotsville?” he asked.

She glanced at him. “Why?”

“Because I have a feeling there is something you’re not telling me.”

“I’m impressed. You’re right. There is one more thing I can tell you about Abbotsville, but you probably won’t believe me. To be honest, I’m not sure I trust my own memories of that night.”

“Try me.”

“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 in a 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.”