Tightrope (Burning Cove #3)(37)

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 the Herald that Dr. Pickwell had a few last words,” Matthias said. “What were they?”

Whatever Webster had been expecting, that question wasn’t it.

“Huh?” he said. His expression of nervous bewilderment dissolved into relief. “Oh, yeah, right. Pickwell’s last words. Like I told that reporter, he said he knew his monster robot would turn on him someday and that he shouldn’t have tried to play Frankenstein.”

Webster was lying. The currents of energy in his voice oscillated in lazy, erratic waves. Not a concealing lie, Matthias decided. It was the kind of lie people used when they wanted to impress someone. It was more of a look-at-me-I’m-important-because-I’ve-got-inside-information lie. For the most part such mild deceptions were harmless. But in this case there was a possibility that they shrouded the truth; a truth that Webster himself did not consider particularly significant.

“Just like a line out of a movie,” Amalie said with an admiring look.

Webster brightened. “Yeah. Just like in a movie.”

Amalie’s smile went up a couple of watts. “Are you absolutely certain those were Dr. Pickwell’s final words? Is it possible he said something else?”

Slick, Matthias thought. She had very cleverly avoided calling Webster a liar to his face. Instead, she had invited him to expand on his original statement and impress her further.

Still mesmerized by Amalie’s smile, Webster swallowed a couple of times.

“Well, there, uh, maybe there was something else,” he mumbled.

Amalie continued to fix him with an expression of rapt attention. Hanging on every word.

“Go on,” she urged.

“It didn’t make any sense,” Webster said. “Pickwell was in shock. He was delirious. You see that a lot when a patient is dying.”

Matthias looked at him. “What else did Pickwell say?”

Webster grunted. “Something about his keys.”

Cold truth.

“Go on,” Matthias said.

“Look, I told you, Pickwell was delirious. He said he had given the keys to the robot and no one would ever find them.”





Chapter 22


Amalie paused before she slipped into the passenger seat of the speedster. She looked at Matthias, who was holding the door for her. The atmosphere around him was electric. She smiled, recognizing the intoxicating sensation. It was akin to the thrill that used to sweep through her whenever she grabbed the bar and flew.

“I think I understand why you are drawn to your investigation work,” she said.

“It has its moments,” he said.

She sank into the buttery-soft leather seat. Matthias closed the door and smiled at her. She laughed because she knew that he was flying.

“You think Seymour Webster told us the truth, don’t you?” she said. “Dr. Pickwell’s last words about the keys are important.”

“The quote about playing Frankenstein was nonsense. As you predicted, Webster just wanted to say something suitable to the occasion and get his name in the papers. But the business about giving the keys to the robot? Yes, that rang true. The question is, what does it mean?”

Matthias sounded absolutely certain of his conclusion. In the otherworldly glow of the neon sign that spelled out Carousel Club it was impossible to read his expression, but she sensed that he was satisfied. Webster had given him the lead he had been seeking.

She watched him walk around the long, sleek hood of the Packard. In the shadows he was exciting and fascinating; utterly compelling. She was drawn to the invisible energy around him. This kind of attraction was new to her. She wasn’t sure how to deal with it. She probably ought to be careful around him, but the part of her that remembered the exhilaration of flying was not the least bit afraid.

Matthias opened the driver’s side door and got behind the wheel.

“We probably ought to consider the possibility that Seymour Webster was right,” she warned. “Maybe Pickwell was simply delirious.”

“Doesn’t mean he wasn’t saying something important.” Matthias turned the key in the ignition. “In his situation, hiding the keys made sense. It would certainly explain a lot.”

“I gather we’re not talking about car keys.”

“Unlikely. Pickwell did not drive to Burning Cove, remember? He arrived on the train from L.A. He was here to do a very dangerous deal. His car keys would have been the last thing on his mind.”

Amalie watched Matthias’s profile as he motored slowly out of the parking lot, heading toward Cliff Road. A shiver of intense awareness swept through her. The dark intimacy of the vehicle’s front seat stirred all of her senses. Not for the first time that night she wished they were on a real date.