Tightrope (Burning Cove #3)(45)

“Right. The killer.”

“I don’t know anything about robots,” Amalie said. “But I do know something about costumes. The one the killer wore was very well done. No one watching from the audience guessed that it wasn’t a real robot that came onstage to shoot Dr. Pickwell.”

“That is a very interesting observation,” Matthias said. “Where are you going with this?”

“I don’t know, but I can tell you that elaborate costumes like that don’t get designed and made by amateurs. Are you still planning to drive to that town where Dr. Pickwell had his workshop?”

“Playa Dorada, yes.” Matthias changed gears. “I’ll leave right after I’ve had a chance to shave and get some breakfast. I should be home this evening.”

“Home?” she repeated softly.

He looked surprised by his small verbal slip. “I should be back to Burning Cove sometime tonight. If I get delayed, I’ll give Luther a call and ask him to send one of his security people to the inn to keep an eye on things tonight.”

“I’m happy to have a guard for the inn, but just to be clear, I’m going with you to Playa Dorada.”

“Think so?”

“This situation has taken over my life and my business. We either go together or I’ll drive there myself. I’m sure I won’t have any problem locating Pickwell’s workshop.”

“When you put it like that—”





Chapter 28


Playa Dorada meant “golden beach” in Spanish, but the sand did not glitter in the warm sunlight. It was another kind of valuable commodity that dominated the local landscape. Like so many of the beachfront communities scattered around Los Angeles, the small town existed in the shadows of a maze of towering oil derricks. The giant machines looked like a vast herd of prehistoric beasts. They loomed as far as the eye could see and marched right down to the water’s edge.

“I’m very glad we don’t have a lot of oil derricks ruining the scenery in Burning Cove,” Amalie said.

Matthias turned a corner into a narrow street. “You don’t have them yet. But there’s oil very near the surface in Burning Cove. Luther said the stuff seeps right out of the ground on some of the beaches. The town may not be able to keep the oil companies out indefinitely.”

“We’ve got some powerful people in Burning Cove. Something tells me that Luther Pell and Oliver Ward could handle an oil company.”

Matthias smiled. “You might be right.” He brought the Packard to a halt in front of an abandoned warehouse. “We’ll leave the car here and walk the rest of the way. No sense drawing attention to ourselves by parking right in front of Pickwell’s workshop.”

Amalie got out of the car and looked around. They were at the end of a dead-end street surrounded by boarded-up buildings. Faded signs advertising everything from cheap auto repairs to sandwiches and rooms by the week dangled above closed doors. Empty bottles and cans were scattered across the ground, mute evidence of the transients who had sought shelter in the ruins. Just one more neighborhood that had yet to crawl out of the long shadow cast by the crash.

“Pickwell’s place is about a block away,” Matthias said. “We can cut through some of the old yards. There’s no one left who will care.”

Amalie fell into step beside him. Their destination proved to be a weathered single-story structure badly in need of paint. It was one of the few buildings that still had glass in the windows.

“I know it’s a little late to be asking this, but how do you plan to get inside Pickwell’s workshop?” Amalie asked.

“The same way I got in the first time,” Matthias said.

“You broke in, didn’t you?”

“I told you I’m good with locks.”

“You know, people get arrested for doing things like that.”

Matthias looked at her. “Pickwell is dead, remember? I doubt if there’s anyone else who might object to a small break-in at his old workshop.”

“How do you define small?”

“It’s not like we’re planning to steal anything big.” Matthias went up the concrete steps at the back door of the building. “This is the way I got in the first time. I had to pick the lock. Pickwell never returned from Burning Cove, so the door should still be unlocked.”

The knob turned easily in Matthias’s hand. The door swung open on rusty hinges, revealing a heavily shadowed space crammed with an array of mechanical equipment, tools, and what appeared to be spare parts from various types of machinery.

Amalie stopped in dismay. “You’re right, the place looks like a junkyard. There’s stuff everywhere. How in the world are we going to conduct a search when we don’t even know what we’re looking for?”

“We’re not interested in the hardware or the mechanical and electrical equipment.” Matthias went down an aisle formed by workbenches. “We’re looking for notebooks, journals, ledgers, phone numbers—anything that might give us a lead.”

Amalie trailed after him. “Where are you going?”

“Pickwell’s office. I told you that the first time I was here I didn’t have time to conduct a thorough search. In addition, I didn’t have all the information I’ve got now. With luck we’ll find something that I didn’t notice the first time, something that will make sense given what we now know.”