Tightrope (Burning Cove #3)(48)

A short time ago Matthias had called Luther Pell from the pay phone booth outside the entrance of the diner. He had returned with the news that Pell would be making inquiries at the Burning Cove gas stations to see if anyone driving a black Ford sedan had filled up a tank in preparation for the hundred-mile-plus drive to Playa Dorada. It was a long shot, Matthias said, but it was all they had at the moment.

He picked up his coffee mug and looked thoughtful.

“It was a spur-of-the-moment attack,” he said. “He saw an opportunity and took it. But he couldn’t hang around to make sure we were dead. Too many witnesses.”

“Those three transients.”

“Right.”

Amalie sat back in her seat. “Who carries a grenade around to keep it handy in case he might need it?”

“A professional gunrunner, like Smith or someone working for him.”

“If you’re right about Smith, if he really is trying to do one last big deal before he leaves the country, he has a lot at stake. That makes him very dangerous.”

“Yes,” Matthias said. “It also means he’s willing to take more risks. That can work in our favor.”

“With luck he’ll think we’re dead.”

“Maybe for a while. But he won’t be convinced of that for long. We have to get out ahead of him.”

“You were right,” she said. “He’s sticking around because he didn’t get what he wanted the night the robot shot Pickwell.”

“We have to go with that theory. Otherwise, he would have left the country with the Ares machine by now.”

Matthias radiated an ice-cold determination. Amalie knew that he would not quit. She wondered if the unknown Mr. Smith understood that simple truth about Matthias Jones, as well.

“What do we do next?” she asked.

Matthias’s jaw tightened. “Before we discuss that, I want to tell you I’m sorry for dragging you into this situation.”

“I’m not thrilled to be involved, either,” she said. “But it’s not your fault that Pickwell chose to stay at the Hidden Beach Inn, and you aren’t responsible for the break-in that occurred the other night. We’re in this together.”

“Yes,” Matthias said. “It’s possible you would be safe if I walked away and left you alone, but I doubt it.”

“You think that Smith would come after me.”

“He would want to know whatever you could tell him about me and about my conclusions,” Matthias said. He gripped the edge of the table very tightly with both hands. “No, I can’t walk away, Amalie. You would still be in danger.”

Amalie folded her arms and studied him for a moment, trying to read him. It was a fruitless task. She finally gave up.

“I understand,” she said. “What happens next?”

“You want a list? We need to get back to Burning Cove so that Chester Ward and I can take the robot apart. I have to study those drawings that we found in Pickwell’s office. I’d like to talk to someone who knew Charlie Hubbard here in Playa Dorada—”

“Wait,” Amalie said. “Why do you want to talk to one of Hubbard’s pals?”

“Because Hubbard was involved from the beginning of this thing. That means he was recruited. Whoever convinced him to assist with the theft of the cipher machine has links to Smith.”

“So much to do, so little time.”

“We’ll start with Hubbard.”

“How do we go about locating someone who knew him?”

“Hubbard bunked under his employer’s roof. He could not have met with Smith’s agent there. Whoever he was in contact with had to rendezvous with him at some other location.”

“Such as?”

“Most working men have a favorite diner or bar where they feel comfortable. It’s always someplace that’s convenient to wherever they live.”

“That neighborhood looked mostly deserted,” Amalie said. “I doubt if there’s a diner or bar in the area. There wouldn’t be much local business.”

“There was a streetcar stop a few blocks from Pickwell’s shop. Probably the last stop on the line. We’ll check it out after we finish here. Shouldn’t be too hard to find the diner or bar where Hubbard was a regular.”

Amalie looked at her uneaten sandwich. “I think I’m finished.”



* * *





Matthias was right. It didn’t take any great investigative work to locate the diner where Charlie Hubbard liked to drink coffee and chat with a waitress named Polly. But Polly wasn’t available. She had taken the day off to visit her ailing mother. She was not due back until the morning shift.

It was late afternoon by the time Amalie and Matthias left the diner.

“We’re not driving back to Burning Cove tonight, are we?” Amalie said. “We would just have to turn around and come back to Playa Dorada early tomorrow morning to catch the waitress.”

“You’re right.” Matthias opened the passenger side door of the Packard. “We’re going to spend the night somewhere near Playa Dorada. We’ll find a hotel. Sorry about this.”

Amalie paused, one stacked-heel sandal on the floorboard, one still on the ground. She glared at Matthias.