Tightrope (Burning Cove #3)(52)

“It is.” Matthias said. He yawned, but something in his eyes got very sharp. “So?”

“How big is Failure Analysis?”

“The company is small, just the proprietor and a handful of consultants who all work on a contract basis.”

“Do all of the consultants have mob connections?”

Matthias’s mouth curved in a slow, knowing smile. “That’s all you’re going to get from me tonight. Save your questions for the proprietor.”

“And just when am I going to have an opportunity to question him?”

“We’re having cocktails with him tonight in Burning Cove.”

Stunned, Amalie sat up, clutching the sheet to her breasts.

“Luther Pell?” she gasped.

“Founder and sole proprietor of Failure Analysis, Inc. Call us when things go wrong.”



* * *





Polly, the waitress at the diner that Charlie Hubbard had patronized, was happy to talk but she didn’t have much in the way of useful information.

“A couple of weeks ago Charlie started hinting that he was going to be on easy street soon,” she said. “He told me that he had a deal going. Said there would be a big payoff. Said he couldn’t talk about it. I still can’t believe he was murdered.”





Chapter 34


“You can’t wear black,” Hazel declared. “Not to the Paradise Club. A nightclub is dark. You’ll disappear.”

Hazel had been waiting at the Hidden Beach Inn when Amalie and Matthias returned. Willa had picked her up at the hospital. Hazel was wearing one of Madam Zolanda’s colorful turbans to conceal the bandage on her head, but aside from the odd hat, she appeared to be in good shape.

An hour ago Amalie had casually announced her intention of wearing the blue cocktail dress to the Paradise, the same frock that she had worn to the Carousel. Willa and Hazel had been horrified.

Now the three of them were standing on the sidewalk outside a fashionable boutique in Burning Cove.

“I’m fine with disappearing,” Amalie said.

“I don’t think you’ll disappear,” Willa said. “Not in that dress. You’re going to look mysterious and elegant.”

The evening gown in the window of the small shop was a long column of black satin cut on the bias so that it sleeked smoothly along the body and flared out around the ankles. The bodice was studded with small crystals. The neckline was deceptively demure in front. The back plunged in a daring V all the way to the waist.

“At least it’s on sale,” Amalie said. “It’s bad enough that I’m going to have to cash in one of Madam Zolanda’s bracelets to pay for it. I refuse to spend any more than absolutely necessary.”

“The opportunity to be seen at the Paradise is worth whatever it costs,” Willa declared. “You can’t buy that kind of publicity, and we desperately need good press. Or have you forgotten the headline in Whispers?”

Amalie winced. She had picked up that day’s edition of Hollywood Whispers when she and Matthias had left the diner that morning. She had read it during the drive back to Burning Cove.

The lead story had featured a large photo of Vincent Hyde, resplendent in black-and-white evening wear, a cigarette in his long fingers, sliding gracefully into his limousine in front of the Hidden Beach Inn. The headline was enough to fill any self-respecting innkeeper with dread: Will the Master of Horror Be the Next Victim of the Psychic’s Curse?

“That wasn’t quite the publicity I was hoping to get when Mr. Hyde checked into the Hidden Beach,” Amalie admitted.

“You know what P. T. Barnum said about publicity,” Hazel reminded her.

“The theory that any publicity is good publicity so long as they spell your name right is nonsense,” Amalie said. “Look what happened to the Ramsey Circus after Abbotsville. It folded within the month.”

“If it hadn’t been Abbotsville, it would have been something else that forced the show to close,” Hazel said. “We were barely hanging on as it was. Most of the other circuses are gone, too. It won’t be long before Ringling is the only operation still standing.”

“Hazel is right,” Willa said. “Ramsey was doomed before Abbotsville. It couldn’t afford the animals. Couldn’t afford the tents. Couldn’t afford the cost of transporting everything by rail. Most of all, the audiences were getting smaller and smaller. The thing we have to remember is that we’re in a new business now—the innkeeping business.”

“We?” Amalie repeated.

Willa tensed. “We’re a team now, right? You and Hazel and me? We fly or go down together. Right now, one of our team members needs a new costume for a very important performance. I say we go in there and buy that dress.”

“And shoes, too,” Hazel added. “You won’t need a necklace, not with that gown, but you will need some great earrings.”

“I saw some in Madam Zolanda’s collection that will work,” Willa said.

“I’m not exactly Cinderella going to the ball,” Amalie said.

Steely determination gleamed in Willa’s eyes.

“No, you are not a fairy-tale princess,” she said. “You are the glamorous owner of one of the most exclusive hotels in the glamorous, exclusive town of Burning Cove. Tonight you will be seen in a club patronized by movie stars.”