Tightrope (Burning Cove #3)(53)

“Willa is right,” Hazel said. “You have to grab the spotlight tonight just like you did when you flew for a living.”

“When did you two become so enthusiastic about the innkeeping business?” Amalie asked.

“You’re not the only one who has a stake in making the Hidden Beach successful,” Willa said. “We’re still a family. We stick together. Follow me, we’re going into that shop to buy that costume.”

“Evening gown,” Amalie corrected.

“Willa’s right,” Hazel said. “Think of that dress as a costume. You used to know how to dazzle an audience. Let’s hope you haven’t forgotten the tricks of the trade, because the future of the Hidden Beach Inn may well depend on the impression you make this evening.”

“I sense pressure,” Amalie said.

“Oh, yeah.” Willa led the way into the shop. “Lots of pressure on you tonight. But, hey, you used to fly on the trapeze, remember? You can handle pressure.”

“Too bad there’s no net tonight,” Hazel said.

“The Flying Princess never worked with a net,” Willa said.





Chapter 35


“I apologize for dragging you and your inn into this unpleasant situation,” Luther said to Amalie.

It was a quarter to eleven and the Paradise Club was just heating up for the night. A short time ago Matthias, with Amalie on his arm, had been escorted upstairs to Luther Pell’s private candlelit booth on the mezzanine floor. They were now seated across from Luther and Raina Kirk.

From Luther’s aerie they could view the main floor of the club. Down below, glamorous people and those who aspired to be glamorous sipped cocktails in the soft shadows created by the candles that burned on every table. On the dance floor, women in beaded satin gowns danced in the arms of men dressed in evening jackets and bow ties while the orchestra played a slow number. Overhead, a glittering mirror ball sparked and flashed.

Luther’s nightclub was designed to make men and women alike appear glamorous, but as far as Matthias was concerned, Amalie was the real queen of midnight in a black gown that melted over her sleek body and revealed the strong, feminine curves of her shoulders. Long black lace gloves added to the aura of mystery that whispered around her. Earrings sparkled in the shadows. Her hair fell in deep, luxurious waves.

The neckline of the gown was modest enough in front, Matthias decided, but the same could not be said about the back of the dress. He found himself trying to find reasons to touch the warm, bare skin exposed by the dramatic style.

He was keenly aware of her sitting so close. Every so often he caught a whiff of her scent and got a little intoxicated. He had to concentrate to stay focused on the business of the evening.

He had been dealing with a simmering uncertainty ever since he had awakened alone in bed that morning in the hotel room. When he heard the muffled sound of the shower, he had immediately rolled out of bed and tried the bathroom door. It had been locked.

He still wasn’t sure how to take that turn of events. It was possible that Amalie simply liked privacy when she bathed. It was equally possible that she was sending the message that she did not intend to repeat the intimate events of the prevous night.

Neither of them had brought up the subject of their passionate interlude at breakfast, nor had they discussed it on the long drive back to Burning Cove. He wanted to ask her straight out if she assumed, as he did, that they had embarked on an affair. He did not want to contemplate the possibility that what had happened in the honeymoon cottage was nothing more than a feverish one-night stand induced by the close brush with death that afternoon.

He had learned long ago not to take the risk of asking questions when he wasn’t prepared for answers that he did not want to hear.

“I appreciate the apology, Mr. Pell,” Amalie said. “But in fairness, it’s not your fault that Pickwell ended up at my inn.”

“I called in some favors to ensure that Pickwell chose Burning Cove as the location for the sale of the Ares machine,” Luther said. “But in the end I was unable to control his choice of hotels. I have no idea why he decided to book a room at the Hidden Beach.”

“I think we can assume that Smith steered Pickwell toward Amalie’s inn,” Matthias said. “Probably because it was isolated out there on Ocean View Lane. There was no serious security—”

“He didn’t know that I had a gun,” Amalie put in with a hint of pride.

Raina Kirk gave her an approving woman-to-woman smile. “Excellent.”

Matthias looked at Luther. He knew they were both thinking the same thing. An unskilled shooter armed with a small pistol was no match for a professional killer who used grenades.

Matthias cleared his throat and continued.

“In addition to the limited security, there were no other guests in residence at the inn,” he said.

Amalie turned her head to give him a quizzical look. “Why was that important?”

Once again Matthias looked at Luther.

“You tell her,” he said. “This is your project.”

Luther sighed and turned to Amalie. “An inn full of potential witnesses could have presented certain logistical problems for Smith in the event that he decided to resort to violence on the premises. But with only two people in the house, his situation would have been a lot less . . . complicated.”