Tightrope (Burning Cove #3)(63)

Mummy Mask was one scary son of a bitch but he was also a very smart guy, maybe even smarter than Marcus Harding. Mummy Mask understood why Eugene liked to watch a girl fly to her death. It was the ultimate circus act.

Eugene had hoped that Vaughn would conduct the tour but another woman, a pretty blonde who said her name was Willa, took charge.

“You are standing in what used to be the living room of the mansion,” Willa said. “It was here in this richly paneled and elegantly furnished room that Madam Zolanda drank a pitcher of martinis before she went up onto the roof. You will note the fine furniture that is now enjoyed by guests of the Hidden Beach Inn. Many of the pieces were imported from Europe. The crystal chandelier overhead came all the way from Ireland and is considered priceless . . .”

Eugene shuffled forward with the rest of the gawkers. He did not give a damn about the fancy furniture and the big chandelier. He was here because his new partner had insisted that he take the tour in order to get a good look at the inside of the house. The idea, according to Mummy Mask, was that if he got an idea of the layout of the inn, he would know where he was going when he came back to grab the Princess. It was just the kind of thing Marcus would have suggested.

Yep, Mummy Mask was smart, so fucking smart that as soon as he had found the bundles of press clippings in the suitcase, he had figured out that Eugene had been Harding’s partner. Mummy Mask had put it all together in a matter of seconds.

Terrified, Eugene had first denied the connection to Harding. But when Mummy Mask had laughed and said he understood how thrilling the final performances of the flyers must have been, Eugene realized that he had found another kindred spirit. The guy in the mask was like Marcus Harding, only so much smarter.

“If you will follow me up the stairs, I will show you Madam Zolanda’s bedroom, where you will see her costumes arranged just as she left them on the night of her death,” Willa said, leading the way toward a grand staircase. “We will also visit the room of the doomed inventor who dared to play Frankenstein.”

Two figures appeared on the balcony, heading for the stairs. The man in front was elegantly attired and possessed a famous face. The crowd gasped in excitement. There was no mistaking Vincent Hyde. Eugene was as thrilled as everyone else. A real live movie star was staying at the Psychic Curse Mansion.

Hyde was followed at a respectful distance by a heavily tattooed man dressed in a leather vest studded with metal, black trousers, and leather boots. His shaved head gleamed in the light.

Willa never missed a beat. She beamed at Hyde.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Hyde,” she said. “I trust you are enjoying your stay here at the Hidden Beach Inn.”

“I find the atmosphere in this place electrifying,” Vincent said. “And the food is excellent.”

The actor sounded just like he did in the movies, Eugene thought. As if he had spoken from somewhere inside a crypt.

“Can I have your autograph, Mr. Hyde?” a woman asked. She rummaged around in her purse. “I have a matchbook you could sign.”

“Please, Mr. Hyde,” a young man pleaded. “If you could sign a napkin or something I could give to my girlfriend, she’d think I was a real hero.”

Everyone in the tour group was now clamoring for Hyde’s autograph. Eugene searched his jacket, trying to find a scrap of paper. It wasn’t every day you got this close to a Hollywood star. His fingers brushed against the black necklace that was coiled like a snake in one of his pockets. The feel of the glass beads jolted him back to reality. He was on a mission today. Priorities.

Vincent Hyde raised one long-fingered hand. The crowd on the stairs immediately fell silent, awestruck by the simple gesture of command. Eugene thought Hyde looked amused.

“Enough,” Hyde intoned. “I’m going downstairs to read the paper and have a cup of tea in the very elegant lobby of this fine establishment. When you finish the tour I will be happy to sign autographs for everyone who wants one.”

There was a chorus of grateful thank-yous. Hyde and the tattooed guy in leather continued on down the stairs. The tour group watched breathlessly as the star descended into the lobby and lowered himself into a big chair near the hearth.

An older woman wearing a turban appeared from the kitchen carrying a tray of tea things and a folded newspaper. She set the tray on an end table next to Hyde’s chair. Hyde thanked her with a gracious smile. Then he looked at the crowd gazing at him from the foot of the staircase.

“Enjoy the tour,” he said. “I think you will find that Madam Zolanda’s room is haunted. There is no mistaking the ghostly energy in there.”





Chapter 42


Luther studied the putting green with the steely-eyed expression of a general assessing the ground on which the battle would be fought.

“We need to move fast,” he said. “If Smith decides that he can’t get his hands on those rotors, he’ll cut his losses and disappear. If he leaves the country, we might never get another shot at him.”

“The Ares machine has got to be the biggest deal he’s ever done,” Matthias said. “He won’t abandon the project unless he’s absolutely sure it’s a total failure. It’s not just about the money, not this time.”

And it wasn’t a round of golf that had brought them to the golf course, Matthias thought, although it was a perfect afternoon and the greens were as smooth as velvet. The appeal of a golf course was that two men could talk openly about matters of national security and murder without fear of being overheard. He and Luther needed a plan, and they needed it immediately.