Tightrope (Burning Cove #3)(9)

“No, at least not here at my inn. He said that his assistant was going to stay with the robot at all times until the demonstration. I got the feeling Hubbard’s job was to guard Futuro.”

“Interesting.”

“Pickwell may have put Hubbard up at a less expensive hotel or auto court. The Hidden Beach is not exactly the cheapest place in town,” Amalie said. “Do the police think he had something to do with Futuro murdering Pickwell?”

“Hubbard was either involved or else he had the bad luck to be an innocent bystander who knew too much for his own good. He’s the one person who was in a position to know what was going on backstage.”

“There was no one else behind the curtain?”

“No, just Hubbard. The manager at the Palace said Pickwell insisted that only his assistant be allowed backstage.”

“Pickwell was probably afraid that someone might steal Futuro,” Amalie said.

“I doubt it. The thing must weigh nearly two hundred pounds. It would be hard to carry it off without drawing a lot of attention. Best guess? Hubbard is connected to the shooting. He was the last person to have access to the robot. One way or another I doubt he’ll be alive for long.”

“Why do you say that?” Amalie whispered, clearly stunned.

“He played his part and is no longer needed.”

“Who doesn’t need him?”

“Forget it,” Matthias said. “How many suitcases did Pickwell have with him when he checked in?”

Amalie concentrated, visibly trying to refocus her thoughts. “Two. I helped him with his luggage. One was the grip the robot carried onstage. It was very heavy. Dr. Pickwell was alarmed when I went to pick it up. He insisted on carrying it upstairs himself. I thought he was being a gentleman.”

“No, he was protecting what was inside. He didn’t want to let it out of his sight, not even for a moment.”

“He said it contained some equipment that he needed for the demonstration. Why are you so interested in Pickwell’s luggage?”

“Because there seem to be a number of suitcases floating around in this affair.”

Amalie shuddered. “This is all so bizarre. I still can’t bring myself to believe that Dr. Pickwell was murdered by a robot.”

“Neither can I.”

Amalie eyed him thoughtfully. “Then what, exactly, did happen tonight?”

“I don’t know but I intend to find out,” he said.

He continued moving methodically around the room, opening drawers, looking under the bed, removing cushions from chairs, and examining the back of the drapes. But he was pretty sure now that he was just going through the motions. Still, he had to be certain.

When he was finished, he walked into the bath and went through the process again.

Amalie came to stand in the doorway. “You know, if you told me exactly what you’re looking for, I might be able to help you.”

He opened a cupboard. “I’m searching for something, anything, that will provide me with a lead.”

“That’s not particularly helpful.”

“I know.”

“Do you do this sort of thing a lot?”

He glanced at her. “What sort of thing?”

“Force your way into other people’s homes and rifle through their belongings with no idea of what you’re looking for?”

“Only when I’m bored and can’t think of anything more interesting to do.”

There. That wasn’t a lie; that was sarcasm. There was a difference. Intent mattered.

Amalie gave him her back, stalked out of the bath, and stationed herself in the outer room, arms folded.

He abandoned the search a short time later and went to stand in the middle of the bedroom, trying to come up with a new angle. It was difficult to think logically because Amalie was watching him as if she fully expected him to steal the towels.

“I take it you didn’t find what you came here to find,” she said.

“No.”

“I realize you aren’t about to confide in me but I think you owe me an answer to at least one question.”

“Depends on the question.”

“Are you the only person looking for this mysterious something? Or do Hazel and I have to worry that someone else will show up at our front door demanding access to Dr. Pickwell’s room?”

He thought about that for approximately half a second.

“That,” he said slowly, “is a very good question.” He reached inside his jacket and took out a card. “At the moment I think you and Hazel are safe. But if someone does come around asking to examine Pickwell’s things or claiming to be his next of kin, please call this number immediately.”

She took the card and glanced at it. “This is the number of the Burning Cove Hotel.”

“The front desk, to be precise. I’m staying at the Burning Cove. Whoever answers the phone will get word to me immediately.”

“I will certainly give your request my closest consideration.” Amalie smiled an icy smile. “Will there be anything else, Mr. Jones?”

She was lying through her pretty little teeth.

“This is serious business, Miss Vaughn,” he said. “Trust me, you do not want to get involved.”

“Apparently, like it or not, I am already involved, Mr. Jones.”