The Other Lady Vanishes (Burning Cove #2)(32)

“I see.” She opened her notebook and picked up a sharpened pencil. “I’m sure you go through a lot of liquor at your nightclub.”

Luther raised his brows. “Do you disapprove of my business, Miss Kirk?”

“I have no problems with it unless you are engaged in some illegal activities on the side. I’m new here in town. I can’t afford to take any case that might get me into trouble with the local police.”

“No need to worry about that. If the cops give you any problems, I’ll have a word with the chief.” Luther smiled. “My relationship with the Burning Cove Police Department is excellent.”

“Because you pay the cops very well to look the other way?”

Luther assumed a pained expression. “This isn’t L.A., Miss Kirk, and I don’t own a powerful movie studio. I don’t buy and sell the local police. I’m just a businessman, one who, at the moment, happens to have a small but rather annoying inventory problem.”

Luther Pell was certainly a businessman, but her intuition warned her that that was only one of many guises that he adopted to confront the world. There was a lot more going on beneath the surface of the man, and she was sure that some of it was profoundly complicated.

He was in his late thirties, maybe three or four years older than her, but his eyes were those of a man who had seen too much darkness. Someone had mentioned that he had served in the Great War. She did not doubt it. Violence, she reflected, always left its mark.

Tall and lean, he wore his fashionable drape-cut linen jacket and immaculately creased trousers with an air of casual sophistication. There was some interesting gray in his jet-black hair, which he wore parted on the side, lightly oiled and brushed straight back in the style made fashionable by stars such as Cary Grant.

Her plan had been to start her agency by attracting a female clientele on the assumption that women would feel more comfortable confiding in another woman than in a male investigator. She had been floored when the owner of the Paradise Club walked through her door a short time ago. She didn’t count the phone calls to L.A. that she had made to confirm the identity of Jake Truett. Those calls were favors for a friend.

“Forgive me, Miss Kirk, but I’m getting the impression that you are not interested in taking my case,” Luther said.

“I need the business,” she said. “But I’ll admit you aren’t exactly the kind of client I was expecting to attract.”

“Should I be insulted?” Luther asked a little too gently.

Alarmed, she sat forward very quickly. The last thing she needed was to make an enemy of Luther Pell. He and his very good friend Oliver Ward, the owner of the Burning Cove Hotel, exerted a great deal of influence in town. Individually, either one of them could destroy her business before she even got it going.

“I am well aware that you are a powerful figure in Burning Cove,” she said. “But rumor has it that you are connected to certain individuals who operate casinos in Nevada. In addition, I understand you have an interest in at least one of the gambling boats anchored off of Santa Monica.”

Luther nodded solemnly, taking the implied criticism in stride. “I’m impressed. You’re well-informed for a newcomer.”

“My business depends on knowing who controls what in Burning Cove.”

“If it helps, I recently sold my interest in the gambling boat.”

“Any particular reason?”

Luther moved a hand in a vague gesture of dismissal. “The gaming business is changing. Reno is where the action is these days, and now that the dam has been completed, Las Vegas may become even more profitable. The offshore casinos won’t be able to compete.”

“Why not?”

“Do you have any idea how hard it is to keep a large boat in good repair when it is sitting in salt water day in and day out?”

Raina blinked, a little taken aback. “I never thought about the upkeep problems.”

“Trust me when I tell you that rust and salt corrosion are relentless forces of nature.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“I assure you I am content with my nightclub here in Burning Cove,” Luther continued. “I have discovered that there is no need to dabble in illegal sidelines, not as long as I’m selling a reliable fantasy.”

She realized that, although she was still wary of Luther Pell, she was also fascinated by him.

“What, exactly, is the fantasy that you sell?” she asked.

Luther got to his feet and walked to the window of the office. He contemplated the shady plaza.

“When people walk into the Paradise Club, they do not merely get a glimpse of a glamorous world. For the time that they are in my club, they are inhabitants of that world.”

“In other words, they participate in the fantasy?”

“Exactly. That’s the secret of any form of successful entertainment. The audience must be completely involved. At the Paradise Club the patrons know that there is a very good chance that a Hollywood celebrity or a powerful studio executive is sitting in the adjacent booth. A lady can always hope that a famous movie star will ask her to dance. Gentlemen know that they are rubbing shoulders with some very important people, including the occasional mobster.”

She suppressed a shudder. “I understand that a woman might be thrilled to dance with a leading man, but why would anyone want to rub shoulders with a mobster?”