When She Dreams (Burning Cove #6)(48)

“I don’t see a body,” Maggie said. “Maybe she got out.”

“No,” Brandon said. He spoke with the world-weary authority of a man who had seen enough bad car crashes to know what he was talking about. “The windshield was shattered. If the body isn’t in the car it’s because it was flung into the ocean. It will wash ashore in a day or two.”

Maggie nodded and fell silent again. The fire had burned out by the time she and Sam had returned from the task of locating a pay phone to report the tragedy. All they could do at this point was contemplate the disaster and try to make sense of it.

“Give us a little more time,” Sam said to Brandon. “I have that feeling you get when you’re closing in on the answers. I could use some help, though.”

Brandon slanted him a speculative glance. “Yeah?”

“There are some phone calls that have to be made. You know how it goes. It takes time to track down people and get them to talk. I don’t want to risk making the calls from the hotel. Guilfoyle’s people run the place. But I’d rather not waste a few hours shoving coins into a pay phone.”

“If you’ve got a list of names and some questions and your client is willing to pay for the long-distance calls, I can spare one of my men tomorrow,” Brandon said.

“I think it would be better to handle this quietly,” Sam said. “You know what police stations are like.”

Brandon snorted. “Rumor mills.”

“Know a local private investigator who can be trusted to handle this kind of thing?”

“I do, as a matter of fact,” Brandon said. “Kirk Investigations.”

“Can you arrange for me to meet Kirk privately? I don’t want to be seen going into the office of a private detective here in town. Can’t meet at the hotel, either.”

“I think I can arrange it,” Brandon said.

“When?” Sam asked.

“How about tonight?”

“That would be very helpful,” Sam said. “But it’s almost midnight. Think the detective will be willing to meet this late?”

“Not a problem,” Brandon said. “You’ll have to go back to the hotel and get that classy evening jacket you wore last night.”

“I’m going to need an evening jacket to meet the investigator?”

“Can’t get into the Paradise Club without one,” Brandon said.





Chapter 25




I t’s an interesting case,” Raina Kirk said. “Tell me what you know, Mr. Sage.”

“It goes back to the death of a young woman named Virginia Jennaway,” Sam said.

He gave Raina a concise summary of the case. Maggie listened somewhat absently, not just because she had heard it all but because she was fascinated by the proprietor of Kirk Investigations. Raina spoke with a hint of an upper-class East Coast accent. She wore a fashionable evening gown of cognac-colored silk that fell in tiny pleats to her ankles. Her hair was caught up in a sophisticated chignon. Dainty diamond earrings danced below her ears.

She was not at all what one expected in a private investigator, Maggie thought. Sam would be annoyed if she whipped out her notebook and jotted down a few details, so she told herself she would wait until she got back to the hotel.

She and Sam had arrived at the Paradise a short time ago. They had been met by a ma?tre d’ and discreetly escorted to a small intimate booth deep in the shadows at the back of the nightclub. A few minutes later the owner of the club, Luther Pell, had arrived at the table to greet them.

Apparently satisfied with whatever he saw, he had invited them up a concealed staircase to his office in his private quarters above the club. That was where the four of them were gathered now, drinking coffee from delicate porcelain cups served on a silver tray.

She and Raina were seated in large padded leather chairs. Sam was on his feet near the French doors that looked out into a garden and the moonlit ocean beyond.

Luther was behind a polished wooden desk. Maggie had concluded that, unlike Raina Kirk, he looked exactly like what he was—a successful nightclub owner who probably had shady business acquaintances. But the fierce, dark landscapes on the paneled walls of the office cast invisible shadows across the room, telling her there was a lot more to Pell than what he allowed the world to see.

She was certain he was profoundly connected to the art. Her intuition told her he was the artist.

“I appreciate the help,” Sam said, when he finished outlining the case. “The first priority is to find out more about the Guilfoyles and how they acquired the Carson Flint estate.”

Raina inclined her head. “I agree. It’s always smart to follow the money. Anything else?”

“This started out looking like a straightforward case of blackmail,” Sam said. “But I’m starting to wonder if there’s something more personal involved.”

Luther studied him. “What do you mean by personal?”

“Blackmail is about money, pure and simple. But we’ve got three deaths—Jennaway, Nevins, and now Valerie Warren. It feels like something else is going on.”

Startled, Maggie turned toward him. “Such as?”

“I don’t know. Revenge, maybe.”

“For Virginia Jennaway’s death?” Luther suggested.