Rex leaned forward far enough to put his head in the vicinity of Vivian’s right hand. She glanced down at him, frowning a little. Then she reluctantly gave him a couple of pats. Rex grinned a wolfish grin and inched a little closer to Vivian.
“If it makes you feel any better, I’ve never met Pell, either,” Nick said. He paused and then decided there was no point keeping the truth from her. “He owns a nightclub in Burning Cove. There are rumors that he’s got mob connections.”
“That’s not exactly a resounding testimonial.”
“I know. But my uncle says Pell also has connections with the FBI and with a certain clandestine government agency. Evidently Pell used to run an intelligence operation during the Great War. All I can tell you is that Uncle Pete trusts him, and that’s enough for me to take this threat seriously.”
“Well, it’s not nearly enough for me to believe what you’re saying.”
“You’ve got every reason to be cautious,” he said. “But if you will call a homicide detective named Archer at the Adelina Beach police station, he will vouch for me.”
“Detective Archer knows you?” Vivian asked warily.
“No, but he knows Luther Pell. They both served in the War. Why don’t you go inside, Miss Brazier, and make the call? Lock your door. I’ll wait out here until you’re satisfied that I’m not dangerous.”
Vivian eyed him with a considering look. “Does this have something to do with the Dagger Killer?”
He had already figured out that she was a very smart woman, he reminded himself.
“That,” he said, “is a very interesting question. What makes you ask?”
“It’s not as if I’ve got a long history of people trying to kill me. My only experience in that regard occurred about three weeks ago. Now here you are on my front step telling me that someone wants me dead. It strikes me that if there is no connection to the Dagger Killer, we’re discussing an amazing coincidence.”
He nodded, pleased that her reasoning paralleled his. “Strikes me that way, too. But I don’t know the answer yet. Until I do, we should not leap to conclusions. Make the phone call, Miss Brazier. Then I’ll tell you what I do know.”
Another muscular young man, tanned, and with a mane of blond hair, appeared on the beach path walking toward Vivian’s cottage. He was dressed for an exercise workout in a pair of swim trunks that looked about two sizes too small.
“Hi, Miss Brazier,” he called. He glanced at Nick. “I know I’m a little early for my sitting but I don’t mind waiting.”
Vivian seized on the interruption. “You’re right on time, Sam, but I have to make a phone call. It’s a personal matter. Why don’t you wait out here with Mr. Sundridge and his dog? As soon as I’m finished with the call we can get started on your portrait.”
“Sure.” Sam gave Nick an easygoing smile and extended one heavily muscled arm to shake hands. “I’m Sam Higgins. I’m a lifeguard.”
“Nick Sundridge.” Nick shook hands. “Traveling salesman.”
It was, he decided, as good an explanation for his presence in Vivian’s front yard as anything else.
Vivian bolted into the house and slammed the front door. Nick winced when he heard the muffled thud of the dead bolt sliding home.
Sam gave Nick another smile. “Salesman, huh? My pop was in sales up in Seattle. His company went under when the bad times hit so we moved down here to California. Pop’s selling magazine subscriptions door-to-door now.”
“I see. I hope he’s making it.”
“You know how it is, we all chip in. We’re getting by. What’s your line?”
“I’m not sure yet but I’m starting to think that sales might not be a good career path for me. I don’t think I have the right personality for it.”
“So, you’re looking for work?”
“You could say that. I’m hoping to convince Miss Brazier that she needs an assistant.”
That sounded good, Nick decided. Logical. Reasonable. A perfectly acceptable explanation for standing out here in Vivian’s front yard.
Sam grinned. “You know, that’s not a bad idea. Miss Brazier’s a real popular photographer. All the guys who work out on Muscle Beach want her to take their pictures.”
“Yes, I can see that.”
“Personally, I’m a student of Charles Atlas.” Sam got an evangelical glint in his eyes. “Are you familiar with his theory of Dynamic Tension?”
The problem with dealing with those who devoted themselves to developing the perfect body was that they tended to be obsessed with the subject.
“I’ve seen the ads in the magazines,” Nick said.
“It’s an amazing system,” Sam said. “It utilizes the power of one’s own muscles to develop strength and stamina. I’m here to tell you it has changed my life. Before I started the program I never could have gotten a job as a lifeguard. But in just seven days after starting the exercises I was on my way to becoming a new man.”
“Is that right? What happened to the old one?”
The door opened abruptly. Nick exhaled a small sigh of relief. He and Sam and Rex all turned to look at Vivian. She no longer appeared as if she was going to run for the hills, but there was a new kind of subtle tension about her.
“You’d better come inside,” she said to Nick. Her voice was cool and firm. “Sam, would you mind coming back a little later? Say an hour from now?”
“Sure, Miss Brazier,” Sam said. “See you.”
He waved and trotted back toward the path that led to the beach.
Vivian waited until he was gone. Then she retreated into the hallway and silently invited Nick and Rex to enter. They followed her into a dining room that had been converted into an office.
Nick understood. Vivian lived alone. She didn’t need a dining room any more than he did.
There were matted photographs on every wall of the office. The subject matter varied. Moody landscapes, portraits that hinted at the sitters’ most closely held secrets, and street scenes covered most of the available display space.
One picture stood out from the others because the style was quite different. It was an image of a gaudy carousel that had been manipulated in the printing process to make it look as if the horses were being ridden by wild-eyed ghosts. The result was eerie and macabre and, in some way he could not explain, humorous.
Something about the spectral riders caught his attention. He took a closer look and smiled to himself. Each of the ghosts had the same face, that of a man with sharp features and shoulder-length hair swept back from a dramatic widow’s peak. Each ghost had a camera hanging from a strap around his neck. But the cameras appeared to be so large and heavy they acted as anchors. A carousel of the damned doomed to take endless photographs in hell.