The doorbell chimed. Vivian turned toward the door of the office, clearly grateful for the interruption.
“That must be Sam,” she said. “We’ll have to continue this discussion later. I’ve got bills to pay.”
“I thought your family was wealthy.”
She shot him an annoyed look as she headed toward the doorway. “I’m on my own here in Adelina Beach. My parents don’t approve of my desire to pursue a career as an art photographer. Father assumed that if he cut off my allowance I’d give up and go home to San Francisco.”
“Why? What are the odds of making it as an art photographer?”
“About the same as the odds of getting discovered by a studio executive and becoming a red-hot movie star.”
“That bad, huh?”
“Yep. Which is why I am only too happy to do bargain portraits for handsome, well-built men from Muscle Beach. They help pay the bills.”
She went through the doorway. He followed, Rex at his heels.
“Your neighbors seem to have noticed the steady stream of Muscle Beach clients,” he said.
“Hard not to notice them.” Vivian glanced over her shoulder and gave him an icy smile. “I am the main source of entertainment on Beachfront Lane.”
Chapter 12
Let’s say I agreed to go with you to Burning Cove for a few days,” Vivian said. “How exactly is this fake honeymoon plan supposed to work?”
She had tried to focus on composing Sam’s portrait but her mind kept leaping back to the unnerving fact that someone wanted her dead badly enough to hire an assassin. She had managed to get through the shoot with what she felt was a successful picture, but as soon as Sam had left, the anxiety had settled on her once again.
Someone wants to murder me. I may have less than a week to live. Who hates me so much?
She opened the door of the refrigerator and tried to concentrate on dinner. It was going on six o’clock. She had poured a couple of glasses of wine, one for herself and one for her new, unwanted houseguest. She had put a bowl of water on the floor for Rex.
There appeared to be little prospect of getting rid of Nick Sundridge and his dog even if she wanted to. The truth was it was comforting to have them with her. She really did not want to be alone tonight.
Dinner for three, however, was something of a challenge.
She was by no means an expert chef. She had grown up in a household that employed a housekeeper and a cook. But during the past few months her next-door neighbors had taught her some of the basics. She could do a halfway decent omelet and she could assemble a salad. She would need three omelets in all, she decided. Nick had produced a can of dog food from the trunk of the Packard, but Rex did not appear excited about it. Nick had explained that the dog usually ate whatever Nick ate.
“We’ll keep a low profile,” Nick said. “Pell says the best thing about the Burning Cove Hotel is that the security is excellent.”
“Because so many wealthy celebrities stay there?”
“Its claim to fame is that it guarantees privacy. Pell assures me that you’ll be safer on the grounds of the Burning Cove than you will be here in Adelina Beach.”
“Who is going to pay for all this?”
“Pell. This is his case.”
She took a carton of eggs, some cheddar cheese, and lettuce out of the refrigerator and set them on the counter.
“I can’t stay there indefinitely,” she warned. “I’ve got a life here in Adelina Beach. Clients. My art photography. You’re sure this will be over in a week?”
“Pretty sure,” Nick said. “One way or another.”
She glared at him. He winced.
“Sorry,” he said. “That didn’t come out quite the way I intended. I can’t say for certain that we’ll get control of this situation within the week, but moving you to Burning Cove may give us the edge we need.”
“What makes you so sure of that?”
“Burning Cove is a small town—a wealthy, exclusive small town, but nevertheless a small town,” Nick said. “Very little goes on there that escapes the notice of the movers and shakers.”
“Who are they?”
“Luther Pell and Oliver Ward. I mentioned that Pell owns a hot nightclub, the Paradise. Ward is the proprietor of the Burning Cove Hotel. Between the two of them they have eyes and ears everywhere in that town.”
“Do you think the hired assassin will figure out we’ve gone to Burning Cove?”
“If he’s following his usual pattern he’ll be watching you.”
She shuddered. “Stalking me.”
“Yes.”
Something about the way Nick said the single word made Vivian glance at him. Icy certainty shivered in the atmosphere around him. And suddenly she understood.
“You want him to follow us, don’t you?” she said.
Nick gave her an approving look. “Here in Adelina Beach it’s easy for him to fade into the shadows of Los Angeles. He’s more likely to stand out in a small, isolated town like Burning Cove.”
Vivian picked up her glass of wine, took a sip, and set the glass down on the counter. She started to crack eggs into a bowl. Rex observed the process with an intent expression. She glanced at him and decided to add a few more eggs. He was, after all, a large dog.
“For all we know the assassin could be a woman,” she said.
“True.”
His ready agreement amused her. “You don’t have any illusions about the female of the species?”
“I know they can be just as deadly as the male,” he said.
She smiled a little. “Obviously you are a man with modern attitudes when it comes to women. About this investigative work of yours—”
“What about it?”
“Judging by your clothes and that very nice custom Packard convertible parked out front I assume it pays well?”
“Occasionally. But if you’re wondering how I can afford the clothes and the car, the answer is that after my parents were killed I went to live with my uncle. He’s very good at investing. He taught me a lot. I’ve been . . . lucky.”
“You’ve made money in the middle of the Depression?” She sniffed. “Something tells me more than luck is involved.”
“Uncle Pete has a knack for spotting good investments. He taught me everything I know. I look for companies engaged in activities that are vital to an economic recovery. Mining. Oil. Steel. Firms involved in agriculture.”