“Huh. Would have thought Burning Cove was too expensive for the likes of Flint. He was always short of cash. Well, that explains why he didn’t come back for his things.”
“He left his belongings behind?”
“Yeah. I cleaned out his room this morning. Not a lot of stuff. He pawned everything except his darkroom equipment and the shortwave radio. I took the radio. Figured it would cover a couple of weeks’ rent.”
“What did you do with the rest of his possessions?” Nick asked.
“Put ’em in a box. I was going to take them to a secondhand shop to see if I could get a few bucks for the photography equipment.”
“I’ll give you twenty dollars for the box.”
The landlady narrowed her eyes. “What would you want with Flint’s things?”
“I’ve got a friend who’s interested in photography. She might be able to use some of his equipment.”
“Uh-huh. I’ll take the twenty bucks first. No changing your mind if it turns out you don’t want anything in the box.”
“You’ve got yourself a deal, ma’am.”
Nick handed her the money. She made it disappear inside the bodice of the housedress.
“Follow me,” she said. “The box is in a closet at the end of the hall.”
A short time later Nick settled the box that contained Flint’s worldly belongings into the trunk of the Packard, got behind the wheel, and drove back to the hotel.
The front desk clerk looked up when he saw Nick come through the door.
“Mr. Sundridge,” he said. “Let me get a bellhop to take care of that box for you.”
“Never mind,” Nick said. “I’ve got it. Would you ring Miss Brazier’s room and let her know I’m back?”
“Both Miss Braziers went out while you were gone,” the clerk said.
“Shopping?”
“No.” A flash of excitement lit the clerk’s eyes. “Mr. Ripley Fleming the movie actor sent a limo around to fetch Miss Lyra. I believe there was something said about a tour of the studio followed by tea. As for Miss Vivian, she got a phone call and immediately took off in Miss Lyra’s car.”
Nick paused, thinking. Ripley Fleming was no longer a suspect. At least it was no longer possible to suspect him of being the assassin for hire. And the real killer had been his own client so there was no mysterious client left to identify. Lyra was safe with Fleming.
“Do you know who telephoned Vivian Brazier?” he asked.
“A secretary who said she was calling from the Penfield Gallery here in town. Miss Vivian appeared to be quite excited when she left a short time later.”
“Did she have her portfolio with her?”
“A flat leather case? Why, yes, as a matter of fact.”
Nick relaxed. “Sounds like she’s been invited to show her work to the Penfield Gallery again. That’s very good news.”
So why was he suddenly sensing ice-cold fingers on the back of his neck?
Damn Sundridge intuition.
He and Rex went through the lobby and up the main staircase to the second floor. He let himself into his room, set the box on the table near the window, and took off his jacket. After arranging a couple of sheets of notepaper and a pen on the table, he went to work.
Sorting through the belongings of a man who had gambled away everything of value including, in the end, his own life, proved a depressing business.
Nick set the handful of personal effects out on the table and contemplated them for a long time, searching for connections. There were several envelopes marked with dates. They were stuffed with negatives and prints. The oldest packet was the smallest. It was dated six years earlier.
Nick picked up the envelope with the most recent date and dumped the contents onto the table. Dozens of negatives fell out. He sifted through them. Bodies. Fires. Movie stars partying in nightclubs. There were also a few prints of pictures that had obviously been taken from a distance. One featured two women and a famous male film star naked together on a beach. Another was a picture of two men embracing. Evidently at some point in the not too distant past Toby had decided to try his hand at blackmail in an attempt to pay off his gambling debts.
So much for the most recent images. There wasn’t much point going through the other packets. Probably more of the same.
Still, in his experience answers were frequently locked in the past.
He picked up the first envelope, the one dated six years earlier. He unsealed it and emptied the prints and negatives onto the table.
And there it was, right in front of him, the connection that made the picture complete.
“Shit.”
He had to be certain.
He picked up the telephone and asked for long distance. “The Brazier residence in San Francisco, please.”
The housekeeper answered a short time later. Nick identified himself. The housekeeper said she knew who he was because she had spoken with Lyra and Vivian that morning.
“I’m so glad you’re all safe,” the housekeeper said. “I can’t imagine what Mr. and Mrs. Brazier will say when they get home.”
“I have a question,” Nick said. “It’s very important. I know that Lyra took a phone call from someone here in Adelina Beach who wanted to know where Vivian was.”
“Really? How odd. Shortly after Lyra left town I took a call as well from someone who said he was looking for Vivian. A very nice man. Sounded quite posh. He was trying to find Vivian because he wanted her to do his portrait. He had heard about the fire at the beach house, you see. He said no one knew where Vivian had gone afterward. He assumed that she was staying in a hotel until she could find another house to rent. I had just spoken with Vivian and offered to call her to tell her about the commission but the man said it would be faster if he talked to her directly. He was in a hurry. Something about a funeral.”
“Did you tell him where Vivian was?”
“Fortunately Miss Lyra had written the number of the Burning Cove Hotel down on the notepad next to the telephone. I gave it to the gentleman. Does that answer your question?”
“Yes. Yes, it does. Good-bye, ma’am.”
Nick tossed the receiver into the cradle and headed for the door with his keys and his holstered gun, moving fast. The hot acid of something akin to panic sluiced through his veins. He fought it with every ounce of willpower he possessed. He had to stay in control because he had to get to Vivian.
Chapter 45
I know you don’t like landscapes,” Vivian said. “At least not the photographic kind. But that’s all that I have available at the moment.”