Page 132 of The Girl Who Knew Too Much

“So you came here?” Oliver said.

Nick groaned. “Yeah. I was afraid she might have decided to confront Miss Glasson. Maybe do something terrible.”

The red-faced guard reappeared in the doorway. He was panting now.

“Found Randy,” he gasped. “He’s tied up in the shed but he’s not hurt. Kind of sick, though. Says a workman showed up saying he had been sent to fix a plumbing problem. Randy was suspicious. He started to turn around to knock on the door to see if anyone had called a plumber, and that’s the last thing he remembers.”

“Go take care of him,” Oliver said.

“No,” Claudia shrieked. She scrambled to her feet. “It doesn’t end this way. Not after all I’ve done.”

“You’re wrong,” Irene said. “It does end this way. And it ends now.”

Claudia burst into tears. She turned to Nick, pleading now. “You need me, Archie. We’re a team. The studio knows that. The studio will protect me.”

“No,” Oliver said. “The studio won’t protect you. You’re not thestar. You’re just Nick Tremayne’s personal assistant. You can be replaced.”

Claudia succumbed to another round of tears. No one offered comfort.

Oliver looked at Irene. His usually unreadable eyes were intense with some fierce emotion.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked.

“No,” she said. “But I will be just as soon as I get to a typewriter.”

Chapter 63

Irene walked into the offices of theBurning Cove Heraldand stopped at the front desk. The sign readTrish Harrison, Society News.

“I’d like to speak with the editor,” Irene said.

The forty-something woman behind the desk stopped typing long enough to take the cigarette out of the corner of her mouth.

“Who are—?” she began in a smoky voice. She stopped and no longer looked bored. “Hell, you’re Oliver Ward’s new girlfriend, aren’t you? I recognize you. Your picture was inSilver Screen Secrets.”

“Will you direct me to your editor’s office or shall I just start opening doors?”

Trish gave her a hard look. “I’m the society reporter. If you’ve got any news from the Burning Cove Hotel, I’m the one you should talk to.”

“Sorry,” Irene said. “I’m out of the gossip business.”

“In that case, Paisley’s office is down there,” Trish said. She waved a hand toward an office at the back of the room, stuck the cigarette back in her mouth, and returned to her typing.

Irene made her way past a few more desks. The typewriters went silent. Everyone in the room was watching her now.

She ignored the stares and rapped smartly on the door markedEdwin Paisley, Editor in Chief.

“Door’s open.”

Irene opened the door, marched into the room, and closed the door very firmly. The room reeked of cigar smoke. She went straight to the window and opened it.

Edwin Paisley was balding, middle-aged, and portly. He looked like the washed-up journalist he no doubt was. Maybe, at one time, he had dreamed of becoming a crack reporter, Irene thought. But somewhere along the line he had given up on his ambitions. He had probably spent too many years putting out a small local paper that focused on garden parties, diet fads, society luncheons, and discreet hints about various stars who had been seen arriving or departing from the Burning Cove Hotel.

“Who the hell—?” he began. He stopped and squinted at her over the top of the glasses perched on his nose. “Wait, I recognize you. You’re Ward’s new girlfriend.”

“I’m Irene Glasson, a reporter. I’m here to apply for a position on your staff.”

“No job openings,” Edwin said. He scowled. “Tell Ward if he wants me to hire you, he’ll have to come up with the money for your salary. He’ll also need to supply a desk and an office. And a typewriter.”

---