Page 16 of The Girl Who Knew Too Much

“But she didn’t disappear, did she?” Nick did not turn around. “Instead she followed me here to Burning Cove. And now she’s dead and that damned reporter fromWhispershas as good as implied I’m a murderer.”

“Mr. Ogden said the hotel management would protect you from the press. The studio will take care of everything else.”

“Easy for Ogden to say. It’s not his future on the line. What am I supposed to do for the next two weeks? Hang around the hotel pool and drink martinis while I duck the press? Or maybe I should schedule a massage. That would certainly make for some interesting gossip, don’t you think? I can see the headline.Actor Enjoys Attentions of Lovely Masseuse in Spa Where His Lover Drowned.”

“I’m sure everything will be all right. Mr. Ogden will deal with the police and the hotel management. He’ll take care of the editor ofWhispers, too. That’s his job. The studio pays him to fix problems like this. He knows what he’s doing. I’m sure he’s handled far worse situations.”

“Worse than an accusation of murder?” Nick swung around. “Ogden is powerful in L.A., but we’re in Burning Cove. Things may be different here.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Claudia said quickly. “Money talks and Mr. Ogden has the resources of the studio behind him. He can buy off the L.A. police and judges. He can certainly afford the Burning Cove cops.”

“I refuse to sit here in this villa while thatWhispersreporter sabotages my career. I’ve worked too hard to get this far. Damned if I’ll stand by and let that Glasson bitch destroy me.”

Claudia clenched her fingers very tightly around her notebook. “What do you want me to do?”

Nick looked at her with blazing eyes. Unlike many of Hollywood’s leading men who got by on their looks and minimal talent, Nick was agenuinely gifted actor. He was endowed with an uncanny ability to project a variety of emotions ranging from smoldering passion to bone-chilling fury. It didn’t hurt that he was breathtakingly handsome with a classically carved jaw, high cheekbones, and a trim, athletic physique. His dark hair was cut in the sleek, brushed-back style made fashionable by the likes of Cary Grant and Clark Gable. It gleamed with just the right amount of hair oil.

The camera loved Nick. So did directors. So did women.

Claudia was starting to think that women might prove to be Nick’s downfall. The Hollywood magazines called him irresistible and he had begun to believe his own press. The result was a string of one-night flings and short-lived affairs. It had been inevitable that sooner or later a problem like Gloria Maitland would occur.

“According to the rumors flying around this hotel, the reporter who wrote that story forWhispersis still here in town,” Nick said.

He sounded thoughtful now.

“That’s right,” Claudia said, relieved that he appeared to be calming down. “Mr. Ogden gave me the details. He got them from the local chief of police. Miss Glasson is registered at the Cove Inn.”

“Talk to her,” Nick said. “Offer her an exclusive.”

Shocked, Claudia stared at him. “I don’t understand. What kind of exclusive?”

“An exclusive interview with me, you stupid woman. She’ll jump at the opportunity to have a private conversation with Nick Tremayne. Any reporter would, especially under these circumstances.”

Claudia swallowed hard. “Do you think that’s wise? Mr. Ogden instructed me to keep you away from the press.”

“Ogden is in L.A. I’m the one here in Burning Cove. It’s my career at stake. I’ll deal with the problem. Make that appointment for today.”

She wanted to argue with him. The thought of going against Ogden’s orders terrified her. But Nick Tremayne could easily get her fired if he decided that he didn’t want her around.

It dawned on her that the idea of an exclusive interview just might work. Nick could certainly turn on the charm when it suited him. There was no reason to think that he could not manipulate Irene Glasson.

“I’ll contact her right away,” she said.

She whirled around and rushed toward the front door of the villa.

When she was safely outside, she stopped and took several deep breaths of the warm, fragrant air. There had been a little fog earlier but it had been burned off by the late-September sun. Now the sky was an unreal shade of blue.

When her nerves had settled down, she made her way along a flagstone path that wound through the lush gardens of the hotel. Nick had one of the private villas, Casa de Oro, but her room was in the main building. The villas, with their secluded patios and gardens and dramatic views, were reserved for the stars and others willing to pay top dollar for luxury and privacy.

The Burning Cove Hotel crowned a gently rising hillside above the rocky cliffs. At the foot of the cliffs, splashing waves churned up white froth on a pristine beach. The main building and the villas were all constructed in a fantasy version of what they called the Spanish colonial revival style of architecture. From what she had seen, the entire town—houses, hotels, shops, even the post office and the gas stations—had been built according to the same set of design rules. White stucco walls, red tile roofs, charming shaded courtyards, and covered walkways were everywhere.

Burning Cove was a Hollywood movie set of a town, she thought. And just like a movie, you never really knew what was going on behind the scenes.

She decided that she hated the place.

Chapter 8

“We scooped every paper in town with the Maitland story,” Velma Lancaster said. The words crackled a little over the phone line. “But by now half the reporters in Los Angeles will be on the way to Burning Cove. You need to get me a follow-up headline for tomorrow’s morning edition.”

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