Page 31 of The Girl Who Knew Too Much

“Oh, yes. Silk, the real thing, not rayon. And the shoes are adorable.”

“There are shoes, too?”

“Yes, dear, and a divine little wrap. It can get chilly here in Burning Cove after the sun goes down. All in all, very nice compensation, I’d say. Not worth nearly getting killed for, of course. Still—”

“Thank you, Mrs. Fordyce. I’m going to hang up and call my editor now.”

“Good-bye, dear.”

Irene put the phone down and eyed the closed door. In the end she decided that she would deal with the dress bribe after she dealt with Velma.

She got the operator on the line, gave her the number, and reversed the charges. If Velma refused to accept the collect call, it would be a strong indication that there wasn’t much of an emergency.

Velma accepted the charges immediately.

“Your landlady called an hour ago,” she said.

“Why would Mrs. Drysdale do that? I’m up to date with my rent.”

“She said that someone broke into your apartment earlier today. She was out at the time.”

“What?”

“She was very upset. She said the place was ransacked.”

Irene sat down hard in the big desk chair. Panic rolled through herin a wave that threatened to choke her. Automatically she touched her handbag, reassuring herself that the notebook was safely tucked inside. She never let it out of her sight.

But if Helen Spencer’s killer had found her, he would have no way of knowing that she never left the notebook behind. He would assume that she had done what most people did with a valuable item—stashed it in a secret hiding place.

She looked down at her hand and was shocked to see that it was trembling ever so slightly.

Calm down. Don’t panic. Think.

Mentally she cataloged the few possessions she had acquired in the months that she had been living in Los Angeles. There was very little of value—her clothes, the new radio, some inexpensive furniture, and the kitchen things.

“Was anything taken?” she asked.

“Mrs. Drysdale didn’t think so but how would she know?” Velma said. “She told me that she called the cops. An officer filled out a report but there’s not much chance that anyone will be picked up. I told Mrs. Drysdale that it was probably just a random burglary, but between you and me, I’m not so sure.”

Neither am I,Irene thought. She was suddenly very glad that she had refilled the gas tank when she arrived in Burning Cove. She wouldn’t have to waste time stopping at a filling station. She could pick up her things at the Cove Inn, throw them into the car, and leave. Time enough to decide on a destination after she got on the road.

Unaware of the turmoil she had created with her news, Velma continued speaking.

“I think we have to consider the possibility that the break-in at your apartment is connected to your Maitland story,” she said. “I had a call from Tremayne’s studio—Ernie Ogden himself.”

The name rang a faint bell but it took Irene a couple of beats to make the connection.

“Peggy mentioned him a couple of times,” she said.

“No surprise. He’s the fixer at Tremayne’s studio. Rumor has it that he and Peggy had an affair back in the day. He told me he’d heard that I’d hired her and he appreciated it. I think he was genuinely fond of her, which is probably why he cut me some slack today. Regardless, he was not happy.”

Irene gripped the telephone cord. “Did he threaten you?”

“Let’s just say he made it clear that it would be very unwise of me to print another story about Tremayne—not unless Tremayne actually gets himself arrested for murder. What I’m getting at is that it wouldn’t surprise me if Ogden paid someone to go through your apartment.”

Relief crashed through Irene. She started to breathe again.

“A private detective, maybe,” she said, seizing on the possibility. “Looking for something to use as leverage against us. Well, against me, at any rate.”

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