by Amanda Quick
He slid his palm under the skirt of her dress and up the inside of her sleek, stocking-clad leg. When he encountered the fastening of her dainty garter belt, he heard a distant warning bell. The conservatory was hardly a private location. Willa was somewhere upstairs. Vincent Hyde and his chauffeur could walk through the front door at any moment.
He should stop now, while that was still possible, Matthias thought. But he undid the fastening instead. The stocking glided downward. He moved his hand higher and discovered the flirty hem of her panties.
Amalie speared her fingers through his hair and opened her mouth for him. The crotch of her panties dampened at his touch.
He was not sure what would have happened if the rumble of a car engine in the drive hadn’t jolted him back to reality. Amalie stiffened in his arms. Her eyes snapped open.
“My guests,” she said.
She levitated up out of his grasp, gaining her feet and her balance in a fluid motion. She paused long enough to bend over and raise the hem of her skirt. He watched, riveted, as she deftly refastened her stocking. The searing intimacy of the action nearly undid him.
He suppressed a groan.
“Right,” he said. “Your guests. Sounds like they’re back.”
Amalie did not respond. She was already halfway down the conservatory path, heading for the lobby.
With a sigh, he got to his feet, adjusted the front of his trousers, and raked his fingers through his hair. By the time he decided that he was reasonably presentable Amalie was deep in her role, playing the gracious, welcoming innkeeper.
He heard her offer Vincent Hyde a brandy. The actor accepted and told his chauffeur to go on upstairs to bed.
That left Amalie alone with Vincent Hyde. Matthias reflected on that for about two seconds. He would have preferred to retreat to his room and contemplate what had almost happened in the conservatory or, better yet, have another brandy to deal with the aftershocks, but Hyde’s dramatic, resonant voice rolled down the hall in a dark wave.
“Do join me, Miss Vaughn. I enjoyed my evening at the Paradise, but one can only take so much excitement. Besides, almost everyone there was from L.A. Tell me, what do the locals do for fun here in Burning Cove?”
Matthias remembered the gossip about Vincent Hyde and his various leading ladies. The actor was at least fifteen years older than Amalie but that wouldn’t stop him from trying to seduce her.
Matthias walked into the lobby. Hyde was annoyed to see him but he covered the reaction with the smooth, polished ease of a professional actor.
“I see I am not the only guest who is still up,” he said. “Are you on your way to bed, Mr. Jones?”
“I believe I heard someone mention brandy,” Matthias said.
“Yes, you did,” Amalie said, moving smartly to the drinks cabinet. “Why don’t you two gentlemen sit down? I’ll pour the brandies.”
She crossed the room, handed out the brandies, and then sat down in one of the big reading chairs. She crossed one leg over the other and smiled at Hyde.
“I hope that you are finding the atmosphere here at the Hidden Beach Inn inspiring, Mr. Hyde,” she said.
He smiled. “Indeed, Miss Vaughn. I can sense the eerie energy infused in the rooms of this villa. By the time I return to L.A. I’m sure I will be brilliantly prepared for my next role.”
“Another Mad Doctor X film?” Matthias asked, mostly so that Hyde could not ignore his presence.
“My old studio is begging me to return for another Doctor X film, but as I told Miss Vaughn, I’m currently negotiating a contract for a vampire movie.”
Waves of dissonant energy shivered through the words. It was a small lie, Matthias thought, and probably not important. It was just the sort of lie you might expect to hear from an actor who was trying to restore a fading reputation. But it was a lie, nonetheless.
He was sure that Vincent Hyde had not been offered a role in another Mad Doctor X film and equally certain that there was no new contract being negotiated.
Chapter 26
Matthias awoke to the light of dawn and the realization that someone was pounding on his door.
“Mr. Jones, there’s a phone call for you,” Amalie announced, her voice slightly muffled by the thick wood panel. “Detective Brandon wants to speak to you. He says it’s urgent.”
Matthias pushed aside the quilt, wondering when he had gone from being Matthias back to Mr. Jones. He reminded himself that Amalie could not be sure who might overhear her and that she probably thought she ought to maintain the appearance of a relationship that was appropriate and expected between an innkeeper and a guest.
“Tell Brandon to hang on,” he said. “I’ll be right down.”
Amalie’s footsteps retreated down the hall.
He got up and quickly pulled on his trousers, a shirt, and a pair of shoes. Ignoring the man in the mirror—some rough-looking guy sporting the dark shadow of a morning beard—he made his way downstairs.
When he reached the reception area, Amalie was behind the front desk. She handed him the receiver of the white enamel and gilt telephone but she made no move to retreat and give him some privacy. Instead, she fixed him with an intent gaze and made it clear that she was going to listen to every word.
“This is Jones,” he said into the phone.
“Got a report of a body in a cabin at an old, closed-up auto court out on Miller Road,” Brandon said. “Victim was shot twice at close range. The medical examiner hasn’t had a chance to get there yet but the officer thinks the guy has been dead a couple of days. According to the driver’s license, we just found Charlie Hubbard.”
“Pickwell’s missing assistant.”
“Yeah. Figured you’d be interested.”
“I am very interested,” Matthias said. “Give me directions to the auto court. I’ll meet you there.”
He looked around for a pencil and a pad of paper. Amalie was already thrusting both into his hand. He jotted down the driving instructions and hung up the phone.
“They found the assistant?” Amalie asked.
“He was murdered. Most likely on the night he disappeared. Evidently there were a few flaws in his plan to sell the Ares machine. I’m going to take a look at the scene.”
“I’m going with you,” Amalie said.
“Trust me, you do not want to look at a body that’s been dead for a couple of days.”
“You keep forgetting that I have a personal interest in this case.”
“Amalie—”
“Also, Miller Road is not marked. You might miss it. I, on the other hand, know exactly where that old auto court is located.”
“You do know how to make your point.”
Chapter 27
Brandon was waiting for them outside the cabin, a cigarette hanging from the edge of his mouth. He frowned when he saw Amalie.
“Miss Vaughn? What are you doing here?”
“One of my guests was murdered recently and someone broke into my inn,” she said. “Under the circumstances, I’ve got a right to know what is going on.”
“No,” Brandon said, “you don’t.”
“It’s all right,” Matthias said. “She’s with me.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t go inside,” she promised.
It would have taken a great deal to make her enter the cabin, she thought. She had insisted on accompanying Matthias, but now that she was here she was having second thoughts. The miasma of death wafting through the doorway rattled her nerves. From where she stood she could see the body on the floor. No, she was close enough.
Brandon shrugged and looked at Matthias. “This makes two murders linked to Luther Pell’s business concerns. Got any theories yet?”
“I’m working on one.” Matthias angled his chin toward the battered Ford. “Hubbard’s car, I assume?”
“As far as we can tel
l,” Brandon said. “Before you ask, yes, we checked. Nothing in the trunk.”
“He took the train to Burning Cove,” Matthias said. “Where did he get the car?”
“Got no idea. No report of a stolen vehicle in town, though. I can tell you that much.”
“Whoever set him up must have provided the getaway car,” Matthias said. “I need to take a look around inside the cabin.”
Brandon shoved his fedora back on his head. “Help yourself.”
Matthias moved into the cabin and stopped just inside the doorway. “I don’t suppose you found a suitcase?”
“No,” Brandon said. “The only thing interesting in there is the body.”
Matthias moved into the room. He did not stay inside very long. When he reappeared, there was a thoughtful expression in his eyes.
“It’s not just the suitcase that has gone missing,” he said. “There’s no sign of the trunk.”
“What trunk?” Amalie asked.
“According to the manager of the Palace, Charlie Hubbard arrived from the train station with the crate that contained the robot and a theatrical trunk.” Matthias glanced back through the partially open door. “I’m sure I know why the suitcase is gone, but why is the trunk important?”
“Damned if I know,” Brandon said. “Have you seen enough?”
“Yes.” Matthias took Amalie’s arm and steered her toward the Packard. “Thanks for letting me know about Hubbard.”
“Sure.” Brandon grunted. “Any friend of Luther Pell’s and all that.”
Amalie did not speak until she and Matthias were in the convertible and headed back toward the inn.
“You think the Ares machine was inside the suitcase?” she asked.
“Yes. It makes sense. That suitcase we saw onstage during the robot demonstration was about the right size to hold a machine shaped like a typewriter.”
“Why are you interested in that missing theater trunk?”
“When Chester Ward took the back plate off the robot, the inside was crammed with wires and gears and motors. There is no way a man could have hidden inside. In addition, I agree with Chester’s opinion of the engineering that went into Futuro. The robot is not a particularly advanced machine, technically speaking. It’s conceivable that it could have been rigged to fire one shot if someone had placed the gun in its hand and positioned the target properly onstage. But it’s highly unlikely that the thing could have adjusted its aim after Pickwell fell to the floor.”
Understanding shafted through Amalie.
“You think there was a Futuro costume in that missing trunk, don’t you?”
“That’s the only explanation that makes sense and fits all the known facts,” Matthias said. “The killer, dressed as Futuro, went onstage, acted the part of the robot, murdered Pickwell, and grabbed the suitcase.”
“Pickwell must have known that the Futuro we saw onstage was really someone dressed in a costume.”
“Of course he knew,” Matthias said. “He had to be in on the plan, at least up until the point where he got shot. I’m sure that came as a surprise. He probably believed that Charlie Hubbard was inside the costume. Hubbard had to be involved, too.”
“Maybe it was Charlie Hubbard who murdered Dr. Pickwell.”
“That was one of my theories, but now that Hubbard has been shot dead in the same professional manner, I have to consider other possibilities.”
“Professional manner?”
“Two shots. Both were kill shots and both hit the target. Trust me, it’s not as easy as it looks, not when you’re under pressure. Whoever gunned down Pickwell and Hubbard had some experience in the business of murder.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” Amalie said. “I don’t think I hit the intruder even once the other night.” She paused, thinking about what Matthias had told her. “So there was someone else besides Hubbard backstage that night.”
“Right. The killer.”
“I don’t know anything about robots,” Amalie said. “But I do know something about costumes. The one the killer wore was very well done. No one watching from the audience guessed that it wasn’t a real robot that came onstage to shoot Dr. Pickwell.”
“That is a very interesting observation,” Matthias said. “Where are you going with this?”
“I don’t know, but I can tell you that elaborate costumes like that don’t get designed and made by amateurs. Are you still planning to drive to that town where Dr. Pickwell had his workshop?”
“Playa Dorada, yes.” Matthias changed gears. “I’ll leave right after I’ve had a chance to shave and get some breakfast. I should be home this evening.”
“Home?” she repeated softly.
He looked surprised by his small verbal slip. “I should be back to Burning Cove sometime tonight. If I get delayed, I’ll give Luther a call and ask him to send one of his security people to the inn to keep an eye on things tonight.”
“I’m happy to have a guard for the inn, but just to be clear, I’m going with you to Playa Dorada.”
“Think so?”
“This situation has taken over my life and my business. We either go together or I’ll drive there myself. I’m sure I won’t have any problem locating Pickwell’s workshop.”
“When you put it like that—”
Chapter 28
Playa Dorada meant “golden beach” in Spanish, but the sand did not glitter in the warm sunlight. It was another kind of valuable commodity that dominated the local landscape. Like so many of the beachfront communities scattered around Los Angeles, the small town existed in the shadows of a maze of towering oil derricks. The giant machines looked like a vast herd of prehistoric beasts. They loomed as far as the eye could see and marched right down to the water’s edge.
“I’m very glad we don’t have a lot of oil derricks ruining the scenery in Burning Cove,” Amalie said.
Matthias turned a corner into a narrow street. “You don’t have them yet. But there’s oil very near the surface in Burning Cove. Luther said the stuff seeps right out of the ground on some of the beaches. The town may not be able to keep the oil companies out indefinitely.”
“We’ve got some powerful people in Burning Cove. Something tells me that Luther Pell and Oliver Ward could handle an oil company.”
Matthias smiled. “You might be right.” He brought the Packard to a halt in front of an abandoned warehouse. “We’ll leave the car here and walk the rest of the way. No sense drawing attention to ourselves by parking right in front of Pickwell’s workshop.”
Amalie got out of the car and looked around. They were at the end of a dead-end street surrounded by boarded-up buildings. Faded signs advertising everything from cheap auto repairs to sandwiches and rooms by the week dangled above closed doors. Empty bottles and cans were scattered across the ground, mute evidence of the transients who had sought shelter in the ruins. Just one more neighborhood that had yet to crawl out of the long shadow cast by the crash.
“Pickwell’s place is about a block away,” Matthias said. “We can cut through some of the old yards. There’s no one left who will care.”
Amalie fell into step beside him. Their destination proved to be a weathered single-story structure badly in need of paint. It was one of the few buildings that still had glass in the windows.
“I know it’s a little late to be asking this, but how do you plan to get inside Pickwell’s workshop?” Amalie asked.
“The same way I got in the first time,” Matthias said.
“You broke in, didn’t you?”
“I told you I’m good with locks.”
“You know, people get arrested for doing things like that.”
Matthias looked at her. “Pickwell is dead, remember? I doubt if there’s anyone else who might object to a small break-in at his old workshop.”
“How do you define smal
l?”
“It’s not like we’re planning to steal anything big.” Matthias went up the concrete steps at the back door of the building. “This is the way I got in the first time. I had to pick the lock. Pickwell never returned from Burning Cove, so the door should still be unlocked.”
The knob turned easily in Matthias’s hand. The door swung open on rusty hinges, revealing a heavily shadowed space crammed with an array of mechanical equipment, tools, and what appeared to be spare parts from various types of machinery.
Amalie stopped in dismay. “You’re right, the place looks like a junkyard. There’s stuff everywhere. How in the world are we going to conduct a search when we don’t even know what we’re looking for?”
“We’re not interested in the hardware or the mechanical and electrical equipment.” Matthias went down an aisle formed by workbenches. “We’re looking for notebooks, journals, ledgers, phone numbers—anything that might give us a lead.”
Amalie trailed after him. “Where are you going?”
“Pickwell’s office. I told you that the first time I was here I didn’t have time to conduct a thorough search. In addition, I didn’t have all the information I’ve got now. With luck we’ll find something that I didn’t notice the first time, something that will make sense given what we now know.”
A huge metal figure loomed in the shadows. Amalie stopped to examine it.
“This thing must have been an early version of Futuro,” she said. “It doesn’t look anything like the one that Pickwell demonstrated at the Palace.”
The mechanical man was an awkward assemblage of parts that had evidently been salvaged from a variety of other machines. The face bore a striking resemblance to a toaster.
Matthias glanced at the figure. “An early version, all right.” He paused and took a second look. “A very early version.”
