by Amanda Quick
“You thought I was trapped in the ladies’ lounge?” she said.
Matthias’s mouth kicked up at the corner. “I was pretty sure you could take care of yourself.”
“We’ll see if it works.”
“If what works?”
“I decided to find out if it’s true what they say about publicity,” Amalie said.
“Any publicity is good publicity?”
“I announced that the staff of the Hidden Beach Inn will be conducting tours of the Psychic Curse Mansion starting tomorrow afternoon. All local hotel, nightclub, and restaurant employees will be admitted free of charge.”
“You did what?”
Amalie started to relax. The plan just might work.
“With a little luck, word of Burning Cove’s newest attraction will be all over town by breakfast,” she said. “At the very least, the promise of a scary tour and free cookies should guarantee that I’ve got a line outside my front door at two o’clock.”
Matthias downshifted, slowing the speedster with the smooth, efficient skill that she had come to recognize as one of his signature traits. She was startled when he pulled off onto a side road that led to an empty parking area overlooking the moonstruck ocean.
Shutting down the powerful engine, he turned to face her, his left arm resting on the steering wheel, his right on the back of the seat.
“Are you out of your mind?” he said.
She blinked. “What?”
“I’m trying to run an investigation here, Amalie. I am not playing games. There’s a killer involved in this mess. It’s hard enough to separate the truth from the lies as it is. The last thing I need is to have tour groups traipsing through my crime scene.”
Anger exploded through her. She clenched the tiny evening bag in one hand.
“It’s not your crime scene, Matthias Jones,” she said. “It’s my home and my business. It’s my whole damn future. I am going to do whatever it takes to make a success of the Hidden Beach Inn. It’s all I’ve got. I’m not going to lose it without a fight.”
Her fierce response startled him.
“Look, I understand that the inn is important to you,” he said.
“Do you? Do you really? Do you know what it’s like to lose everything and have to start over? To lose not just a career but a whole world? I grew up in the circus. It was my home. When my parents were killed, I could have wound up in an orphanage, but my circus family took care of me. Hazel became the closest thing I had to a mother and Willa was like a sister. Now it’s my turn to take care of them and I can’t do that unless I keep the Hidden Beach Inn going.”
Matthias gripped the steering wheel very tightly with his left hand.
“I spent half my life looking for a way to make sure my talent didn’t destroy me,” he said. “Luther Pell and Failure Analysis gave me a way to use my gift for a purpose that feels worthwhile. I intend to succeed.”
“Even if it means trampling over my dreams? My whole future?”
“That’s the last thing I want to do. You’ve got to trust me, Amalie.”
“I do trust you,” she shot back. “Trust has absolutely nothing to do with this.”
“It has everything to do with what is going on here. Everything to do with us.”
“When did the argument get to be about our relationship?”
He reached across the seat and clamped his hands around her shoulders.
“Trust is everything when it comes to you and me. Do you trust me, Amalie?”
“I wouldn’t be sitting here in this car having this stupid fight if I didn’t trust you,” she shot back, outraged.
For a beat or two, Matthias went very still. It was too dark to read his eyes but the atmosphere in the front seat of the Packard was charged with the strange energy she had come to associate with him. In spite of her anger, she smiled.
“You’re trying to decide if you can trust me, aren’t you?” she asked. “You’re using that talent of yours to figure out if I’m lying to you. Well? What’s the verdict?”
“I told you once before that you are one of the few people in the world who could lie to me and make me believe you,” he said, his voice raw. “I have no choice but to trust you.”
“I’ve got news for you, Jones. That is not exactly a resounding endorsement. I don’t think it bodes well for our so-called relationship.”
He frowned. “But we do have a relationship, right?”
She exhaled slowly. “Evidently. Where does that get us?”
“Damned if I know,” he said. “I’ve never gone this far before. It’s unknown territory for me.”
“Welcome to the real world, Jones. It’s a little scary out here. Sometimes you have to take a chance, grab the bar, and have faith that the catcher can be trusted.”
He hauled her toward him.
“Catch me, Amalie,” he whispered.
His mouth came down on hers in an incendiary kiss. She let go of the beaded evening bag and returned the kiss with all the fire and passion she had discovered in his arms.
She fell with him into the starlit night . . .
. . . only to be ripped straight out of the dream by the friendly honking of a car horn.
Matthias released her with a groan and turned his head to watch a Ford pull into the parking area and stop nearby.
“So much for privacy,” he grumbled.
The Ford’s headlights winked out. Matthias straightened in the seat and eased his hand inside the edge of his evening jacket. Amalie knew he was reaching for his gun.
In the moonlight the silhouettes of two shadowy figures loomed in the front seat of the Ford. The pair was soon locked in an embrace.
Amalie laughed. “I should have mentioned that this overlook is known locally as Lovers’ Lane.”
“Yeah, that might have been helpful information.” Matthias took his hand out from inside his jacket, turned the key in the ignition, and put the Packard in gear. “Think our reputations will survive?”
“I don’t think we need to worry about our reputations.”
“No?”
“They’re already shot. Everyone in town assumes you’re a visiting mobster. After we were seen together at the Carousel, half the population of Burning Cove probably leaped to the conclusion that I’m your girlfriend. The rest will be informed of my status tomorrow when they read Lorraine Pierce’s column in Whispers.”
“Are you my girlfriend?”
“For now. But I do have one very big rule.”
“What is it?”
“You are not allowed to call me your gun moll.”
“I think they only say things like that in the movies.”
Chapter 39
The phone at the front desk of the Hidden Beach Inn rang early the next morning. Amalie was in the kitchen, drinking her second cup of coffee. She was not alone. Matthias sat on the opposite side of the table. He was also on his second cup and perusing the front page of the Burning Cove Herald.
Jasper Calloway was at the far end of the table polishing off the huge plate of scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast that Willa had put in front of him. Willa lounged against the tiled counter, sipping tea from a mug. She seemed to enjoy watching Jasper eat. From time to time he glanced shyly at her and smiled. She returned the smile.
Hazel, wearing another colorful turban to cover the bandage on her head, arrived in the kitchen doorway with the air of a ringmaster getting ready to announce the trapeze act.
“That was our first reservation,” she said. “A party of two. Sounded like a couple of young people. Very excited.”
“There will be more,” Matthias said, his tone grim. “The new tour at the Psychic Curse Mansion made the front page of the local paper.”
“Really?” Amalie reached across the table and snatched the Herald out of his hands. “Let me see.�
��
The announcement of the tour was not the lead story but it was, indeed, on the front page.
THRILLS AND CHILLS AND COOKIES PROMISED
ON NEW TOUR AT HIDDEN BEACH INN.
Amalie read through the short article and smiled with satisfaction. “They got the time of the tour right and also the fact that employees of local establishments get in free.”
“Why did you offer free tours to the locals?” Jasper asked.
Willa chuckled. “Are you kidding? The best form of advertising is word of mouth. The goal is to make sure every waitress, gardener, maid, handyman, and clerk in town recommends the Psychic Curse Mansion tour to visitors and tourists.”
“I get it,” Jasper said. He put down his fork, looking curious. “What are you going to tell visitors about this place?”
Willa put her mug on the counter and rubbed her palms together. “We will tell them a very good ghost story. Everyone loves ghost stories.”
Amalie smiled at Jasper. “That’s what the audience wants, you see. A good story. Willa and Hazel are going to work on the script and stage the scenes this morning.”
“The tour will start with Madam Zolanda’s bedroom,” Willa said. Her voice darkened to a suitably ominous tone. “People will see the psychic’s scarves and clothes draped across her bed, just as she left them on the night she died.”
Jasper’s brow wrinkled. “How do you know her things were draped on her bed that night?”
“That’s not important,” Willa said. “This is about setting the scene. After we tour Zolanda’s bedroom, we’ll take visitors down the hall to Dr. Pickwell’s room. It, too, will be just as he left it on the fateful night he went to the Palace to give the robot demonstration.”
“We’ll describe the scene onstage when Pickwell was murdered by his own creation,” Hazel added. “And we’ll quote Pickwell’s dying words. ‘The creature turned on me. I should have known better than to play Frankenstein.’”
Jasper stared at her. “Did Pickwell really say that?”
“It was in the paper,” Hazel assured him.
Jasper nodded and picked up his coffee. “Must be true, then. What’s the next stop on the tour?”
“The roof,” Willa said. “People will want to see where Zolanda was when she jumped.”
“No one goes up onto the roof,” Amalie said. “We can’t afford to take the risk. It’s dangerous up there. Someone might get too close to the edge. We don’t need another mysterious death associated with the Psychic Curse Mansion.”
Matthias looked at her, eyes narrowed. “I agree.”
Willa was appalled. “We have to show people the roof.”
Amalie carried her empty mug to the sink. “You can get just as much out of the story if you show visitors the patio where the body was found.”
Hazel sighed. “I suppose you’re right.”
“Last stop on the tour will be the bedroom where legendary actor Vincent Hyde slept,” Willa continued.
Jasper chuckled. “Mr. Hyde will love that.”
“We’ll put a star on the door, of course, and at every point along the way we will point out the luxurious furnishings and the first-rate accommodations that are provided to guests here at the Hidden Beach Inn,” Hazel said. “The tour will conclude with tea and shortbread cookies.”
Jasper smiled at Willa. “I think you could sell them on this fine establishment with the shortbread alone.”
Willa blushed. “Thank you.”
Hazel started to say something but the phone on the front desk rang again, interrupting her.
“Probably another reservation for the tour,” she said.
She turned and hurried away to take the call.
“Call me psychic,” Matthias said, “but I’m getting an eerie message from another dimension that tells me the Hidden Beach will be giving away a lot of free shortbread cookies this afternoon.”
“The plan will work,” Amalie said. “It has to work.”
Hazel rushed back into the kitchen.
“We’ve got five more reservations and this was just delivered on the front step,” she said. She held up a copy of Hollywood Whispers.
The headline was in a very large font. Amalie had no trouble reading it from the far side of the big kitchen. She groaned.
Willa read it aloud. “Mobster’s Gun Moll Promises Tours of Psychic Curse Mansion.”
Matthias looked at Amalie. “Evidently you forgot to tell Lorraine Pierce that you’d prefer not to be called a gun moll.”
“Don’t worry,” Willa said. “That headline will be great for business.”
Amalie winced. “What makes you think so?”
“People are fascinated by mobsters because of all the movies about them,” Willa said. “And we’ve got our very own celebrity mobster staying right here at the Hidden Beach.”
Hazel brightened. “You’re right. We need to add Mr. Jones’s room to the tour. It would be perfect if we could arrange to have his gun sitting on top of the dresser.”
Matthias choked on his coffee.
The phone rang again.
Chapter 40
“Here you go, Jones,” Chester Ward announced. “Far as I can tell, this little box is the one thing that doesn’t look like it came from a hardware store or a junkyard.”
Matthias took the metal box. It was not very large. He could hold it easily in one hand.
They were standing in Chester’s workshop. They were not alone. Luther and Oliver Ward were also there. Futuro lay in neatly arranged pieces on a drop cloth that had been spread out on the floor.
It had taken hours to untangle the nest of wiring inside the robot. He and Chester had worked slowly and methodically so as to avoid accidentally destroying or overlooking something that might be significant. The metal box had been hidden in the nest of wires that had filled the interior of one of the robot’s aluminum legs.
Luther eyed the box. “Don’t keep us in suspense. Open the damn thing.”
Matthias unlatched the box and raised the lid. At the sight of the four small, wheel-shaped metal discs inside, a whisper of certainty swept through him.
“We just found the missing keys,” he said.
Chester peered into the box. He whistled softly.
“Son of a gun,” he said. “The rotors.”
Oliver Ward studied the discs. Each was marked with a series of letters and numbers.
“I’m no expert on cipher machines,” he said, “but I do know that the rotors are the guts of the things.”
“Yes,” Matthias said. “It’s the wiring inside the rotors that make it possible to swap out the letters and numbers so that messages are encrypted as they are typed. Once you know how a machine is wired, you’ve got a good chance of cracking any code typed on it, or on one of similar design.”
“Pickwell removed the rotors of the Ares and hid them inside Futuro,” Luther said.
“He brought the cipher machine to Burning Cove inside a suitcase that was never out of his sight,” Matthias said. “But he hid the rotors inside the robot. He probably figured that was the last place anyone would look for them. And no one was going to run off with a two-hundred-pound robot. He checked into the Hidden Beach Inn with the suitcase and took it to the Palace. The plan must have involved swapping the Ares suitcase for one that contained payment for the machine.”
“Pickwell probably realized that the moment when the two suitcases were exchanged was the one moment when he would lose control of the deal,” Luther said. “Either he was afraid that he wouldn’t get his money or else he wanted to hold out for more cash.”
“You ask me, I’d say he didn’t change his mind for either of those reasons,” Chester said. He contemplated the various parts of Futuro arrayed on the drop cloth. “Got a hunch Pickwell planned to cheat the buyer all along. Probably hoped whoever grab
bed the suitcase wouldn’t realize the rotors were missing until it was too late.”
Oliver glanced at him. “Because, in the end, he couldn’t bring himself to betray his country?”
“Nope.” Chester shook his head. “Because he figured he could create his own version of the cipher machine using those rotors. He probably had visions of presenting it to the government as a whole new encryption device. That way his reputation as a brilliant inventor would have been established beyond any doubt.”
“If the world does go to war,” Luther said, “cipher machines will be a hell of a lot more important than robots that can carry suitcases.”
“The country that controls the most advanced cipher machines will have a huge advantage,” Matthias said. “The inventor of the Ares would have been treated as an invaluable asset. Hell, the government would have set him up in his own lab and given him an unlimited budget. Dr. Norman Pickwell would finally have obtained the fame and fortune that he wanted so badly.”
Oliver looked at Luther. “At least you can be sure that the cipher machine is useless to Smith. No one is going to buy the thing from him, not without the rotors.”
“It’s not just the cipher machine we’re after,” Luther said. “We also want Smith.”
Oliver nodded. “Goes without saying. So, is there a new plan?”
“I’d say it’s past time to work on one,” Matthias said.
“I agree,” Luther said. He headed for the door. “What do you say to a round of golf, Matthias?”
“Great idea.”
Chapter 41
Amalie Vaughn did not recognize him.
A thrill of excitement flashed through Eugene Fenwick. He had to suppress a giggle. It was all he could do not to stare at the Flying Princess. She was at the front desk, greeting the crowd of about twenty people who had arrived for the tour.
It had taken a lot of nerve to sign up for the event, but his new partner, Mummy Mask, had been right, there was no way Amalie Vaughn could recognize him. After all, he had never worked as a rigger for the Ramsey Circus. It was Marcus Harding who had taken that job and selected the flyer. Eugene had killed time doing odd jobs around town while he waited for the final performance.
