Lorraine Pierce heard the limo pull into the driveway of her rented villa and smiled. Vincent was right on time. That was a good sign. It meant he understood that he needed her just as much as she needed him. Hollywood partnerships were always complicated. They rarely lasted for any length of time, especially when the partners were old lovers. Mutual attraction and friendship were not enough to cement a relationship, but two ambitious people who needed each other could make it work.
She and Vincent had known each other for a while now. They had met when she was younger and still quite beautiful. She had been an aspiring actress who had been cast in the role of the monster’s bride in one of the first Mad Doctor X films.
Her film career had sputtered and died before it had even had a chance to get going. But she had succeeded in seducing Vincent, and that had changed everything.
He had been a red-hot talent at the time, able and willing to provide her with access to the most exclusive Hollywood parties and clubs. When the stars drank, they started talking—usually about themselves. Inevitably, the secrets spilled forth in torrents.
It had taken her about five minutes to realize that there was another route to success in the glittering realm of Hollywood. As a high-flying gossip columnist she held the careers of some of the biggest names in town in the palm of her hand.
She and Vincent no longer shared a bed but she had learned early on what obsessed him, and that had given her more power over him than sex had ever provided. She could give him what he wanted most—headlines in the movie magazines and the national press.
Stars were so easy to manipulate.
When the knock sounded, she went down the hall to open the door. She had dismissed the housekeeper for the afternoon.
Vincent was on the front step, looking as polished and languidly aristocratic as always. His linen jacket was tailored in the fashionable drape cut style. The fullness across the chest, wide lapels, and narrow waist gave an impression of broad shoulders and a solidly muscled torso. She knew for a fact that in Vincent’s case the impression was a discreet mirage. Underneath the fine clothes was the rather scrawny frame of a star who had a long history of using cigarettes and martinis to keep his weight under control. There was a reason why male actors were rarely filmed shirtless. Very few had Johnny Weissmuller bodies.
Lorraine smiled. “Hello, Vincent. Do come in. I’ve been waiting for you.”
Vincent dipped his head and gave her an affectionate little peck on the cheek. “You are looking lovely as always, my dear.”
Lorraine peered around his shoulder and watched the tattooed, leather-clad chauffeur get behind the wheel of the limousine.
“I see you’ve still got your personal monster on the payroll,” she said.
“For now Jasper serves my purpose quite nicely,” Vincent said. “He never fails to draw attention wherever I go. Very few things impress the public as much as a star who requires a ferocious-looking bodyguard.”
Lorraine closed the door. “Would you care for a martini?”
“I would be everlastingly grateful for one. I need a bracing tonic of some sort. I have spent only a single afternoon at that silly excuse for an inn and already I am about to expire from boredom.”
“Don’t worry, things will pick up this evening. I’ve made arrangements with the maître d’ at the Paradise. He has reserved a prime booth near the dance floor for us. I will arrive around ten and sit alone until you get there. Make sure your eye-catching monster of a chauffeur escorts you to my table. Trust me, by tomorrow morning the news that you are in town will be on the front page of the local paper. When word gets out that you’re staying at the mansion that was cursed by Madam Zolanda, the story will go national.”
Vincent looked pained. “The sacrifices I make for my career. I would so much rather be relaxing poolside at the Burning Cove Hotel.”
Lorraine went to the liquor cabinet and picked up the pitcher of martinis. “We both know why it would not have been a good idea for you to stay at the Burning Cove. There are too many big names registered there at the moment. Too much competition on that particular stage.”
Vincent shuddered. “You don’t need to spell it out for me. I understand. It’s just that the Hidden Beach Inn is so damn quiet. As far as I can tell, the highlight of the day is afternoon tea. I don’t even like tea.”
“You must be patient,” Lorraine said. “There is too much at stake. Neither of us can afford to make any mistakes.”
She poured the martinis and carried the two glasses across the room. Vincent took a healthy swallow of his drink and met her eyes.
“Do you really think this is going to work?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said. “It will work. By the end of the week your name will be on the front page of every newspaper and Hollywood magazine in the country. The studio will beg you to take the lead in Nightmare Lane. Your old studio will be desperate to get you to sign for another Mad Doctor X film. No one will even remember Karloff and Lugosi.”
Vincent inclined his head. “If I land the lead in Nightmare Lane, I will forever be indebted to you, Lorraine.”
She laughed. “I know. And when your next film comes out, you will once again be invited to all the best parties and clubs. More to the point, you will once again become a valuable source for me.”
Vincent chuckled. “Be careful, my dear, or I will start to suspect that your ultimate goal is to use me.”
“Of course that’s my objective.” She touched her glass lightly against his. “Just as your goal is to use me. I need a constant flow of film world secrets and you require a constant series of films. We do understand each other, don’t we, Vincent?”
He gave her his best Mad Doctor X smile. “We do, indeed, my love.”
She watched with satisfaction as he downed half the contents of the martini glass.
“Let’s go outside onto the patio,” she said, leading the way across the living room. “We have a lot to discuss, Vincent.”
Promptly at six Jasper returned to pick up Vincent. Five minutes after her first visitor had departed, Lorraine’s second one arrived. Ray Thorpe did not pull up in a flashy limo. He was at the wheel of an unremarkable Ford sedan. Nor did he stop at the front of the villa. He parked in the back and let himself in via the kitchen door.
“I thought Hyde was never going to leave,” Ray said.
If Jasper Calloway was playing the role of Hollywood bodyguard, Ray Thorpe was the real deal. He had worked security for various studios over the years. The job description covered a lot of territory.
Thorpe was one of the hard guys that the studio fixers sent out when they found it necessary to recover incriminating photos or to ensure that people who might be considering assault or rape charges against an actor stayed quiet.
He was in his mid-forties and some of the muscle had gone soft, but everything else about him was tough and dangerous. He wore a holstered gun under his rumpled jacket.
Lorraine lit a cigarette.
“I told you that Hyde would be here until six today,” she said. “What’s the matter, Ray?”
“We’ve got a problem,” Ray said.
“Are you talking about Matthias Jones? We already know he’s a problem. We’ll deal with it.”
“I don’t like the feel of this job,” Ray said. “Too many things have gone wrong. I still say we should walk away.”
“I understand your concerns but it’s too early to abandon the project. There’s still a chance that we can make it happen.”
“What makes you sure of that?”
She smiled. “The same thing that has you so worried. Matthias Jones.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“You said it yourself—Jones has moved into the Hidden Beach Inn.”
“So?”
“It’s obvious now that Jones and Pell are after the Ares machine,” Lorraine said, striving for patience. “Logically they should have assumed that it vanished the night Pickwell was shot onstage. Yet not only is Jones still in town, he just checked into the very same inn that Pickwell checked into the day of the robot demonstration. What does that tell us?”
“Damned if I know.”
Lorraine stifled a sigh. Ray Thorpe had his uses but he was not the sharpest of tools.
“It tells us that he knows something that we don’t know and that he has a reason to believe he might find whatever he’s looking for at the Hidden Beach Inn,” she said.
“How did Jones and Pell find out about the Ares machine, let alone figure out that it would turn up in Burning Cove?” Ray demanded.
Lorraine blew out a lungful of smoke and flicked the ashes of her cigarette into a glass ashtray while she thought about that.
“Obviously the Broker double-crossed us,” she said. “We had a deal but evidently the bastard decided to turn what was supposed to be a straightforward sale into an auction. He must have concluded he could greatly increase his commission if he invited Luther Pell to bid. Pell brought in Jones.”
“I’ll take care of the Broker when this thing is over,” Ray vowed.
“Good luck with that. No one knows his real identity and no smart person goes looking for him. He’s dangerous and he’s very well protected. Forget him. We need to stay focused.”
Ray snorted. “What, exactly, are we supposed to focus on? We’ve got a cipher machine that’s missing some key parts, and the only man who knows where they are is dead.”
“Pickwell must have brought the missing parts to Burning Cove. That means they could still be in the vicinity. For now we keep an eye on Jones. Word is, he’s a freelance agent who is currently working for Pell. There’s only one reason he would have moved in to the Hidden Beach Inn—he’s got a lead. We’ll give him some room to run.”
“We can’t hang around Burning Cove indefinitely.”
Lorraine thought about the scheduled rendezvous at the L.A. docks. The clock was ticking. Her number one client would not be happy if she failed to deliver, and the client did not take failure well. If she did not come up with the complete cipher machine by the end of the week, she would be well advised to disappear.
It wouldn’t be the first time. A woman on her own had to be creative.
“You’re right,” she said. “We won’t be here indefinitely.”