Nick Tremayne tossed the copy of Silver Screen Secrets onto the patio table and pushed himself up out of the rattan chair.
“Ogden thinks that photo is going to solve my problems?” he asked.
“He’s quite pleased with it.” Claudia swallowed hard. “He says that today everyone in L.A. will be talking about the reclusive former illusionist who is dating a female reporter who is cheap goods, one who is now directly linked to the death of Miss Maitland. Mr. Ogden is sure that the story will nullify any damage done by the piece Miss Glasson wrote in Whispers.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” Nick said.
Breakfast had been served on his private patio. He had dined alone because he was not in the mood to make conversation with anyone. Claudia did not count. He had let her stand there, briefing him on the contents of the Secrets story, while he finished his eggs Benedict. He had not bothered to offer her a cup of coffee. She could get her own coffee. She was supposed to be his assistant, after all.
He went to the edge of the patio and stood looking out over the cove. The morning fog had burned off, leaving another sparkling day—another California-perfect day in what should have been his picture-perfect life.
Everything had been on track until recently. He was on a very fast elevator, headed for the top. Sure, he still had to put up with a studio contract, but soon he would have the kind of power it took to pick and choose the roles he wanted. Hell, he’d be rich enough to buy his way out of the damned contract if that’s what he wanted to do.
But a few weeks ago the first reporter from Whispers had started nosing around in his past. After Hackett’s fatal accident, however, he’d been sure he was in the clear. Then Gloria Maitland had reappeared, threatening to go to the press, demanding money in exchange for her silence. Ogden had come through but the payoff wasn’t enough to stop Gloria. Deep down he’d known that the cash probably wouldn’t be enough to keep her quiet, Nick thought. Gloria had wanted something more—she’d wanted revenge.
With Gloria out of the way, he had dared to hope that he was once again in the clear. He hadn’t expected any trouble from the local starstruck tramp, Daisy Jennings. She had sworn she would be his alibi for the night of Maitland’s death. I’ll do anything for you, Nick. She had wanted a screen test in exchange for protecting him. He knew he didn’t have that kind of power at the studio—not yet. But he’d made the promise. With luck, that would be enough to keep her quiet until he could figure out how to stop Glasson.
It was always a woman who got in his way, he reflected—Betty Scott in Seattle; the washed-up gossip reporter, Hackett; Gloria Maitland; Irene Glasson.
It was always a woman.
“It’s true that people will probably assume that Glasson is sleeping with Ward,” he said. “They may even wonder if she was responsible for Maitland’s death. But it doesn’t follow that Glasson won’t write another story about me. And people will read it, even if they do think she is a cheap little whore. I can’t afford any more gossip linking me to murder. Ogden has got to make sure Glasson doesn’t write another piece for Whispers.”
“Mr. Ogden said to tell you again that everything was under control,” Claudia said. “He promised he’d deal with Irene Glasson.”
“You’re useless. Get out of my sight. I need time to think.”
Claudia hurried back into the front room of the villa. A few seconds later the front door closed behind her.
Nick turned back to the dazzling view of the cove. He would not allow a woman to derail his damned-near-perfect life.