Shortly before eleven thirty that evening, Irene eased her Ford to the side of the street. Oliver had been right; the neighborhood was deserted at that hour. The streetlamps provided some illumination but the windows were dark for the most part. She was very conscious of night pressing in on all sides. An eerie silence gripped the scene.
As promised, there was a wooden telephone booth at the corner of Olive and Palm. The glass-paned doors were open.
She switched off the engine and lowered the driver’s side window so that she would be sure to hear the phone ring. If it rings, she thought.
“I don’t see any other cars around,” she said.
“That’s a good sign,” Oliver said from the dark place on the floor behind the front seat. “It may mean she was serious about wanting to sell you some information. Still, we’re going to assume that someone is watching.”
Irene folded her arms. “Sorry about the accommodations back there.”
“It’s a little cramped but not nearly as bad as the compartment I used for the Corridor of Infinity effect.”
“Was that the trick that nearly got you killed?”
For a moment she thought he wasn’t going to answer.
“No,” he said finally. “That was the Cage of Death.”
She wanted to ask what, exactly, had gone wrong, but her intuition told her that the question was far too intrusive, the kind of question that only a very close friend or a lover could ask. He had kissed her, but that did not make them close friends or lovers.
“I ran into one of Nick Tremayne’s biggest fans today,” she said. “He tried to warn me off the story. He said I shouldn’t make trouble for Tremayne.”
“Think he was from the studio?”
“No. He wasn’t a tough guy, just a fanatical fan. The waitress at Mel’s Café says he’s been a regular for about a week. She thinks he’s harmless.”
“Tremayne checked in a week ago.”
“I know.”
“I’ll have O’Conner, the head of hotel security, see what he can find out about the guy.”
“All right. But I’m pretty sure he’s just another obsessed fan.”
The phone rang. She flinched. Even though she had been waiting for the summons, the sound nevertheless startled her.
“Here we go,” she whispered.
She jumped out of the car and grabbed the receiver.
“This is Irene Glasson,” she said.
“There’s an old abandoned warehouse at the end of Miramar Road,” Daisy said. Her voice was infused with the same whispery quality, but this time she spoke very slowly and with great precision. “Bootleggers used it during Prohibition but it’s been empty since repeal. I’ll wait for you there. Remember, come alone. Deal’s off if I see anyone else.” There was a short pause. “And don’t forget the twenty bucks.”
“Wait a minute, how am I supposed to find this place? I’m new in town, remember? I’m assuming you don’t want me to ask directions at the nearest bar or gas station.”
“No.” Panic edged the word. “Don’t let anyone know where you’re going. I’ll give you directions.”
Daisy rattled off a string of instructions and hung up the phone.
Irene got back into her car and fired up the engine. “We’re heading for an abandoned warehouse at the end of Miramar Road. Know it?”
“It’s located several miles outside of town on a bad road. It will take us a good forty-five minutes to get there from here. According to the locals, the warehouse used to be a bootlegger distribution point.”
“Daisy mentioned that.”
“Did she happen to mention that there’s a dock and a boathouse attached?”
That stopped her for a few seconds. “A dock and a boathouse?”
“That old warehouse sits on the edge of a small, hidden cove. That’s why the bootleggers used it. They could bring in boatloads of illegal liquor without drawing the attention of the authorities.” Oliver paused for emphasis. “They also used it to get rid of bodies.”
“Bodies?”
“The business was very competitive.”
“I see.”
“All in all, sounds like the ideal location for another drowning accident,” Oliver said.
She caught her breath. “Yes, it does. All right, you’ve made your point. Do you really think Daisy intends to try to murder me?”
“I think it’s more likely that our killer is using Daisy to lure you to the scene. I warned you this was probably a setup.”
She drummed the fingers of her left hand on the wheel. “But what if Daisy is telling the truth?”
“In that case, you’re right. We may come away from the meeting with some hard information that we can use to figure out who murdered Gloria Maitland.”
There was a new note in his voice, she thought, one that she had not heard before. She struggled to come up with a description and finally settled on anticipation. He sounded like a man who was looking forward to a little excitement.
“What if you’re right, after all?” she said. “What if this meeting with Daisy is a setup?”
“We pull a rabbit out of the hat.”