“It feels like she’s stalking me,” Nick said.
He led the way through the living room of the villa and out onto the shaded patio. They sat down on the big rattan chairs.
Julian Enright didn’t look anything like Ogden’s usual tough guys, he thought. Enright wasn’t some beat-up ex-stuntman, and he didn’t have the brutish edge of a mob guy. Hell, Enright could have been in pictures, himself. He was handsome in a classy, well-bred way—a blond Cary Grant, maybe. He moved like Grant, too, with a casual elegance that announced to the world that it could wait on him. What’s more, the hair looked real, not bleached. His clothes were obviously hand-tailored, and with his tall, lean, athletic build, he looked very good in them.
Luckily Enright wasn’t an aspiring actor, Nick thought. He would have been serious competition in the leading man category.
“Tell me everything from start to finish,” Julian Enright said. “Don’t leave out any details. I need to know exactly what I’m dealing with.”
“Didn’t Ogden fill you in?”
“I prefer to do my own background research.”
“Research?”
“Fact gathering. Call it whatever you want. Talk to me, Tremayne.”
“I told you, it’s like she’s gunning for me.”
“You’re sure that you and Miss Glasson have never crossed paths? No one-night stands? A brief affair?”
“I’m positive. She’s not my type.” Too restless to sit still, Nick got to his feet, clawed his fingers through his hair, and began to pace the patio. “She’s got it in for me, I tell you.”
“Any idea why she might harbor a grudge against you?” Julian asked in mild tones.
“Maybe.” Nick paused and then shrugged. “Something happened to one of the other reporters at that gossip rag she works for.”
“What, exactly, happened to the other reporter?”
“Slipped in the bathtub. Hit her head and drowned. It was an accident. The authorities said so.”
“But Miss Glasson believes otherwise?”
“I guess so,” Nick muttered. “Then there was another drowning.”
“I assume you mean the one that occurred here at the hotel.”
“Apparently Maitland planned to meet Glasson in the spa that night. Pretty sure she was going to feed Glasson some gossip about me. But Glasson told the cops that she found Maitland dead in the pool. Next thing I know there’s a hit piece on the front page of Whispers linking my name with Maitland’s. Reporters from papers clear across the country started calling the studio asking for interviews with me.”
“Under other circumstances that would be a good thing.”
Cold fingers touched the back of Nick’s neck. Enright sounded as if he didn’t understand the implications.
“This isn’t a joking matter, Enright. Glasson is trying to tie me to the accidental deaths of two women. If this story gets out of control, my career will be ruined.”
“Anything else I should know?” Julian asked.
He sounded almost bored now. Nick fought back the red tide of anger. He could not afford to lose his temper. He needed Julian Enright.
“There was another drowning last night,” he said. “A local gold digger named Daisy Jennings.”
“Did you know Jennings?”
“I fucked her once in the garden of the Paradise Club. That was the same night that Gloria Maitland drowned. Jennings was my alibi.”
“And now she’s dead?”
Nick hesitated. “It gets worse. Glasson and the magician found the body. Looks like Jennings intended to meet with that damned reporter.”
“Did Jennings have something on you?”
“No.” Nick struggled to contain his rage. “Look, your job is to keep Glasson from making more trouble, not dig into my sex life. Why don’t you go to work?”
“Thorough research is the key to success in my profession.”
“Yeah? What, exactly, is your profession?”
Julian smiled. “I’m the person people like Ogden call in when they discover that they can’t deal with a problem themselves. Now, then, are you sure you don’t have any idea what made Irene Glasson conclude that you were the cause of her colleague’s drowning accident?”
“I’m sure.”
There was no way that Irene Glasson could know about Betty Scott, Nick thought. It was impossible. Betty Scott was his past—his buried past.
“There must have been some reason why she thinks you were responsible,” Julian continued in that same languid tone.
“All I can tell you is that the other reporter—the one who died—was asking around about me. Looking for anything she could find.”
“But you have no idea what she might have been searching for?”
Nick grunted. “No. None.”
He needed Enright but damned if he was going to spill his secrets to him.
“Interesting,” Julian mused.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Irene Glasson seems to have come across a lot of bodies,” Julian said.
Nick stared at him. “What are you thinking?”
“You may be right. Glasson may be setting you up.”
“You think she killed Gloria and the others?”
“I have no idea, but it occurs to me that she may be trying to manufacture a story that would make her career. If she can pin a murder rap on you, she would become the top Hollywood gossip columnist in the country, at least for a while.”
“Yes, that’s it,” Nick said. Excitement snapped through him. “That’s it exactly. She’s out to destroy me so that she can grab a headline or two.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Julian got to his feet. “I’m here to make your problem disappear, remember?”
“Yeah,” Nick said. “I remember.”
“I’ll let myself out,” Julian said. He paused briefly. “One more thing. Absolutely no one is to know my real reason for being here. Understand?”
“What about my personal assistant?”
Julian shook his head. “No one. As far as everyone around you knows, you and I are just a couple of guys on vacation who struck up a friendship. Got it?”
“Got it.”
Julian disappeared into the shadows of the living room. Nick watched, more than a little awed. The man moved as silently as a snake.
I’m here to make your problem disappear.
A moment later the front door of the villa opened and then closed very quietly.
For the first time since the nightmare began, Nick allowed himself a measure of optimism. Maybe, just maybe, he would survive the rolling disaster that had overtaken him.
The doorbell chimed. He pulled himself out of his trance.
“Come in,” he called.
The door opened. Tentative footsteps echoed on the tiles.
He stifled a sigh. “I’m out here on the patio.”
Claudia appeared in the doorway, clutching her notebook.
“Who was that man I saw leaving here?” she asked.
“Just someone I met in the bar. We’re going to play golf together tomorrow.”
“I see,” Claudia said. “I came to tell you that Mr. Ogden called again. He told me to tell you that everything is under control.”
Nick’s spirits soared. “I think Ogden might be right this time.”
“This time?”
“Go on, get out of here. I want to work on my lines for Lost Weekend.”
Claudia fled.