Page 18 of Tightrope

“Nice car,” he said.

“They say it’s the fastest car in California,” Luther said. “It’s a replacement for the one that Oliver used to drive. Some days he would take the other one out to an empty stretch of highway and drive it very, very fast. He doesn’t do that anymore.”

“Why not?” Matthias asked.

“He got married,” Luther said. “His wife, Irene, won’t let him risk his neck these days. I hear they’re expecting a baby.”

“Ah,” Matthias said. “Kids change everything.”

“So I’m told.”

Matthias stopped beside his maroon Packard convertible. He and Luther stood, not speaking, for a long moment.

“Think the manager was in on it?” Luther asked after a while.

“No,” Matthias said. “He was telling the truth.”

Luther nodded, not questioning the verdict. He paused a beat. “What about Amalie Vaughn?”

“She’s not involved, either.”

“You’re sure?”

Matthias rested one hand on the Packard’s windshield frame. “Well, I haven’t asked her specifically if she is involved in the murder and the theft of a top secret device, if that’s what you mean. That would be somewhat awkward. But, yes, I’m sure she knows nothing about either the murder or the stolen machine. Why are you focusing on Amalie Vaughn?”

“I told you that she was a trapeze artist who was nearly murdered about six months back.”

“Right,” Matthias said. “She was saved because the killer fell from the trapeze platform. Why are you concerned?”

“Raina made a couple of phone calls this morning,” Luther said quietly. “There may be more to the Abbotsville story than what was in the press.”

Matthias did not move. “That’s not exactly the biggest surprise in the world. There is always more to a newspaper story, especially one that involves a trapeze artist and a killer.”

“True, but in this case the additional details might have some bearing on our situation.”

“Go on,” Matthias said.

“Evidently not long after the events in Abbotsville there were rumors that Amalie Vaughn wasn’t the intended victim. She may have been the killer.”

Matthias felt everything inside him start to chill. “What are you talking about?”

“A cop in Abbotsville told Raina that some people are convinced that Vaughn lured her lover up to the trapeze platform and pushed him to his death. Afterward she claimed that he had tried to kill her.”

Matthias was stone cold now. “Any proof?”

“None, which is why there was no arrest.”

“Motive?”

“The usual in such cases. Jealous rage. Hell hath no fury, et cetera, et cetera. I’m not saying Miss Vaughn killed her lover, but I find it interesting that, six months later, she is now linked to another murder. You’re the one who is always claiming that there is no such thing as coincidence.”

“There is such a thing as being in the wrong place at the wrong time. And there is also such a thing as being a target of opportunity.”

Luther contemplated that for a long moment.

“How do you explain the fact that, out of all the options available in this town, Pickwell chose to check in to the Hidden Beach Inn, a B and B that had only recently opened its doors?”

“I doubt that Pickwell was the one who selected the Hidden Beach,” Matthias said, working through the logic. “Smith most likely chose it for him. What better way to isolate Pickwell than to install him in an almost empty hotel? It would have been easy to keep an eye on him from the moment he checked in until he went to the Palace.”

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