Page 35 of Tightrope

“Thank you,” she said.

Jasper inclined his head once, in a short, jerky manner, and retreated a couple of steps.

“It was the latest Lorraine Pierce column that compelled me,” Vincent said. “Front page. You can’t miss it.”

Amalie winced when she saw the headline.

THECURSEOFMADAMZOLANDA?

MANSIONWHEREFAMOUSPSYCHICDIEDUNDER

MYSTERIOUSCIRCUMSTANCESCLAIMSANOTHERVICTIM.

Your correspondent has learned that the recent shocking murder of Dr. Norman Pickwell, the inventor who was gunned down by his own robot, has an ominous connection to a certain villa in Burning Cove, California.

Readers will recall that it was not long ago that Madam Zolanda, the famous Psychic to the Stars, predicted her own death onstage at the Palace, a popular theater in Burning Cove. The morning after the performance her body was discovered on the patio of the villa. The official verdict was suicide but there were many who questioned that conclusion at the time and still do.

But now your humble correspondent is hearing whispers that the doomed Dr. Pickwell was a guest at the very same villa where the Psychic to the Stars died.

Is it any wonder that the residents of Burning Cove have come up with a new name for the Hidden Beach Inn? Rumor has it that the locals have begun referring to the villa as the “Psychic Curse Mansion.” Who will be the next victim?

How much worse could the publicity disaster get? Amalie wondered.

Reminding herself that she had a paying customer standing in frontof her, she folded the newspaper with short, crisp motions and gave Vincent her dazzle-the-audience smile.

“You do realize that Miss Pierce’s column is pure nonsense, I assume?” she said.

Vincent chuckled. “Certainly, but that is precisely the point. It occurs to me that you and I are both in a position to benefit from the rumors swirling around your little inn.”

“The only rumors I’ve noticed are those in Miss Pierce’s column.”

Vincent heaved a languid sigh, glanced at the paper, and shook his head in a sorrowful manner.

“You must believe me when I tell you that I have spent enough time in Hollywood to know that the story in Pierce’s column this morning will catch fire. I wouldn’t be surprised if it is going national as we speak.”

Amalie stared at him, shocked. “Do you really think so?”

“I can almost guarantee it, Miss Vaughn. Lorraine Pierce is one of the most widely read gossip columnists in Hollywood. Her goal is to become the most widely read columnist in the country.”

“She’s ambitious?”

Vincent flashed a wry, world-weary smile. “Everyone in Hollywood is ambitious, Miss Vaughn.”

Amalie squared her shoulders. “I’m ambitious, too. I am, in fact, trying very hard to get my business up and running so that I can keep myself and my aunt in groceries.”

“Think of Pierce’s column as publicity.”

Amalie stabbed the paper a few times with her forefinger. “This kind of creepy publicity is not helpful.”

“Don’t be so sure of that,” Vincent said. He winked. “Take it from me, almost any kind of publicity is better than no publicity.”

Something in his tone gave her pause.

“Almost any kind?” she repeated.

“There is very little in the way of publicity that can kill aHollywood career, Miss Vaughn. Most gossip simply adds fuel to the fire. But there are one or two lines that cannot be crossed, not if one hopes to survive in the industry.”

“Only one or two?”

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