Page 62 of Tightrope

“That neighborhood looked mostly deserted,” Amalie said. “I doubt if there’s a diner or bar in the area. There wouldn’t be much local business.”

“There was a streetcar stop a few blocks from Pickwell’s shop. Probably the last stop on the line. We’ll check it out after we finish here. Shouldn’t be too hard to find the diner or bar where Hubbard was a regular.”

Amalie looked at her uneaten sandwich. “I think I’m finished.”

Matthias was right. It didn’t take any great investigative work to locate the diner where Charlie Hubbard liked to drink coffee and chat with a waitress named Polly. But Polly wasn’t available. She had taken the day off to visit her ailing mother. She was not due back until the morning shift.

It was late afternoon by the time Amalie and Matthias left the diner.

“We’re not driving back to Burning Cove tonight, are we?” Amalie said. “We would just have to turn around and come back to Playa Dorada early tomorrow morning to catch the waitress.”

“You’re right.” Matthias opened the passenger side door of the Packard. “We’re going to spend the night somewhere near Playa Dorada. We’ll find a hotel. Sorry about this.”

Amalie paused, one stacked-heel sandal on the floorboard, one still on the ground. She glared at Matthias.

“Stop apologizing,” she said. “I told you, it’s not your fault that I got caught up in this mess.”

Matthias cleared his throat. “That’s not what I was apologizing for.”

“Oh?”

“I was apologizing because I’m afraid that, regardless of where we stay, we’re going to have to check in as Mr. and Mrs. Jones.”

“Oh.”

Chapter 31

“The honeymoon suite?” Amalie stopped in the middle of the richly appointed room and folded her arms very tightly under her breasts. “I knew this situation might be awkward but what in the world were you thinking when you told the clerk that we were newlyweds who had just eloped?”

“Give me a break,” Matthias said. “I had to explain the lack of luggage and the fact that neither of us is wearing a wedding ring. The clerk needed a reasonable excuse for ignoring those little details. I gave him one, along with a twenty. It was his idea to give us this suite.”

She opened her mouth to tell Matthias what she thought of his reasonable excuse—and closed it again when it dawned on her that he was right. She sighed.

Besides, she thought, she could hardly complain about the accommodations. The hotel was far and away the most expensive one in which she had ever stayed. It was tucked into a wealthy enclave on the outskirts of Los Angeles. The grounds were lush and green. Palm trees lined the drive and masses of flowering plants offered privacy. Inaddition to the main building, there were a number of exclusive little cottages, like the honeymoon suite, scattered around the grounds.

The interior of the suite was done in fashionable shades of green and gold. It boasted a sitting area with two cushioned chairs and a sofa. There was also a large, luxurious bath that glowed with elaborate tile work.

But by far the most impressive object in the space was the massive four-poster bed. It was certainly large enough for two people to sleep without making physical contact but Amalie found the thought of actually spending an entire night in the same bed with Matthias disconcerting. And maybe a little thrilling. She decided not to explore that realization.

“My turn to apologize,” she said. She was aware that she did not sound particularly gracious but it was the best she could do under the circumstances. She searched for a way to change the subject. “I think the clerk actually believed you.”

“He did.” Matthias peeled off his jacket. “Or, at least, he wanted to believe me, and that’s usually all it takes to get someone to go along with a lie.”

She smiled a little at that. “If I hadn’t known better, I would have believed you myself.”

“I told you, I’m a very good liar.”

There was no particular emotion in the words. He wasn’t chagrined about his talent for lying, nor was he boasting. He wasn’t teasing her, either. He was simply stating a fact. That brought up an intriguing question.

“How would I know if you were lying to me?” she asked.

Matthias had been in the process of loosening his tie. He went very still and fixed her with an unreadable expression.

“I was afraid that sooner or later you would ask me that,” he said. “Eventually it always comes up in conversations between me and people who get close to me.”

“Not in general conversations?”

He slipped the tie free of his shirt collar and stood quietly for a long moment, as if debating what to tell her.

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