Page 91 of Close Up

“A secretary who said she was calling from the Penfield Gallery here in town. Miss Vivian appeared to be quite excited when she left a short time later.”

“Did she have her portfolio with her?”

“A flat leather case? Why, yes, as a matter of fact.”

Nick relaxed. “Sounds like she’s been invited to show her work to the Penfield Gallery again. That’s very good news.”

So why was he suddenly sensing ice-cold fingers on the back of his neck?

Damn Sundridge intuition.

He and Rex went through the lobby and up the main staircase to the second floor. He let himself into his room, set the box on the table near the window, and took off his jacket. After arranging a couple of sheets of notepaper and a pen on the table, he went to work.

Sorting through the belongings of a man who had gambled awayeverything of value including, in the end, his own life, proved a depressing business.

Nick set the handful of personal effects out on the table and contemplated them for a long time, searching for connections. There were several envelopes marked with dates. They were stuffed with negatives and prints. The oldest packet was the smallest. It was dated six years earlier.

Nick picked up the envelope with the most recent date and dumped the contents onto the table. Dozens of negatives fell out. He sifted through them. Bodies. Fires. Movie stars partying in nightclubs. There were also a few prints of pictures that had obviously been taken from a distance. One featured two women and a famous male film star naked together on a beach. Another was a picture of two men embracing. Evidently at some point in the not too distant past Toby had decided to try his hand at blackmail in an attempt to pay off his gambling debts.

So much for the most recent images. There wasn’t much point going through the other packets. Probably more of the same.

Still, in his experience answers were frequently locked in the past.

He picked up the first envelope, the one dated six years earlier. He unsealed it and emptied the prints and negatives onto the table.

And there it was, right in front of him, the connection that made the picture complete.

“Shit.”

He had to be certain.

He picked up the telephone and asked for long distance. “The Brazier residence in San Francisco, please.”

The housekeeper answered a short time later. Nick identified himself. The housekeeper said she knew who he was because she had spoken with Lyra and Vivian that morning.

“I’m so glad you’re all safe,” the housekeeper said. “I can’t imagine what Mr. and Mrs. Brazier will say when they get home.”

“I have a question,” Nick said. “It’s very important. I know that Lyra took a phone call from someone here in Adelina Beach who wanted to know where Vivian was.”

“Really? How odd. Shortly after Lyra left town I took a call as well from someone who said he was looking for Vivian. A very nice man. Sounded quite posh. He was trying to find Vivian because he wanted her to do his portrait. He had heard about the fire at the beach house, you see. He said no one knew where Vivian had gone afterward. He assumed that she was staying in a hotel until she could find another house to rent. I had just spoken with Vivian and offered to call her to tell her about the commission but the man said it would be faster if he talked to her directly. He was in a hurry. Something about a funeral.”

“Did you tell him where Vivian was?”

“Fortunately Miss Lyra had written the number of the Burning Cove Hotel down on the notepad next to the telephone. I gave it to the gentleman. Does that answer your question?”

“Yes. Yes, it does. Good-bye, ma’am.”

Nick tossed the receiver into the cradle and headed for the door with his keys and his holstered gun, moving fast. The hot acid of something akin to panic sluiced through his veins. He fought it with every ounce of willpower he possessed. He had to stay in control because he had to get to Vivian.

Chapter 45

I know you don’t like landscapes,” Vivian said. “At least not the photographic kind. But that’s all that I have available at the moment.”

Fenella Penfield gazed at the two prints for a long time before she raised her head. Vivian braced herself for another rejection.

They were in Fenella’s back room facing each other across a long workbench that was littered with framing tools and materials. They were the only people in the gallery. The shop had been in the process of closing just as Vivian parked Lyra’s racy little speedster at the far end of the block. She had arrived in time to see the salesclerks leaving and was sure her brief moment of opportunity had closed.

But Fenella had stayed behind to view the pictures. It was obvious she was irritated and, evidently, rather desperate. One of her artists was not going to be able to deliver two pictures that had been promised for an upcoming show. Fenella needed something to go on the walls.

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