His green eyes were almost unreadable—almost but not entirely. Maybe his eyesight was poor. Maybe he really did need the gold-rimmed spectacles, but she doubted it. She suspected he wore them because he had convinced himself they made it difficult for people to see the man behind the glasses.
She glanced at the scars on his right hand. Yet another mystery.
He was watching her now with cool speculation. Suddenly she knew what he was thinking.
“No,” she said. “I had nothing to do with Raina’s disappearance.”
Luther was about to insert his key into the front door lock of Raina’s pretty little Spanish Colonial–style villa. He paused and looked at her.
“What are you talking about?” he asked.
Lyra angled her chin at Simon, who was standing quietly to one side, the briefcase at his feet.
“Your so-called expert here is analyzing the situation, no doubt trying to figure out what might have changed recently in Raina’s life,” she said. “That’s what real investigators do, right? Look for anomalies? Breaks in the pattern? It has dawned on Mr. Cage that I am the biggest anomaly around. Raina hired me four days ago, and yesterday a man involved in my very first case died—probably because of me. When it comes to ripples in the timeline, those two things do stand out.”
Luther frowned. He looked as if he was about to argue with her observation. Instead he eyed Simon.
“Well?” he asked.
Simon pushed his spectacles higher on his nose. He did not appear embarrassed or chagrined.
“You know, I had intended to spend this afternoon by the pool at the Burning Cove Hotel, drinking iced tea and reading a good novel,” he said. “Instead, I find myself standing here waiting to investigate the disappearance of a lady I have never met. So, yes, I am doing some analyzing, and it does, indeed, strike me that Miss Brazier is a very new employee at Kirk Investigations. Three days on the job and a man gets killed. The next day Miss Kirk goes missing. It adds up to a series of interesting—”
“Coincidences,” Lyra interrupted smoothly.
“I’m not a big believer in coincidences,” Simon said.
The tone was polite but the message was unmistakable.
“Believe it or not, coincidences do happen,” Lyra said. “It’s obvious that you’re the suspicious type, Mr. Cage. Let’s see if you can put that unfortunate character trait to good use by finding a genuine clue inside Raina’s villa. Because if you can’t do that, your so-called expertise won’t be of much use to us. You’ll be free to return to the Burning Cove Hotel and sit by the pool.”
She gave Simon a chilling smile, the one she reserved for powerful men who thought they were irresistible to women simply because they had a great deal of money or owned a large company. She had met a lot of that sort while working as her father’s assistant at Brazier Shipping.
Simon blinked at the smile and regarded her as if she were a rare antiquarian book he might—just might—bid on at auction.
“If you don’t mind, I’m going to stay out of this discussion,” Luther said. He pushed the key into the lock and opened the door. “We’ve got work to do and we’re going to do it in a methodical manner. I will go first, because as far as we know I was the last one to leave the house before Raina took off. With luck I’ll be able to notice if anything seems different or out of place. You two will follow me.”
“Excellent plan,” Simon said.
“Yes, it is,” Lyra agreed.
She opened her handbag, took out a small notebook and a pencil, and snapped the bag shut. She could not fault Simon for playing a part, because she was doing the same thing today. Even though she was no longer sure she was cut out to be an investigator, Raina had entrusted her with the responsibility of running Kirk Investigations. She was going to do her job. Right now that job was finding out why Raina had disappeared.
She marched briskly past Simon and followed Luther into the tiled entryway of the small villa.
Simon picked up his suitcase, moved into the shadowed space, and closed the front door.
For a moment the three of them stood quietly, absorbing the feel of the space. Lyra thought the interior décor was an excellent reflection of Raina—sophisticated and tasteful. There was, however, no hint of her East Coast origins. When Raina had arrived at the end of Route 66 in Santa Monica she had apparently embraced the California style.
The fashionable Spanish Colonial influence was everywhere in the villa, from the white stucco walls and the colorful tiles around the fireplace to the dark wooden beams in the high ceiling. The carpets, curtains, and furnishings were all done in rich Mediterranean golds, browns, and reds.
“There’s no sign of any disturbance,” Luther said. He walked slowly, deliberately, through the living room. “Everything looks the way it did last night.”
“Were the curtains open when you left?” Simon asked.
Lyra and Luther both turned to look at him.
“No,” Luther said.
Lyra surveyed the curtains. “Raina opened them the way she would on any normal morning. She was in no particular hurry at that point. But when she left she did not take the time to close them, even though she knew she would be gone for a few days.”
“The kitchen,” Simon said. “We need to look at that room first.”
Luther led the way into the kitchen, a room done in yellow tiles trimmed in black and white.
“No dishes in the sink,” Lyra announced.
“Raina’s housekeeper comes in twice a week,” Luther said. “This isn’t one of her days.”
“So we know that Miss Kirk took the time to clean up after breakfast,” Simon said. He looked at Lyra. “Your theory is correct. Something happened after breakfast. A telephone call or a telegram most likely, although I suppose it’s possible someone came to the door.”
Lyra could not decide if she should be flattered by his acceptance of her logic or irritated because it had taken him so long to acknowledge that she was right. She decided to ignore the comment altogether. He was merely a consultant, after all. Her father had often complained that business consultants were a useless lot.
There was a notepad attached to the wall next to the phone. Lyra could see some marks on the top sheet of paper.
Simon spotted the notepad at the same time and crossed the room to take a closer look.
“A phone number, by any chance?” Luther asked. “That would be a stroke of luck.”
Simon studied the squiggles and shook his head. “Unfortunately, no. Just some doodles, the kind you make when you’re waiting for a long-distance phone call to go through. Let’s try the bedroom.”