Running Hot

industrialist in San Francisco. But six months into the marriage, the industrialist dropped dead, apparently of natural causes. The singer inherited his entire fortune, much to the irritation of his family.”
    “I think we can assume he might have been given a strong shove into the grave,” Luther said. “Any kids?”
    “The widow never remarried but she had a daughter by one of her lovers. The girl grew up in the lap of luxury. She never went on the stage, presumably because she never had to work for a living. But she took music and singing lessons and frequently performed at private gatherings. Like her mother and grandmother, she never lacked for lovers.”
    “Anybody drop dead in her vicinity?” Luther asked.
    “There were a couple of interesting incidents.” Grace flipped a page in the notebook. “At one point she fell in love with a handsome film actor whose star was on the rise. She bankrolled a couple of his movies. But when he became famous, he dumped her in favor of a well-known actress. The actor turned up dead in his Hollywood mansion soon thereafter. The death was attributed to a drug overdose. The lady also had a daughter.”
    “And so it goes?” Petra said.
    “And so it goes.” Grace closed the notebook. “Right down to the present day. The trail gets a little murky in places but I think I’ve found our killer soprano. If I’m right, she’s the descendant of Irene Bontifort. Her name is Vivien Ryan.”
    Wayne frowned. “La Sirène?”
    They all looked at him.
    “You never fail to amaze us,” Luther said. “Who the hell is La Sirène?”
    “She was a major star up until a couple of years ago,” Wayne said. “I’ve got some of her CDs. Incredible voice. But she has sort of faded from the scene lately. Haven’t heard much about her in a while.”
    “According to what I found online, she’s trying to make a comeback,” Grace said. “She’s going to sing Queen of the Night at the opening of a new opera house in Acacia Bay, California. The premiere performance of The Magic Flute is two days from now. Oh, and there’s one more thing.”
    “What?” Petra asked.
    Grace clutched her notebook to her chest. “La Sirène just happens to be the title that was bestowed on Irene Bontifort.”
    “Anybody die of natural causes in the vicinity of this Vivien Ryan?” Luther asked.
    “Oh my, yes,” Grace said.

    Luther got on the phone to Fallon as soon as Grace had finished reporting the results of her research.
    “I don’t like it,” Fallon complained. “It just doesn’t fit into the pattern. Whoever killed Eubanks has to be a pro. Craigmore was smart. He wouldn’t have risked so much by using a notoriously temperamental diva.”
    “Maybe he didn’t have a choice after Sweetwater bailed on him,” Luther said. “He had to move fast. There was no time to shop at Hit Men ‘R’ Us.”
    “Then how did he find the diva?” Fallon asked. He sounded not just impatient but supremely weary. “It’s not like killer sopranos advertise in the yellow pages.”
    “We’re still working on that angle,” Luther admitted. “Look, there’s one way to find out if La Sirène is the singer Grace saw in the hotel. All she needs is a good look at Vivien Ryan’s aura. We need to attend the opening-night performance of that opera in Acacia Bay.”
    Fallon was silent for a time. Eventually he spoke. “I’m ninety-six percent sure it’s a waste of time but I’ll authorize the flight to California. Attend the performance. Let Grace get her look.”
    “There’s just one small problem,” Luther said.
    “Now what?”
    “The opera is sold out for every performance. We need tickets. Good seats. Grace has to be close enough to read Ryan’s aura. We have to be sure of this.”
    “What? Now I’m a concierge?”
    “Hell, you’re better than any concierge. You’re the head of J&J.”
    “Just remember, it’s customary to tip the guy who can deliver seats to a sold-out performance.”

FORTY-ONE
    The small, exclusive city of Acacia Bay was located on a picturesque stretch of the southern California coast, just north of Los Angeles. Determined to make a name for the city in the arts, its citizens had spared no expense on its new opera house. The arched and colonnaded entrance to Guthrie Hall gave the structure an air of architectural gravitas suitable for a theater devoted to serious music. The lobby glowed like the inside of a box full of velvet and jewels.
    Grace stood with Luther on