Her best friend, however, had gotten lucky. In Hollywood, a woman’s face was her fortune, and Vera Westlake had a face the camera and the audience loved.
Zolanda tightened one hand into a fist. The rage welled up deep inside, as hot as ever. She did not try to suppress it. She savored it. The anger gave her strength. But she was very careful to keep her jealousy concealed behind the mask of Madam Zolanda, psychic to the stars.
She might not be the most beautiful woman in Hollywood, but she was a very talented actress. Tomorrow night she would prove it.
She realized that Thelma was watching her in the rearview mirror again. There was no way she could know what was scheduled to happen tomorrow night. No possible way.
But one thing had become clear. Thelma would be a problem in the very near future. She knew too much, not just about the value of the secrets they had collected, but also about the past. Thelma knew everything. It was time for her to quietly disappear.
Chapter 7
The dream opened the way it often did . . .
She was walking through the deceptively serene gardens of the Rushbrook Sanitarium. She wore a hospital gown. The Duchess was with her, dressed in a style that had gone out of fashion for wealthy, well-bred ladies three decades earlier. The long skirts of her pale pink tea gown brushed the graveled path.
They spoke in low tones because the Duchess worried that the servants might be listening. Adelaide knew that was a very real possibility.
“I’ve told you before, dear, you should not return to this place,” the Duchess said. “You’re not like me. You don’t belong here.”
“I don’t want to return,” Adelaide said, “but I left something behind.”
“I strongly advise you not to come back. I no longer trust any of the servants.”
“Neither do I,” Adelaide said.
“You understand why you don’t belong here, don’t you?” the Duchess said. “You’re not crazy like the rest of us.”
“Gill and Ormsby told me that I had a nervous breakdown. What if it’s true?”
“Nonsense. I’ve been here since my eighteenth birthday. There’s no question but that I am crazy. So are all of the houseguests, except you.”
“Are you certain?”
“You are not like the rest of us. Trust me, I know the difference between sane and insane.”
“Do you want to leave, madam?”
“Of course not, dear.” The Duchess gave an airy wave with one gloved hand. “I have a responsibility to remain here, away from the view of polite society. One must not embarrass the family, after all. If I were to go out into the world, there would soon be rumors that the bloodline was tainted by a streak of insanity. Can’t have that, now, can we?”
Adelaide woke in a cold sweat, the way she always did after a dream about Rushbrook. She sat up on the side of the bed and waited for her pulse and breathing to slow to a more normal pace.
After a while she pulled on a robe, went downstairs, and made herself some tea. She used the special blend she kept on hand for the bad nights.
She’d had a lot of bad nights since she had first awakened to the nightmare that was the Rushbrook Sanitarium.
It was still dark outside but she knew she would not be able to go back to sleep. She took the freshly brewed tea into the living room, turned on a floor lamp, and picked up the new book she had purchased two days earlier. She curled up in the big, padded leather chair and started to read.
In the dream she had told the Duchess the truth. She had escaped the Rushbrook Sanitarium but she was not yet free. She had left something behind.
Chapter 8
“You do realize that Madam Zolanda is a fraud.” Raina Kirk picked up a pencil and tapped it gently on the desktop blotter. “A complete charlatan who has found a very lucrative market—rich celebrities who are also silly enough to believe in the occult.”
Adelaide paused in her survey of the newly opened office of Kirk Investigations to glare at her friend. “Of course I know she’s a fake. Anyone who claims paranormal powers is a fraud.”
She and Raina had met several weeks earlier when Raina had stopped in at Refresh for tea. They had immediately recognized each other as kindred spirits—two women on their own in the world, both newcomers in Burning Cove who were determined to reinvent themselves.
One of the things they had in common was that, by unspoken mutual agreement, neither of them talked much about the past. Little by little they were starting to confide in each other, but neither of them was ready to lower all the barriers. Their mutual respect for each other’s secrets was, in itself, a strong bond, Adelaide thought.
Although they were careful not to spend too much time talking about the past, they were comfortable with each other. Their friendship had taken root when Raina had come by Refresh to quietly ask for a recommendation for a tea or tisane that would improve her sleep. Adelaide had prepared one of her mother’s favorite remedies for insomnia, a blend that included valerian, lemon balm, and other herbs. Raina had found it helpful.
In return, Raina had made the hundred-mile trip to L.A. with her to help her purchase a small gun and some ammunition. On the way home they had stopped at a deserted beach where Raina had given her some basic instructions on the use and care of the weapon. There had been a few more clandestine visits to the secluded strip of sand.
Some friends went shopping or had lunch together, Adelaide thought. Some went out for target practice.
She knew that Raina had concluded that Adelaide was running from a man. That was true enough, she thought. For her part, she had not asked Raina to explain why she had left a secretarial post with a New York law firm to move across the country to Burning Cove. Nor had she inquired about Raina’s familiarity with firearms.
Raina was an attractive, polished woman in her mid-thirties with an innate sense of style and an air of cool, professional reserve. She was always fashionably dressed and she drove a flashy new speedster. Her investigation business had opened in an exclusive business plaza. Adelaide had taken care not to inquire about the source of the money.
“Madam Zolanda put me in an awkward position,” Adelaide said. “I didn’t want to appear rude. She’s been a great customer. Florence is thrilled because Zolanda has brought a lot of celebrity business into the tearoom.”
“Zolanda is currently very fashionable with the Hollywood set,” Raina said.
“Yes, I know,” Adelaide said.
She crossed the room, admiring the leather chairs and the handsome floor tiles along the way. Raina’s new office was classy, like Raina herself. It looked more like the office of an expensive lawyer than one that belonged to a private investigator.
She stopped at the window and looked out at the shady plaza. Every shop and office in the vicinity, including Raina’s, was done in the Spanish colonial revival style that Adelaide had learned was de rigueur for Burning Cove. The city council wielded a lot of authority when it came to enforcing the strict rules that covered construction and remodeling. The vast majority of structures—from clothing stores to gas stations and everything in between, including the public library, the hospital, and the grand Burning Cove Hotel—featured red tile roofs, white plaster walls, palm-studded courtyards, and a lot of breezy, covered walkways.
The whole town looked like it had been copied from a picture postcard illustration of a Mediterranean village. But Burning Cove was very real, Adelaide thought. She was starting to hope that it was a place she could call home.
“Just promise me you won’t leave Zolanda’s performance convinced that she really does have paranormal powers,” Raina said.
“Not likely.” Adelaide turned around. “Don’t worry about me, Raina.”
“Why do I have the feeling that there is something you haven’t told me about your plans for tomorrow evening?”
Adelaide smiled. “Maybe you’re the
one who is psychic. Probably a useful quality in a private investigator. As a matter of fact, there is something I haven’t told you. I have a date for Zolanda’s show.”
Raina’s elegantly arched brows rose. “Well, well, well. That certainly makes things more interesting. Congratulations. Who’s the lucky guy?”
“His name is Jake Truett. He’s my neighbor out on Crescent Beach. He’s here in Burning Cove because his doctor told him he needs an extended stay by the seaside.”
“He’s got health problems?”
“Evidently his nerves have been badly stressed because he has been working too hard.”
“Hmm. Did he ask you to prescribe some herbal blends that will help his nerves?”
“No.” Adelaide winced. “I made the mistake of offering him some advice, though. He was clearly annoyed. He made fun of me for being so serious.”
“Let me get this straight—you are going to the theater tomorrow night with a gentleman who was rude to you when you offered to help him?”
“To be fair, I think I offended him.”
“By offering advice?” Raina’s voice rose in disbelief.
“I doubt if any man wants to admit that he has been diagnosed with exhausted nerves. It was obvious he regretted telling me his reason for being in Burning Cove.”
“How did you respond when he was rude to you?”
Adelaide considered the question briefly. “I was rather rude myself. I assured Mr. Truett that it would be a cold day in hell before he got any more advice from me.”
Raina smiled. “You mean you gave him the edge of your temper?”
“Yep.”
“Good for you. And then you agreed to let him accompany you to the theater.”
“Yep.”
“Hmm.”
“What?”
Raina smiled a little. “You enjoyed it, didn’t you?”
“Enjoyed what?”
“Losing your temper with the gentleman in question.”
“It was,” Adelaide said, “refreshing. Especially when he tried to apologize and then practically begged me to let him escort me to the theater.”
It made me feel normal, she added to herself. As if I didn’t have to hide my real self.
Raina looked thoughtful. “You say his name is Jake Truett?”
“Yes. He used to own an import-export business in Los Angeles.”
“Hmm,” Raina said again.
“I sense suspicion.”
“Well, I am in the private investigation business,” Raina reminded her. “I’m supposed to be suspicious.”
Adelaide sank down on one of the two client chairs in front of the desk. “What is your problem with Mr. Truett? You’ve never even met him.”
“That’s one of the problems. The other is that the import-export business has been known to cover a multitude of illegal activities.”
“Such as?”
“Smuggling comes to mind, as well as the underground trade in forgeries, stolen art, and illegal drugs. The list of illicit activities that can be concealed in the import-export business is endless.”
Adelaide was amused. “You really are the suspicious type.”
“I’ll tell you what.” Raina sat forward and replaced the pencil in the handsome amber plastic tray. “I’ve got some connections in L.A. I’ll make a few phone calls and check out your Mr. Truett. I’ll telephone you as soon as I’ve confirmed that he’s a legitimate businessman.”
“I appreciate your concern,” Adelaide said. She spread her hands. “But what else could he be?”
“You’d be surprised,” Raina said.
“Sometimes you scare me, Raina.”
“Sometimes I scare myself.”
* * *
• • •
Raina telephoned at five o’clock the following evening. Adelaide was still trying to decide what to wear.
“I don’t have a lot of new information on Truett,” Raina said. “He appears to be exactly who he says he is, a widower who inherited his family’s import-export business. He sold the business shortly after his wife died.”
“How did she die?”
“Elizabeth Benton Truett took her own life.”
Adelaide tightened her grip on the phone. “How awful for Jake.”
“I’m sure it was,” Raina said. “Mrs. Truett hanged herself in the basement. Truett found the body.”
“That must have been a terrible shock. No wonder his doctor advised him to rest his nerves.”
“According to my sources, in the wake of Mrs. Truett’s death there were rumors that she may have been involved in an affair. It was all hushed up by her family, of course. The Bentons are a very wealthy, very proud New York clan. I’m told their summer cottage in Bar Harbor is almost as large as the Burning Cove Hotel, and the one in the Hamptons is even larger. They move in exclusive circles and have for several generations.”
“I wonder how Elizabeth wound up on the West Coast.”
“Good question,” Raina said. “Maybe she wanted to be a movie star.”
“Her family background certainly explains why the Bentons wanted to keep the cause of death quiet,” Adelaide said.
Families, especially those that moved in elevated social circles, went to great lengths to keep suicides out of the press. Their concerns were well-founded. The resulting publicity inevitably led to rumors of scandal or, even more dire, speculation that the bloodline was tainted by mental illness.
“That’s all I’ve got for now,” Raina said. “Truett is who he claims to be. I’ll let you know if anything else turns up.”
“Thanks,” Adelaide said.
She hung up the phone and stood quietly for a moment, sorting through the information that Raina had provided. She had sensed from the start that Jake Truett was a man who possessed some closely held secrets. But she had a few secrets of her own. So what if she hadn’t known that his dead wife might have been unhappy in her marriage and taken her own life? Jake didn’t know that he was dating an escapee from an asylum.
Of the two of them it seemed obvious that she was keeping the darkest secrets. She went back upstairs and got dressed.
Chapter 9
Midway through Madam Zolanda’s performance, Jake realized he was enjoying the evening. The pleasure had nothing to do with the psychic’s routine and everything to do with the woman sitting beside him.
When he was near Adelaide Brockton, he felt off-balance: intrigued, curious, and very, very aware of her in a way that should probably concern him.
She was attractive but in an unconventional manner, with a striking profile; impossibly big, very serious sea green eyes; and shoulder-length hair the color of darkest amber. He had known women far more beautiful. Hell, he had been married to one for a few months.
For some reason, however, he found himself fascinated by Adelaide in ways that were altogether new and different. She was far more interesting and intriguing than any other woman he had ever known. At seven o’clock that evening when she had opened the front door of her cottage, he concluded that he was in trouble.
Until that moment he had only seen her in a crisply starched blue and white waitress uniform and an apron, her hair tightly rolled and pinned under a perky little cap. But her smile never failed to dazzle him. Temporarily, at least, her smile had the power to distract him from his grim thoughts and the dark reasons for his presence in Burning Cove.
She had dressed for the date in a green and yellow frock with flutter sleeves. Strappy sandals with chunky wooden heels accented her gracefully arched feet. Her hair was parted in the middle and tucked back behind her ears to fall in luxurious waves to her shoulders. The harried tearoom waitress had vanished.
The transformation enchanted him but it had also served to deepen the aura of mystery that swirled in the shadows around Adelaide Brockton.
>
Onstage Madam Zolanda was ensconced in an ornate throne-like chair. She was draped in a gown composed of several layers of red and gold scarves. There was a matching red velvet and gold turban on her head. Gold glittered at her ears and on her wrists. It was clear that the psychic business paid well, at least when you numbered a lot of celebrities and socialites on your client list.
She put her gloved fingers to her temples and closed her eyes in a dramatic gesture. When she spoke, it was in eerie, otherworldly tones that carried easily across the packed theater.
“I perceive that you chose the queen of hearts. Is that correct, sir?”
The volunteer from the audience, a young man in a slick suit, was standing several feet away on the stage. He looked at the oversized playing card that he had just selected from the pack that Zolanda’s assistant had offered. He appeared incredulous.
“Gosh, it’s the queen of hearts, all right,” he said. “That’s amazing, Madam Zolanda.”
He handed the card to Zolanda’s assistant, who held up the card so that the audience could see it.
Jake had done enough research on Thelma Leggett to know that she had once worked as a secretary at a studio. She was now Zolanda’s assistant, driver, and publicist. Leggett was not in her chauffeur’s costume tonight. Instead she wore an elegantly tailored tuxedo.
Another round of applause broke out.
“She does give a good performance,” Adelaide whispered. “The audience is captivated.”
Jake waved that aside. “So far she’s just done the usual mind reading tricks.”
“Yes, but it’s not the actual illusions that matter in this sort of performance,” Adelaide said. “The acting talent is the important thing. Zolanda is a certainly a fraud but you have to hand it to her—she’s a very good actress.”