The Other Lady Vanishes by Amanda Quick
Clutching the envelope in one hand and the pistol in the other, she left the ticket booth and started back through the amusement park. The fog was rolling in fast but there was still enough moonlight to allow her to find her way.
It had all been so easy.
She heard a sound behind her. Panic jolted her nerves, even as she told herself there was nothing to worry about. She had probably surprised a transient who had decided to bed down in the shelter of the old carousel.
A cat meowed in the shadows. A few seconds later the creature darted past her, gliding briefly through the moonlight before disappearing again.
She started breathing again but she could not squelch the panic entirely. She went quickly toward the exit, clutching the gun. She did not stop until she reached her car. She used the flashlight then, aiming it through the back seat window to make sure no one was concealed on the floorboard.
She got into the Ford and slipped her gun back into her handbag. She was shaking so badly it took two tries to turn the key in the ignition, and she had to concentrate hard just to get the car in gear. The fog was rolling in heavily now. She drove slowly through the dark streets and out onto the road that would take her back to the cabin.
A short time later she walked through the front door, flashlight in hand. Dropping the handbag and the envelope onto the cot, she crossed to the small kitchenette and lit the lantern on the counter. The glary light flared, illuminating the small space. The bottle of whiskey was sitting next to the cracked, chipped sink.
She poured herself a large glass and gulped down a fortifying swallow. She’d taken a risk tonight but it had paid off. The score was a big one. She was in business. She had enough secrets to last for years. She did not need Zolanda.
In spite of the whiskey, a chill whispered through her. For some reason the cabin no longer felt like a safe place to hide. She would head for San Francisco in the morning. It would be easier to disappear in a city.
Satisfied with that decision, she drank some more whiskey and contemplated the thick envelope on the cot. A rising sense of hot exultation burned away the uneasy sensation that she had experienced a moment ago.
She lit a cigarette, stuck it in the corner of her mouth, and crossed the small space to the cot. Seizing the envelope, she tore it open and upended it, dumping the neatly bound packets onto the stained quilt.
So much money. Maybe she should have asked for more. But tonight had been only the first of what would become a steady stream of payoffs.
She picked up one of the packets and startled to riffle through it.
Seconds later, she paused, horrified. The bill on top was real but the rest of the packet was nothing but a stack of neatly cut newspapers. She tossed it down onto the cot, rage splashing through her. Quickly she checked the other packets. They were all the same—only the bills on the top were genuine.
The target had dared to cheat her. Why do such a thing?
The answer came in a dizzying rush. She had been set up.
She had to get away. Now. Tonight.
Hauling the grip out from under the bed, she threw her things into it and slammed the lid closed. She hoisted it and set it on the floor near the door. She would take the hatbox out to the car first. It was very heavy. She could not manage it and the suitcase at the same time.
She yanked open the front door and confronted a seemingly impenetrable wall of fog. The lantern light spilled through the doorway behind her. It would be a tough drive but she had to get away.
She carried the hatbox down the front steps, set it inside the trunk, and rushed back into the cabin to pick up the grip. Once again she started down the steps to the Ford.
She froze halfway to the car because things were moving in the mist. Horrifying, snake-headed creatures twisted and writhed endlessly, their iridescent scales glowing with bizarre colors. Fangs dripped with blood.
Somewhere in the back of her mind she realized that she was hallucinating. The whiskey, she thought vaguely. But she wasn’t drunk. She had taken only a couple of swallows.
She gave up trying to make sense of what she was seeing because the colors of the snakes were too hot and painfully bright. One of the monsters swam toward her through the mist. Its eyes blazed with a terrible radiance.
A flashlight, some remote part of her brain tried to tell her. Just a flashlight. But she could not hold on to the rational explanation.
She started to turn around, intending to flee into the safety of the cabin. But it was too late.
The killer came up behind her and plunged the needle into the curve of her shoulder, close to her neck. She staggered over the threshold and made it as far as the bed before she collapsed. Her last conscious thought was that the target had double-crossed her.
* * *
• • •
The killer took out a gun. The occasion called for another suicide but it was time to change the method. The nearest house was half a mile away. The roar of the ocean would muffle the shot.
The next order of business was locating the stash of blackmail materials. The hatbox containing the secrets that Madam Zolanda and her assistant had collected during the past three years was in the trunk of Leggett’s car.
Chapter 31
Jake opened his eyes and was vaguely annoyed to see the dull gloom of a foggy morning. Something important had happened during the night, he thought. But for a moment he could not remember what it was. Fragments of dreams whispered through his mind.
He recalled standing on a moonlit beach with Adelaide and seeking answers at the end of a highway paved in silver moonlight. A monster had lurked in the shadows. It had threatened Adelaide.
He was trying to focus on the memory when Adelaide herself appeared, hovering over him. She was no longer wearing the satin gown and silver shoes. Instead she had on a pair of wide-legged trousers and a snug-fitting sweater. Her hair was pinned in a severe knot at the nape of her neck. She had a mug in one hand.
“I gave you the antidote as soon as we got back here last night,” she said. “I managed to get you up the stairs to your bed before you collapsed. Otherwise you’d have awakened on the floor downstairs. I made some strong coffee for you. Trust me, it will help.”
“If you say so.”
He sat up slowly and swung his legs over the edge, planting both feet on the floor. He was still wearing the trousers and the white shirt that he had worn to the Paradise Club. Somewhere along the line he had lost his jacket, his tie, and his shoes.
He wrapped one hand around the mug and took a cautious swallow. It tasted very good. He took another swallow.
“What did you say about an antidote?” he finally asked.
“I think that you were drugged with a dangerous hallucinogen called Daydream. My parents discovered it. As soon as they realized its dangerous properties, my mother created an herbal antidote. I did the research in the botanical literature for her so I know the ingredients.”
“This is going to be a very complicated story, isn’t it?”
“I’m afraid so,” Adelaide said. “How do you feel?”
He considered the question closely. More memories trickled back.
“I’m not sure,” he said. “All right, I think. Did I have too much to drink last night?”
“No. You didn’t have anything to drink except sparkling water. You were drugged and it’s my fault.”
He eyed her closely. “You didn’t drug me, did you?”
“No, of course not. Look, I hate to say this, believe me, but I think you should leave as soon as possible.”
He contemplated her for a long moment. She looked anxious, stricken with guilt, and quite desperate.
“Let me get this straight,” he said. “You’re kicking me out?”
“I think it’s for the best.”
“For me or for you?”
“For you. It’s c
“Believe it or not, I figured out at the start of this thing that you were running from something or someone. It’s too late to ditch me. We’re in this together.”
“You don’t understand.”
“No, but I will just as soon as you explain it to me. What time is it?”
“What? Oh.” She glanced at her watch. “It’s just going on six thirty. Why?”
“That means we’ve got plenty of time before you have to go to work at the tearoom.”
“Time for you to pack?”
She sounded almost hopeful, he thought.
“No,” he said. “Time for you to tell me what’s going on.”
Adelaide hesitated. “All right. After what happened, you have a right to some answers. I was going to tell you some of it last night but then you started hallucinating—”
He held up a hand to stop her. “Not so fast. I am going to clean up, shave, and put on some fresh clothes. Then we’ll talk.”
She hesitated. “All right. I’ll make breakfast while you’re getting ready.”
“That sounds like a very good plan.”
She took a deep breath and visibly steeled herself. “I think you should know that I didn’t tell you the whole truth last night when I said I didn’t recognize the dark-haired man who walked past us in the gardens.”
“I figured there was more to the story. Who was he?”
“I can’t be absolutely positive because I didn’t get a good look at him, but I think it may have been my husband,” Adelaide said.
She turned and walked out of the bedroom before he could think of a reasonable response.
He sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, contemplating what she had just told him.
There was a husband. Damn.
He collected his shaving kit and went into the bathroom. He set the kit on the pink tiled counter and put the coffee mug next to it. Then he looked at his reflection in the mirror. He was not an inspiring sight, he decided. His face was shadowed with dark stubble, his hair was standing on end, and his eyes were those of a man who had spent an exhausting night fighting demons.
He drained the last of the coffee and set the empty mug back on the counter.
“I knew it was going to get more complicated,” he said to the man in the mirror.
Chapter 32
He went downstairs a short time later, feeling remarkably improved. It was amazing what a quick bath, a brisk shave, and a cup of strong coffee could do for a man.
Adelaide was at the stove frying eggs and slathering butter on thick chunks of toast. When she saw him, she handed him another mug of coffee without saying a word.
He sat down at the scarred table and hoisted the mug.
“I’m listening,” he said.
She concentrated on the eggs in the skillet.
“You’re probably going to think I’m delusional,” she warned.
“Is that why you haven’t told me the whole truth until now?”
“Yes.” She used a spatula to lift one of the eggs out of the pan and slipped it onto a plate. “I didn’t want to have to tell you the truth because I liked the way you looked at me—at least, the way you looked at me until last night.”
“How, exactly, did I look at you?”
“As if I was normal. That’s the way everyone else here in Burning Cove looks at me, too. It makes me feel good.”
“Are you saying you’re not normal?”
“I think I’m fairly normal. But it’s going to be hard to convince you of that after I tell you my story.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“All right.”
She dished up the second fried egg, added the toast, and set the plate in front of him. She poured a large glass of freshly squeezed orange juice for him, got a mug of tea for herself, and sat down on the opposite side of the table.
“I told you that my mother was a botanist,” she said. “And that my father was a chemist. They were both dedicated scientists who spent their lives searching for new drugs that could be used on patients who suffered from very severe forms of depression and other mental illnesses. My father came from a wealthy family. He built his own private lab. A year ago they discovered a drug they thought had the potential to revolutionize the treatment of the mentally ill. It has a long chemical name but they called it Daydream.”
He nodded and forked up a bite of eggs. “Go on.”
“Shortly after they made their discovery, my parents were both killed in an explosion in their lab. I was devastated. I didn’t have any brothers or sisters and no close family. I found myself alone in the world.”
He tore off a chunk of toast. “Alone in the world with a lot of money.”
She paused in the act of taking a sip of tea. “Yes. My father left me a sizable fortune.”
“Uh-huh.”
“You sound as if you know where this story is going,” she said.
“It’s obvious it doesn’t have a good ending. You’re no longer rich and it’s starting to look as if someone from your past is hunting you. Presumably that individual does not have good intentions.”
“You’re right, except that I think several people are looking for me. As I was saying, I was still reeling from the loss of my family when Conrad Massey came into my life. He was witty, charming, very handsome, and very understanding. I was sure he wasn’t a fortune hunter because he is descended from an old San Francisco family. He inherited the family business.”
Jake paused in the acting of forking up a bite of fried egg. “Are you talking about Conrad Massey of Massey Shipping?”
“You’ve heard of it?”
“Sure. I used to be in the import-export business, remember? I’m aware of all the major shipping companies on the West Coast. Never had any dealings with Conrad Massey himself, though. I don’t know the man. I seem to recall hearing rumors that his company was facing some serious financial problems.”
“All I can say is that, in hindsight, I should have known Conrad was too good to be true.”
“Mr. Perfect swept you off your feet?”
“Yes. For a time.” Adelaide glanced down at her left hand as if there had once been a ring on one finger. “He asked me to marry him. But that’s where things get murky.”
“How murky?”
“Conrad wanted to elope. He claimed he was so passionately in love with me that he could not go through a long, formal engagement. Because I was still grieving the loss of my parents, the last thing I wanted was a big society wedding. I admit that, at first, I was dazzled by Conrad. But I started to get the feeling that I was being rushed. It was as if I could hear my parents’ voices in my head, telling me to slow down and be very sure of what I was doing. So I told Conrad that I wanted time to think about it. He agreed but he insisted on giving me a ring.”
“An engagement ring?”
“He said no, that it was just a token of his affection, something to make me think of him whenever I looked at it. I wore it for a while but the more I thought about a future with Conrad, the more uneasy I got. I just couldn’t see myself married to him. I had inherited money, but my parents had never moved in the social world. I didn’t feel comfortable at the nightclubs and restaurants that Conrad enjoyed. I think he must have realized that I was about to end things, because he invited me to a private dinner in his town house one evening. That night I told him that I couldn’t marry him and I gave him back his ring.”
“How did he react?”
“He said he was disappointed but that he would wait for me to change my mind.”
“What happened next?”
“I drank some of the champagne that he had poured for me, and about twenty minutes later I went crazy. I started hallucinating wildly. I was consumed by panic and paranoia. I was convinced that I was falling through
Jake put his fork down with great precision. He had to work hard to control the searing fury that burned deep inside him.
“Sounds a lot like what happened to me last night,” he said.
“Yes. Fortunately you didn’t drink all of that water. You got a fairly light dose. I’m sure that the drug they used on you was the same one they used on me while I was locked up at Rushbrook, the one my parents discovered.”
“Daydream.”
“Yes. When I slowly came back to my senses, I tried to explain to everyone at Rushbrook, including Dr. Gill and the director of his private lab, Dr. Ormsby, that I was all right. I told them I was convinced that Conrad had drugged me and that someone had helped him.”
“The man in the surgical mask.”
“Yes.”
“How did Gill and Ormsby react?”
“They gave me another dose of Daydream,” Adelaide said.
Jake realized he was gripping something in his right hand. He looked down and saw that he had picked up the knife. Very deliberately he put it down on the table.
“Some monsters are real,” he said quietly.
“I finally realized that Gill and Ormsby had been conspiring with Conrad from the start. In fact, I’m quite sure that it was Gill’s idea to use me.”
“Use you?”
“They needed another test subject, you see. I was Patient B. Evidently, Patient A died. The people housed on ward five told me that one day Gill and Ormsby would kill me with the drug and I would become a ghost, just like the other patient who had been locked in my room.”
“Gill and Ormsby conducted experiments on you?”
“They had other patients they could have used, of course, but those people were all locked up at Rushbrook in the first place because they had been diagnosed as suffering from some type of severe mental illness. Gill and Ormsby wanted a research subject who was . . . normal.”