The Other Lady Vanishes by Amanda Quick
“Good-bye, Mr. Hawkins,” she said gently.
“You’re lucky to be dead. You’re better off now because you can leave this place.”
“Yes, I know.”
She slipped into the storage closet, closed the door, and turned on the overhead fixture. The door to the service stairs was at the back. It was locked. To her overwhelming relief, one of the keys she had been given worked.
By the time she made it downstairs to the darkened kitchen on the ground floor, she could hear sirens in the distance. Someone had telephoned the local authorities. The sanitarium was located a couple of miles outside the small town of Rushbrook. It would take the police and the ambulance several minutes to arrive on the scene.
There was no one around to see her when she slipped out of the kitchen. She inserted another key into the lock on the massive wrought iron gate that the delivery vehicles used.
And then she was free, hurrying down a rutted lane with only the light of the moon to guide her.
She was not at all sorry that Ormsby was dead, but his death could complicate her already desperate situation. It would be so easy for the authorities to conclude that the patient who had escaped the secure grounds of the Rushbrook Sanitarium on the night of the doctor’s mysterious demise was, in fact, a crazed killer.
She had to get as far away as possible from the asylum before the orderlies realized she was gone.
It occurred to her that one person already knew she had disappeared—the doctor in the surgical mask who had gone to her room with the syringe.
She wanted to run but she did not dare. If, in the darkness, she stumbled over a rock or a fallen tree limb, she could twist an ankle or worse.
The emergency vehicles passed her a short time later. They never noticed her hiding behind the heavy shrubbery at the side of the lane.
* * *
• • •
Dawn found her standing on the side of a highway, hoping that a passing motorist would take pity on a nurse whose car had run out of gas in the middle of nowhere.
She raised her hand to wave down a truck. The gold wedding ring on her finger gleamed malevolently in the morning light.
Chapter 2
Burning Cove, California
Two months later
“Your new neighbor is back,” Florence Darley said in a low voice. She plucked the kettle off the stove and poured hot water over the leaves in the teapot. “That makes eight days in a row except for Sunday.”
Adelaide did not look up from the small scale she was using to measure a quarter pound of Tranquility tea. “We’re closed on Sundays.”
“Which only goes to prove my point. Mr. Truett has become a regular. I see he’s reading the morning edition of the Herald, as usual. Five will get you ten he’ll order the same thing—a pot of that very expensive blend of green tea you convinced me to order from the San Francisco dealer, no sugar, no tea cakes, no scones, no cookies.”
“Mr. Truett does seem to be a man who likes to keep to a routine,” Adelaide said.
She did not add that Truett’s apparent preference for keeping to a schedule made it easy to time his morning walks on the beach. He never failed to show up at seven thirty. He always walked for precisely thirty minutes. It was June and there was often fog in the morning at this time of year, but that did not stop him.
She was the one who was annoyed by the fog, she thought. It meant that she could only catch fleeting glimpses of him taking his daily walk. And she had to admit she had come to look forward to watching Jake Truett in the mornings. He might be a man of strict habits, but he did not move like a man who was a stickler for rules and regulations. He did not march across the sand like a martinet. Instead he prowled the beach with the easy physical power of a large hunting cat.
Florence chuckled knowingly. “I don’t think he’s here every day because of your fancy tea. And he doesn’t come in because we’re fashionable these days. He’s not the type to care one bit if the customer at the next table is a celebrity or a garbage collector. Got a hunch you’re the reason our Mr. Truett has developed the habit of stopping by.”
Adelaide flushed. She was very fond of her new boss, not to mention extremely grateful for the job, but Florence’s newfound determination to play matchmaker made her uneasy.
After two months in Burning Cove, she was just starting to breathe more easily. No manhunt had been launched to recapture an escaped mental patient. In fact, there had been no mention in the press of her late-night departure from the Rushbrook Sanitarium.
As far as she could tell, no one was looking for her. Nevertheless, she was not yet ready to take the risk of dating. At least, that’s what she told herself every day when Jake Truett walked into the tearoom carrying a leather briefcase, sat down at the same table, and asked for green tea, no sugar, no tea cakes, no scones, no cookies.
Florence had other ideas. She was a plump, comfortably proportioned woman in her late sixties. She had opened the tearoom nearly a decade earlier in the wake of the crash and somehow managed to keep it going during the worst of the hard times.
The tearoom had survived because the exclusive town of Burning Cove was a retreat for the rich and the famous, two groups that were largely insulated from the financial disaster that had shaken the rest of the country. But even in such a wealthy community it took fortitude and sound business instincts to stay profitable. Florence possessed plenty of both qualities. Adelaide was learning a lot from her.
In addition to hiring a waitress with no restaurant experience and no references, Florence had helped her find an inexpensive place to live, a cottage on the bluffs above Crescent Beach. When Adelaide had explained that she could not come up with the first month’s rent, Florence had waved off the problem. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it and you can repay me later. Something tells me you’ll earn your keep.
Adelaide was pleased that she had, indeed, begun to earn her keep. She badly wanted to repay the debt. When she suggested that Refresh start creating and marketing specialized teas and herbal tisanes, Florence was dubious but she agreed to let the experiment take place. Within a month, the Refresh Tearoom, which had enjoyed a quiet but steady business for years, moved up to an entirely new level of prosperity.
Recently, a few of the celebrities, socialites, and tycoons who used Burning Cove as a vacation playground had begun requesting exclusive blends designed for specific personal needs. In the past few weeks Adelaide had concocted teas and herbal tisanes to treat a variety of complaints—insomnia, anxiety, and lack of energy. One of her most popular teas was the one she had created to alleviate the symptoms of a hangover—a common problem for the Hollywood set who tended to party until dawn.
Business had picked up so much that Florence was thinking of hiring another waitress so Adelaide could concentrate on creating and packaging the special blends.
All of which made it more difficult to come up with excuses for a failure to show an appropriate interest in an apparently eligible male. Jake Truett did not wear a wedding ring, but Adelaide reminded herself that that didn’t mean much. She didn’t wear a wedding ring, either.
She filled the small sack with the quarter pound of Tranquility tea blend that she had just measured. “I really don’t think Mr. Truett is interested in me, Flo. We’re two very different people. He’s a wealthy businessman who has traveled the world. I’m a tearoom waitress. I’ve never been out of California. It’s not as if we have a great deal in common.”
“I think Mr. Truett is just shy,” Florence said. “He’s trying to work up his nerve to ask you out. You should give him some encouragement.”
“Trust me, the man is not the shy type. I’m very sure that if he wanted something, he would go after it.”
“I told you, I heard that he was widowed a few months ago. That means he’s out of practice when it comes to dating.”
“He’s probably s
“Maybe he just needs a reason to smile.” Florence winked, picked up the pot of tea she had just prepared, and bustled out of the kitchen.
There was no point arguing with her. Adelaide suppressed a sigh, dusted tea off her hands, folded the top of the sack, and went out of the kitchen. The customer, a harried-looking young woman dressed in a business suit, was waiting anxiously at the counter.
“Here you are, Miss Moss,” Adelaide said. “Miss Westlake’s special blend, Tranquility.”
Vera Westlake was the latest Hollywood celebrity to discover Refresh. Florence, who followed the celebrity gossip magazines with great enthusiasm, had been thrilled when the star the press had labeled the most beautiful woman in Hollywood became a customer.
“Thank you.” Miss Moss opened her handbag and took out her wallet. “Miss Westlake will be very happy to get this. She ran out this morning while she was studying her new script. She insisted that her driver bring me into town immediately to get some more. She says that drinking the special blend you made up for her helps her maintain her focus.”
“Always happy to be of service,” Adelaide said.
Miss Moss paid for the tea and scurried out of the lightly crowded tearoom. A limousine was waiting for her. She climbed into the rear seat. The driver motored off down the tree-lined street.
Adelaide picked up a pad and pencil. It was time to take Jake Truett’s order. Green tea. No sugar. No tea cakes. No scones. No cookies.
Truett had become a regular shortly after arriving in town eight days earlier. Florence had immediately made a few inquiries. She had returned with the news that Truett was a businessman who, until recently, had owned an import-export business headquartered in Los Angeles. After the death of his wife, he had sold his business and retired.
According to Florence, there were rumors that Truett had some health problems—something to do with exhausted nerves. Evidently his doctor had ordered him to spend a couple of months at the seaside in the hope that the ocean air and long walks on the beach would help him recover.
His nerves aside, Truett certainly appeared physically fit. Unlike so many of the celebrities and socialites who vacationed in Burning Cove, he lacked the snaky-thin body that was the Hollywood ideal, a look that was generally achieved through chain-smoking and the frequent consumption of cocktails. Truett was lean but he was sleekly muscled.
She found the rest of him equally intriguing. He was tall but not exceptionally so. He didn’t tower over her the way Conrad had done. His dark hair was cut short and parted on the side. He was not unhandsome, but his ascetic features were too austere to be labeled handsome. His eyes were an arresting shade of amber brown—cool, watchful, and intelligent, but very hard to read. She sensed that he was always aware of what was going on around him, but she could not tell what he was thinking. He was the watcher in the shadows, not an actor on the stage.
There was something implacable and forbidding about him. She had the feeling that he would be slow to anger, but if you pushed him over the edge, he would make a formidable enemy. His revenge would be cold and thorough.
There was nothing about him that suggested he suffered from exhausted nerves.
She reminded herself that those who suffered from afflictions of the nerves often appeared quite normal. She was a case in point. She had been successfully passing for normal in Burning Cove for two months. No one had guessed that she had spent nearly two months locked up in the Rushbrook Sanitarium.
Order pad and pencil in hand, she whisked around the end of the counter and crossed the tearoom to the table where Jake Truett sat reading the Burning Cove Herald. His leather briefcase was on the floor beside his chair. She knew from eight days of personal observation that there was a yellow legal pad and four perfectly sharpened pencils inside. She also knew that after he finished reading the Herald from first page to last, he would open the briefcase, take out the yellow pad, and make notes.
He wore his customary uniform, a crisply pressed white shirt, an elegantly knotted tie, a cream-colored jacket, and dark brown trousers.
She knew that he was aware that she was approaching his table, but he waited until she came to a halt, pencil hovering over the order pad, before he looked up from the newspaper. She braced herself as she always did for the little electric thrill that crackled through her whenever she was this close to him.
He nodded once, gravely polite. “Good morning, Miss Brockton.”
“Good morning, Mr. Truett.” She gave him her bright, customer-friendly smile. “Will you be having the usual today?”
“Yes, please. The green tea. No sugar. No tea cakes. No scones. No cookies.”
His voice, low, resonant, and so very masculine, sent another whisper of excitement through her.
“Right,” she said. “Will that be all, then?”
He glanced at the pencil and pad she was holding. “You didn’t write down my order.”
“No need.” She tapped the side of her waitress cap with the tip of the pencil. “I’ve got a pretty good memory.”
“And I am nothing if not boringly predictable.”
She was horrified. “I didn’t mean to imply that you were boring. Not at all. I’m very sorry.”
“No need to apologize. I am boringly predictable. In fact, you could say I am going out of my way to be boring and predictable. My doctor suggested I stick to a strict routine, you see. Supposedly it’s good for exhausted nerves.”
Adelaide cleared her throat. “In my experience the so-called experts don’t always know what’s best for exhausted nerves.”
“I’m inclined to agree with you. The green tea you serve here at Refresh has done me more good than any nerve tonic.”
She frowned. “You take a tonic for your nerves?”
“Well, no. The doctor prescribed one but I’m not taking it. Promise you won’t tell him?”
For a moment she wondered if he was trying to make a small joke. But she could not be certain so she played it safe.
“Of course I won’t tell him,” she said.
“Thank you. It occurs to me that I should mention your special teas and herbal blends to my doctor. He might be interested in offering them to his other patients.”
“No.” Panic flashed through her. The very last thing she wanted was to draw the attention of a doctor who was in the business of treating disorders of the nervous system. She recovered her poise with an effort of will. “I mean, I don’t think that it would be a good idea to tell your doctor about the blends we serve here at Refresh. They aren’t anything special, just traditional herbs and a variety of imported teas. No modern-thinking doctor would approve of using them to treat problems associated with the nerves.”
“I see.” Mr. Truett assumed a politely interested air. “You obviously know a lot about the subject. Do you mind if I ask where you received your training in herbs and teas?”
She hesitated. There was only one person in town who knew something about her past. Raina Kirk was another newcomer to Burning Cove, and it was clear that she was also concealing a lot about her own personal history. In addition to the knowledge that they were both trying to reinvent themselves in Burning Cove, the understanding that they each had things to hide had produced an unusual bond between them.
But not even Raina knew about the Rushbrook Sanitarium and the wedding ring that was now concealed in the floor safe under Adelaide’s bed.
“You could say I grew up in the business,” she said. “My mother was a botanist.”
“And your father?”
“A chemist.” This was getting dangerous. It was past time to change the subject. “Thanks for your order, Mr. Truett. I’ll be right back.”
“Good. I need the tea to take the edge off the three cups of coffee I had for breakfast.”
Shocked, s
“I like coffee in the mornings.”
“Mr. Truett, I realize this is none of my business, but if you’re having trouble with your nerves, the last thing you should drink is a lot of coffee.”
“Call me Jake. I’m supposed to be relaxing by the seaside, remember? When you call me Mr. Truett, you make me think of business. The doctor instructed me not to concern myself with business matters.”
She cleared her throat. “I was under the impression that you had sold your business in L.A.”
Something that might have been amusement briefly came and went in Jake’s eyes. “I’ve always heard that rumors get around quickly in small towns like Burning Cove.”
She flushed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”
“Don’t worry about it. The rumors are true. Like you, I grew up in a family business. In my case it was an import-export firm. Three generations of Truetts operated the company. I inherited the firm after my father died. I was nineteen. It’s the only business I’ve ever known.”
“And now you’re out of that business?”
“Apparently.”
“Because it wasn’t good for your nerves.”
“Right.”
“What will you do now?” she blurted out before she could stop herself.
“I have no idea. That’s one of the things I’m not supposed to think about.”
“Until your nerves recover?”
“I suppose so. Meanwhile I won’t starve. The import-export business was good to me. Now that you know my life story, I hope you will do me the favor of calling me by my first name. Jake.”
She was very sure she did not know his life story. But he did not know hers, either. Fair enough. She considered briefly and came to a decision.
“All right,” she said. “Jake.”
“That sounds much better. Friendlier. We’re neighbors, after all.”