The Other Lady Vanishes by Amanda Quick
“The people involved in the theft are not expert thieves,” she said. “That, by the way, is probably why your security people didn’t identify them. They were looking for professionals.”
“Then we aren’t talking about an organized ring.”
“No, Mr. Pell, we are dealing with a couple of young people.”
“Kids?”
“Not exactly. They are working for you, after all. But they are young and in love and planning to marry.”
Luther’s expression was no longer neutral. He looked deeply pained.
“Spare me any excuses that involve romance,” he said. “If you think that I’m going to overlook the thefts because you imagine that the two crooks are modern-day versions of Romeo and Juliet—”
“They aren’t stealing the liquor to pay for a honeymoon,” Raina said. “One of the thieves has a mother who is quite ill. Her doctor has told her that her only hope is an operation. Unfortunately the family can’t afford to pay for it.”
“Before we go any deeper into this subject, are you telling me that you actually believe the tale of the poor, sick mother?”
“Yes. I verified the facts of the situation. Before I give you the names of the two young people, I want your word that you won’t do anything to them.”
“Do anything?”
“I realize you’ll probably feel you must fire them. That will be devastating to both, I promise you. Losing their jobs will be ample punishment, especially because in a small town like Burning Cove it will be very hard for them to find new jobs. Once the word gets out that you let them go, other employers won’t want to hire them.”
“Maybe they should have considered the consequences before they started stealing from me,” Luther said.
“I told you, they are very young.”
“And in love. And trying to pay for an operation. Stop right there. If you give me any more details, you’ll have to provide me with a hankie.”
She relaxed a little. “There’s an extra charge for hankies.”
Luther’s mouth kicked up a little at the corner. “All right, let me get this straight. You’ll give me the names of the thieves if I promise to do nothing more than fire them.”
Raina cleared her throat. “I don’t want you to make an example out of these kids by doing something . . . harsh.”
Luther tapped one long finger on the arm of his chair and watched her with unreadable eyes.
“Do you really think I’d have a couple of kids beaten up, or worse, just because they stole some liquor from me?”
Raina exhaled deeply. “No. But I had to be sure. You have a certain reputation, Luther. I’m told you have connections to some very dangerous people. That makes you dangerous, too.”
He gave her a considering look. “You know a little something about dangerous people, don’t you, Raina?”
She froze, fighting to keep her face expressionless.
“One meets a few in my line,” she said carefully. “A hazard of the investigative profession, I’m afraid. Take yourself, for example.”
“Or, perhaps, your previous employer? I believe you were a secretary for the firm of Enright and Enright in New York.”
She forced herself to breathe. “How did you figure it out?”
Luther raised one shoulder in a casual shrug. “A lot of little things. Your East Coast accent, your rather vague employment history, your connections with other private investigation agencies. And then, of course, there was the matter of your timing.”
She tightened her folded hands. “What about my timing?”
“You showed up here in Burning Cove a couple of weeks after the death of your former employer.”
“Why did that make you suspicious?”
“As I said, it was just a lot of small things that started to add up. What clinched it, though, was the day that we met in the Burning Cove Library. You were reading some month-old newspapers. The headlines involved certain incidents that took place here in town, including a fatal car crash.”
She exhaled softly and nodded, resigned. “I was afraid that you had noticed the articles I was reading. Are the circumstances of my arrival here in Burning Cove a problem for you?”
Luther smiled. “Not in the least. I do find them intriguing, however.”
He was telling the truth, she decided. She got to her feet and walked across the room to the window. The morning fog had burned off. The warm, golden sun filtered through the leafy palms, dappling the courtyard.
She had not been in town very long, she thought, but she was already in love with Burning Cove. It felt like home in a way that New York never had.
“I’m not sure why I decided to come here,” she said.
“I know why.” Luther rose and came to stand behind her. “You had to see the place for yourself. You had to read the papers. You wanted to know what happened to your employer’s son.”
“Yes. And after I got here, I decided to stay. I like it here.”
“Welcome to California. And welcome to Burning Cove.”
She had the impression that he was about to put a hand on her shoulder, perhaps turn her around to face him. They were standing very close together. Anticipation made her a little light-headed. Luther Pell was a dangerous man but he had the hands of an artist.
“Thank you,” she said.
“Stop worrying,” he continued. “I won’t fire Romeo and Juliet. And, yes, I’ll pay for the surgery.”
She turned around and smiled. “I thought you would say that once you were familiar with the nuances of the case.”
“You know, until now, I never realized that I was a man who appreciated nuances,” Luther said.
“How odd.” Raina could not stop smiling. “I knew from the moment I met you that you were exactly the kind of man who appreciated nuances.”
Chapter 51
That afternoon Adelaide sat with Raina in the offices of Kirk Investigations. They were drinking coffee that Raina had made. Jake and Luther were meeting with Detective Brandon to give him the carefully packaged news that Paxton, Gill, Zolanda, and Thelma Leggett had been dealing drugs and that it looked like Leggett had murdered her boss. Paxton had decided to get rid of the other members of the gang and had pursued Jake and Adelaide to Rushbrook hoping to stop them from collecting evidence.
The hatbox full of celebrity secrets was presently concealed in the trunk of Adelaide’s car. Neither she nor Jake had wanted to risk leaving the box unattended at the cottage, and they had decided that no one else needed to know about the contents. Hiding a large container of blackmail materials had proven to be somewhat awkward, however. The trunk of her car seemed as safe a place as anywhere else. The plan was to burn the contents of the hatbox and her patient file that evening.
“I still can’t understand why Madam Zolanda predicted a death at the end of an otherwise routine psychic act,” Adelaide said. “She had no history of adding such a dramatic touch to her show.”
Raina set her teacup down with a thoughtful air. “I realize I’m supposed to be the cynical private eye here, but what if Madam Zolanda really was psychic?”
Adelaide almost laughed. “Are you serious? Do you mean to tell me that you actually believe that she really did have some paranormal power?”
“No, but the only other viable explanation is that the prediction was somehow supposed to tie in with your disappearance or murder.”
“That’s what Jake says but I’m not sure I buy that explanation. Why would Zolanda risk calling attention to herself in that way? Yes, it would have been good publicity for her but she had to know that the police would immediately suspect her. And if that was her plan, why didn’t she at least set up a solid alibi for herself for the hours following the end of her performance? As far as we know, she was home alone.”
“Except that it looks like she had a visitor who murdered h
“Paxton was convinced Leggett murdered Zolanda. That makes sense but it still leaves me with my question—what did Zolanda think she was doing when she gave that final prediction?”
“I have no idea. Let me know if you come up with any good theories.” Raina put down her cup and opened a desk drawer to take out a notebook. “Meanwhile, I’m going to start work on my new case.”
“You said you solved Luther Pell’s missing liquor problem.”
“I did.” Raina looked pleased. “There wasn’t much to it, really. But it turns out that handling Luther’s case made for some excellent word-of-mouth advertising. I got a call from Mr. O’Conner. He’s the head of security at the Burning Cove Hotel. He asked me to make some inquiries into the background of someone the hotel is considering for employment.”
Adelaide smiled. “You did it, Raina. You got your investigation business up and running. Congratulations.”
“What about you? Now that you’ve got access to your inheritance, surely you’re going to stop working at the tearoom.”
“I dropped in at the tearoom before I came here to see you. I wanted to let Florence know that I was back in town and that all was well. I told her I could work for her as long as she needed me and that I would continue to blend teas for people.”
Raina’s eyes widened. “What will you do when you’re not blending teas and tisanes?”
“I plan to establish a private library of herbals and other books on the medicinal uses of plants. It will be open to scholars and researchers.”
“Sounds like you’ve got a lot of new dreams,” Raina said. “What about Jake?”
“As it happens, he does have a job.”
Raina laughed. “Yes, I know, Luther told me that he writes those Cooper Boone spy novels. What I meant was, will he be staying here in Burning Cove?”
A sense of happiness sparkled through Adelaide. “Yes. He plans to stay in Burning Cove.”
“With you?” Raina asked.
“With me.”
“That is very good news,” Raina said. “We must get together soon and celebrate.”
“Great idea.”
“But not tonight,” Raina said. She smiled a small, secretive smile. “I’ve got plans for tonight.”
“Jake and I have plans for this evening, too, but maybe tomorrow . . . Wait. What do you mean you’ve got plans for tonight? Something to do with your new case?”
“No. I’ve been invited to the Paradise Club for cocktails and dinner.”
Adelaide raised her brows. “With Luther?”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t know the Paradise Club served dinner.”
“It doesn’t. Dinner will be in Luther’s private quarters above the club. He is sending a car to pick me up.”
“That,” Adelaide said, “sounds very interesting.”
Raina’s smiled widened. “I certainly thought so.”
Adelaide cleared her throat. “I’m sure you know what you’re doing, but as your friend I feel obliged to point out that Pell has a reputation for being connected to some dangerous people.”
“Look who’s talking. You’re not exactly dating a Boy Scout, are you?”
Adelaide laughed. “All right, you’ve got me there. And, to be fair, Luther and Jake aren’t dating Girl Scouts, are they? Look at us. We’re not the sort of high-class ladies that nice guys take home to meet their mothers. I’m an escapee from an insane asylum and you’re a private detective who investigates people with shady pasts.”
“The way I look at it, what we lack in polish and refinement we more than make up for with a quality that, I do believe, is highly valued by men like Luther and Jake.”
“Ah, yes.” Adelaide smiled. “We are interesting women.”
“Precisely. I doubt that they will ever find us dull or boring.”
“We can say the same about them, can’t we? They may be complicated at times. And stubborn. Even difficult.”
“But if either of us ever vanished, they would both walk into hell to find us.”
“Yes,” Adelaide said. She smiled. “Yes, they would.”
Chapter 52
She drove back to the cottage, parked in the small garage, and took the hatbox out of the trunk. It occurred to her as she went up the front steps that she could afford a larger place now. But she had grown oddly attached to the little house. Because Jake moved in with me, she thought. It was his presence that made the cottage feel like home.
Taking the key out of her handbag, she let herself into the small, cozy house. She headed for the kitchen, set the hatbox on the table, and put the kettle on the stove. Next she spooned her strongest tea into a pot. She needed to do some serious thinking.
While she waited for the water to boil, she lounged against the counter, folded her arms, and contemplated Madam Zolanda’s final prediction.
So many things had been explained, yet the circumstances of the blackmailer’s death remained murky. Why the melodramatic ending to her final performance?
Melodramatic performance.
Zolanda had been a very skilled actress but she had failed to become a Hollywood star.
On the night of her last show, Zolanda had held a crowded theater spellbound with her last psychic prediction. It was as if she had been trying to prove that she really was psychic.
Or trying to prove that she could act the role of a powerful psychic.
Adelaide unfolded her arms, pushed herself away from the counter, and grabbed the phone book. She looked up the number and reached for the receiver.
“Burning Cove Herald. How may I direct your call?”
“Irene Ward on the crime desk, please,” Adelaide said. “Tell her Adelaide Blake is calling. No, wait, she knows me as Adelaide Brockton.”
Sounding distracted, Irene came on the line.
“Hi, Adelaide. I just heard that Dr. Paxton, the diet doctor to the stars, died under suspicious circumstances. I also heard you were on the scene. I was about to call you for details.”
“I promise I’ll tell you all about it, but first I have a question about Madam Zolanda’s final prediction.”
“Dr. Skipton finally ruled Zolanda’s death a suicide. I think Detective Brandon has his doubts but he’s got no way to prove murder.”
“Yes, well, it looks like Thelma Leggett killed Zolanda. But that’s not what I wanted—”
“Hang on, let me get a pencil.”
“I’ll tell you everything later. Right now I need to know who was in the crowd at the Palace Theater that night when Zolanda predicted a death before morning.”
“Are you kidding? There must have been a couple of hundred people at the Palace that night.”
“Yes, but many were locals. I’m talking about Hollywood people. I’m sure that’s a relatively small number. I’m wondering if there were any directors, producers, or talent scouts in the audience.”
“Is it important?”
“I think it may be, yes.”
“Hang on, I’ll check with Trish. She covers celebrity news. She’ll know if there were any studio executives in the audience that night.”
Adelaide heard the telephone receiver clatter on the desk. She listened to the background din of the small but busy newsroom—typewriter keys clacked and a man shouted something about a deadline.
Irene came back a short time later.
“Trish says that there were a couple of actors who were staying at the Burning Cove, including Miss Westlake, in the audience. Douglas Holton was also there.”
“The director?”
“Yes. No one knew he was in town until he showed up at the Palace. Trish says he’s rumored to be looking for a new face f
“Does Trish know what the film is about?”
“Hang on, I’ll ask her.”
When Irene came back on the line a short time later, she sounded breathless.
“You’re not going to believe this,” she said. “Trish tells me it’s a very hush-hush project but there is a rumor that it involves a psychic who predicts murders.”
Adelaide stared at the wall, understanding washing through her with such certainty that she felt a little dizzy.
“Zolanda thought she was auditioning for a role in that movie.”
“Do you really think so? Well, anything’s possible when it comes to actors. They’ve been known to do some very strange things if they believe that it will land them a role in a film. Still—”
“If I’m right, Zolanda was conned into setting the scene for her own murder.”
“In that case, it must have been Paxton who set her up,” Irene said thoughtfully. “He was the one with Hollywood connections, not Gill. Maybe he told her that a famous director was in the audience and that he was looking for someone to play the role of a psychic. Zolanda fell for it.”
“He promised her what all successful con artists promise their marks—a shot at something they want very, very much.”
“But she was a con artist herself.”
“That doesn’t matter,” Adelaide said. “If anything, it made her even more vulnerable. She was probably convinced that she couldn’t be conned because she knew all the tricks. But logic and common sense go out the window in a heartbeat if the deceiver offers you something you want very badly.”
“You’re right. And it does answer the question of why Zolanda gave that creepy final act. Do you realize what this means?” Excitement sparked in Irene’s voice. “I’ll get one more front-page headline out of the dead psychic story. My pieces on Zolanda have all gone national. Wouldn’t be surprised if this one does, too.”
“That’s great,” Adelaide said. “Listen, I’ve got to run. I’ll call you later.”
“Promise you’ll call me immediately if you come up with any more interesting theories about Zolanda’s death.”