The Other Lady Vanishes (Burning Cove #2)(13)
“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.