The Other Lady Vanishes (Burning Cove #2)(15)

“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.”

“What makes you say that?”

“She’s always in character, not just on the stage tonight, but whenever she’s out in public. She’s been a customer at the tearoom almost every day since she arrived in town, and I’ve never seen her put a foot wrong. She is always Madam Zolanda, psychic to the stars.”

Jake gave that some thought. Adelaide was right. The ability to stay in character for an extended length of time required considerable acting talent. It also required a lot of stamina. No one knew that better than him.

“I see what you mean,” he said.

“It’s very hard to assume a certain persona and maintain it twenty-four hours a day. It takes a toll on the nerves.”