The Other Lady Vanishes (Burning Cove #2)(37)
Last night the shared bathroom had not been a problem, Adelaide reflected. She had been too exhausted to care that there was a man in her cottage. The sleepless night before the discovery of Zolanda’s body followed by the long day spent talking to the police and hiring Raina had ensured her first solid night’s sleep in months.
Jake had been a perfect gentleman. Knowing that he was sleeping just down the hall had given her the first real peace of mind she had experienced since the awful night when she was locked up at Rushbrook.
She had to admit she had been severely jolted that morning, however, when, still groggy from sleep, she opened the bathroom door and found Jake, nude to the waist, shaving in front of a steamy mirror. They both apologized and she backed out of the small space immediately. But once she recovered from the shock, she had concluded that she could quickly become accustomed to the sight of Jake without a shirt. He had a very nicely muscled back and excellent shoulders.
“There’s plenty of room at my cottage,” she said to Florence.
“Honey, you don’t have to pretend, not with me. I’m your friend, remember? I’m glad that you and Truett are having a little summer fling. I just want to be sure you understand that when he goes back to L.A., that’ll be the end of it. Do yourself a favor. Don’t start dreaming of wedding gowns and gold rings.”
Adelaide thought about the gold ring in the safe under her bed. A shiver of icy horror swept through her. “Trust me when I tell you that I am definitely not making wedding plans.”
Florence eyed her closely for a few seconds and then nodded once, evidently satisfied with what she saw. “I can’t help but notice that your new boarder has very conveniently managed to escape all the curiosity seekers. He hasn’t been in for his usual cup of green tea this morning.”
“Jake went into town to pick up a few things at the hardware store,” Adelaide said. “He wants to do some minor repairs on my cottage.”
There was no need to add that he had left with a shopping list that included new locks and the tools required to install them.
“Does he, now? Well, well, well. Wouldn’t have thought a rich businessman from L.A. would make a good handyman.”
“I think he’s trying to make himself useful,” Adelaide said.
That was no less than the truth, she decided.
Florence peered at her. “Speaking of Mr. Truett and his exhausted nerves, how did he handle the scene at Madam Zolanda’s villa yesterday morning? Must have been a real shock for him. I gather he didn’t faint or have hysterics.”
Adelaide thought about how quickly Jake had approached the body, checked for a pulse, and then searched the villa.
“Nope,” she said.
Florence chuckled. “Had a hunch that might be the case. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with his nerves.”
“I agree,” Adelaide said. “But he needs a job, Flo.”
Florence got a speculative expression. “Heard he used to be in the import-export business. That covers a lot of territory, if you take my meaning.”
Adelaide remembered Raina’s comments on the subject of Jake’s former line of business.
“Are you implying that Mr. Truett is a shady character?” she asked.
“Well, I’m told that he and Luther Pell are friends of long standing.”
Startled, Adelaide set the kettle down on the stove with more force than she had intended. She spun around to look at Florence.
“Who told you that?” she demanded.
“A friend of mine whose son works as a valet at the Paradise Club said that Pell has invited Truett for drinks in Pell’s private quarters above the club a few times since Truett arrived in town,” Florence said. “Heard they’ve played a couple of rounds of golf together, too.”
Adelaide wasn’t sure why she was taken aback by that information, but for some reason it left her strangely disconcerted.
“I had no idea,” she said. “Jake . . . Mr. Truett . . . never mentioned that he knew Luther Pell.”
“Nothing to worry about, I’m sure,” Florence said quickly. “It’s just that everyone says Pell has connections in the gambling world, and that world is one hundred percent in the shade. And then there’s the fact that Pell owns a nightclub here in town. A lot of folks would say that is another shady line of work.”
“Yes, I know.”
Adelaide told herself she had no right to be blindsided. Jake had a right to his secrets. Nevertheless, a long-standing friendship with Luther Pell probably ought to be cause for concern. Florence was right. Gambling and nightclubs were shady businesses.
Not necessarily illegal, she reminded herself, just . . . shady.
The bell chimed over the front door of the tearoom, distracting her. She glanced through the kitchen doorway in time to see Vera Westlake make an entrance.
An expectant hush fell over the tearoom. Unlike most celebrities who showed up at Refresh, Vera Westlake always arrived unaccompanied and she always sat alone at her favorite table. There was no assistant, no publicist, no gossip columnist, no male companion with her. Adelaide smiled to herself. Evidently, Westlake did not need an entourage to remind those in the vicinity that she was a star. She had the power to command every eye in the room. But, then, she had it all—elegance, glamour, talent, beauty, and that magical quality called presence. When she was in the room, it was hard to look away from her.