The Other Lady Vanishes (Burning Cove #2)(60)

“Looks like whoever murdered Thelma now has that suitcase,” Adelaide said. “I’ll check her handbag.”

She was about to head for the leather bag when she saw two oblong slips of paper in the shadows under the cot.

“Who would leave money behind?” she asked.

She went down on one knee and retrieved the two slips of paper.

“Just cut-up newspapers,” she announced. “So much for finding a couple of dollar bills lying around at the scene of the crime.”

“Let me see those,” Jake said.

She got to her feet and gave him the papers. He examined them with a thoughtful expression.

“This is very, very interesting,” he said.

“Why?”

“These papers were cut to precisely the same size and shape as dollar bills.”

“I can tell that you don’t think that is a coincidence,” Adelaide said.

“No. Got a hunch our blackmailer got conned.”

“With just two pieces of paper? That doesn’t sound likely.”

“There were probably a lot more of these,” Jake said. He surveyed the room. “I think the killer cleaned up the scene. A pile of fake dollar bills might have forced the cops to pay too much attention to what was supposed to pass as a suicide.”

Adelaide went to the end table, opened the brown leather handbag, and surveyed the interior.

“Just the usual things a woman keeps in a purse,” she reported. “A wallet, a compact, a lipstick, a comb, and a hankie.”

She paused when she saw the folded paper at the bottom of the handbag. A little rush of excitement splashed through her. She took out the paper and unfolded it.

A split second later her excitement metamorphosed into shock.

“What is it?” Jake asked.

“A phone number,” she said, trying to keep her voice even.

“Los Angeles? Burning Cove?”

“No. I think it might be a San Francisco number. Douglas 4981.”

“Sounds like you recognize it.”

“It’s been a while since I had a reason to call this particular number, so I may be wrong. But I’m almost positive it’s Conrad Massey’s home number.”

“Write down the number. We’ll call it later, after we deal with the police.”

“Why are we going to call it?”

“Because if Massey answers, we’ll know he’s home in San Francisco.”

“And if he doesn’t answer, we’ll know he’s probably the man I saw in Burning Cove.”

“Exactly,” Jake said.





Chapter 35


By the time they finished with the police, the fog that had been hovering offshore most of the day had begun to move inland. The winding coastal highway was rapidly being flooded with a gray mist.

“I thought we’d have enough daylight for the drive back to Burning Cove,” Jake said. “But it will be dark soon and the fog is getting heavy. There aren’t any hotels around here. We’d better try to find an auto court for tonight.”

Adelaide contemplated the scene through the windshield. She had been so consumed with thinking about their conversation with the local police that she had not been paying much attention to driving conditions. They were deteriorating rapidly.

Jake had put up the top of the convertible, but the damp chill of the fog succeeded in penetrating the interior of the vehicle. Or maybe that was just her imagination, she thought. Regardless, it would be reckless to try to make the drive back to Burning Cove tonight.

“I agree we should stop for the night,” she said. “We don’t know this road, and even if we did, we’d have to drive so slowly it would take half the night to get back to Burning Cove. We passed an auto court on our way into town this morning.”

“I remember. It should be coming up soon. Let’s hope they’ve still got a vacancy. Wouldn’t be surprised if they’re full, though. Anyone with common sense will be pulling off the road to avoid the fog.”

“We could turn around. There might be a place in town where we can put up for the night.”

But even as she made the suggestion, she realized she really did not want to return to the town where Thelma Leggett had been killed. The conversation with the police had gone reasonably well. Surprisingly, the detective in charge had not leaped to the conclusion that Leggett’s death was a suicide. He had questioned them in depth about their reasons for pursuing Leggett, and he had made them cool their heels at the station while he phoned the Burning Cove police department to confirm their identities. He had even gone the extra mile and verified their departure time from Burning Cove. That had been easy enough to do because they had stopped to fill up the gas tank before leaving town that morning. The attendant had recognized them and remembered servicing the car.

The good news, Adelaide thought, was that she and Jake were not suspects in Thelma Leggett’s death. But that was the only good news so far. The San Francisco phone number she had copied was still burning a hole in her handbag.

A sign advertising an upcoming gas station loomed in the mist.

“There will probably be a pay phone there,” she said. “Let’s stop so that I can call that San Francisco number.”

“I’m sure there will be a phone at the auto court,” Jake said.