The Other Lady Vanishes (Burning Cove #2)(64)

“Something wrong?” he asked.

She flushed and quickly averted her gaze.

“No, of course not,” she said.

She winced. Her voice sounded strained and unnaturally high.

It wasn’t the first time she had seen him shirtless, she reminded herself. She wondered if he would strip off the undershirt, as well. She could not decide if she was relieved or disappointed when he left the garment firmly tucked into the waistband of his trousers.

He picked up the wool blanket at the foot of his cot and unfolded it with a short snap.

“Don’t hesitate to wake me if you hear or see anything that makes you uneasy,” he said.

“I won’t,” she croaked.

He settled down on his side, politely turning his face to the wall to give her some privacy.

She perched on the edge of her cot and contemplated the outline of his lean, nicely muscled body under the blanket for a moment.

Maybe she was the one who was supposed to suggest that they hang some blankets between the cots. On the other hand, there were no extra blankets—just one for each narrow bed. As the fire died down, the damp chill of the foggy night was going to penetrate the cabin. They would each need their blankets.

Partners, she reminded herself. True, there had been that one memorable kiss in the gardens of the Paradise Club, but a single kiss did not a romantic relationship make. Jake certainly showed no signs of staging an assault on her virtue.

That realization was oddly depressing.

She unfolded her blanket, tugged it over her shoulders, and curled on her side, facing the wall. She hoped sleep would come quickly but she had a bad feeling that would not be the case. She was probably doomed to replay the events of the day in her mind for the rest of the night, searching for answers and a path forward. The mix of questions and the accompanying anxiety made for a toxic brew. She wished she had brought some of the tea that she used for the bad nights.

After a while she realized that one question in particular kept rising to the surface.

She stared, wide-eyed, at the shadowed wall until she couldn’t stand it any longer. She had to know.

“Jake?” She kept her voice to a whisper, telling herself she wouldn’t wake him if he had managed to fall asleep. The man needed his rest.

“Yeah?” he mumbled.

“Are you asleep?”

“Not now. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. It’s just that I’ve been wondering about something ever since we found Thelma Leggett’s body today.”

“What have you been wondering about?” he asked patiently.

“How could you be so certain so quickly that she probably didn’t take her own life? You were almost as quick to conclude that Zolanda hadn’t intentionally jumped off the roof of her villa. How do you know things like that?”

There was a long silence from the other cot. When Jake spoke again, he sounded fully awake but his words lacked all trace of emotion.

“I suppose I’m predisposed to assume murder until proven otherwise because of my wife’s death,” he said. “She was murdered but the killer staged the scene to make it appear that she had taken her own life.”

“Someone killed her?” Stunned, Adelaide sat up on the edge of the cot. “When Raina looked into your background, she didn’t find anything to suggest that your wife was murdered.”

“That’s because I did a very good job of keeping the truth out of the press,” he said. “It wasn’t difficult because the L.A. cops and the medical examiner did not question the conclusion.”

“Was there an investigation?”

“No, but I knew who murdered her.”

“Who?”

“A man named Peter Garrick. Among other things, he was her lover.”

Adelaide absorbed the implications of that statement. “I see. Raina did say that there had been rumors of an affair.”

Jake was quiet for a time. She was starting to think that was the end of the conversation. But after a moment he began to talk. It was as if he had decided to unlock the door of a very dark room to allow the light to reveal what was stored inside.

“Elizabeth was beautiful, charming, and smart,” he said. “She spoke a couple of languages in addition to English. She was well-traveled. Her family was from the East Coast. They had moved in New York society for generations. There were a lot of very distinguished names dangling from her family tree, including a couple of ambassadors, a state governor, and a senator. I met her while she was vacationing on the West Coast. Her family was not thrilled at first when she accepted my offer of marriage. After all, I wasn’t a product of their world.”

“Did they try to forbid the marriage?”

“No. I was more than a little surprised when they did not try to stand in our way. Initially I assumed that was because they believed that Elizabeth truly loved me and that they wanted her to be happy. In a sense, that was true. Elizabeth told her family that she didn’t want a big society wedding. Looking back, it’s clear they were very relieved. We were married three months after we met. It wasn’t until after the wedding that I slowly began to realize that she was . . . unbalanced.”

“Mentally unbalanced, do you mean?”

“Yes,” Jake said. “It’s hard to explain. She could be as euphoric and excited as a child at a birthday party one day, depressed and withdrawn the next. She lost her temper easily, and when she did, she would scream or throw things. From one day to the next, I never knew what to expect.”