The Other Lady Vanishes (Burning Cove #2)(70)

“Why not?”

“Whoever tossed that stick of dynamite under my convertible will be gone at first light, assuming he decided not to risk the fog last night. Meanwhile, we need to figure out how to get back to Burning Cove.”

“I suppose we could always hitchhike,” Adelaide said.

“That would take hours, maybe the rest of the day. I’ve got some cash. With luck the proprietor of the gas station will know one of the locals who will be happy to sell us a used car.”

“You’re right about the hitchhiking,” Adelaide said. “With our luck the one car that would stop to give us a lift would be the one that was driven by the killer.”

“I doubt it. I think it’s far more likely that, until proven otherwise, he’ll assume we’re dead. He will certainly hope that’s the case.”



* * *



? ? ?

?Adelaide hung up the pay phone and moved out of the booth. “Gill is away on a fishing trip. That means he could have been the one who murdered Thelma Leggett.”

“We’ve got enough suspects to go around,” Jake said. “What we need now is a motive.”

They walked to the battered Oldsmobile sedan. Jake opened the passenger side door. “It’s not a speedster,” he said. “But with luck it will get us back to Burning Cove.”

He closed the door and walked around the front to get behind the wheel.

“Did you get the feeling that the local police are very glad that we are leaving town?” Adelaide asked.

Jake fired up the Oldsmobile’s engine and put the car in gear.

“Yes, I did get that impression,” he said.

Adelaide smiled.

Jake gave her a quick, searching glance before he pulled out onto the road.

“What are you thinking?” he asked.

“Nothing. It just occurred to me that my nerves are evidently strong enough to survive a real wedding night,” she said.

He surprised her with a wicked smile. “Yeah, I think it’s safe to say that you can handle the physical demands of married life.”





Chapter 40


Adelaide was back at work in the tearoom by three o’clock, just in time to help with the afternoon rush. The last customer departed an hour and a half later. She collected the empty cups and carried them into the kitchen. She was running water into the sink in preparation for washing the dishes when she heard the bell chime over the front door. Florence bustled across the tearoom to respond.

“I’m so sorry, sir,” she said. “We close at four thirty. I can sell you some packaged tea to take with you and I believe I may have one or two pastries left, but if you would like full service, I’m afraid you’ll have to return tomorrow. We open at nine.”

“I’m not here for tea,” Conrad Massey said in a stone-cold voice. “I came to find my wife.”

The cup that Adelaide had been about to wash fell from her fingers. Fortunately there was enough water in the sink to cushion the landing. The cup did not break. She gripped the edge of the counter with both hands and reminded herself to breathe.

You knew that sooner or later you would have to confront the bastard, she reminded herself. You’re not alone now. You’ve got friends. He’s not going to try to kidnap you in broad daylight—not when there are witnesses. And there were certainly a lot of those around. In addition to Florence, there were a number of shoppers on the sidewalk outside. That should have been reassuring but it did nothing to slow her heart rate.

Should have brought my gun, she thought.

“What on earth are you talking about?” Florence said, her voice sharpening with suspicion.

“I don’t know what she’s told you, but the woman who is calling herself Adelaide Brockton is my wife,” Conrad said.

“You’re out of your mind,” Florence said. “I insist you leave immediately or I will call the police.”

“I’m afraid it’s poor Adelaide who is not mentally stable,” Conrad said. “She suffered a nervous breakdown on our wedding night. I had to have her committed to an asylum. But she escaped. I’m here to take her back to the hospital, where she can continue receiving proper treatment.”

Florence said, “Adelaide isn’t married. You’re the crazy person. Go on, get out of here.”

“You can’t stop me from seeing my wife.”

Adelaide finally managed to take in some oxygen. A fierce anger burned through the shock and panic that had struck her when she heard Conrad’s voice. She pushed herself away from the sink, wiped her hands on her apron, and strode across the kitchen. She picked up a large bread knife before she went through the door.

Conrad, fashionably dressed in a pair of light-colored, crisply pleated trousers, white shirt, tie, and blue coat, looked at her. He started to assume an expression of deep concern. Then he noticed the knife.

“Adelaide,” he yelped, “what do you think you’re doing? Put that down.”

“Stop trying to intimidate my boss,” she said. “You’re wasting your time.”

“Damn right, he’s wasting his time,” Florence said.

Conrad recovered his air of husbandly concern. “Adelaide, my dear, thank goodness I found you. I’ve been so worried about you.”