“Do you think that Thelma might be hiding out there?”
“It’s possible. When I worked as a secretary for a legal firm, I was frequently asked to locate individuals. In my experience, when people run, they tend to head for a place that feels familiar, a place that feels safe.”
Adelaide tightened her grip on the coffee cup. That was exactly what she had done, she thought. She had run to Burning Cove because it felt somewhat familiar, somewhat safe. When she was a little girl, her parents had taken her there every summer for a vacation. Her father and mother had often talked about retiring in Burning Cove.
Her mouth went dry. In retrospect, taking refuge in the seaside town might have been a huge mistake. If the people who were looking for her had used the same logic that Raina was using, they might have already found her. It would certainly explain why someone had spent a night lurking in the fog, watching her house.
“Adelaide?” Raina leaned forward a little. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
Adelaide forced herself to focus. “I was just thinking about what you said. You’ll let us know right away if you track down the location of the property that Thelma Leggett inherited, won’t you?”
“Of course. Meanwhile, do me a favor.”
“What’s that?”
“I know why you and Jake Truett are going to the Paradise Club tonight, but try to have a good time, anyway.”
Adelaide managed a shaky smile. “I’ll do my best.”
They finished their coffee and walked back to Raina’s convertible. They stored the shopping bags in the trunk, and Raina got behind the wheel.
Adelaide opened the passenger side door. She was about to make a comment on the very fine weather, when she felt a ghostly shiver of awareness on the back of her neck.
She paused and glanced back over her shoulder. The shopping plaza was still busy, still filled with shoppers and people enjoying the pleasures of the sidewalk cafés. But at the very edge of her vision she glimpsed a man in a fashionable dark blue linen jacket and tan trousers. She could not see his face because he was in the process of turning away from her. In addition, he was wearing a straw hat angled so that it concealed his profile.
She got only the briefest of glimpses before he disappeared around a corner, but that was enough to ice her blood.
She slipped into the passenger seat of the car and closed the door very firmly. She had not been hallucinating. The man in the blue linen jacket had carried himself and moved in exactly the same way that Conrad Massey did.
Chapter 26
“You’re sure the psychic didn’t jump,” Luther asked.
“I’m sure,” Jake said.
He selected his putter and positioned himself in front of the golf ball. He took a moment to absorb the feel of the green.
The great thing about a golf course was that two men could have a private conversation without worrying about being overheard. He and Luther were alone on the green. The caddies waited a respectful distance away.
It was an ideal day for a game of golf. The weather was perfect, sunny and warm, and the elegantly manicured course was in prime condition. The fairways were lush, the greens were smooth and fast and mostly true, but this one had an almost imperceptible slope to the right. His ball had landed a yard away from the hole.
He lined up the putt, compensating for the small slope and the fast green, and ushered the ball into the hole with a gentle tap. He straightened and saw Luther watching him with an amused expression.
“How the hell do you do that?” Luther said.
“What?”
“You make it look so damn easy.”
Luther walked to where his ball lay some two yards away from the hole. He overshot the cup by about four inches.
“The greens are a little fast today,” Jake observed.
“Thank you for that helpful observation.”
“I sense sarcasm.”
“Could be.”
Luther took aim again and sank the putt.
The caddies noted scores, collected balls and clubs, and replaced the flag. They all headed toward the next tee.
“I take it you didn’t find what you were looking for when you searched Zolanda’s house,” Luther said.
“No. I’m sure the assistant has the stash of blackmail material. Adelaide and I hired Raina Kirk to look for her.”
“Miss Kirk is a very interesting woman,” Luther said. “I hired her, too. I want her to look into a small security problem for me.”
“Adelaide said Miss Kirk is new in town. How did you meet her?”
Luther smiled. “Ran into her at the library a few weeks ago.”
“Yeah? What was she reading?”
“Old copies of the Herald,” Luther said. “She explained that reading out-of-date newspapers was a good way to get to know a town.”
“Huh. A private detective who reads and a nightclub owner who also reads. Sounds like a match made in heaven.”
“Or somewhere,” Luther said.
“Adelaide Brockton is an interesting woman, too.”
“I’m getting that impression. Any idea how or why she ended up here in Burning Cove?”
“Judging by the fact that Miss Brockton keeps a gun under her bed and that someone was watching her house the night Zolanda jumped off that roof, I’d say she’s running from someone.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time a woman tried to escape a mentally unbalanced man who became obsessed with her.”
“Obsession is a dangerous thing,” Jake said.
Luther shot him a quick, searching look. “It’s over. They’re both dead, Jake. It ended that night on the Mermaid when Garrick tried to kill you.”
Jake thought about the violent evening on the gambling ship. He often relived the scene in his dreams. Garrick had come at him from behind with a knife, hoping for a quick, quiet kill, one that concluded with a body dumped over the side.
But Garrick had been the one who went overboard and drowned in the waters off Santa Monica. His body had washed ashore a few days later. If the authorities noticed the small wound in his throat, they had not mentioned it to the press. It was, after all, not the first time a dead gambler had turned up on the beach.
It had been a bad night, Jake reflected, but at the time he believed that it closed a dark chapter in the story of his life. Then Elizabeth’s diary had gone missing.
“It’s not over until I find that diary,” he said.
“I understand,” Luther said. “By the way, you might be interested to know that I sold the Mermaid.”
“Getting out of the offshore gambling business?”
“That boat was starting to cost more than it made in profits. Besides, times are changing.”
“You and I have undergone a few changes, too.”
“Yes,” Luther said. “But I’m settled here in Burning Cove. I like this town. It suits me. What are you going to do now that you’ve sold your business?”
“You’re starting to sound like Adelaide. She thinks I need a real job.”
“She may be right,” Luther said. “We both know you’ve been drifting ever since Elizabeth died. You sold the business. You got rid of the big house in L.A. Damn it, you’re living in a hotel in Pasadena. What kind of a life is that?”
“The Huntington is a very nice hotel.”
“That’s not the point.”
“I’ve got a private bungalow. There’s a pool. Room service. What more can a man ask for?”
“You can’t live in a hotel forever.”
“Why not? You seem to be doing just fine living on top of a nightclub.”
“That’s different. I own the place. You’re living as if you were still in the import-export business, always prepared to pack a bag and travel halfway around the world at a moment’s notice. Those days are over, Jake.”
>
Jake exhaled slowly. “I know. But I’ve got to recover that diary before I can think about what I want to do next.”
He lined up the tee shot and sent the ball sailing down the long fairway, straight toward the green.
“How the hell do you do that?” Luther said. “You should have become a professional.”
“Too hard on the nerves,” Jake said. “Mine are already exhausted, remember?”
“Yeah, I did hear something about that.”
Chapter 27
The Paradise Club lived up to its reputation as an eternally midnight realm steeped in intimate shadows and dark glamour. The velvet-covered booths were arranged in semicircles that rose in tiers above the crowded dance floor. Small candles burned on each table, giving off a warm, flickering light that enhanced the drama and encouraged flirtation. Cigarettes sparked in the darkness.
The members of the orchestra wore white dinner jackets and black bow ties. A large, mirrored sphere hung over the dance floor, its faceted surface scattering light across the dancers, who appeared to be gliding and swaying through a storm of sparkling jewels.
The music blended with the hum of low-voiced conversations and the occasional ripples of laughter. The French doors that lined one entire side of the room were open, allowing the night air to cool the space and help dissipate the cigarette smoke.
“How will we know if Paxton is here tonight?” Adelaide asked.
She and Jake were seated at a table that was in the last tier of booths. She was well aware that it was not considered a prime location, but it had two major advantages: It provided privacy while simultaneously allowing a view of the dance floor.
She was sure they were the only ones in the club who were not drinking cocktails. They had both ordered sparkling water. They had a long evening ahead of them. Becoming intoxicated was not on the agenda.
“According to Luther, Paxton always sits at Westlake’s table,” Jake said.
“Yes, but what if she doesn’t show up?”
“I was told that her assistant called earlier to make sure that Miss Westlake’s table would be ready, as usual.”
“All right. How will we know when she arrives? Will Mr. Pell send someone to inform us?”
Jake was amused. “You’ll know when she arrives the same way you know when she enters the tearoom.”
“In other words, she’ll make an entrance,” Adelaide said.
“Management will ensure that she does. The maître d’ will escort her and whoever she’s with to one of the booths at the edge of the dance floor.”
Adelaide smiled. “Can I assume that this isn’t your first visit to the Paradise?”
“I’ve spent some time here in Burning Cove over the years, so, yes, I’ve been in the Paradise. But I’ve also been in a few other nightclubs around the world. Take it from me, they all have a lot in common when it comes to how they treat their celebrity guests.”
“The celebrities pretend they want to be incognito but of course what they really want is to be noticed,” Adelaide said.
“Even if the stars don’t want to be noticed, the studio publicists go to great lengths to make sure that they are.”
“When you think about it, being an actor or actress must be a very stressful career.”
“There’s a price for everything,” Jake said.
“Yes.”
Jake studied her from the opposite side of the small booth. “What did you do before you became a tearoom waitress?”
She hesitated and then decided there was no harm in telling him some of the truth. “I was a librarian. I worked in a research library that specialized in the botanical sciences.”
“Did you enjoy the work?”
She brightened at the memories. “Oh, yes. The library is very highly regarded. The collection is excellent. My colleagues and I conducted literature searches for scientists and medical researchers from around the nation. It was fascinating work.”
“And now you’re in Burning Cove working in a tearoom.”
She tensed. “My parents died. I was alone. No family. I felt that I needed a change.”
She held her breath, afraid that he would press her with more questions. Should have kept my mouth closed, she thought.
But Jake simply nodded in understanding. “I know the feeling.”
She relaxed. “Some people think I’ve lived a sheltered life. They think I’m naïve. My parents were always afraid that some man would take advantage of me.”
Which was, of course, exactly what had happened, she thought.
“Maybe a dose of naïveté is the price you pay to be a good, decent person,” Jake said. “Seems like the only alternative is to become cynical like me. I can’t really recommend it.”
Adelaide picked up her sparkling water and looked at him over the rim of the glass. “I may be inclined to be naïve but I’m not stupid. Once I know for certain that I can’t trust someone, I never make the mistake of trusting that person again.”
“Sounds like a reasonable policy to me.” Jake raised his glass and touched it lightly against hers. “To naïveté and lessons learned the hard way.”
The orchestra launched into a slow, smooth dance number. Adelaide watched couples drift out onto the floor and into each other’s arms. There was a time when she had danced with Conrad Massey in the same romantic fashion. Naïveté didn’t begin to excuse the huge mistake she had made with Massey. She had been a fool.
The thought reminded her again of the man in the dark blue coat she had glimpsed in the shopping plaza that afternoon. She had been unable to get the memory out of her head. She tried to tell herself that she had imagined the similarity between Conrad Massey and the stranger on the street. Paranoia is a sign of mental instability. But she could not convince herself that she had not seen the bastard.
“Will you dance with me?” Jake asked quietly.
Jolted out of her grim thoughts, she turned away from the view of the dance floor and saw that Jake was watching her with a brooding intensity.
“What?” she said.
“I asked you to dance with me.”
“Why not?” She summoned up what she hoped would pass for a bright, vivacious smile. “The damage has already been done, hasn’t it?”
His ascetic face, illuminated in candlelight, became even more forbidding than usual.
“Damage?” he repeated in very neutral tones.
“I’m sure that by tomorrow morning what’s left of our cover story will be in tatters, anyway. It’s not exactly customary for boarders to go out to nightclubs with their landladies.”
“Right,” he said. “The damage has been done. Let’s dance.”
It sounded like an order, not a request.
She steeled herself. It wasn’t as if he were asking her to marry him, she thought. He was simply suggesting that they dance together. Nevertheless, for some inexplicable reason, it felt as if accepting the offer was a risky venture.
“Yes,” she said. “Yes, I would be delighted to dance with you.”
She slipped out of the booth before she could change her mind.
Jake got to his feet, offered her his arm, and led her down the aisle to the dance floor.
Together they moved into the shower of sparkling lights cast by the mirrored ball. She caught her breath when she felt Jake’s strong, warm hand on the bare skin of her lower back.
“Nice dress,” he said. “What there is of it.”
She nearly choked on a burst of nervous laughter. “Thank you.”
Somehow it was easier to relax after that. She discovered she liked dancing with Jake. She liked it a lot. For a few minutes she was almost able to forget about the man in the straw hat and the blue linen coat. Almost.
A ripple of awareness washed across the room, dampening conversation and causing heads to turn.
&nbs
p; “Vera Westlake has arrived,” Jake said. “I told you we wouldn’t be able to miss her entrance.”
Adelaide turned her head and saw the maître d’ escorting Vera down the aisle to the one booth at the edge of the dance floor that was still empty. The most beautiful woman in Hollywood was spectacularly elegant in a sultry gold gown covered in crystals that caught the light with every step. Her hair was rolled and pinned up in an elegant cluster of curls. The style emphasized her dramatic cheekbones and heavily made-up eyes. She was alone.
The hovering maître d’ seated the star and summoned a waiter, who hurried forward to take Westlake’s order. When the waiter scurried off again, Vera took out a gleaming cigarette case. The maître d’ rushed forward to ignite the star’s smoke and then discreetly withdrew.
“There goes a real movie star,” Adelaide whispered.
Jake did not appear to be starstruck. “Here comes Dr. Calvin Paxton, right on schedule.”
Adelaide peered around his shoulder and watched the maître d’ seat Paxton at Vera’s table.
“I can’t understand why a famous movie star would hang out with a doctor who pushes a fake diet tonic.”
“And here I thought we had just decided that you’re the naïve one on this date.” Jake sounded amused.
“I bought a bottle of Paxton’s so-called diet tonic and tried it. It’s nothing but sugar water and, I suspect, some caffeine.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” Jake said. “Maybe Westlake is attracted to Paxton because, even though he moves in the same world, he’s not in the same line of work. They aren’t competitors.”
“True, but if you ask me, Miss Westlake could do a lot better than Paxton. He’s just using her to sell his phony diet drink.”
“She doesn’t seem to mind. Maybe she really believes that it works.”
Adelaide watched as Paxton ordered a cocktail and lit a cigarette. He and Vera Westlake sat back in the booth and looked as if they were about to expire from ennui. They were not alone for long. A procession of people found reasons to pass by the booth and pay homage to the star. Vera was always gracious. Paxton leaned in a little closer to her, as if trying to steal some of the invisible glow of fame that enveloped his companion.