“I don’t have much choice.”
She nodded, accepting the statement. It occurred to him that a lot of women—hell, a lot of people, male and female—would have been more than a little uneasy with the idea of pursuing a private inquiry. But Adelaide didn’t seem to have any difficulty with the plan.
Detective Brandon turned away from the body and walked toward them. Brandon was a solid-looking man with the face of a world-weary cop who did his best to do his job. His tie was badly knotted and his jacket was unfastened, revealing his holstered gun. He came to a halt, pushed his hat back on his head, and glanced up at the roof, squinting a little.
“Hard to believe she’d jump just to make her prediction come true,” he said.
“Yes,” Jake said. “That is hard to believe. “
Brandon switched his attention to Adelaide. “I find it interesting that the missing assistant called you this morning.”
“Who else could be counted on to come rushing over here at such an early hour with an emergency packet of tea?” Adelaide said. “I think Thelma Leggett wanted me to find the body.”
“Uh-huh,” Brandon said. “That theory would seem to indicate that Thelma Leggett knows exactly how Madam Zolanda died.”
“Yes, it does,” Jake said. “She evidently didn’t know if you would accept suicide as the cause of death. Leggett wanted a backup plan. She doesn’t want you to look for her.”
“Yeah.” Brandon studied Adelaide again. “Good thing for you that you’ve got a real solid alibi, what with you and Mr. Truett having spent the night together and coming over here together this morning.”
Adelaide gave him a cold look.
“I think we need to clarify a few things here, Detective,” she said. “Mr. Truett and I went to see Zolanda’s performance last night. Afterward, Mr. Truett took me home and then went to his cottage. I was getting ready for bed when I got the feeling that there had been an intruder in my house while I was out. I turned on every light. Mr. Truett noticed and came over to see if everything was all right. When we both decided that everything was not all right, Mr. Truett stayed until dawn.”
Brandon narrowed his eyes. “Anything missing?”
“No,” Adelaide said. “A window was open in the laundry room. I think there was an intruder but he didn’t steal anything as far as I can tell.”
Brandon nodded sagely. “But Mr. Truett here kept you company for the rest of the night because you were nervous.”
“For your information,” Adelaide said, “Mr. Truett and I spent the night chatting and playing cards.”
“Is that so?” Brandon did not bother to hide his skepticism. He switched his cop glare to Jake. “And you were still at Miss Brockton’s place when she got the call from Thelma Leggett?”
“When it got light, I decided to take a look around Adelaide’s cottage before I went back to my place,” Jake said. “Found a couple of cigarette butts and an empty matchbook out behind the garage. I think someone spent a good portion of the night watching Miss Brockton’s house.”
“There was a lot of fog late last night,” Brandon countered. “Maybe some vagrant decided to spend the night inside a nice dry garage.”
“In which case,” Jake said, “the cigarette butts and the matchbook probably would have been left inside the garage. I found them on the outside, at the back. A man could have stood there smoking for a couple of hours, and no one inside the house would have noticed.”
Brandon frowned at Adelaide. “You sure you had an intruder last night?”
“I can’t be absolutely positive,” she admitted.
“Yeah, well, let me know if you see anything else that makes you nervous. In the meantime I’ll tell the night patrols to make a few extra trips past your place.”
“Thank you,” Adelaide said. “I would appreciate it.”
The low growl of a car rumbled in the drive at the front of the mansion. The engine was shut down immediately. A car door slammed. Seconds later, rapid footsteps sounded on the garden path.
“Just what I needed,” Brandon grumbled. “Meet the new crime beat reporter at the Herald.”
A woman dressed in fashionable full-legged trousers and a pale yellow silk blouse trimmed with a silk tie raced into view. Her shoulder-length hair was set in the deep waves of the newest Hollywood style. She had a leather-bound stenographer’s notebook and a pencil in one hand. She zeroed in on Brandon and came to a halt in front of him.
“A fine pal you are, Detective,” she said, somewhat breathless. “If Sergeant Morgan hadn’t called me, I’d still be eating breakfast out on the patio with Oliver. What’s going on?”
Brandon waved a hand at Adelaide and Jake. “Mrs. Ward, allow me to introduce you to Adelaide Brockton. She’s a waitress at the Refresh Tearoom. This is her neighbor out on Crescent Beach, Jake Truett.”
Adelaide smiled. “No need for an introduction. Irene and I have met.”
“Refresh has the best tea and pastries in Burning Cove,” Irene said. She peered at Jake. “But this is the first time I’ve met you. I’m with the Burning Cove Herald. I cover the crime beat.”
“Thought you didn’t have much crime in this town,” Jake said.
“You’d be surprised,” Irene said. She looked at Adelaide. “Sergeant Morgan told me that you and Mr. Truett found the body. Are you sure it was Madam Zolanda?”
Adelaide waved a hand toward the scene on the patio. Dr. Skipton was getting ready to pull a sheet over the body. “Take a look for yourself.”
Irene glanced at the body on the stretcher. “Oh, yes. I see what you mean. She really was a pretty woman, wasn’t she?”
“Yes,” Adelaide said.
“I wonder why she chose to become the psychic to the stars instead of trying to become a star herself,” Irene mused. “Maybe she didn’t have any talent.”
“She had plenty of talent, if you ask me,” Adelaide said. “Just think of how well she played the psychic role.”
“You’re right.” Irene used a pencil to jot down some notes. “She was pretty enough and she had talent, but she didn’t have that special something that stars like Vera Westlake have, did she?”
“If you’ll excuse me,” Brandon said. “I’ve got a job to do.”
“I’ll talk to you later,” Irene promised.
“Lucky me,” Brandon muttered.
He set off at a brisk pace and disappeared into the house.
Irene turned back to Adelaide. “Talk to me. What happened here?”
“It looks like Madam Zolanda may have jumped or was pushed off the roof of the villa sometime during the night,” Adelaide explained. “That’s really all we know. The only reason we’re here is because I got a call from Zolanda’s assistant, Thelma Leggett, early this morning. She claimed Zolanda was very upset and needed some of her special tea.”
“Hmm.” Irene glanced back at the door of the conservatory. “Is Leggett inside the house?”
“No,” Jake said. “She seems to have disappeared.”
“And Madam Zolanda is dead.” Irene snapped her notebook closed. “Looks like I’ve already got my headline. Psychic to the Stars Predicts Her Own Death.”
“I had a feeling you wouldn’t be able to resist that one,” Adelaide said.
Chapter 19
“We should talk,” Jake said.
Adelaide was seated in the passenger seat of the speedster, clutching the packet of Enlightenment tea and her handbag. She was very aware of the crystal perfume bottle stopper inside her bag.
She gave Jake a quick, uneasy glance. He did not take his eyes off the upcoming curve in Cliff Road. His driving, like everything else he did, had an easy, fluid, masculine grace.
“All right,” she said. “What do you want to talk about?”