Thelma Leggett opened the trunk of the aging sedan and removed the hatbox containing the stash of secrets. It had been her idea, which she hadn’t shared with Zolanda, to conceal the blackmail materials in the back of the limo. Her theory had been that it was a far more secure location than the villa. Anyone, including the housekeeper who came in daily, could search the big house while the occupants were out. But it was far less likely that a potential thief would look for a hatbox in the back of a car.
There had been another reason for storing the secrets in the limo’s locked trunk. With rare exceptions the car was usually close at hand, where Thelma, in her role as chauffeur, could keep an eye on it. Early that morning when she had dumped the big car in favor of the old sedan she had stolen in a poor neighborhood, she had simply transferred the hatbox from one vehicle to the other. It had been a shame to get rid of the limousine but she had no option. It was far too memorable.
The shabby old cabin on the outskirts of the decaying seaside town had been deserted for a while now. It was filthy and in need of repairs. There were indications that various rodents and a few transients had taken up residence from time to time. Definitely not the sort of classy accommodations she had become accustomed to during the three years that she and Zolanda had been running the psychic-to-the-stars game, Thelma concluded. But the one-room structure had a very big advantage—none of Zolanda’s clients knew about it. No one could follow her here.
The cabin had belonged to her uncle. She remembered him as a cheerful, fun-loving man who had always arrived on his sister’s doorstep with toys and candy for his niece. But he had come home from the Great War a changed man. He had retreated to the cabin, where he had done odd jobs around town while he proceeded to drink himself to death.
He had left the dilapidated structure to Thelma’s mother, who had tried unsuccessfully to sell it. After her death, Thelma had inherited it.
There was a faded For Sale sign in the window. She had put it there a couple of years ago but no buyer had come along. In hindsight, that was a very fortunate turn of events.
She set the hatbox on the sagging bed and removed the lid with shaking fingers. She was consumed with a feverish excitement. What she planned to do was extremely dangerous, but she needed cash and she needed it quickly.
She studied the contents of the hatbox and considered her options. She had known that if she disappeared in the wake of Zolanda’s so-called suicide, the cops would want to question her. She was reasonably certain that in the end they would have let her go for lack of evidence. But she did not dare hang around Burning Cove long enough to go through the formalities. She had more immediate problems to worry about.
She had called Adelaide Blake-Brockton that morning from a gas station, anticipating that no one would answer the phone. She had assumed that by dawn Adelaide would be dead or missing. But with Zolanda dead instead, the entire situation had changed. So she had placed the call in an attempt to find out if the plan to get rid of a certain tearoom waitress had been carried out successfully.
No one had been more surprised than she was when Adelaide herself had answered.
Sending Adelaide to the villa that morning to discover Zolanda’s body had been an inspiration of the moment. At the very least it would muddy the waters and help make Brockton look like a suspect. But that plan, too, had gone awry. According to the radio, the tearoom waitress had not been alone when she discovered the dead psychic to the stars. A certain businessman from Los Angeles had been with her.
Adelaide Brockton was a problem for Gill and Paxton, Thelma decided. But Jake Truett was another matter. It was no longer safe to assume that his presence in Burning Cove was a coincidence. He was on the trail of the diary. She had to run as far and as fast as possible, but for that she needed money—a lot of it.
She reached into the hatbox and shuffled through an assortment of potentially damning photographs, letters, journals, and papers. All of the items were valuable, but the one that would be the easiest to cash in immediately was in an envelope at the bottom of the box.
She pawed through the pile of secrets until she found the one she wanted. She took it out of the box and replaced the lid.
The next step was to find a pay phone. There were a lot of people who would be willing to pay a great deal of money for the contents of the envelope, but she knew who would pay the most.
She put the lid on the box, crossed the room, and opened the door. She paused for a moment, thinking. She had another piece of time-sensitive information that was worth a lot to one individual. It could be used only once, and it would not hold its value for long. The smart thing to do would be to sell it first. Easy money and there was no danger involved.
After she had collected that payoff she would arrange to cash in the far more dangerous contents of the envelope.
She glanced at her watch. It was not yet eight o’clock. She was exhausted because she had been on the road since finding Zolanda’s body early that morning and there had been the added stress of stealing the vehicle. But she could not rest. She had two phone calls to make.
Chapter 22
“Are you sure you want to hire me for this job?” Raina said. “According to the radio, the cops are already searching for Thelma Leggett. I hate to say this because I would dearly love the business, but I’m afraid that hiring me would be a waste of your money. The authorities will probably find her long before I do.”
“Mr. Truett thinks the police are likely to conclude that Madam Zolanda’s death was a suicide and that Thelma Leggett found the body, panicked, and fled,” Adelaide said. “If they don’t think they’re looking for a killer, they won’t look very hard.”
She and Jake had discussed exactly what they would tell Raina. Now they were sitting in the plush office of Kirk Investigations, and already the conversation was veering off course.
“I get the feeling you think Leggett murdered her boss,” Raina said. “Zolanda was the one who brought in the cash. Why would the assistant kill the goose that laid the golden eggs?”
It was a reasonable question, Adelaide thought. She looked at Jake, making it clear that it was up to him how much information he wanted to divulge. He was the one chasing a blackmailer.
He gave the matter some thought and then, to her surprise, he responded honestly.
“I have reason to think that Zolanda was running a blackmail business,” he said. “She conned someone I know out of a certain item which, if it fell into the wrong hands, could prove embarrassing to the victim’s family. I have a hunch that Leggett is now in possession of that item.”
Raina looked satisfied with the response, even sympathetic.
“All right, now I understand why you are anxious to get to Leggett before the police do,” she said.
“I’m a little irritated with Thelma Leggett, too,” Adelaide said. “She tried to set me up to look like a suspect if the cops do decide Zolanda was murdered. Not that I’m one to hold a grudge.”
“Of course not,” Raina said. “Only very petty people hold grudges. Still, in your situation I’d be rather annoyed myself. It does occur to me that it is fortunate that you and Mr. Truett both have ironclad alibis, however.”
Adelaide winced. “You’ve heard the gossip already?”
“Well, this is a small town and news travels fast,” Raina said somewhat apologetically. “I’m afraid I also read the special edition of the Burning Cove Herald. It came out an hour ago.”
She gestured toward the folded newspaper on her desk. Adelaide picked it up and opened it. The story carried Irene Ward’s byline.