“That was the only one that was unlocked.”
Jake stooped, collected his gun, and moved across the threshold.
Letting him into her home was the biggest risk she had taken since her escape from the Rushbrook Sanitarium, she thought. But it was a calculated risk.
Chapter 13
Zolanda stood at the edge of the roof and looked out over the moonlit ocean. She had never felt so thrillingly alive, so powerful. She was the queen of the night, and soon she would be a star on the silver screen. She spread her arms wide, savoring the euphoric sensations sweeping through her. She was on fire. She could fly.
The wide sleeves of her caftan caught the cool breeze like great wings. Maybe her visitor was right, maybe she really could travel by astral projection. She was in a waking dream now. All she had to do was take one more step off the edge of the roof and she would be floating high above Burning Cove. The experience would be exactly as she had described it in her performance tonight. She would drift above the lights of the gorgeous Burning Cove Hotel and watch the glamorous people drinking their cocktails and making arrangements for illicit encounters. Soon she would be one of them, no longer the psychic to the stars; she would be a star.
But even as the glorious possibilities dazzled her senses, a tiny flicker of doubt intruded. Like a drop of poison in a glass of water, thewhisper of uncertainty tainted the vision. She didn’t have paranormal powers. There was no such thing as astral projection.
What if she was hallucinating?
She thought about the last glass of whiskey she had finished before climbing the stairs to the roof of the villa.
A drop of poison.
“The drug,” she gasped.“You gave me some of the drug, didn’t you?”
The killer watched her from the shadows, saying nothing.
The horror of what was happening was swept away by a searing rage.
“You lied to me,” Zolanda hissed. “You poisoned me with Daydream. I’ll kill you.”
She tried to lunge toward the killer but the monsters of the night were moving toward her now. Their eyes glittered with a hellish fire.
Some small part of her mind struggled with reality. She was not seeing monsters with eyes of fire—the killer had just lit a cigarette.
But the hallucinations were in control. The dazzling rivers of the night swirled around her in fiery, disorienting waves. She staggered wildly on the parapet.
The monsters advanced, relentless and implacable. The killer told her exactly why she was going to jump off the roof of the villa and quoted the old adage about revenge—a dish that was best served cold.
“No,” she said, desperate to save herself. “You don’t understand. It was all a mistake. I can explain.”
But the killer did not believe her.
Zolanda lost her balance and fell, shrieking, into the night.
The screaming stopped when she landed on the unforgiving concrete patio.
The killer went downstairs, crowbar in hand, walked through the glass-walled conservatory, and stepped outside onto the patio. The psychic to the stars was very dead. There was no need to use the length of heavy metal to finish the job.
The killer went back into the house and began to search for the psychic’s stash of blackmail secrets. The drug had hypnotic as well as hallucinogenic properties. In her delirium, Zolanda had talked freely, describing exactly where she had hidden the papers.
Panic set in a short time later. There was no sign of the extortion material. Zolanda had probably not lied—the drug was very powerful—but she had somehow succeeded in taking her secrets to the grave.
Chapter 14
“You’re not going to be able to sleep tonight, are you?” Jake asked.
Adelaide looked at him with haunted eyes.
“Probably not,” she said. “But that’s my problem. Don’t worry about me. I appreciate your taking a look around but, as I told you, nothing is missing and every window is locked now.”
They were sitting across from each other at the kitchen table. Adelaide had surprised him by brewing coffee instead of one of her unique tea blends. Some situations require coffee, she had explained. He had agreed.
