She went blank for a beat. Then a thought occurred.
“There is a very nice art museum in town,” she said. “The new exhibition featuring local artists got excellent reviews in the Herald.”
“Don’t you think that an art exhibition might be too stimulating for my delicate nerves?”
He was teasing her, she thought. Florence was wrong. Jake Truett was not interested in her, not in a romantic way. He was simply bored. He could find someone else to amuse and entertain him.
“Sorry,” she said coldly. “I thought you were serious. I’ll get your tea.”
She started to turn away.
“Wait,” Jake said quickly. “I thought you were joking.”
“When it comes to the subject of strong, healthy nerves, I never joke.”
“I understand. I apologize. About the art exhibition. Would you perhaps care to—”
“Don’t worry, Mr. Truett, you won’t get any more advice from me.” She gave him her sharpest, iciest smile. “I’ll get your tea. You’re right. You are very predictable. You are also bored. I’m sure that if you put your mind to it, you can find something stimulating to do in Burning Cove, but I can assure you that you won’t find it here at the Refresh Tearoom.”
His eyes tightened a little at the corners. He was no longer amused. She got the feeling that he was startled by her response. He hadn’t expected her to snap at him. It was dawning on him that he had miscalculated. Evidently he was not accustomed to making mistakes of that sort.
Chapter 3
“It’s been two months,” Conrad Massey raged on the other end of the phone. “How could you lose her for two damned months? You said you’d find her within hours. You said she couldn’t get more than a mile or two away from Rushbrook. But she vanished.”
Ethan Gill clenched his hand very tightly around the phone and reminded himself that above all he had to keep his composure; he had to sound soothing and reassuring. He was a doctor according to the fake diploma on the wall. He knew how to deal with an anxious patient. Above all, he must not give Massey any reason to think that the situation was spinning out of control.
“I do apologize for the delay,” he said, using the plummy tones he used with the wealthy people who brought their crazy relatives to the Rushbrook Sanitarium to have them committed. It was a voice that assured them that they were doing the right thing by their relations and that he would take the burden off their shoulders—for a price. “I’m afraid a small problem has arisen, but there is nothing to worry about. Matters will be sorted out very soon.”
“You told me that everything was under control.” Massey’s voice was sharp with frustration, anger, and something else, something akin to panic. “You said you had a lead on her whereabouts. You said it was only a matter of time before you had her safely back in her room there at Rushbrook. I can’t cover up her disappearance indefinitely. Sooner or later someone connected to the estate will start asking questions. What the hell is going on, Gill?”
“There have been . . . complications,” Gill said, striving to keep his voice calm. The truth was, Massey was not the only one who was on the verge of panic. “But nothing that can’t be dealt with soon. I assure you the situation is in hand.”
“Complications? What complications?”
“The patient has gone into hiding. She is a very ill woman, Mr. Massey, prone to extreme paranoia.”
“How can she hide?” Massey snapped. “She has no money. No family. No resources. If she goes to the police—”
“It’s difficult to say precisely how she is surviving financially but I’m positive she won’t go to the police. She knows that if the authorities discover that she is an escaped mental patient, she will be sent back here to Rushbrook immediately. Relax, Mr. Massey. I will contact you as soon as I have more information.”
“I can’t believe you let her disappear like this.”
Gill struggled to suppress his own anger and fear. He was not about to tell Massey that Patient B had been located two weeks ago. She was living under the name of Adelaide Brockton and working as a tearoom waitress in the exclusive seaside resort town of Burning Cove, California. Massey was a desperate man. He had to be handled with great care. If he found out where the research subject was currently residing, he would very likely try to take matters into his own hands. If that happened, he would put the entire plan in jeopardy.
At the moment Massey was a necessary nuisance. Not only was he a source of badly needed cash, he had every reason to keep his mouth shut.
“I assure you, the matter will be resolved quite soon,” Gill said.
“Do you have any idea how much money I’ve got riding on this?”
Not nearly as much as I have. Gill wanted to shout the words down the phone line. But he could not let the panic and the rage take control.
“I told you, I’ll take care of the situation,” he said in the firm, authoritative voice he had cultivated to use with agitated patients.
It didn’t have any noticeable effect.
“We’ve got to get her back to Rushbrook immediately,” Massey said. “Sooner or later she’s going to try to get access to her inheritance. Who knows what the estate lawyers will do if she contacts them. If they discover the truth about the marriage—”
“I told you, the patient won’t dare contact the police or the estate. The situation is under control. It won’t be long before we find her. I must hang up now, Mr. Massey. I’ve got another appointment.”
“Let me know as soon as you have any news.”
“Don’t worry, you’ll be the first person I call.”
Gill forced himself to replace the receiver very gently into the cradle. Silence fell on his elegantly appointed office. He sat behind the big wooden desk for a time, contemplating the disaster that had befallen him. He was fairly certain that Massey had believed him, but that did not solve all of the problems.
He glanced at his watch. It was time to call his associate in Burning Cove. He picked up the receiver. When the operator came on the line, he gave her the number.
Calvin Paxton answered on the first ring.
“This is Dr. Paxton.”
Gill grunted. Paxton’s voice was even richer and more resonant than his own. They had known each other since their days in medical school. Neither of them had started out with the upper-class voices. They were both the products of small towns in northern California, and they had arrived at medical school with the accents that reflected their origins.
Their similar upbringings and the fact that both of them were struggling in medical school had established a loose connection between them back at the start. But it was another shared quality that had forged a long-lasting business partnership—ambition.
They had dropped out of medical school because it had soon become obvious that there were easier ways to make a lot of money. The MD behind their names was useful, however—people trusted doctors—so they had paid a guy who printed counterfeit bills for the mob to create a couple of very authentic-looking diplomas. No one had ever questioned them.
For a time he and Paxton had gone separate ways. Gill had dabbled in the quack cure business before landing the position of director of the Rushbrook Sanitarium. Once in charge he had discovered there was a great deal of money to be made operating a high-class sanitarium for wealthy families who wanted to conceal their crazy relatives in a discreet asylum. “Out of sight, out of mind” was the unspoken motto of the Rushbrook Sanitarium.