While I comforted Eleanor with a glass of sherry, Tinkie stepped outside to call the chief. When authority figures need to be motivated, Tinkie is the gal for the job. When they need to be pissed off, that’s my terrain. The job of consoling Eleanor fell to me.
I touched her shoulder gently. “Eleanor, we found out that Monica went to talk with Jerome about the rose garden earlier in the evening. She came back here and you spoke with her before dusk, so that would have been around eight. When she went to the garden, what was she wearing?”
The first inkling of hope showed in Eleanor’s face. “She was wearing a dark gray slack suit by her favorite designer. It fit her perfectly. I remember because she was silhouetted against the sunset and I thought how it was cut exactly for her.” She gripped the fabric scrap. “She wasn’t wearing her nightgown.”
“Can we check to see if the gown is in her room?”
“I should have thought of that.” She sprang to her feet and motioned for me to follow her through several lavishly decorated rooms and up a curving staircase so beautifully crafted it looked as if it floated on air.
Thick carpet covered the upstairs hall and absorbed the sound of our footsteps. An intruder could easily have slipped in and moved around the house without being detected.
Eleanor passed several doors before she pushed one open. “I never go in her room,” she said. “Because we were twins, we became very territorial. People think twins share everything, but it isn’t true. Sometimes we have to fight harder for an individual identity. Monica loves her privacy, and I’ve always honored that. This makes me feel like I’m violating her.”
“She’d do the same for you,” I told her.
She flipped on the light. Monica’s room was awash in shades of lavender and periwinkle blue. I was surprised by the colors.
“She loves the beach,” Eleanor said. “My room is green and rust. I love the mountains. Though we’re identical, we do have our differences.”
We decided that I would go through Monica’s spacious walk-in closet and lingerie lowboy while Eleanor searched her dresser.
Tinkie joined us. “The police are on the way. Gunny is coming personally. He apologized for not acting on your initial call, Eleanor.”
“It’s hurtful when the people in your hometown don’t believe you.” She closed the bottom drawer of the dresser. “The gown isn’t here. You didn’t find it, either, did you?” Her voice broke and she cleared her throat. “What’s happened to my sister?”
“We’ll find her,” Tinkie said.
I noticed that she made no promises about finding her alive and safe.
Monica’s gown wasn’t in her room, the bathroom, or the laundry hamper, a fact none of us could ignore.
We returned downstairs, and Tinkie put on coffee while I sat with Eleanor. Gunny arrived as Tinkie brought in a tray with the fresh coffee and cups. When I answered the door, I noticed dawn was lighting the eastern sky. I wanted a good look at the base of the cliffs, but I would wait until I could tell Gunny about what I’d witnessed during the haunted tour without Eleanor overhearing. I figured Gunny would be as interested in the bluff—and what went over the edge of it—as I was.
* * *
Gunny went through a list of questions very similar to those Tinkie and I had already asked Eleanor. Her answers were consistent. Weariness touched the corners of her eyes. For the first time, I saw her true age in the puffiness and dark circles. Her posture was perfect, but her voice was rough with grief and worry she tightly controlled.
“Why don’t you try to rest?” Gunny said when he’d finished. “My men are scouring the grounds. If there’s any evidence of foul play, we’ll find it.”
“Jerome can help,” Eleanor said. “He knows Briarcliff better than anyone except a Levert.”
Gunny nodded. “He already is. These ladies”—he indicated Tinkie and me—“have some questions to answer before I send them home.”
“Lie down,” Tinkie told Eleanor, leading her to the stairs. “We’ll stay here. I promise. Any news at all, and I’ll get you.”
“But you haven’t had any rest, either,” Eleanor said.
“It’s okay. We’re fine.” Tinkie almost pushed her up the stairs.
When the door to her room clicked shut, I turned to Gunny and relayed what I’d seen during the haunted tour.
“Someone was on that cliff top? You’re sure?” he asked.
“I didn’t see a person, but something as large as a human body doesn’t just hurtle off a cliff by itself.”
“Let’s take a look.” He strode out the door.
At the edge of the bluff the wind was still kicking up, a contrast to the perfect summer sunrise. Golden peach light pushed against the blue of night. The river glinted like molten silver.
“Whatever it was came from there.” I pointed to the south, where the bluff protruded over the water. I wasn’t great with geometry, but the object had struck the water, not land.
We started that way, but Gunny waved us back. “Let me check for footprints.”
It wasn’t likely he’d find anything in the thick Saint Augustine grass, but Tinkie and I held back. He knelt down and brushed at the grass. “Take a look at this,” he called.
A slash in the ground looked as if someone had struck it with a golf club or some type of mallet. “A horse did that,” I said. “A horse that’s been shod.” I pointed to a trail of marks that gouged the grass.
Gunny looked up at me. “Are you certain?”
“Yes.”
“The Levert sisters said it had been years since horses were kept on the property, but the gardener said one is running loose,” Tinkie volunteered. “He thinks someone couldn’t feed it, so they turned it out in the woods.”
“And it just gallops around Briarcliff?” Gunny was skeptical.
“Until someone catches it, or it bolts out in front of a vehicle on the road, or gets injured and bleeds to death.” I knew I had to do something about the horse before I left Natchez. While horses are large, imposing creatures, they are incredibly fragile. And they have no ability to fend for themselves if they’re dumped out.
“Do you think it’s possible the horse threw its rider over the bluff?” Gunny asked.
I hadn’t thought of that scenario. I calculated the distance from the hoofprints to the cliff. “It’s possible. But who would be riding a horse in a peignoir?”
“Excellent question.” Gunny rose to his feet. “I suppose I have to call out the search and rescue and see if we can find a body in the river.”
“I’m not going to tell Eleanor that,” I said. “I don’t believe Monica would be out here riding a horse in her nightgown, so I don’t think Eleanor needs to know about the flotilla. If you find something, would you contact me or Tinkie?”
“I will.” He shifted his gaze from Tinkie to me. “What do you think happened to Ms. Levert?”
“I don’t have a theory yet. We don’t really know the sisters.”
“Monica has a … reputation in town. When Eleanor called, I didn’t come out because Monica’s been known to … spend the night elsewhere. And then rub the wronged wife’s nose in it.”
Gunny was doing his best to be circumspect. I thought to follow up that statement, but Tinkie spoke first. “Do you think the person who took the necklace abducted Monica?”
“To what purpose?” Gunny asked.
“Ransom?” She frowned. “Except there’s been no ransom request.”
“Yeah, get back with me when one comes in.” Gunny was almost condescending.
“It’s the only thing that makes sense.” Tinkie put her hands on her hips. “People don’t just disappear, and Monica is waiting for half of a four-million-dollar payday. She wouldn’t just leave two million behind. Even if it weren’t for the money, she wouldn’t disappear and leave her sister to worry.”
Tinkie’s logic, when it involved money, was infallible. Perhaps it came from having a banker husband and a bank owner for a father. “She’s
right,” I said.
“But there’s been no ransom demand.” Gunny wasn’t buying a kidnapping. “And she’s been gone, what? Twelve hours? My bet is she found a guy and decided to have her fun. Look, we’ll check the river and keep an eye out. I’ll speak with the cab company in town and see if a driver came out here last evening to pick her up.”
The standard rule of thumb is a kidnap victim’s best chance of being recovered unharmed is within the first twenty-four hours. The more time that passes, the less likely the victim’s survival.
“If she was taken for money, maybe the kidnapper is waiting for daybreak,” I said.
“Anyone foolish enough to take Monica would have a real-life ‘Ransom of Red Chief.’ He’d pay Eleanor to take her back.” He called over his shoulder as he left, “I’ll call if I find anything in the river.”
Tinkie and I went into the house, moving quietly in the hope Eleanor was asleep. From the front window we watched Gunny deploy his men. Half a dozen continued to comb the grounds of Briarcliff with the help of Jerome Lolly. Another six got into their vehicles and followed Gunny back to town.
I sank into a chair and stifled a yawn. Tinkie tested the coffeepot to see if it was still warm, then poured us each a cup. “What do you think happened to Monica?” she asked, handing me the java.
“From what the chief says, it sounds like some angry wife might have hauled her off.”
Tinkie fanned her face. “She must be hot stuff. Maybe she is rolled up in bed with a lover.”
“Maybe.” I couldn’t believe she’d up and leave without a word to her sister. They appeared to be totally devoted to each other. They vacationed together, played together, shared houses and … insurance money. “Do you think Eleanor might have pushed her…” I couldn’t finish.
“No-o-o!” Tinkie was scandalized I’d suggest such a thing. “They’re identical twins. Eleanor is too genteel. Besides, she loves Monica.”
“Two million dollars is a lot of reason to bump someone off.”
“That doesn’t explain the hoofprints,” Tinkie said. “I don’t believe for a minute a strange horse is running around, showing up at a potential crime scene. A human trespasser was here at Briarcliff last night. Someone up to no good.”
That’s why I valued Tinkie. She had a no-nonsense streak of practicality that put things in perspective.
“You’re so right.”
The words came from behind us. Eleanor Levert stood in the parlor doorway, her face as pale as the starched white curtains in the kitchen window. One hand gripped the door frame. She teetered, as if she were about to collapse.
“What is it?” I was on my feet and at her side in seconds. A good thing, too, because she slumped into my arms. Tinkie helped me maneuver her to the sofa.
“Call a doctor,” I urged Tinkie.
“No.” Eleanor’s hand batted the air. “No doctor. Don’t call anyone.”
“You’re ill,” Tinkie said gently. “This has been a terrible shock. It might be best to have your blood pressure checked.”
Eleanor pushed free of us. She rocked back and forth on the sofa, her features drawn in pain, but it wasn’t physical, it was emotional.
“Tell us what’s wrong,” I said.
“I can’t.”
“You can trust us.” Tinkie rubbed her back. “What is it?”
Eleanor stopped rocking. She looked into Tinkie’s blue eyes for a long moment. “I don’t know what to do. I’m afraid.”
“You heard from the kidnappers.” I made a statement, not a question.
She looked down at her lap. “He said if I told anyone, he’d kill her.”
“What do they want?” I pressed.
“The insurance money.” She spoke softly.
“The entire four million?” Tinkie asked.
“Yes.”
“How did they know the amount?” I asked.
“Natchez is a small town. Mr. Nesbitt at Langley Insurance would have had to clear the settlement with the main office in Chicago. There could have been a leak anywhere. I think the man I spoke with was Southern. He spoke so harshly, it was difficult to tell, but I believe he had a drawl. I just don’t know. I was upset.”
“What did he say? Exactly.”
She took a breath and looked up at us. “He said, ‘We have your sister. We haven’t hurt her, but we will. Collect the insurance from the necklace tomorrow. We’ll contact you with further instructions. If you call the police, your sister will die slowly and painfully.’ And then he hung up.”
I knew Tinkie was traveling the same mental road I was. The ransom demand sounded professional and well thought out. It was reasonable to assume there was more than one kidnapper. One to guard the hostage while the other picked up the money.
“We should contact the police chief,” Tinkie said.
“Absolutely not.” Eleanor jolted up like someone had hit her with a hotshot.
“We’re not equipped to handle a ransom situation.” Tinkie rose slowly. “Gunny will bring in the FBI.”
“No!” Emotion mottled her pale face. “I will not risk my sister’s life by calling in the police, the FBI, or anyone else. If you won’t help me, I’ll take care of this myself.”
“Be reasonable,” Tinkie said. “Your sister’s life is at stake. Let the professionals handle it.”
“That man threatened to kill Monica slowly and painfully if I didn’t do exactly what he said. I believe him.”
Tinkie waited for my response, but I couldn’t support her. If someone snatched her or Cece or Millie, I wouldn’t call the FBI. I would handle it myself.
“Do you think the insurance company will pay out tomorrow?” I asked. Tinkie shot me a look that would curdle milk.
“If you and Tinkie turn in your report, I might be able to push it through.”
“The FBI can get marked bills,” I said. “You’ll stand a better chance of recovering the money and putting the kidnappers behind bars.”
“I don’t care about the money. I want Monica home safely. I’m sure once she’s back, I’ll want to punish these lowlife thieves, but now, the only thing I care about is my sister.” She grasped each of our shoulders. “Please, will you help me?”
5
“Give us a minute.” Tinkie motioned me out of the room.
When we were in the hallway, she whispered, “We can’t do this. We don’t know a thing about handling a ransom. Monica’s life is on the line, Sarah Booth.”
“I agree.”
“You can’t be hardheaded…” She stopped. “You agree?”
“I do. Eleanor should call the FBI.”
Tinkie blew out her breath. “Thank goodness. I thought you were going to want to sign on to handle this.”
“She needs to call the FBI, but she isn’t going to.” Tinkie was right, but so was I. If we didn’t help Eleanor, she’d take matters into her own hands. As unprepared as we were to deal with this kind of situation, Eleanor was worse.
“Look, we came here to do a report for an insurance claim. Finding a thief is one thing, but dealing with a hostage situation is another. This is way out of our league.” Tinkie tapped her toe on the hardwood floor. Normally, she’d be wearing high-fashion shoes, and the tap-tap-tap would be very effective. The walking shoes she wore diluted the effect. “I don’t like this.”
I put my arm around her shoulders. “I don’t, either, but you know I’m right.”
She stepped away from me. “If we can’t convince her to call the police when it’s time to make the drop, then we walk out. I won’t be part of a ransom gone wrong.”
Anything other than trying to advise Eleanor was way out of our depth. “Let’s try to move her toward calling Gunny.” The Natchez PD might not have the manpower or training to handle a sophisticated kidnapping, but I felt certain Gunny was the kind of officer who would recognize his limitations and call in the feds.
We returned to the parlor, where Eleanor sat on the sofa staring out the front window at the glorious v
ista of a perfect morning. A robin’s egg sky capped the lush green foliage of a Southern summer. I sat down beside Eleanor.
“Tell me everyone who has access to the house and your personal business,” I said. “Everyone.”
Her shoulders visibly relaxed. “Then you’ll help me.”
“To a point.” Tinkie perched on a wing chair. “You should call the authorities, Eleanor. They have experts who handle these situations. Our best advice is for you to put this in their hands.”
“They mess up as often as not.” She dared Tinkie to deny the statistics. “Monica is all I have in the world. We’re the last of the true Leverts. I have to get her back, no matter the cost.”
“Which brings us to another list we need to make,” I said. “Who inherits Briarcliff after you and Monica die?”
A frosty smile touched Eleanor’s lips. “Your assumption is that the kidnapper will kill Monica and then come for me.”
There wasn’t time for games or finessing. “It’s a possibility we can’t ignore. Who stands to gain?”
“If Barthelme Levert were alive, I fear he’d take strong action. He wasn’t a man who liked to be pushed into a corner.” A hint of color stained her cheeks. “The closest heir, the only heir other than me and my sister, is a cousin. Millicent Gentry.”
She spoke the name with such disdain I hardly had to ask. “You aren’t close to this Millicent?”
Eleanor’s nose tilted upward slightly. “There’s a vulgar Southern expression that perfectly describes Millicent. She’s as crazy as a shit-house rat.”
Tinkie turned away to hide her smile, and I struggled not to laugh. “I gather you don’t get along.”
“Millicent is a lazy lout. She’s gone through her parents’ inheritance. She sold the family property to a subdivision developer. That was Levert land. It had been in the family for generations. Barthelme even plowed it with a mule when he first came to Adams County. Now there are tract houses with tiny, treeless lawns and overweight women in polyester shorts living on it.” She’d worked herself into a real righteous anger.
Bones of a Feather: A Sarah Booth Delaney Mystery Page 5
