Bones of a Feather: A Sarah Booth Delaney Mystery

by Carolyn Haines

  “Will Langley Insurance pay out that fast?” I’d never actually worked an insurance case, but I’d assumed it would take months to get a company to fork over so much money.

  “They will, or they will suffer the consequences. My sister’s life hangs in the balance. I can cash out some stocks, but I can’t raise enough to free Monica without the insurance settlement. Monica and I … aren’t liquid.”

  So without the insurance money, she couldn’t ransom her sister. The kidnapper was someone who knew the sisters’ business far too well. Not a coincidence, I was willing to bet. “What else did he say?”

  “He’ll call tomorrow with instructions for the drop. Have you and Mrs. Richmond found anything useful?”

  I should have informed her about Barclay, but I wasn’t certain he was truly related. “Did Monica ever live in West Palm Beach and sail?”

  “Why are you asking this now?”

  “It may relate. Just work with me.”

  “When she was very young she met an architect. He was an avid sailor, and he taught her. She sailed around the tip of Florida and into the Gulf, where she stayed for a while.”

  So far, Barclay’s story jibed. “What do you know about her time in Tarpon Springs?”

  “What’s this about?” she asked.

  I took a deep breath. “There’s a man in town claiming to be her son.” I didn’t want to tell her over the phone, but she would hear it sooner rather than later. Gossip could, and often did, travel faster than the speed of light. Barclay was not a presence anyone could ignore.

  “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. Monica never had a child.”

  “Is it possible? This man claims she lived near Tampa for nearly a year. Once she gave birth, she left—or that’s the story he’s telling.”

  “I would certainly know if my sister had a child. This man is a liar. And you say he’s in Natchez? Now? Is he behind Monica’s abduction?”

  “I intend to find out. I promise you.” My grip on the phone made my knuckles white. I relaxed my hand. “He wants a DNA test. He’s asked me to gather a sample of Monica’s from you. A hair from her brush. Her toothbrush. Something that can be tested.”

  “Are you working for him or for us?” Eleanor snapped.

  “For you,” I said quietly. I understood her fury. “It’s the simplest way to disprove his claim, if it isn’t true.”

  “Monica can give him a sample when we get her back. It’s her choice. Not mine.”

  “Eleanor, I’m not saying this is the case, but it’s very strange that all at the same time, someone has been breaking into Briarcliff for the past several weeks. A necklace is stolen. Your sister is taken, and a man claiming to be an heir shows up in town.”

  There was a pause. “Do you think these events are connected?”

  “I honestly don’t know. But we can’t discount they may be. We really need to validate or disprove Barclay’s claim. Besides, if he is Monica’s son, it in no way obligates you to view him as an heir.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  I didn’t push it. There was no point. Eleanor was upset. Maybe by morning she’d come to her senses and see the best way to deal with Barclay was head on.

  “Did you record your phone conversation with the kidnapper?” This whole business made me nutty. Monica had been missing for twenty-four hours. The kidnapper seemed in no hurry, as if he knew obtaining the insurance money would take a bit of time even with the pressure the Leverts could apply. I hoped Eleanor might recognize the voice.

  “He caught me unprepared. I didn’t get the equipment yet.”

  I closed my eyes against the frustration. Eleanor had promised she’d buy a recording device for her phone. I would pick one up in the morning and deliver it, but it wouldn’t recapture the last call.

  “Is there anything about the voice you recognize? Think hard.”

  “Definitely Southern. Almost as if his drawl was exaggerated. Like he was mocking the way we talk here.” Her voice grew excited. “Does that help?”

  “Delta accent? North Mississippi? Coastal?” There are distinctions between the regions that someone attuned to nuances can detect. Eleanor would definitely recognize the faintest whiff of commonness.

  “He could be from Natchez. I can’t be certain.”

  “Would you know his voice if you heard it again?”

  “Oh, yes. Absolutely.”

  If we ever got him in custody, Eleanor might be able to put him behind bars for a long, long time. But that was a mighty big if.

  “Write down everything he said, exactly as he said it. I’ll pick it up tomorrow morning.”

  “I hate the thought of Monica held captive another night.” Eleanor sounded weepy.

  “I don’t have the experience to advise you on this. If we mess this up, Monica could be seriously hurt.” She would likely be killed, but stating the obvious wasn’t necessary. Eleanor was hanging on to her composure by a thread.

  “He said if I called the police, he’d gut Monica and throw her in the river for the gar to eat.”

  This guy was definitely local. The Mississippi River alligator gar, a species of fish with numerous teeth and a body armored with tough scales, were legendary in appetite and bite. “What time did he call?”

  “About ten minutes ago. I called you as soon as I hung up.”

  So he’d waited until he reasoned Eleanor would be asleep, hoping for the advantage startling her would give him. So far, it was working.

  “I’ll check with the insurance company tomorrow,” I said.

  “The police chief came by this afternoon. He wanted to know if Monica had come home and I fed him a story about how she’d gone to New York City and forgot to tell me. I got rid of him as quickly as I could.”

  She was obviously worried the kidnappers would think she’d gone against orders. “Was he satisfied with that?”

  “For the moment. Have you made any progress determining who might have taken my sister?”

  “Some, but nothing definite. I interviewed Millicent, John Hightower, Helena Banks Gorenflo, and Kissie. They each have something to gain, but I can’t point the finger of blame at any of them. Not yet.”

  “You can find her, Ms. Delaney. I know you can. I’m counting on you.”

  And that was the problem.

  10

  The next morning, I spent more time than usual applying makeup in an effort to cover the damage of a tormented night. In a vivid dream, I’d been a helpless bystander while Monica was held in chains in a dungeon—a good, old-fashioned Sheriff of Nottingham dungeon with a torturer in a black mask, red-hot pokers to jab into her eyes, thumbscrews, and all the other trappings. Things were damn dire for her, and Robin Hood wasn’t around to save the day. The nightmare had been so vivid, my need to save Monica so pressing, I’d awakened trying to run in bed. The sheets looked as if I’d deliberately tied them in knots.

  Showered and with a thick coat of foundation hiding some of the dark bags, I was happy to leave the scene of my delusions.

  Cece was waiting for me when I called her room, and she was eager to relay her nocturnal activities—ones far different from my own. We met in the hallway. She rolled her eyes. “Dahling, the only movie part you’ll get today is as the reanimated dead. What’s wrong?”

  At our table in the hotel restaurant, I told her about Eleanor’s call and her unwillingness to involve experts to save her sister.

  “This whole kidnapping thing is playing out in slow motion, and it doesn’t make sense,” she said. “Eleanor acts like she’s in a trance. Maybe she doesn’t watch television, but she should know the longer this drags out, the less likely Monica will survive.” She threw up her hands. “Even the kidnapper isn’t in a hurry. There’s absolutely no sense of urgency.”

  “I get the feeling the Levert fortune has slowed everything down. In their world, it’s rude to rush. Even a kidnapping.” It sounded ridiculous, but Cece understood what I meant. The extremely rich had a differ
ent relationship with time. Things happened at a speed that suited them, and the kidnapper had demanded a huge ransom. The only good news was that Eleanor had heard Monica in the background, which meant she was still alive. Of course, her voice could have been tape-recorded and played back.

  “I’m in over my head,” I confided to Cece. “This isn’t following any playbook I know. It seems to me the kidnapper has to be someone close to Eleanor or Monica.” I pushed my toast around the saucer. “Lots of people can’t accept their friends will hurt them. Then again, the Levert sisters don’t appear to have a tremendous number of friends.”

  “True. I had no idea how deeply the sisters are loathed until last night.” Her lively expression told me she’d come across something good.

  “What did you get up to after I went to bed?”

  She signaled the waitress for more coffee. “I thought Barclay might show up in the hotel bar. He didn’t, so I entertained myself with someone else.”

  Cece had her ways, and the idea she’d replaced Barclay in her affections made me heave a sigh of relief. “And?”

  “Monica Levert wasn’t particular about trespassing.”

  “Meaning she stomped around on someone’s fenced property or she tampered with someone’s husband?”

  “She seems to relish rustling other people’s bulls. It’s habitual conduct. She’s built a career of pilfering the men attached to her social peers.” Cece sipped the fresh, hot coffee and sighed with pleasure. “I met a man last night. Wayne Griffin. From Nashville. He’s still suffering from his moment of bliss with Monica and still coming back to Natchez in the hope he’ll see her out somewhere. Luckily he has a weakness for good Scotch and a sympathetic ear.”

  “In other words, you plied him with liquor and pumped him.”

  “I haven’t forgotten the tactics of being a man, dahling.” Cece arched her eyebrows. “He wasn’t a cheap date, let me say, but it was worth it. I solicited great info. Monica tied him in knots and then dropped him. His wife got the house, the kids, and six grand a month in alimony.”

  “Six grand? He must print money. Doctor or lawyer?”

  “Insurance. He writes policies for the country music stars.”

  “I hope the affair was worth it.” Talk about a lifetime of pain for momentary pleasure.

  “He said it was well worth it. Believe it or not, he had no regrets.”

  The surprise must have shown on my face. Most men enjoyed a good romp, but when it impacted their pocketbooks, remorse was generally intense.

  “He said Monica turned him inside out. He would have given up everything for her.” Cece sipped a mimosa. “Still would. He said if she gave him another chance, he’d walk away from everything. She made him feel incredible, like he was the best lover in the world.”

  “Did he say what she did?” If Monica had a secret move that could make a man throw over his money, I wanted to know what it was. The waitress brought our shrimp grits and biscuits. My mouth watered to the point I almost embarrassed myself.

  “He said she had no boundaries.” Cece daintily tasted her grits. “These are heavenly. There’s just enough spice in the shrimp to complement the sharp cheese. Excellent.”

  “What does that mean? No boundaries.”

  She took a bite of biscuit. “He wouldn’t say.”

  “What a freaking tease.” I dug into my food.

  “He promised to show me. Tonight.”

  “What about Barclay?” My spirits rose. She’d thrown over the idea of romancing the bad boy, even if it meant having a fling with an adulterer who bled green every time he paid his alimony.

  “I haven’t given up on Barclay. Once I learn what Wayne has to show me, I’m going to turn Barclay inside out. He’ll tell me every secret he ever thought of having, and I’ll have my way with him.”

  I wisely kept silent and sipped my orange juice. Cece, like all my friends, was impossible to dissuade once she’d set a course. The best plan was to put Barclay behind bars for burglary and kidnapping—if he was guilty—and safely out of her reach. “So what did Mr. Griffin say about Monica other than she was hot in bed?”

  “That she was the most selfish person he’d ever met.” She put her fork down. “According to him, all the women in town hate her. His words, ‘There are dozens of society ladies who might pay to have her abducted. Permanently.’” She made sure no one was eavesdropping on us before she continued. “Is it possible the ransom is just a ruse to cover up a murder?”

  My gut twisted at her words. “I hadn’t considered that, but I will now.” Cece had just put another boiling kettle on the back burner of my brain. “Is Eleanor held in the same low regard?”

  “She’s managed to keep her paws off the husbands of her friends, so she isn’t despised like Monica, but there’s no love lost for her, either. The Levert sisters are viewed as arrogant and entitled. The redeeming grace, at least from the male perspective, is Monica’s … shall we say, sexual talent.”

  “If Aunt Loulane were around, she’d tell Monica a smart woman doesn’t shit in her own nest.”

  “I don’t think Aunt Loulane would tell her anything. Your aunt had too much class to associate with Monica.” Cece popped the last bite of biscuit in her mouth. “So what’s on the agenda for today?”

  “Don’t you have to show up at the newspaper?” Cece had a lax work situation because the publisher knew she’d bird-dog a story until she brought it home no matter how many hours overtime she worked. Nonetheless, Cece normally appeared at the office at some point during the day.

  “I promised Tinkie I’d keep an eye on you. I took a vacation leave.”

  Cece’s holidays were valuable. Giving one up was a supreme sacrifice for friendship. “Thanks. Let’s make the day count, then. We need to track down Marty Diamond, but first we have to stop by Langley Insurance and see when Eleanor can expect her settlement.”

  Cece pushed back from the table. Her gaze swept the room, and I wondered if she scanned for Barclay. He was nowhere in evidence. Which made me relieved but also worried. He could be up to anything nefarious.

  I’d signed the check when my phone rang. It was a number I didn’t know. I answered as Cece and I walked through the wonderful old lobby toward the parking lot. I instantly recognized the soft burr of the Leverts’ gardener’s voice and I touched Cece’s arm to halt her.

  “Miss Delaney, it’s Jerome Lolly. We had an intruder out here at Briarcliff last night.”

  “Did you call the police?”

  “I haven’t told anyone. Miss Eleanor is so … agitated already, what with the necklace stolen and Miss Monica taking off without a word to anyone. I spooked the intruder and he left, so I waited until morning to call you.”

  “Can you identify the intruder?” I felt a shiver of apprehension. Had the kidnapper come back? Was he after Eleanor, too, or was he merely trying to intimidate her?

  Jerome cleared his throat. “I don’t want to sound like a kook, but it was a man wearing some kind of goggles, hiding in the bushes, watching the house.”

  “Did you recognize him?” The kidnapper knew every step Eleanor took, so it was logical he was watching Briarcliff—and her. But to do so on the property was bold. No wonder he knew when the house was empty and vulnerable. Jerome had given me the best lead.

  “I couldn’t get close enough. I caught a glimpse of his face, with the goggles, in the moonlight. I tried to sneak up on him, but he must have heard me coming. Or seen me. He was gone by the time I got there.”

  “Night-vision goggles,” I said.

  “Very likely. This is a rogue at work. The police should be called in.”

  I had to stall him until Eleanor agreed. “I’ll meet you at Briarcliff and you can show me where the intruder was.” I put my phone away. “Time to get hopping. Jerome found an intruder spying on the house last night.”

  “Oh, goody,” Cece said, pretending to clap her hands. “This case has everything, Sarah Booth. Stolen jewelry, a family of thieves and kille
rs, a secret baby, a kidnapping, sexual misconduct, and now a spy. It just doesn’t get any better than this.”

  * * *

  While I drove to Briarcliff, Cece rode shotgun and chatted on her cell phone with a colleague at the Natchez newspaper. I’d left a message for Mr. Nesbitt at Langley Insurance to get back with me. He wouldn’t be in until eleven.

  Cece closed her phone and high fived me. “I got Marty Diamond’s address. Folks who want to be singing stars give up a lot of their privacy. My friend at the Natchez paper knew all about him.”

  “Did she say anything interesting?” Reporters often knew more than they ever printed.

  “He got in some trouble when he was a teenager, fist fighting, that kind of thing. Jassine said it was normal kid stuff. When he found he could sing, he left the fighting behind. His one goal has been to hit it big as a country star. Jassine said he was ‘walking ambition.’”

  “Did she say anything about Kissie?”

  “Jassine likes Kissie and Marty. She says they’re going places in the music world, but they need each other. Her take is Marty could never find better, more original material than what Kissie writes. And Kissie won’t find a singer who delivers better than Marty.”

  “A match made in heaven. Or hell.”

  “Marty has a cabin on the edge of the national forest.” She tapped her notebook. “Directions.”

  A perfect place to hold a hostage. “Great. Let’s tend to the goggle-eyed snooper first and then head out to talk with Marty.”

  We pulled up in front of Briarcliff. Cece studied the house. A storm was building to the west, and with the morning sun coming up behind the mansion, the whole place was cast in a peculiar, disconcerting light.

  “Was the monster’s name Frankenstein, or was that his creator?” she asked.

  “Both,” I said.

  “This is one creepy place.” She walked along the driveway parallel to the house. “There must be fifty rooms.”

  At least, but I didn’t say anything.

  “Have you searched the house to make sure Monica isn’t here?”