Bones of a Feather: A Sarah Booth Delaney Mystery

by Carolyn Haines

  “He knows about Millicent,” I said. “We found evidence in the woods.”

  “But no body?” Tinkie, like me, found that very strange.

  “It doesn’t matter. There’s nothing we can do for her. Eleven more hours.” Eleanor spoke softly. “When Monica is safe, I’ll turn over heaven and earth to find out what happened to Millicent. You have my word.”

  “If I’d had my way, I would have called the police,” Barclay said, and there was a hint of a threat in his voice.

  Eleanor’s rigid posture seemed to sag in defeat. “Call them. I can’t hold all of you off. I’m so sorry for Millicent. This is just too much for me.” She staggered toward the house, leaving us standing in the perfumed August afternoon.

  “Give him your cell phone, please,” I said to Tinkie. “I broke his.”

  Tinkie fished hers out of her purse and was about to hand it to Barclay when I stopped her. “Before we do something we can’t take back, why don’t we talk to John Hightower?”

  “Why should we talk to that nerd?” Barclay asked.

  “His camera recorded the photograph of Millicent’s body. He was attacked in the woods, but he made it out safely, abandoning Millicent to her murderer. Don’t you find that a little odd?”

  “More than a little,” Tinkie said. “And where is Jerome? He’s vanished and no one seems to care.”

  Barclay cleared his throat. “I saw him.”

  “You saw Jerome?” Tinkie spoke before I could.

  “He came by the Eola on his way out of town. He said he was leaving Natchez. Forever.”

  “Did he say why?” I found this hard to accept. “He’s deeply in love with Eleanor, and she needs him now.”

  Barclay gave a disdainful snort. “That’s the rub, Sarah Booth. The Levert sisters don’t need anyone except each other. Jerome finally understood this. Eleanor wouldn’t confide in him and she wouldn’t trust him. Thirty years of that kind of treatment was enough.”

  He had a point. “There was a lot of mischief on the estate last night. Hightower was thrashed by an unidentified assailant. Someone went through the woods like a savage. They knocked Sweetie Pie unconscious.” When I said her name, Sweetie rose from her doggie nap and stood, stretching. Roscoe joined her. He stood on his hind legs and tried to sniff Chablis’s cute little tail as Tinkie held the dog in her arms.

  “She is out of your league,” Tinkie said, turning away to block the devilish-looking dog. “If she weren’t already spayed, I’d take her to the vet this instant rather than risk propagating whatever genetic code that evil dog carries.”

  Chablis had other thoughts. She jumped to the ground and the three dogs sprinted toward the house.

  The interruption had given me time to think. “Hightower knows more than he’s saying. He must have been onto the romance between Jerome and Eleanor. Maybe he intended to blackmail Eleanor.”

  Barclay’s eyes narrowed. “What do you think Millicent knew that cost her her life?”

  “Depends on who killed her,” I said. “It wasn’t Monica or Eleanor.”

  “We need to search Millicent’s house and talk to Hightower,” I said.

  “I have dibs on Hightower,” Tinkie said.

  “And I’m going with you.” Barclay pointed at Tinkie.

  “No problem.” She reached up and chunked him under the chin. “As cute as you are, you can shadow me wherever I go.”

  And with that, she successfully transformed the brooding lord of Briarcliff into a lap dog. I had to give it to Tinkie, she could perform magic.

  19

  By default, I was left with Millicent’s house. I put Hightower and his antics out of my mind as I walked down the sidewalk to the pink confection of a Victorian house.

  The over-the-top lawn decorations now seemed sad. When she was alive, Millicent created an energy that gave her peculiarities a certain vitality. Death had stolen that. Now I feared Millicent would be remembered for her eccentricities and nothing else. It made me wonder what my legacy would be if I died suddenly. Not exactly a thought to warm the cockles of my heart. Or my empty womb, as Jitty would be quick to point out.

  If the yard décor could be ignored, Millicent’s home was actually elegant and a fine example of Southern architecture. One thing about old Barthelme—he knew how to build structures that withstood the test of time. Combining history, grace, and a sense of endless summer, the house sported gingerbread trim and green shutters. Hummingbird vines with bright orange blossoms twined around the porch balustrade. Millicent had created a place that was stamped with her personality yet also included a nod at a time past when folks visited on front porches. The wide, shady gallery was an invitation to “sit a spell and talk.”

  Which I might have done if one of the seven dwarves holding a sledge hammer hadn’t jumped to life and begun tapping the porch. The evil little gnome almost scared me to death. I snatched it up and discovered the thing was battery operated. Apparently my footsteps had jarred the on switch. Or else Millicent remained on the premises, still enjoying a practical joke. I knew plenty about prankish ghosts.

  “Jitty?” It could be that Dahlia House’s haint had come to keep me company. But there was no answer. “Jitty?” I moved forward carefully.

  With the happy pink paint, the house was like a birthday cake. What would happen to it now? I tried, unsuccessfully, to block the photograph of Millicent’s dead body from my mind as I knocked on the leaded-glass door. No one answered, of course. I twisted the knob, which wouldn’t turn. It would have been so much easier if she’d merely left her house unlocked, but Millicent had never been about making life less bumpy for others.

  No prying neighbors watched, so I slipped into the high shrubbery and crept to the back. It took nothing to jiggle a screen off a back window and ease the pane up. Like Briarcliff, the house was old—built in a time when home invasions were virtually nonexistent. And since the house had belonged to Barthelme, the head robber and gangster in town, he had little to fear from others. Security wasn’t a priority, and Millicent hadn’t felt the need for burglar systems and bars. While those living in large cities might find the lack of protection odd, I didn’t. I had no security measures at Dahlia House, to speak of. Other than Sweetie, who was pretty much as effective as a team of Pinkerton agents.

  As I hoisted myself into the window, I wished for the company of my hound. I’d left Sweetie and Roscoe in Eleanor’s care. She remained at Briarcliff to answer the phone. The call from the kidnappers could come at any moment. Their normal routine was to wait until late in the evening, but this was the night designated for the drop. They could call at any hour.

  With that thought in mind, I hurried through the library and parlor and stopped in the doll room only long enough to scan the life-sized replicas of Millicent, each one adorned in a costume that would be perfect for a porn film. She’d lived life on full-tilt boogie. My desire to tour the room was cut short by my need to hurry. If I could find a clue to what Millicent intended to relay to Barclay, I might expose the motive for her murder. Somehow, I doubted that information would be tucked in Medical Barbie’s bag.

  I checked behind pictures, hoping for a wall safe or something easy to identify. In the dining room, a sixteen-foot mahogany table beautifully set with fine china and crystal awaited a dinner party. No doubt Millicent had a maid to wash and dust. That concern was answered almost immediately when I found a check on the kitchen counter made out to Kissie, along with a list of chores, and a small key. So the singing housekeeper worked for the Levert sisters and Millicent. Now that was interesting.

  The check, written for a substantial amount, bore today’s date, which meant Kissie was likely due at any moment. Her cleaning services were apparently a standing engagement. Looking around, I realized the house was immaculate, as if Kissie had just finished. But why would she leave her check? It didn’t make a lot of sense. Then again I was dealing with the Levert family.

  The chores included polish silver, mop bathrooms, do laundry—t
he normal list. Until I got to the next-to-last item. Pick up packet at bank and deliver to Barclay Levert. The number 2446 was noted beside the list.

  Millicent had told Barclay she knew something that would put him in control of the Levert estate. Did this mysterious packet speak to that? So many questions and no one to ask. Except Kissie. Was she climbing both sides of the family tree—spying for Millicent while pretending to be loyal to the twins? I’d discuss this with Tinkie before I approached Kissie.

  The key was small, like the type used for a safety deposit box. The number 2446 could easily be a bank box. I knew which bank the Levert sisters used, and it didn’t take much to figure Millicent would use a competitor. I pocketed the key and went out the front door, making sure to leave it unlocked in case I had to come back.

  Eleanor and Monica were First Mississippi Bank customers, so I raced to the Bank of Natchez in Eleanor’s car. Time pressed hard against me. So much had happened in only a few days, but it felt as though I’d been in Natchez for a year. Now every second was precious.

  Tinkie’s tutoring in the art of presentation paid off. I entered the bank with poise and an attitude that said I expected immediate service. Tinkie had taught me so much in life comes down to the persona one projects. Wearing my jeans like they were designer labels, I strolled across the cool lobby, my boot heels clicking on the marble floor.

  With all the dignity I could muster I asked for access to the safety deposit boxes, showed my key, signed the register with Millicent’s name, and went into the vault. The bank employee inserted her key into the lock on 2446. My key worked like a charm. The door swung open and I pulled out the flat metal container and waited for privacy.

  When I was finally alone in the room, I lifted the lid to reveal a manila envelope on top of a large bundle of legal documents. I ripped open the envelope, and dozens of photographs spilled onto the table. Each shot contained Monica or Eleanor.

  Most had been taken with a long lens through the windows of Briarcliff, and they bore various times and dates. So, Millicent had been on her spy mission more than once. She’d kept tabs on her cousins for the last nine months. I wondered if John Hightower had put Millicent up to this and if he had additional pictures.

  I spread the pix out on a table. Nothing sensational. Nothing too personal. Just nasty little paparazzi sneak-shots of the Levert sisters in the privacy of their home. Several were of Monica on her balcony at dusk; others of Eleanor in the rose garden with Jerome. In unguarded moments their affection for each other was clear to see.

  In one photo, Eleanor and Monica sat on the sofa in the front parlor. The curtains were lifted on a breeze, and the sisters were laughing. It took a moment to realize what was wrong. When I did, I felt as if a mule had whacked me in the gut.

  Monica was wearing the ruby necklace. The kicker, though, was the time and date stamp on the photo. It was taken the day after the sisters had reported the necklace stolen.

  “Holy crap,” I whispered, suppressing all sorts of colorful curses. The Levert sisters had committed insurance fraud. Big-time. So big that the idea turned my knees to Jell-O. I sank into a straight back chair the bank thoughtfully provided in the room, reminding myself to calm down. This must have been the straw that finally broke Jerome’s back. He couldn’t support the sisters in this fraud, so he left.

  My impulse was to call Tinkie, but I stopped. I had to think through my next actions very carefully. If I alerted the cops, Eleanor would be arrested, leaving Monica hanging in the breeze, a nice euphemism for facing death. Bringing Tinkie into this now would involve her in insurance fraud. What she didn’t know couldn’t hurt her—literally.

  There was no way around it. I had to keep this information to myself until Monica was safe. To divulge it now would put her in tremendous jeopardy. No one could know what I’d found out, especially not Barclay.

  And no wonder Millicent told Barclay she had the key to the kingdom. With Monica and Eleanor behind bars for insurance fraud, Barclay would take over all of the Levert holdings. His DNA gave him the claim he needed.

  I now had a very good motive for someone to murder Millicent. Someone at Briarcliff. Someone who wasn’t accounted for last night. While I was running around the grounds and Tinkie was helping me, no one had paid the least attention to Eleanor’s whereabouts.

  * * *

  Briarcliff crowned the high bluffs of Natchez, a dark presence in the August sunlight. As I drove down the winding shell road toward the mansion, I had the sense that the house drank the sunlight. No matter how bright the day, Briarcliff brooded in gloom.

  Or maybe it was the fact one person was dead, another attacked, my dog whacked in the head, and Monica was still missing. Not to mention the horseman and the object thrown from the cliff. All had happened on the estate, and if I told these circumstances to Sunflower County Sheriff Coleman Peters, he would insist I was tricking him with a gothic tale of murder.

  The door leading from the portico opened as I parked. Sweetie and Roscoe rushed out to meet me. Eleanor, looking drawn and upset, stood in the doorway. “I’m glad you’re back,” she said.

  “We need to talk.” I sounded harsh and meant to. Now was the best opportunity because Tinkie hadn’t returned yet.

  She arched her eyebrows. “Is something wrong?”

  “You could say that.” From my back pocket I pulled out one of the photos showing Monica wearing the necklace.

  She studied the photo for a moment before she slowly lowered it. “So you know.”

  “Yes. I do. And so did Millicent. Now Millicent is dead. Very convenient for you.”

  “What do you intend to do?” Her shoulders slumped in defeat.

  “I’m calling the police. And the insurance company.”

  She steadied herself on the doorframe. “I can’t fight this anymore. My sister may die today. The prospect of jail for insurance fraud doesn’t even faze me, Sarah Booth. Do what you have to do.”

  “Insurance fraud is the least of it. Murder is what I’m talking about.”

  “Me? Kill Millicent? If you truly believe that of me, there’s little point in continuing.” She turned to go inside.

  I followed her, feeling a pang of sympathy, which I rooted out and squashed. She and her sister had involved Tinkie and me in a four-million-dollar scam. Delaney Detective Agency’s reputation could have been ruined. Eleanor and Monica had acted with selfishness, not to mention criminal intent. It was staggering.

  “Where’s the necklace?” I asked.

  “In the vault in the basement. I returned it after you photographed the vault for your report.” She tossed the photo on the kitchen counter. “Where did you get this picture?”

  “Millicent intended to give it to Barclay.”

  Eleanor indicated we should go to the parlor. “I know you won’t believe it, but I didn’t know she had a photograph. I clearly see her plan, though. To align herself with Barclay and get rid of me and Monica. Millicent was always out for only herself. She’d do anything to get the Levert land out of our control.”

  “You fail to see that you’ve lied about a stolen necklace and committed a stunning fraud.” My voice rose, though I fought to keep it under control. “Why? Why would you do such a thing? You don’t need the money.”

  “To the contrary.” She gestured toward a sofa. “Monica and I are broke. It’s as simple as that.”

  “But…” I looked around. “This place is worth a fortune. You could sell Briarcliff or the necklace and move to Europe. You could enjoy the rest of your lives and you’d never have had to do an illegal act.”

  “Sell Briarcliff?” She laughed, and for a moment she mirrored her sister’s more aggressive behavior. “Maybe you don’t believe in ghosts, but I do. Barthelme would be after us like a hellhound. We are Briarcliff. It’s part of us. Our family is buried here, and it is Monica’s and my responsibility to keep it in the family.”

  “But you’re the last. You didn’t know about Barclay. What did it matter about Bria
rcliff or any other Levert holding?” She ducked to hide her expression, and I realized I’d swallowed yet another lie. “Did you know about Barclay? You did, didn’t you?”

  “The year Monica disappeared for such a long stretch, I suspected. She was always independent, but she came and went. Suddenly she was just gone. But Briarcliff isn’t for Barclay.”

  She walked to the front windows. “I wanted Jerome to have it. Monica was opposed, but I said I wouldn’t help with the insurance scam unless she promised that if we died before Jerome, he could have the estate.”

  She turned around slowly. She was backlit, but I could see her expression. “Jerome has worked this property his entire life. He loves it. He deserves to live here until he dies. I wanted that for him, and if we’d lost the estate for taxes, it would be taken from him. Now even he’s gone, disgusted with me and what I was willing to do to save our home.”

  “You ripped off an insurance company for four million dollars.” It was simply audacious.

  “Yes, and we would have the money and the necklace, had Monica not been kidnapped. We’d planned to say we dug up one of the graves and found another of the Levert necklaces.” She couldn’t conceal the hint of a smile. “You have to admit, it was sheer brilliance. Monica and I staged the vandalism of the family cemetery, the holes dug, the whole ploy.”

  “Jerome helped you, didn’t he?”

  “He was opposed, but he loves me. I convinced him it was a harmless prank, something to annoy Helena Banks Gorenflo and her ilk. So he did it. When he found out the truth, he left.”

  She acted as if she sincerely cared whether I believed in Jerome’s innocence. I didn’t trust a thing she said now. The sisters practiced deception with uncanny ability. The Barthelme apple hadn’t fallen far from the tree. “Give me the necklace.”

  She hesitated. “You’ll jeopardize Monica’s life if you do this.”

  “Really? Why should I believe that? The kidnapping could be another con.”

  “I have the insurance money in hand. If Monica were not a hostage, we’d simply leave town. Our plan was for her to have plastic surgery. She always wanted to be a blonde.” Her attempt at humor fell flat. “We’d pay taxes on Briarcliff from Europe. Jerome could live here undisturbed.”