Bones of a Feather: A Sarah Booth Delaney Mystery

by Carolyn Haines

  I didn’t know what to say. Barclay had stayed on the grounds of Briarcliff. Had the fox been in the henhouse all along? He could have obtained everything he needed to abduct Monica without any problem.

  “Are you going to call the police?” Kissie asked. She was afraid.

  “No.” Tinkie took the underwear from me and gave them to Kissie. “No, we’re not. Eleanor doesn’t want to involve the police.”

  “Is Monica okay?” Kissie couldn’t hold the tears back any longer. “Barclay wouldn’t hurt her. She’s his mother. He’s angry she abandoned him, but deep down he wants to win her love.”

  “You must tell Eleanor what you’ve done,” Tinkie said.

  “If Monica is hurt because of something I did, Eleanor will never forgive me.” Kissie wiped her face with the back of her hand. “And I don’t blame her.”

  “Let’s not get the cart before the horse,” Cece said. “Why don’t you track Eleanor down and talk with her, Kissie?”

  Still wiping her face, Kissie nodded. “I have to make her understand.”

  I didn’t envy her that job, but Cece was right. The sooner the better.

  Once Kissie had driven away, I signaled Tinkie and Cece to a huddle. “Let’s poke around the old stables. There’s a horse on these grounds, and someone is riding it. This is no ghostly apparition but flesh and blood. And I suspect it’s Barclay. He’s been here, on the property.”

  “Jerome and I went over this place thoroughly,” Cece said, slightly wounded at my implication her search hadn’t been thorough.

  “Jerome may not have shown you the stables,” I pointed out. Everyone had secrets and a motive to want to harm or help Monica.

  “Just a minute.” Tinkie fetched paper from her car. “Let’s draw out the grounds and figure the most logical place for the stables. Remember, back when they were built, water would have been important.”

  For someone who would rather have a bikini wax than ride a horse, Tinkie occasionally had lightning bolts of livestock brilliance.

  We gathered around the hood of her car as she drew out the estate, finally settling on the far northern corner, which dipped toward what might be a branch or creek. The foliage was almost impenetrable, but we’d fight our way through.

  We slipped around the far side of the house, hoping to avoid Jerome. I didn’t want the gardener involved in this search. Our luck held as we fought through honeysuckle vines and into dense underbrush growing over what must have once been incredible bridle paths. Riding Reveler or Miss Scraprion through the wide-open cotton fields was one of the delights of my Zinnia life. The grounds of Briarcliff offered another type of ride, one of hushed forests, the fluttering of birds above us, the sense of slipping into a secret world.

  As we pushed our way toward the back of the property, we tried to piece together the information we had.

  “This whole case is off-kilter.” My attention distracted, a limb whacked me across the bridge of my nose. “Crap!” Tears filled my eyes and I stumbled. Only Cece’s quick reach kept me from falling.

  Sweetie Pie, who’d stayed at my side, hit a scent and tore off to the south, baying like she was on the trail of the most bloodthirsty pirate since Bluebeard. Chablis was hot on her heels. Tinkie tried to call them back, but they ignored her. One thing about Sweetie, she had the keenest nose in the Southeast, and she’d find us when she tired of tracking her prey.

  We trudged on, doing our best to calculate directions from the sun—when we could see it through the thick canopy of trees. The grounds of Briarcliff covered close to four hundred acres, a square bigger than half a mile on all sides. We couldn’t hope to bulldoze through that much wilderness. Once we found the small creek or branch or spring or whatever water source should be in a low area, we’d call it quits if we didn’t find the old stables.

  Since I was in the lead, I stopped at an impenetrable wall of underbrush and vines. “I don’t think we can go any farther unless we come back with machetes.”

  “Wait a minute.” Cece grasped a limb of the underbrush. “This is dying.” She shook it. “I don’t think it’s attached.”

  We all grabbed limbs and pulled, and the whole mass gave.

  “This was put here deliberately to hide something,” Tinkie said.

  We cleared a narrow lane and hurried into an open area where all underbrush had been removed. Straight ahead were the old stables. The bare ground was covered in fresh hoofprints.

  “Well, well,” Cece said. “We begin to unravel the mystery of the Briarcliff horseman.”

  She was answered with a soft whinny from inside the stables. Cece and Tinkie turned to me. “Aren’t you going to check it out, Sarah Booth?” Cece asked. “If it’s filled with old horse poop, I’ll ruin my shoes.”

  “Sure.” I stepped forward slowly. The stables were as dark and foreboding as the house, and I was reluctant to investigate, even though I knew I’d find only a horse. It wouldn’t make sense for the rider to remain in the vicinity if he hoped to keep his identity secret. He could easily have heard us a mile away.

  Tinkie cleared her throat when I didn’t move.

  “Okay.” I signaled her to desist. “I’m going.” I marched to the door that looked like a black maw. The whinny came again, soft and curious. I stepped into the darkness and moved toward the sound of rustling. There had to be a light, but I didn’t know where to begin groping for it, and I would have to feel for it because I couldn’t see a thing. Something big shifted to my left, but I couldn’t see what. I was operating on sound alone.

  “Sarah Booth?” Tinkie called from outside. She sounded concerned. “Have you found something?”

  I considered hiding and waiting for them to come searching. It would serve them right for sending me into the barn alone. I grinned in the darkness at the scenario that played out in my head.

  Something brushed my cheek, the softest of touches. Gossamer against my skin. My grin vanished, as did thoughts of pranking my friends. Someone was in the barn with me. Someone I couldn’t see, but who could obviously see me.

  “Sarah Booth?” Tinkie sounded almost frantic.

  “Hush.” The voice was soft, seductive, confident.

  “Sarah Booth?” Tinkie was closer.

  “Stay quiet,” the voice whispered. “I insist.”

  “Sarah Booth, this isn’t funny. We’re coming in!”

  I opened my mouth to call out to her. A hand covered my face, shutting off the sound.

  “Be still,” the voice ordered, but there was no sense of rush or urgency in his tone. I heard the sound of a latch opening and the creak of a rusty hinge. The horse grew excited, whirling in his stall.

  I couldn’t breathe, and I struggled, but he held me tight against a strong chest.

  To my relief, I heard Sweetie’s frantic baying, and this time she was coming straight for me. I began to fight against my captor’s grip. Sweetie was coming. Surely Tinkie and Cece would realize I was in danger.

  My lungs screamed for oxygen. The last things I heard were the wild whinny of a horse and the deep-throated growl of my hound.

  12

  A kaleidoscope of green spun above my head when I gained consciousness. A concerned Tinkie shifted into view. She hovered over me, shaking my shoulder and lightly slapping my face.

  “Hit me again and I’m going to hurt you.” I pushed her back and propped up on my elbows. I was lying on the ground outside the stables. Sweetie Pie rushed to cover my face in doggie kisses, an expression of anxiety on her noble countenance.

  “Dahling, we thought you’d been killed.” Cece knelt beside Sweetie, who’d pressed herself against me.

  My memory was fuzzy. I’d walked into the stables, and then someone had grabbed me. He’d shut off my air and whispered into my ear, a murmur that still sent a chill through me. “His hand was big, calloused. He clamped it over my mouth and…” And I’d fallen like a sack of potatoes.

  I struggled to a sitting position against the protests of my friends. “Where is he
? Did he come out?”

  “He who? Did you find someone? All we saw was a horse running out of the stables lickety-split. It was huge and black. An enormous animal. It galloped right by us and disappeared in the woods.” Tinkie pointed vaguely south. “We thought you’d been trampled.”

  “A man grabbed me. He told me not to call out to you.” I began to tremble. “He nearly suffocated me.” And I could only say for certain he had a strong chest and rough hands. I hadn’t gotten a look at him. “Surely you saw him?”

  “We didn’t see a man,” Tinkie admitted. She glanced toward the barn. “I’ll get a big stick and we’ll take a look. If he’s still in there, Sarah Booth, I’ll beat him till he begs for his mama.”

  I restrained her. “Don’t go in there. Let me gather my wits and we’ll all go together.”

  Tinkie put her hands on her hips. “We have to buy guns, Sarah Booth. We just have to. We can’t chase after felons armed with sticks and rocks.”

  Instead of answering, I gathered myself to stand.

  “Not so fast. Let’s check you over,” Cece said.

  A careful examination of my skull showed no injury or wound. My attacker hadn’t harmed me, but he’d used the Vulcan sleeper hold. And that whisper. Every time I thought of his warm breath against my ear, his hand covering my mouth yet also caressing … it infuriated me.

  Almost as bitter was the fact he’d sneaked up on me and caught me off guard. I could still hear his voice, confident and taunting. I’d have to be more careful in the future. This was a smart and bold man.

  Tinkie pulled me to my feet. “No police. Eleanor will kill us if uniforms show up at Briarcliff for any reason.”

  “Then you two should say adios to her and this case and head home.” Cece got snappy when she was worried. “It isn’t reasonable for her to ask you to risk your lives.”

  Cece was right. Clearly. Yet I had never walked away from a case. And while the man in the barn could have twisted my head off with ease, he hadn’t really harmed me.

  “Let’s see what’s in that barn.” I didn’t want to get into an argument with Cece about the danger. I’d been foolish to enter the stables alone, and she was feeling guilty for letting me.

  Lined up like the Mod Squad, we walked in together. I was in the middle, and this time a dangling cord tickled my face. I grabbed it and pulled. Light flooded the barn. Which meant there was electricity to the building. The Levert sisters had enough assets to light most of Natchez, if they chose to, but normal people would shut off the power supply to an unused building. To prevent fire, if nothing else.

  “Well, well,” Cece said as she surveyed the interior. “This tells a story.”

  “That horse isn’t a stray,” Tinkie said. “Someone is caring for it.”

  “And very well.” Two barrels full of fresh rolled oats and sweet feed stood against one wall. Three hay bales had been stacked in a corner, and a bucket of fresh water was in the stall. I wished I’d caught a glimpse of the horse. The breed and condition of the animal would tell me a lot about the owner. Big and black, while accurate, were far from specific.

  At the end of the stables we found the tack room, where a beautiful English saddle rested on a stand and a bridle hung from a peg. I ran the stirrups down the leathers. Judging by the length, the rider was tall. Stashed in a corner were old football pads and a helmet. I picked it up and examined it. “We’ve solved the mystery of the horse and rider on Briarcliff property. It’s a high school jock from the nineteen seventies,” I said. “At least we know he isn’t a phantom and we know how he gets the horse to the estate.”

  “And I found how he escaped,” Cece called. We joined her at a back door that stood slightly ajar.

  “We still don’t know why he’s doing it, or where he came from.” Tinkie peered anxiously at the gray square of outdoors visible through the barn door. She was ready to get back outside. “The problem with owning four hundred acres is you can’t watch it all the time.”

  Thunder rumbled in the distance, a warning of bad weather to come. “Predictions are for another line of thunderstorms to come through, maybe tornadoes,” Tinkie said. “Let’s get out of here. There’s nothing else we can do right now. The horse knows his way around the estate. He’s been running free for a couple of weeks now. He’ll come back here as soon as we leave.”

  She was right, but it didn’t sit well to leave with the matter unresolved. “We have to find the rider. I think it’s Barclay, but we have to know for sure.”

  Cece had had enough. “I mean it, Sarah Booth. You need to walk away from this. We should get our asses out of this creepy place and head for the Eola bar for a cocktail.”

  Tinkie linked arms with both of us. “If it is Barclay, then we need to confront him.”

  * * *

  Jerome was digging weeds in the Briarcliff herb garden. He did his best to ignore us, working without looking up even as we called his name. When Tinkie persisted, he finally put aside his shovel.

  He reluctantly agreed to keep the dogs for a couple of hours. He seemed to approve of my hound and tolerate Chablis. Like most people, he judged Chablis on appearance, but if he was around her long enough he’d recognize she had courage and heart.

  We kept the secret of the horseman to ourselves. Cece thought we should question Jerome about the stables, but Tinkie and I decided not to corner the gardener until Eleanor was present. He might lie to us, but he seemed to genuinely care for the sisters.

  On the way to the Eola, Tinkie drove by Langley Insurance. Eleanor’s luxury car wasn’t there, but we spotted it at the bank. Obviously she’d received the insurance money and was putting the check into her account so she could pay the ransom. Which meant the kidnappers’ demand might come as early as today. Clearly they knew Eleanor’s every step.

  Now it was a waiting game. When would the kidnappers call?

  Anxiety is an appetite stimulate for me, and apparently for my friends. We were starving and opted to go Under-the-Hill for a late lunch and adult beverage. Once we had our Bloody Marys, we rehashed the elements of the case.

  “Be smart and let the professionals handle this. Monica could be killed and you two can easily get injured.”

  “It’s okay,” I assured her. “Tinkie and I will be safe, I promise.”

  “If you get hurt again, Sarah Booth—or you, either, Tinkie—you’ll end up losing the men in your life. You can’t expect a person to risk his heart over and over again,” Cece said.

  “I know.” I didn’t need to have my nose rubbed in the truth. Whenever I risked my physical safety, I put Graf’s emotional well-being, as well as my friends’, on the line.

  We ate our lunch and moved away from discussing the case as Tinkie filled us in on her activities in Zinnia. The gala had been a smashing success, and Tinkie’s abilities as a hostess put Oscar squarely in the limelight. As wife of the president and daughter of the owner of the bank, this was part of Tinkie’s job description, and I admired the way she handled it with grace and charm.

  “But along with partying, I did have time to make a few phone calls.” Tinkie grinned. “John Hightower does have a book contract. With a major publisher.”

  “How did you find that out?” I never underestimated Tinkie, but sometimes she surprised even me.

  “Harold’s cousin is a respected literary agent. She checked into it for him. She didn’t divulge the details, but apparently John Hightower will deliver a book that blazes a trail through the South more devastating than Sherman’s march.”

  Harold Erkwell worked for Oscar. He had old society and money connections. More than once he’d helped us with a case. “The Leverts are just a part of it? Not the main focus?” The author had not left me with that impression.

  “His proposal was broad. Heaven knows what he’s actually written.”

  “I’m amazed the little pantywaist can write.”

  “Might make an interesting feature story for the newspaper,” Cece said. “I’ll see what I can find out.
I doubt he’ll put it together immediately the three of us are friends. Maybe he’ll let something slip.”

  “Capital idea!” I pronounced. Without my friends, what would I do?

  When Cece took her leave—after eliciting numerous promises to be careful—Tinkie and I got down to plotting our strategy.

  “Do you think Sweetie could pick up the scent of the man in the stables?” Tinkie asked.

  The obviousness of her question stunned me. We had the best tool possible in our hands, the nose of a noble hound, and I’d failed to think of it. “You are brilliant!” Before I could go any further, her cell phone rang.

  I could hear a woman’s voice, but I couldn’t make out the conversation. Judging from Tinkie’s expression, it wasn’t good.

  “I’ll be right there,” she said soothingly. “We’ll figure this out, Eleanor.”

  She put the phone down. “We have to go.”

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “The bank refused to cash the insurance check. It’s in both sisters’ names. They need both signatures. Eleanor is very upset.”

  This was going to be a rough afternoon. “Can you handle Eleanor?” Tinkie was the more diplomatic of the two of us.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I want to see if I can find any riding tack at Jerome’s cottage. The man in the barn was big, strong. The hands of a worker. It could be Barclay, but no one has more opportunity than Jerome. And if Monica played him false, damaged his ego, treated him as poorly as she’s been known to treat her other conquests—”

  “He might be tempted to soothe his ego with a large amount of ransom.”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

  We pushed open the restaurant door and stepped into the hot summer day. Summer in Mississippi was a physical slap. The humidity after the rain was thick as wool.