Bones of a Feather: A Sarah Booth Delaney Mystery

by Carolyn Haines

  “What on earth is wrong with you?” Tinkie was more concerned than annoyed.

  “No questions. Come quickly.”

  “It must be bad if you won’t say. Is it Moni—”

  “Don’t say anything else,” I interrupted, paranoia alive and gnawing at my gut. “Trust me and just get Eleanor and bring her here.”

  “We’re on the way.” She was confused by my request, but she knew me well enough to know I had good reasons for my cryptic conduct.

  I collapsed into a wingback chair in the parlor and put my face in my hands. Things had escalated so fast. Millicent was dead and probably still somewhere on the grounds. The idea of a corpse left under a tree was distressing enough, but Jerome was also missing, maybe dead. Monica was a hostage. In a matter of hours, the carnage in a supposedly simple insurance investigation had climbed to a level I could never have imagined.

  I was about to curl up in a fetal position and wait for Tinkie when a fist pounded on the front door. My first impulse was to run out the back and hide in the woods, but I braced myself against irrational fear.

  “Nevermore!” I whispered as I got up wearily to answer the knocking.

  The one person I would never have anticipated stood at the front entrance. Helena Banks Gorenflo held the tether of a small, blond-spotted, beagle-type dog with the most bizarre goatee of frizzy white hair. The dog looked completely demented, as did Helena. She glared at me. The spotted beagle hiked his leg and peed on Helena’s bejeweled black flat.

  “Tell Millicent she’s finished in Natchez society.” Helena thrust the leash toward my hand. “She will pay for this. She will pay.”

  I didn’t answer and I didn’t take the leash. I stood there like I’d been poleaxed. Until I started laughing, which was absolutely the wrong thing to do. Helena wasn’t a woman who appreciated being the butt of humor.

  “Take this spawn of Satan Millicent calls her dog before I strangle him with his leash.” She pushed the tether toward me again.

  I took two steps back, too stunned at Helena’s unexpected appearance on top of Millicent’s murder to say or do anything except giggle.

  “Are you on drugs or just stupid?” she asked.

  When that failed to elicit a response, she snapped her fingers in front of my face. “What the hell is wrong with you? Where is Millicent? I demand to speak to her.”

  My brain finally engaged and I dragged my gaze from the mesmerizing eyes of the dog. There was definitely something Rasputinish about the mutt. “What makes you think Millicent is here?”

  I must have looked addled, because she sighed and spoke very slowly. “She … was … working … for … John … Hightower … last … night … and … left … her … car … at … his … apartment.”

  I couldn’t take any more of her tedious phrasing. “Stop it. I understand you, but it doesn’t make sense that you would think Millicent is here at Briarcliff. The Levert sisters don’t like her. She doesn’t like them. They aren’t in the habit of visiting each other.”

  “It makes perfect sense,” Helena insisted. “John said he left her here. She never retrieved her car from his place, therefore she is still here. Millicent is not the kind of woman who would walk anywhere.”

  So Hightower had made it home safely, but he’d abandoned his partner in snooping. He’d hauled ass through the woods and straight to his vehicle, leaving Millicent to fend for herself. Weasel. No, worse than a weasel. In my book, he might be an accessory to murder.

  A terrible thought crossed my mind: What if Hightower had killed Millicent? Though he didn’t physically strike me as the type to commit strangulation—even Millicent, feminine as she’d been, could have bested him in hand-to-hand combat—still, he could have whacked her on the head and disabled her before he went for her throat. Judging from the photo, she had died of a broken neck.

  Helena stomped her foot, which made an unpleasant squishing sound. “Have you suffered some kind of brain injury?”

  Roscoe jerked on the leash and almost pulled her over. It was enough to snap me out of my gruesome thoughts. “What did the dog do? I mean, other than pee on your foot.” Roscoe personified trouble with a capital T. The dog exuded criminal activity.

  “Millicent has trained this creature to dig into trash. He does it all over town, and he drags things about, leaving a perfect trail of … disgusting items. He has an uncanny ability to find exactly the thing you most wish—” She broke off, aware, perhaps, she was saying too much.

  “So Roscoe got into your trash and nosed up something embarrassing. What, a list of orphans you’ve abused? People down on their luck you’ve evicted?” Since she was determined to force herself on me, I decided to have some fun.

  “My life is above reproach. Roscoe discovered no such thing. But he is vile and horrible. Just like everything connected to the Leverts. Keep him off my property or the next time, I’ll shoot him myself.”

  “What is it with you?” I asked. “You were supposed to be in Eleanor’s wedding. You were once friends. What happened?”

  Hatred twisted her face. “Gaston would never have gone through with the wedding. He loved me, not Eleanor. He wanted to marry me.”

  “He died during his bachelor party,” I pointed out. “To all appearances, he meant to marry Eleanor.”

  “That shows what you know.” The fevered gleam of memory lit her eyes. “He didn’t know how to get out of it. He didn’t want to hurt Eleanor, but he couldn’t marry her. He didn’t love her. The Levert money would allow him to continue as an artist, but he would have gained financial success without it. I helped him see that. We had plans to run away, back to France. We would have been happy.”

  “Your family fortune wasn’t enough to entice him?” I couldn’t help it. The whole situation was distasteful. If what she said was true, Gaston was nothing more than a fortune hunter who had seduced Eleanor for her wealth.

  “The Banks had a good name and little else. But Gaston chose me over the money. He left the bachelor party to meet me.” Her voice quivered but held. “I was late. Because of Monica. She threatened me. She told me if I didn’t meet her at an old plantation where we all went parking, she’d ruin me in society. She had photographs of an … indiscretion. Something that happened when I was very young.”

  “So instead of meeting Gaston, you went to talk with Monica.”

  She nodded. “Gaston left the party, as planned, and went outside to the place I was to pick him up. We were going to leave for France to start a life together. He was waiting for me when he was killed by muggers.”

  “And you blame the Levert sisters? You were stealing her fiancé the night before her wedding and you blame them?” I didn’t have to fake incredulous.

  “Yes. I do. They use their money to control everyone who gets near them. It cost Gaston his life and me my happiness.”

  “Don’t kid yourself, Helena. The only person you can blame is yourself. You put your reputation ahead of your lover.”

  “Reputation is obviously something you don’t understand.” She drew herself up, gaining control of her emotions. “Because you’ve never had one, except as a meddling old maid.” She tossed the leash at my face, but I caught it before it struck me.

  Helena executed a perfect about-face and stormed down the drive to her waiting car. A driver opened the door and within seconds she was gone. I wondered how much of the true story of Gaston’s death Eleanor knew. Monica obviously knew it all, but I doubted she’d shared the knowledge of Gaston’s intended betrayal. Just another bit of the past that wouldn’t lie down and die.

  “So you’re the infamous Roscoe,” I said to the dog. “What did you find that upset Helena so much?”

  He didn’t answer, but he grinned at me. An idiotic dog grin that said “I pretend to be stupid but I’m not. In fact, I’m way smarter than you are.”

  “Roscoe?”

  The stump of his tail, which looked as if someone had chopped it with a meat cleaver aiming for a more vital body part, thump
ed. He lifted one paw, clearly attempting to shake.

  So I’m a sucker. Roscoe was Millicent’s dog, and though I didn’t believe she’d deliberately trained him to dig through trash, it could be a handy activity for a private investigator. More to the point, with Millicent dead, Roscoe qualified as an orphan, and one not likely to find another loving parent based on what I knew of him. In fact, his criminal record in Natchez would go against him. The future looked grim for the cunning canine. If he showed up at her place, Helena would, without hesitation, send the dog to the pound for extermination.

  But why was I worried about a dog with criminal inclinations when I had a missing woman and a dead body? I led Roscoe into the house and unsnapped his lead. Sweetie would show him the ropes around Briarcliff. I just had to be sure Chablis approved of this agenda.

  No worries there, the three dogs met as old friends and scooted upstairs to do whatever it is dogs do when humans aren’t watching.

  I put on another pot of coffee and stood at the kitchen window until Eleanor pulled under the portico. I gripped the counter as I waited for the two women to get into the house. Eleanor pushed through the door, her cheeks red with emotion.

  “This had better be important. We have to get the money, Sarah Booth, but Tinkie insisted we come back here. She said it was an emergency.” Eleanor was upset, and she didn’t bother to hide it. “Don’t you understand my sister will die if I can’t manage to cash the stupid insurance check?”

  “Millicent Gentry is dead.” I handed the camera to Eleanor.

  Her fingers fumbled for a moment, but she looked at the image. “Oh, dear god,” she whispered, pushing the camera back into my hand.

  Tinkie took it gently and examined the photo. “You’re sure this isn’t fake?”

  “I’m not sure of anything.” I told them about Helena bringing Roscoe here. “I think the dog probably tracked Millicent’s car to John Hightower’s place. Roscoe obviously thought Millicent was still there, and while he was trespassing he got into Helena’s trash and discovered god knows what.”

  “Apparently Hightower and Millicent were working together to spy on Briarcliff. They came over last night, and Hightower simply abandoned her after he was attacked.” Tinkie added up the facts quickly.

  “This is an awful turn of events. Poor Millicent. I never liked her, but I didn’t wish harm to her.” Eleanor sank into a kitchen chair and rested her forehead on her fist. “Why was she working for the awful writer?”

  Eleanor’s color was awful, a grayish paste. I worried her heart might give her trouble. Or maybe I just felt a little more compassion for her knowing the secret of her engagement. “Millicent was single. Is romantic involvement a possibility?” I asked.

  “John Hightower wasn’t Millicent’s type of man. She liked her men forceful and brawny. Cowboys or cops. Uniforms and jeans,” Eleanor continued, almost reminiscing. “Hightower is too … wormy for her taste. So why would Millicent spy on us to get material for his dreadful book? It doesn’t make sense.”

  “That’s something Hightower is going to have to answer. Eleanor, you must call the police,” I said it as gently as I could. “Millicent’s body is somewhere on the grounds of Briarcliff. We have to—”

  “No!” Eleanor shot out of her chair. “No police. I’m sorry about Millicent, but she is dead. Monica is still alive. She has a chance. But she will die if we don’t do exactly as we’ve been told. We have fifteen hours until time to drop the ransom money. Millicent can wait until then. After Monica is home, the police can set up a substation here if they want to.”

  “Eleanor…” Tinkie was as stunned as I was by the outburst.

  “Monica’s blood will be on your head if you call the police.” She was almost panting. “We’re so close. Let’s just get the money. Please.” She started to cry. “Please, she’s my sister. I can’t let her die. I can’t. Don’t you see? Someone killed Millicent. He won’t hesitate to do the same to Monica if we do anything to upset him.”

  Tinkie blew out her breath. She gave me a “What should we do?” look, and I gave her a glare. We couldn’t pretend that there wasn’t a dead body on the premises.

  “Let’s find the body,” Tinkie said. “While we’re searching, Eleanor can go back to the bank and arrange for the money. The initial work has been done and Eleanor can handle the rest of it by herself. Maybe this whole Millicent thing is a hoax. It looks real, but photos are pretty easy to stage. We don’t want to jump the gun and call in Gunny until we’re sure something actually happened to Millicent.”

  She was buying more time for Eleanor, and while I knew what she was doing, I couldn’t help but agree. If we couldn’t find Millicent’s body … maybe the whole thing was a fake and I was overreacting. John Hightower lusted for revenge against the Leverts. He was capable of anything. I picked up the camera again and studied the photo. It looked real. Still, it could be staged. What if Gunny and his forces arrived and found nothing and the kidnappers killed Monica?

  “Okay,” I said. “But if we find the body, I’m calling the cops instantly.”

  “Thank you.” Eleanor picked up her keys. “I’ll hurry as quickly as I can. Mr. Richmond has helped arrange a transfer of funds so the local Natchez bank can cash the check. I hope to be back within the hour.” She was out the door in a flash and headed back to town.

  “Where should we start looking?” Tinkie asked.

  “Hold up.” I caught her elbow and told her about Helena Banks Gorenflo’s revelations.

  “Can this family get more tragic?” she asked. “Eleanor loved this artist guy and then Jerome, and she couldn’t marry either one. It’s no wonder Monica hates Helena, though. She knows what that old bitch tried to do.”

  “I feel like a dark cloud hangs over the Levert family,” I said. “Perhaps John Hightower is right. Maybe the family is cursed by the evil of old Barthelme.”

  “You never struck me as the superstitious type,” Tinkie said with a straight face. She knew me well enough to know I was a sucker for portents and dreams and omens. Madame Tomeeka, Zinnia’s resident psychic, could scare the pants off me with one arched eyebrow.

  “Let’s get the dogs,” I said, ignoring her lie. “If anyone can track Millicent, it’s Roscoe, the dog who shared her life.”

  “Speaking of dogs, what are you going to do with Roscoe if Millicent is dead?”

  The question stopped me in my tracks. “I guess Eleanor will assume responsibility for the dog. Millicent was her relative.”

  “Guess again.” Tinkie wasn’t being difficult, she was facing facts that I’d managed not to look at. Eleanor wasn’t the kind of person who took care of a dog.

  “Maybe Barclay. Since he is a true Levert, the dog belongs to him. He wants to inherit, he can start with Roscoe.”

  Tinkie chuckled, and even though it was at my expense, it was nice to hear. “You may need to rethink that. Barclay doesn’t strike me as a man who would cotton to owning a hound.”

  “Roscoe isn’t a hound. He’s a … beagle-terrier mix.” That was the nicest combination I could pick.

  “With a bit of chow, heeler, and Tasmanian devil thrown in.” Tinkie’s grin was almost smug. “He’s going to get along fine with your horses. About half his breeding goes to herding, and that instinct will kick-in the minute he sees Reveler and Miss Scrapiron. Yippee, ki-yay.”

  “He’s not going home with me.” I said it with feeling.

  “Helena got rid of him fast. She’s smarter than she looks,” was Tinkie’s only reply as she pushed open the door and loosed the hounds.

  18

  The three dogs bounded across the front lawn like sprinters. “Maybe they’ve picked up Millicent’s scent and she’s alive,” Tinkie said, and I deduced a note of hopefulness. In contrast, she pulled a ladies’ .38 from the pocket of her khaki pants.

  “Where did you get a gun?” I was shocked and didn’t bother hiding it.

  “Johnny’s Gun and Pawn. Very reasonable. I got one for you, too. It’s
in the car trunk.”

  “Let’s hope we don’t need bullets.”

  “Hope for the best, prepare for the worst. That’s a quote from your aunt Loulane.”

  Now even my friends were quoting my dead relatives. “Let’s see what the dogs run to ground.”

  Tinkie and I trudged through the underbrush, heading back to where I’d found the camera. The dogs were at least three hundred yards ahead. They seemed to be searching for a scent, tearing in and out of the hackberries and briars without success. Surely Roscoe could track his owner. Had I been lying in the woods, Sweetie would have found me.

  “The last photo taken was of Millicent’s body,” I said, huffing a little in the heat. “But I don’t think John Hightower took it. He left Briarcliff thinking Millicent was still in the woods very much alive.”

  “Are you sure he didn’t kill her?” Tinkie asked.

  “I’m not certain, but why would he? What would he gain?”

  “I don’t know.” In fact, I had hundreds of questions and no answers. “Where in the hell is Jerome?”

  “I don’t know, but I think Eleanor does. She didn’t seem too surprised that his cottage was empty.”

  Thinking back on it, Tinkie was correct. I’d been so worried about Sweetie, I hadn’t paid much attention to Eleanor’s reaction, or lack thereof.

  “Jerome hasn’t been truthful. Years of working for the Leverts has given him their sense of honesty. Do you think he’s involved with Monica’s—”

  Tinkie put a hand on my wrist. “I don’t think he would abduct Monica or hurt Millicent. I think he left because of what’s going on.” She applied some pressure. “We should split up. I’ll see if I can get any leads on Jerome.”

  “And I can scour the woods for the dead body of Millicent.”

  “The dogs will help you.” Tinkie tried to look innocent.

  “Thanks a lot for nothing.” Jerome’s convenient disappearance had to be investigated, and someone had to look for Millicent. “Just be careful.” My agreement was less than enthusiastic.