Bones of a Feather - Carolyn Haines [101]
“Very good!” he said, as if I’d given the answer to a game show. “I think you hit on it. It’s the only logical solution if the observer is on the west side of the river.”
“What good does it do us?” Eleanor demanded. She slammed her drink onto a side table. “None of this helps us get Monica back. Barclay should leave. He’s no help.”
“And no hindrance,” he said.
“He might be of help,” I said. “We need him here, at Briarcliff, when we go to Under-the-Hill.”
“What do you think is here for you?” Eleanor addressed Barclay. “Everything is gone. We lost it all. There’s no inheritance. Briarcliff is all that’s left, and now we’re going to lose it.”
Barclay shrugged. “Easy come, easy go.”
His attitude infuriated Eleanor, and I stepped in front of her as she strode toward him. “Stop it. We’re all on edge.”
“Shouldn’t we go to Bennator’s and wait?” Eleanor was beside herself with anxiety. “We should leave. I want to be there early.”
Early was good, but two hours ahead of schedule was a bit excessive. “Are you okay?” Her behavior worried me.
“I’m worried. I need to move.”
That I could understand. “Why don’t you and Tinkie go on to Bennator’s? Have a bite to eat. I want to check out something.” I wasn’t being deliberately vague, but I didn’t want to discuss my plans. Call me paranoid, but it had occurred to me the kidnapper could easily have bugged Briarcliff. He was monitoring our movements—we had proof. In the numerous times the house had been broken into, perhaps it was to plant bugs rather than steal something.
Both Tinkie and Barclay picked up on my cautious mood. Eleanor remained oblivious, trapped in her own anxiety. “Both of you come with me. Please. I’d prefer both of you. That way, we’ll be there when he calls. It makes me anxious to separate. I think all three of us should go. Barclay can stay here, if he must.”
“Your generosity astounds me, Aunt Eleanor.”
Barclay was more amused than he had any right to be. His attitude annoyed me, but I had to stop all talk of importance. “Tinkie, y’all head down to town. I’ll be behind you in twenty minutes.” I leaned to whisper, “No more than an hour. This place may be bugged.”
She nodded her agreement, and in quick dispatch she loaded Eleanor and the money in the Cadillac and they took off down the drive.
Barclay was at first reluctant to help me hunt for a bug, but he got into the spirit of the search. To my frustration, we found nothing. “The kidnapper knows everything we do. How?” I glanced around to be sure we hadn’t forgotten some place.
“I’ll take a drive over the bridge to see if I can spot anything, but a camera could be tiny.”
“Thank you, Barclay.”
“Don’t thank me. I’m only safeguarding what little may be left of my inheritance.” His brow furrowed. “Why should I care what happens to Monica? She never cared for me.”
“I don’t know. Why do you?” I could only wait for his answer, which came more quickly than I’d anticipated.
“I want her to know me, to see what she left behind like I was so much trash.”
No matter how old a man got, his mother could still wound him. Barclay carried a lot of scars from Monica’s callous behavior. “Can you ever forgive her?”
His answer was unexpected. “I want to. Since my father died, I don’t have anyone. Monica and Eleanor are my family.” He gave an uneasy laugh. “I guess blood is thicker than water.”
Upstairs, Sweetie, Roscoe, and Chablis were roused from a nap by an approaching vehicle. “Oh, shit,” I whispered. Coming up the drive was a patrol car, with Gunny at the wheel. If the kidnappers saw this, it could mean curtains for Monica.
“Go!” Barclay pushed me toward Monica’s car. “He’ll follow you. Get him out of here before Monica pays the price.”
He was right, I had to lure Gunny away from Briarcliff. Every moment he stayed on the property put Monica at risk.
I jumped in Monica’s car, tore through the portico, and headed around the house. The Porsche handled like a dream, even when I cut so hard in the grass that it slewed before straightening. The tires caught traction, and I pulled out just as Gunny was opening