Bones of a Feather - Carolyn Haines [103]
At last the car drew abreast of me and the window came down. I couldn’t see into the dark interior, and my heart beat fast and furious. Poised to run, I waited.
“Need a lift, young lady?”
“Barclay!” I could have brained him.
“Tinkie sent me to fetch you. How about we get the Porsche and trade cars. I think I can stay ahead of the Natchez Police Department.”
It was the most sensible plan I’d heard all week.
23
When I stepped through the doors of Bennator’s, I listened to the blues singer wail the words to Walter Spriggs’s “I’m Not Your Fool Anymore.” The horn section was terrific—but loud. Eleanor appeared ready to explode. When she saw me, she rose from her chair, knocking the table so hard her drink and Tinkie’s crashed to the floor.
Before we could stop her, she went to the bar for another round. Wisdom prevailed and instead of alcohol, she brought three coffees. Good for me and Tinkie, but I wasn’t certain Eleanor needed the caffeine jolt.
“Thanks.” I took the hot mug she offered.
We finished our coffee and went outside. The night was still partially overcast. Shifting clouds gave moonlight one moment and darkness the next. Far away, thunder rumbled, and I thought of Thor, the Norse god with a hammer, pounding the sky.
The river, only a few dozen yards away, sucked noisily at the shore, as the Mighty Mississippi flowed south toward Sin City. When this mess was over, maybe Tinkie and Cece and I could take a vacation on one of the old paddleboats that catered to tourists. We needed a week of idle luxury. I was ready for some time off, and if Graf was busy filming in La-La-Land, my female buddies were good company.
“What time is it?” Eleanor asked.
I wanted to say, “Twenty seconds from the last time you asked” but I didn’t. “It’s eight fifty-two.”
“Do you think he’ll call?” Eleanor fidgeted like a caged animal. “Maybe we should check the money in the trunk. Let’s move the car away from the streetlight. Should we wait in front of the bar so he can see us?”
I held her shoulders firmly. “Calm down. You’re going to have to pull yourself together to make this happen, Eleanor.”
I thought she might cry, but she lifted her chin. This week had aged her. I could see the fine lines and the slight sag of skin along her jaw. When I’d first met the sisters, none of this had been evident. Stress had worked its hardship on her. This night would exact a toll on all of us.
To placate Eleanor’s nerves, Tinkie opened the trunk. The money, in two separate and heavy gym bags, lay exactly where we’d put it.
“We should put in the ink packs I bought,” Tinkie said. She knew as well as I did that once the kidnapper had the money, there was no guarantee he would release Monica. If the ink packs went off, it might motivate him to kill her—or run for his life. There was no way to tell.
“We’ll do nothing to jeopardize Monica,” Eleanor said. “Let him have the money. I just want my sister.” She spun on Tinkie. “You didn’t tell your husband about the kidnapping, did you?”
“We haven’t told anyone.” I didn’t care for her aggression toward my partner. Our involvement in this was only to help her save Monica, and she had no right to snarl at Tinkie.
“I’m sorry. Just do whatever he says. I need your word.”
“We’re here to help you,” Tinkie assured her.
Eleanor’s cell phone rang. She answered with grim determination. “You’re early,” she said. She put her phone on speaker so we could all hear.
“I’m early. You’re early. Perhaps we’re all a bit too eager.” He laughed. “Have a nice meal? I’ve been told Bennator’s has excellent barbecue.”
“You are a monster!” Eleanor was so wired I was afraid she’d blow the drop before it began. “Where’s my sister?”
“Here. Say hello, Monica.”
There was a moment of confusion, again the echoey sound of a large empty space. When Monica spoke, she was agitated. “Did you bring the money, Eleanor? They know everything you do. Be careful—”
“Enough!” the kidnapper said. “So here’s the plan: Eleanor, you and Ms.