Bones of a Feather - Carolyn Haines [110]
“Who are you calling?” Barclay asked as he came in the back door, panting from his sprint.
“We should call the local law officers.”
“No.”
“You don’t trust Gunny.” I understood Barclay’s reluctance because I shared it. There had been that moment when the chief had stopped me and Tinkie downtown. He’d made reference to the insurance money. It had struck me wrong, but Barclay obviously sensed something, too. “Why not?”
“I went to see the police chief when I first got to town. I wanted to be upfront, to let him know who I was and that I intended to claim my legacy.”
“How did he react?”
“As if I’d personally insulted him. He warned me off and told me if he got one complaint from the sisters, he’d bury me in the Natchez jail so deep no one would ever find me. He wasn’t interested in justice; he was protecting the sisters. Or one of them. I think he’s neck-deep in this mess.”
Thirty years ago, small-town police chiefs and county sheriffs had nearly total power. People without family or friends to inquire after them did disappear. The lawman’s interpretation of the law was often based on personal interests—their cronies were protected and their enemies suffered.
Gunny’s allegiance to the sisters could mean a number of things, but first and foremost was that he stood to gain from the association. Four million could buy a lot of goodwill from a man with a badge.
“Let’s go,” I said.
“Where?”
“Back to the tunnels. Do you still have the maps?”
“I do.” He leaned down beside a sofa and brought them forth from beneath a cushion. “I didn’t want to leave them lying around. I haven’t had a chance to really study where all the tunnels lead.”
I carried the maps to the kitchen counter. It was nearly eleven o’clock. Tinkie had been drugged for more than two hours. Was she still alive? “Let’s see if there’s a place Tinkie might be stashed close to Briarcliff. Eleanor had to put her somewhere no one would find her.”
“What about the money?” Barclay asked.
It was a logical question from a Levert heir, but I was over worrying about anything except my partner. “Talk to your aunt Eleanor about it once we round her up.”
“You think she really killed Monica?”
I was about to answer in the affirmative when footsteps sounded in the parlor headed our way.
“The answer is no.”
We both whirled. Eleanor Levert stood in front of us, gun leveled. She looked capable of using the weapon, too. Gone was any shred of the Southern belle who’d paced and wrung her hands. This version of Eleanor was cool and contained. “Barclay, move away from her.”
Barclay, too, remained calm. “Of course, Moth—”
I saw it then. Before he finished the sentence. “You’re Monica, not Eleanor.”
“Bada bing!” She was very pleased with herself. Her posture shifted and assumed a demeanor I recognized as Eleanor’s. “I’m just worried sick about my sister.” She laughed out loud. The woman was a total chameleon. “I’ve been in Briarcliff the entire time and you never suspected.”
“Where’s Tinkie? If you’ve hurt her—” All my threats were empty. I had no weapon, no phone, and no hope of anyone coming to my rescue.
“As you guessed, Sarah Booth, Mrs. Richmond is in the tunnels, where you’ll join her. For eternity.”
“Give me the antidote for Tinkie.”
“There isn’t one. She was never in danger from a drug. I gave her Rohypnol, the date rape drug. It’s worn off by now. Of course that won’t help her since she’s securely tied. Surely you’ve come to conclude I can’t let you go. You and Tinkie have served your purpose marvelously, Sarah Booth. I couldn’t have planned this better if I’d gotten old Barthelme to climb from the grave and help me.”
“You killed your own sister.” The idea still astounded me.
“You’re always jumping to the wrong conclusion, Sarah Booth.” Monica swept the maps Barclay had gathered into a pile. “Can’t have these lying around. The tunnels will make a convenient tomb. I must say, Barclay, you did a superb job riding Lucifer up from the river. He’s a real handful.