Bones of a Feather - Carolyn Haines [117]
When Jerome knocked at the door, Eleanor gave him a halfhearted welcome. To his credit, Jerome pushed past her and went into the house. He’d entered the vipers’ den.
As soon as the door closed, Tinkie and I ran toward the front windows the sisters had used to such advantage with false reports of breaking and entering. Looking through the glass, we had a good view into the parlor. From the scene within, it was clear that the Leverts had no clue Tinkie and I had survived the river.
Coleman—and Cece—brandished drinks while Eleanor and Barclay paced in high drama, arms waving here and there. Eleanor even squeezed out a few tears. No doubt she was telling Coleman how Tinkie and I had bravely tried to rescue Monica—and all had perished. This was the finishing touch. By pulling Coleman, a sheriff in a nearby county, and Cece, a journalist, into the web, Eleanor and Barclay were perfecting their scam. In their plan, Coleman and Cece, grief stricken, would search for our bodies, which would conveniently reveal we’d drowned in the tunnels. The end result: Coleman would ultimately accept our deaths. My verbal report in the phone call I’d made from the riverbank at Barkley’s promping gave credence to the claim that Monica had been killed by the kidnapper. The insurance company would have no recourse except to pay off—double indemnity—a kidnapping gone wrong.
The fly in the ointment centered around the fact we were very much alive and about to blow their world apart.
I’d almost turned away when Millicent Gentry entered the room with a tray of snacks. I couldn’t believe it! She wasn’t dead. Hell, no. She was playing hostess for her cousins! She’d whipped out some cream cheese roll ups, a basket of hot bread and herbed butter, and those damn cheese straws that appeared at every Southern gathering, even a murder scene.
“She’s in on it, too,” Tinkie whispered.
“Why are we surprised? She’s a Levert. Obviously, John Hightower was supposed to find his camera with the photo of her dead corpse. I think they meant to frighten him off the book.”
“And to think, I felt bad for her, dressed up like a stupid Shopping Barbie and left in the woods for the flies.” Tinkie was boiling.
“I’ll bet it was one of her dolls they threw off the bridge to make me think it was Monica. And the first evening, when that object went over the cliff. They did it because we’d mentioned the ghost tour. They planned this very carefully.” Born to it or simply talented, the Leverts were master criminals.
I signaled my partner to the back of the house. If we could slip into the kitchen, we might find a gun. Or two. Eleanor wasn’t holding one and the Leverts owned weapons, I knew that for a fact. Coleman was off duty, so he might not have a weapon on him.
We had to use caution, though. We might also find Monica, who had to stay out of sight for obvious reasons. There was no doubt, though, she was somewhere in Briarcliff.
Moving stealthily, we pushed at the door under the portico, which swung open without a sound. Tinkie and I were in the house. From far upstairs I heard the bay of my hound. Sweetie was alive. Chablis’s high-pitched complaint rang out, along with Roscoe’s deep grumble. The dog had a personality like W. C. Fields.
To my delight, a loaded handgun lay on the counter beside a flour canister. Because I’d seen her in action, I gave it to Tinkie. I grasped a flashlight and a butcher knife. Bludgeon and slice. Whatever it took.
Together we crept toward the parlor door. I wished for a way to alert Coleman and Cece. I could hear them talking. Coleman was tense. He kept asking Eleanor questions about what had happened to Tinkie and me.
“They were so brave,” Eleanor said, her voice clotted with crocodile tears. “They went to deliver the ransom and save Monica. I tried to stop them. I begged them to let me call the local police chief, but they wouldn’t.”
Damn, she was good!
“They were afraid the kidnapper would kill Monica if the police became involved.