Bones of a Feather - Carolyn Haines [119]
Coleman helped Jerome off Eleanor, but she remained prone since he had a gun pointed at her. “It’s time to call the local police,” Coleman said. “I spoke with Gunny on the way over here. He’s on standby. He’s suspected the Leverts for a long, long time, and he’s been watching them. Now he can charge them with a long list of crimes.”
“You call Gunny,” I told him. “I’m going to free the dogs.”
* * *
The sun rose as yellow as the yoke of a yard egg. I sipped a cup of coffee on the front porch of Dahlia House while Sweetie snored at my feet. Roscoe, incorrigible as ever, was right beside her. Later today, Harold was coming for an adoptive parent meeting with the evil—but charming—pooch. In his devious heart, I think Harold was hoping Roscoe would continue with his Dumpster-diving ways in Zinnia and stir up the local gossip. The dog had a reputation throughout the entire Delta, and while Harold emulated “proper,” there was a deep vein of mischief in his soul. Since there were no unjailed Leverts to care for the dog, Harold had agreed to take him on.
On the other hand, it seemed that Lucifer, the Andalusian, would remain at Dahlia House and had a date with destiny in the form of Dr. Patrick Cleveland. He would have to be gelded.
Jerome continued at Briarcliff. For the moment he was out on bond, pending a deal with the prosecutor. Whatever happened, he didn’t want the responsibility of the horse. Monica had confessed to beating John Hightower and she, Eleanor, and Barclay would be in jail for a long, long time. Millicent’s involvement was yet to be determined, but there was no doubt she’d serve some time. Gunny was still sorting through the tangle of lies and falsehoods the Levert family had generated.
Speaking of falsehoods … I pulled my cell phone from my pocket and put it on the wicker table beside my chair. I owed Graf a call. I’d wrangled Cece into calling him to say that I was fine and would call today. He’d been curious, but not suspicious. And that troubled me.
Tinkie and I had almost been killed. Again. And I’d promised Graf I would protect his heart. Yet even with the best of intentions, I’d ended up facing danger. Tinkie had, too. Oscar, once he got over the joy of having her safely home and began asking for details of the case, would be angry with us.
And our men had every right to be upset. But Tinkie and I also had a right to our careers. Where was the middle ground in this impasse?
Sweetie’s tail thumped a tango beat and Roscoe growled and grumbled in his sleep.
“Pull on your big-girl panties and give that man a call.”
I closed my eyes for a moment before I opened them to find Joan Collins, one hand on her hip, posed on the steps of Dahlia House. Her dark hair was messy perfection and her leopard-print jumpsuit, tight in all the right places, was perfectly accented with patent-leather stilettos made of tiny crisscrossing straps. Those were some sexy shoes! The giveaway was the beautiful mocha complexion. Jitty had come to call.
“I’ll call him,” I told her.
“Then do it.” She mounted the steps with her hips wagging in a way that would make a grown man quiver. Impersonating the Dynasty television icon, Jitty had some deadly moves.
“It’s not even daybreak in Hollywood,” I reminded her.
“If you run your love life like an efficient train depot, you’re gonna kill all feelin’. Who cares what time it is? You nearly drowned, and you slugged it out with an evil vixen. Call that man and let him know you’re glad to be alive.” She grinned. “Make him glad to be alive. A little randy talk long distance can be a good thing.”
I frowned. “If I wake up a man whose job is to look rested and compelling for the camera, what kind of fiancée am I?”
“The kind that puts a smile on a man’s face.” She walked toward me and I thought of the big cat whose fake spots she wore. She was beautiful and dangerous.
“So why Joan instead of Jackie? Both are beautiful, talented women. Why did you pick the actress?”
Jitty didn’t hesitate. “Joan lived life. Jackie wrote about it. Which would you