Bones of a Feather - Carolyn Haines [13]
“We’ll check the grounds,” I said. “Do you have any good lights?”
“In the pantry. We keep them for storms.” Eleanor led the way, and Tinkie and I were soon outfitted with hefty flashlights that cut an arc through the blackness of the night. Without further ado, we started in the gardens where Monica was last seen.
“At the back of the property is Jerome’s cottage,” Eleanor said. She’d opted to stay in the house in case Monica returned. If that happened, she’d call us.
“Can the gardener help us look?” Tinkie asked.
“He could if he were home,” Eleanor said. “I’ve called repeatedly, but there’s no answer.”
The hair on the nape of my neck tingled. Jerome and Monica were absent. A tête-à-tête or an abduction? It could be either, or neither. But it was at least a good place to start. Tinkie had come to the same conclusion, and we set off through the maze of the garden, our flashlights allowing us a narrow path in the dense darkness.
When we were out of earshot of Eleanor, Tinkie pulled me to a stop. “Do you think Monica is boinking the gardener?”
“Maybe.”
“I don’t buy that business of giving up on men,” Tinkie said. “Women who are doing exactly what they want say stuff like that. I mean, I expect you to say it any minute.”
“What are you talking about?” I wondered if Jitty were somehow influencing Tinkie.
“You’re so determined to be upfront and honest and put everything out there. Men don’t like that. They want to be deceived and coddled and catered to. They need the illusion of control. Surely by now you’ve learned that, Sarah Booth.”
We were standing in the middle of a garden at an estate that looked like the setting for a Frankenstein movie with one half of our client team missing and Tinkie was lecturing me on appropriate behavior with men. “Let’s find Monica, then you can sort my love life.”
“Point taken.” She aimed her flashlight and set off to the north.
The stiff breeze blew strands of my hair into my eyes, and slender oak and dogwood branches slapped at my face. By the time we made it to the gardener’s cottage, I was exasperated. A bottle tree clanked and jangled in the wind. The multicolored bottles that had been stuck on bare limbs would be beautiful in sunlight. Now, though, the noise was unsettling.
The beam of our flashlights showed a modest, Creole-style cottage set on six-foot pilings with an inviting front porch. A single light burned in the front window.
We headed up the steps. Tinkie knocked loudly on the front door. “Mr. Lolly! Mr. Lolly!”
No answer.
“Do you think he’s inside?” Tinkie asked.
Emptiness seeped from the house. “No.” I didn’t think anything alive was in residence at that moment. While the structure of the house was symmetrical and handsome, something was off. I felt as if someone watched me, excited by our presence. If Jerome Lolly was as creepy as his house, I didn’t want to meet him in the dark.
“Listen!” Tinkie’s fingers dug into my arm.
A muffled sound drifted from the east. I couldn’t be certain what it was. There was a rhythm, a familiar cadence, but I couldn’t put my finger on it until I heard the wild whinny of a horse.
“Holy Christmas.” Tinkie’s grip tightened until I winced. “If the Headless Horseman comes crashing out of the tree line, I’m breaking into the cottage.”
I wasn’t certain inside was any safer than out, but I respected Tinkie’s decision. I had the thought we’d been dropped down into a really bad fairy tale. All sorts of evil spirits and ghoulies might roam the grounds of Briarcliff. “See if the door’s unlocked.”
She gave the knob a twist, and the door swung wide without a sound. “We don’t have permission to enter,” she reminded me.
“Lolly is Eleanor’s employee. She sent us to find Monica. I think we’re within our rights.” I stepped over the threshold and fumbled for a light switch. When I found it, I prayed as I flipped it up. Warm, wonderful light filled the room. Glancing around, I could say two things about Jerome Lolly. He was a neat man and he loved horticulture. Books on plants and gardening filled one wall, but my eye