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Eleanor had seen Monica around seven thirty, so if Jerome was being truthful, he wasn’t the last one to see the missing sister.

“Did she say anything about her evening’s schedule?” Tinkie asked.

“She talked only of packing. Monica doesn’t confide in me.” Lolly relaxed a little. “She tells me what she wants, and I mostly do it. Unless it’s the wrong plants. Then I do what needs doing. No point wasting money on something that won’t flourish here.”

“What were her instructions for the rose garden?” I asked.

“Buy the materials to put in a fountain this fall and beef up the color around the front and the drive. Monica wanted Bermuda Mystery Roses that bloom most of the summer. Wanted an archway with the Seven Sisters.” His tone reflected his approval. “She’s a sensible woman, more often than not, when it comes to plants. I could say otherwise when it comes to … other things.”

“And what might those other things be?” I pressed.

“Men and friends. Not much luck on either count.” He crossed his arms. “Now I’ve spoken out of school.” There was regret in his tone. “Please, I have a lot to do.”

“Did Monica seem troubled to you?” I asked.

“No, she…” His brow furrowed. “Hold a minute. She was a mite troubled. Someone tore up my vegetable patch the last week, and she took it personally. I told her not to make so much of it, but she did.”

This was the first we’d heard of a vegetable patch assault. “How do you mean tore it up?” I asked.

“I shouldn’t say ‘someone.’ It was a horse. Stomped all over my baby turnips and my melons. Horses like melons, you know.”

I did know. I often gave Reveler and Miss Scrapiron watermelon. “I heard a horse earlier.”

“I hear it, but I never see it,” he said. “It’s a big devil. Hoof the size of a platter.”

Reveler was a hefty horse, but not that big. “You think someone deliberately rode the horse into your garden?”

He shrugged. “Hard to say if the rider put the horse to it, or if the horse is running loose around the grounds. Briarcliff is close to three hundred acres. These are hard times. Could be someone turned the horse out here, thinking there was forage or maybe the creature would be fed. Folks know the Levert sisters have a lot of money.”

“You’ve checked the stables on the grounds?”

He nodded. “Hasn’t been a horse in there for decades.” He turned slightly away. “People in town say it’s the ghost of Barthelme’s horse, a right fierce devil. Solid black and swift. Barthelme rode him on the Natchez Trace when he was robbing travelers. That foolish writer man who did the book on Natchez has stirred up talk of ghosts.”

Lovely, a highwayman’s ghost horse. If Jitty was eavesdropping she might take a notion to dress up as a jockey. “What writer?”

The gardener’s lips pressed into a thin line. “You’d best ask the sisters. I’ve spoken out of turn for the second time. In Scottish legend, the third time will turn me to stone. So be off with the two of you.”

“We need to find Monica before we can ask her anything.” Tinkie brought us back to the immediate matter. “Will you help us hunt for her?”

“Is she truly missing, or is this one of her games?”

“If it’s a game, she’s worried her sister. And us,” I said. “Is Monica in the habit of disappearing?”

Jerome drew in a long breath. “She’s headstrong. When she doesn’t get her way, she makes people suffer, but I don’t think she’d deliberately make Eleanor think she was hurt or in trouble. Now let me fetch a light.”

He was back in a moment, and we left the well-lit cottage for the darkness of the night.

4

Jerome strode under a canopy of trees so dense it blocked the night sky. I squeezed Tinkie’s arm, slowing her down so I could whisper, “Should we trust him? He could have kilts and a broadsword hidden in the woods with the idea of whacking off our heads.”

“Fine time to bring that up. But the kilt sounds mighty interesting. What do Highlanders wear under them?” She urged me forward as his light disappeared around a sharp bend in the trail. “We don’t really have a choice. Jerome knows