Bones of a Feather - Carolyn Haines [19]
The standard rule of thumb is a kidnap victim’s best chance of being recovered unharmed is within the first twenty-four hours. The more time that passes, the less likely the victim’s survival.
“If she was taken for money, maybe the kidnapper is waiting for daybreak,” I said.
“Anyone foolish enough to take Monica would have a real-life ‘Ransom of Red Chief.’ He’d pay Eleanor to take her back.” He called over his shoulder as he left, “I’ll call if I find anything in the river.”
Tinkie and I went into the house, moving quietly in the hope Eleanor was asleep. From the front window we watched Gunny deploy his men. Half a dozen continued to comb the grounds of Briarcliff with the help of Jerome Lolly. Another six got into their vehicles and followed Gunny back to town.
I sank into a chair and stifled a yawn. Tinkie tested the coffeepot to see if it was still warm, then poured us each a cup. “What do you think happened to Monica?” she asked, handing me the java.
“From what the chief says, it sounds like some angry wife might have hauled her off.”
Tinkie fanned her face. “She must be hot stuff. Maybe she is rolled up in bed with a lover.”
“Maybe.” I couldn’t believe she’d up and leave without a word to her sister. They appeared to be totally devoted to each other. They vacationed together, played together, shared houses and … insurance money. “Do you think Eleanor might have pushed her…” I couldn’t finish.
“No-o-o!” Tinkie was scandalized I’d suggest such a thing. “They’re identical twins. Eleanor is too genteel. Besides, she loves Monica.”
“Two million dollars is a lot of reason to bump someone off.”
“That doesn’t explain the hoofprints,” Tinkie said. “I don’t believe for a minute a strange horse is running around, showing up at a potential crime scene. A human trespasser was here at Briarcliff last night. Someone up to no good.”
That’s why I valued Tinkie. She had a no-nonsense streak of practicality that put things in perspective.
“You’re so right.”
The words came from behind us. Eleanor Levert stood in the parlor doorway, her face as pale as the starched white curtains in the kitchen window. One hand gripped the door frame. She teetered, as if she were about to collapse.
“What is it?” I was on my feet and at her side in seconds. A good thing, too, because she slumped into my arms. Tinkie helped me maneuver her to the sofa.
“Call a doctor,” I urged Tinkie.
“No.” Eleanor’s hand batted the air. “No doctor. Don’t call anyone.”
“You’re ill,” Tinkie said gently. “This has been a terrible shock. It might be best to have your blood pressure checked.”
Eleanor pushed free of us. She rocked back and forth on the sofa, her features drawn in pain, but it wasn’t physical, it was emotional.
“Tell us what’s wrong,” I said.
“I can’t.”
“You can trust us.” Tinkie rubbed her back. “What is it?”
Eleanor stopped rocking. She looked into Tinkie’s blue eyes for a long moment. “I don’t know what to do. I’m afraid.”
“You heard from the kidnappers.” I made a statement, not a question.
She looked down at her lap. “He said if I told anyone, he’d kill her.”
“What do they want?” I pressed.
“The insurance money.” She spoke softly.
“The entire four million?” Tinkie asked.
“Yes.”
“How did they know the amount?” I asked.
“Natchez is a small town. Mr. Nesbitt at Langley Insurance would have had to clear the settlement with the main office in Chicago. There could have been a leak anywhere. I think the man I spoke with was Southern. He spoke so harshly, it was difficult to tell, but I believe he had a drawl. I just don’t know. I was upset.”
“What did he say? Exactly.”
She took a breath and looked up at us. “He said, ‘We have your sister. We haven’t hurt her, but we will. Collect the insurance from the necklace tomorrow. We’ll contact you with further instructions. If you call the police, your sister will die slowly