Bones of a Feather - Carolyn Haines [24]
Eleanor rose and grasped Tinkie’s hands. “So you’ll help me? You won’t turn this over to the authorities?”
“We’ll ask a few questions. Maybe we’ll help,” I said.
Eleanor’s relief turned to worry. “What if the kidnappers find out you’re asking questions?”
“No one will find out,” Tinkie said. “We’ll be the souls of discretion. I promise.”
That was going to be a hard promise to keep. We headed out the door just as the sun burst over the tops of the huge oak trees. It was going to be a long and arduous day.
* * *
We booked our rooms at the Eola for another night. Before we wrote the insurance report we showered and changed. Tinkie was subdued, and I knew she’d spoken with Oscar. How much she’d told him, I couldn’t ascertain. Whatever it was, Oscar couldn’t be pleased. Whatever he’d said to Tinkie had taken the wind out of her sails.
When the report was finished, we delivered it to the Langley Insurance Agency and personally handed it to Mr. Nesbitt.
“You’re certain the necklace was stolen?” he said, doubt evident in his voice and expression. “Did you find any reason to believe the Levert women may be responsible for the disappearance of the necklace?”
“Yes and then no,” Tinkie said. “The necklace is missing. The sisters are distraught.”
We’d decided against mentioning Monica’s disappearance. We didn’t need the entire town talking. If the kidnappers were local, gossip could cost Monica her life.
“This is a huge settlement,” Mr. Nesbitt said. “The necklace was supposed to be kept in a secret vault in the house.”
I didn’t respond. Sometimes it was smart to say nothing.
“And you determined the necklace was there before it was stolen?” he asked.
I pointed at the report. “It’s all in there. The necklace was removed from the vault in preparation for a new appraisal.” We had to tell the truth. Whether the policy paid out or not, Tinkie and I couldn’t fib about the circumstances of the theft.
“Who removed it?” He held the report in his hand, but he hadn’t bothered to read it.
“Monica did.”
“Was anyone else in the house?”
“Mr. Nesbitt, we’ve included everything in the report. You can corroborate most of it with the Natchez Police Department’s report. The Levert sisters had control of the necklace. It’s up to you to determine whether the policy will pay out or not, but I believe the necklace was stolen,” Tinkie said. “That’s all we can tell you.”
“Thank you, ladies,” he said. “And have a good day.”
He had no intention of confirming whether the claim would be paid or not. The truth was, our report would have no impact one way or the other. Our report was an extra fillip, a supporting opinion.
Mr. Nesbitt dismissed us with a curt good-bye, and we drove to Wonderland Drive and a beautiful pink Victorian laced with gingerbread and green shutters. A wraparound porch was as inviting as a glass of lemonade on a hot summer day. The sun climbed the sky, sending the temperature and humidity way up. It was summer; the cotton was high, and the living steamy.
The sidewalk to Millicent Gentry’s home was lined with five-foot shrubs interspaced with gnomes hammering, sawing, and building. Frozen in the act of work under oaks and in flower beds, they waited for someone to flip a switch and crank them into mechanical life—like figures out of a Tim Burton film.
Tinkie skirted around them as we made our way to the house. When we rang the bell, a beautiful blonde with spangled blue eyes answered. If she was related to the Levert sisters, it wasn’t evident in her appearance.
“How do you ladies do?” she asked, as friendly as if we were longtime neighbors. “Can I help you?”
“Millicent Gentry?” I’d sort of expected a gorgon with rubbery, doll-like flesh and bad plastic hair.
“That’s me,” she said, still smiling. “Who are you?”
We introduced ourselves and explained we were working on the insurance claim for Monica and Eleanor.
Millicent put her hand to her mouth and gasped. “The Levert ruby necklace has been stolen!”
“I’m afraid that’s true.”
“Poor Eleanor and Monica. They must be awful upset. I guess they’ll