Bones of a Feather - Carolyn Haines [27]
“I’m fine.” He mustered his grit. “I was at Briarcliff. It was my final interview with the Levert sisters.”
“I’ll bet,” I said. “You revealed a personal bone to pick with their family and they tossed you off the property.”
To my surprise, color flooded Hightower’s face. “I do have an issue with the Leverts. The course of my family’s personal history might have been very different had it not been for that blackguard, Barthelme Levert.”
“That was two hundred years ago.” I couldn’t help it. “You want what? Revenge? Reparation? For an event that happened four or five generations back? In another country? You want the wrongs of history redressed? Well, get in line.”
Beneath the pudding was steel, and I caught a glimpse of something ugly lurking behind his mild exterior. Hightower’s eyes sparkled dangerously. “Barthelme sank my ancestor’s ship. That act pushed the Hightower family into poverty. Brewster Hightower was taken to the workhouse because he couldn’t pay his bills. Creditors pounced on his Liverpool home, and his family was put out on the streets to starve. He died a broken man.”
“Boo-hoo.” His mealymouthed whining grated on my last nerve. How much did he hate the Levert family?
“I think you ladies, and I use that term loosely, should leave,” he said, all huffy. The dangerous anger was cloaked again, but I knew it was there—and easily provoked.
“We’re not going anywhere.” Tinkie probably didn’t approve of my tart remarks, but I could tell Hightower pissed her off, too.
“I’m writing my book, and it will be published,” Hightower said. “The Levert sisters can send as many strong-armed henchmen as they want. I’m not backing down. Barthelme’s evil deeds will be publicized and available for all to read.”
“The Levert sisters don’t give a damn what you write and publish.” I moved to confront him. “They want their necklace back.”
“What?” He looked from me to Tinkie.
“Return it and they won’t press charges.”
“I hardly think they’re in a position to press charges of any kind against me,” he said. “I’ve done nothing wrong. I heard the necklace was stolen, but I had nothing to do with that.”
“When was the last time you saw Monica?” Tinkie pressed.
“At Briarcliff. Several days ago. But that won’t be the last they see of me, I assure you. Once my book is published, I intend to run them out of town. It’s biblical. The sins of the father shall fall upon the son. Generations of Leverts have profited from the blood money Barthelme accrued. I am the avenging angel of the Lord. I shall bring them down and smite them with the truth of their family heritage.”
“What is it you feel the Leverts owe you?” I asked.
“Money. A lot of money. Barthelme ruined my family. We never recovered. He came to this country and built a fortune while my ancestor rotted in debtor’s prison. I want what would have rightly been Brewster’s.”
“Did it ever occur to you that maybe you should work at a career and earn the things you want?” I asked.
“You’re just another child of privilege,” he sneered. “Let me guess—you live in the family home. You trade on your family name. You were educated by your parents.”
He was three for three, but not in the way he assumed. My parents left me something far better than money. They’d left me a good name.
“Mr. Hightower, where were you last night?” I hardly thought he had the physicality to drag Monica out of Briarcliff even if he’d managed to knock her out. My bets were on him having Monica abducted, then being unable to resist goading her, rubbing her nose in his superiority.
“I had dinner with Helena Banks Gorenflo, my hostess.”
“And when did you leave?” I asked.
“At half past nine. We had Cornish hens stuffed with cranberries and pecans. Delicious. She has the best chef in the Southeast.” He’d regained his composure and British accent, which had begun to slip. I wondered if anything about John Hightower was genuine.
“Delightful, I’m sure,” I said. “And after that?”
“I was here, reading.” He pointed to a book on the table beside my chair. “Sir Kingsley Amis.”
“You