Bones of a Feather - Carolyn Haines [28]
“I don’t require someone to read to me. In England, our schools believe in literacy, not social promotion.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” I was up to my ears in his Continental insults. “Can anyone verify you were here?”
“Why?” It took him long enough to ask. Was that because he knew the reason behind the questions?
“There’s a method to our madness,” Tinkie said. “Just bear with us and answer.”
“I’m an adult. I don’t need a tender.”
“So no one can vouch for your whereabouts. Did you ever ask Monica or Eleanor for financial restitution for what you view as past wrongs?”
“I gave them a chance to do the right thing. They refused to listen to me.” He drew himself to his full height. “I’ve researched this impeccably. The stories are true. Barthelme was a blackguard, a thief, and a murderer. He has much to answer for. As does Monica, the deceptive bitch. Eleanor is a scorpion of a woman.” “Smug” was the only word to describe him. “Those two women will suffer.”
“How?” My heart beat faster. There was something in his face, some satisfaction in the idea of others’ suffering that made me wary.
“The things they value most will be taken from them. Like the necklace. Do you think it’s coincidental that Barthelme’s prize necklace is missing? The Lord works in mysterious ways. Barthelme harmed many people to get the money to commission that necklace. Now it’s gone. The hand of Providence at work.”
“Sounds like the hand of a common thief.” I’d had more than I could stomach. John Hightower contorted and twisted facts, history, and religious doctrine to suit his own needs.
Tinkie sensed my need to decamp. “We’ll leave, but we aren’t finished with you, Mr. Hightower.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, ladies. I have nothing further to say to you. Not now, not ever.”
“Hey, John, just remember, you can run, but you can’t hide.” I was determined to have the parting shot as Tink and I glided out the door.
From the car, we saw him peep through the curtains, watching us.
“That wasn’t a waste of effort,” Tinkie said. “Hightower is despicable, greedy, lazy, and motivated by revenge. He would feel justified in abducting Monica. I seriously think he views himself as God’s instrument of revenge.”
“He isn’t religious or British.”
“When we get back to the hotel, we’ll check him out.”
“While we’re here, we might as well call on Mrs. Gorenflo,” I said.
“We should have called ahead,” Tinkie said. “She may not see us on such short notice. There is etiquette to consider.”
“Not a problem.” I pulled out my cell phone and dialed info. The operator connected me for no extra charge.
I could see the big house through the trees. Someone was walking around a pool, but it looked like a young girl instead of a middle-aged woman. Then again, liposuction, Botox—the tools of perpetual youth—were at the disposal of Mrs. Gorenflo.
Her phone rang four times before a soft voice answered. I told Mrs. Gorenflo we were calling at the behest of the Levert sisters. Simply curiosity won out over formal manners. She invited us up for a glass of tea.
Tinkie parked at the front door, and the maid showed us into a house that looked like an upper-crust mansion, circa 1920. I was smitten with the huge mirrors, the black and white tile of the foyer, the heavy drapes in a shade of peach that perfectly complemented the dark maroon walls.
The tap-tap of high heels alerted us to Helena Banks Gorenflo’s arrival. She came forward, hand extended. While she wasn’t a beauty, she was a handsome woman of the Joan Crawford variety. She shook our hands and ushered us into a parlor.
“So you’re here at the behest of Monica and Eleanor,” she said. “I should tell you up front, it’s a waste of your time. The Levert sisters lack the pedigree to join the Confederate Belles for Justice. There’s nothing I can do about it. Facts are facts. Besides, we can’t include Briarcliff on the tour of homes, our annual fund-raiser. Every member must have a home fit for the tour.”
“Why can’t you tour Briarcliff?” Tinkie asked.
“People are terrified