Bones of a Feather - Carolyn Haines [29]
“Surely you don’t really believe in ghosts and hauntings,” Tinkie said.
“I do, and I’m not alone. Strange things happen at Briarcliff. And before you waste your breath pleading Monica’s case, I assure you the entire board of the Confederate Belles for Justice stands behind this decision. There was not one dissenting vote.”
“Monica will be disappointed to hear that,” Tinkie said.
Helena laughed. “She’s already heard it. A number of times.”
“When did you last speak with her?” Tinkie asked.
“A week ago. She was very angry with me.” Helena smiled. “Are you by chance related to Oscar Richmond of Zinnia?” she asked Tinkie.
“He’s my husband. Avery Bellcase is my father.” Tinkie laid out the cards of her own pedigree.
Helena looked at me. “And you are…”
“I was found floating in a rush basket on the Mississippi River wearing a coat of many colors. I have prophetic dreams and I sense I was a prince in a past life. That’s all I know.”
Tinkie reached back and pinched me so hard on my ass that I yelped and jumped forward, almost knocking into Helena.
“Prince, my eye,” Helena said severely. “It’s clear you have no breeding whatsoever.”
Ouch, what a smack down. I barely managed to hide my grin. Hightower was a dangerous, whacked-out religious hypocrite. Helena Gorenflo was an elitist society snob. Did I sniff romance in the air?
“We’re not here about family pedigrees,” I said. “We’re private investigators with questions about the theft of a ruby necklace.”
“Oh, yes, I heard the vulgar thing was stolen.” Satisfaction ruled her features. “Who would want it? Every woman who clasped a Levert necklace around her neck died within the year.”
“Except for the one Levert to whom you object so strenuously. Terrant Cassio Levert. She had twins and lived a long life.”
“After she murdered Barthelme.” She mimed surprise. “Don’t look so shocked. The whole town knew she killed him, and not a single person lifted a finger to accuse her. That’s how much Bartheleme was hated. They let his murderer go scot-free.”
I glanced at Tinkie. She shrugged. It seemed pretty clear that five young women—not to mention numerous travelers, river workers, and slaves—died at Barthelme’s hands. So the sixth wife got the drop on him. Perhaps it wasn’t legal, but it was a type of justice.
“Have you ever seen the necklace?” Tinkie asked.
“One of the twins wears it on occasion. They’re overly proud of it, you know. The thing was tacky beyond belief. And gaudy to boot. I can’t recall the jeweler who designed it, but he was far overrated.”
“When was the last time you saw it?”
Helena had obviously given up offering us tea or inviting us farther into her home. We stood in the foyer, opulence visible in all directions. Beautiful décor. Old money, antiques, quiet good taste.
“The Fourth of July fête. I think Monica wore it then. And little else, I might add. Her red minidress was a scandal. She’s too old for that kind of exhibition. At least Eleanor dresses appropriate to her age.”
“Why would Monica wear the necklace to a Fourth of July event?” In my experience, Independence Day was generally a picnic and fireworks, not a ball gown and jewels.
“Because she’s uncouth. Which is another reason she’ll never be a part of the Confederate Belles for Justice. We can tolerate a lot of things, but not her conduct.”
It wasn’t worth asking if the prejudice against the Leverts was the family history or the fact that Monica looked fifteen years younger than her true age. The old green-eyed monster was likely at work here.
“Do you know anyone who might want to harm the Levert sisters?” I asked.
This brought her