Bones of a Feather - Carolyn Haines [44]
“About ten minutes ago. I called you as soon as I hung up.”
So he’d waited until he reasoned Eleanor would be asleep, hoping for the advantage startling her would give him. So far, it was working.
“I’ll check with the insurance company tomorrow,” I said.
“The police chief came by this afternoon. He wanted to know if Monica had come home and I fed him a story about how she’d gone to New York City and forgot to tell me. I got rid of him as quickly as I could.”
She was obviously worried the kidnappers would think she’d gone against orders. “Was he satisfied with that?”
“For the moment. Have you made any progress determining who might have taken my sister?”
“Some, but nothing definite. I interviewed Millicent, John Hightower, Helena Banks Gorenflo, and Kissie. They each have something to gain, but I can’t point the finger of blame at any of them. Not yet.”
“You can find her, Ms. Delaney. I know you can. I’m counting on you.”
And that was the problem.
10
The next morning, I spent more time than usual applying makeup in an effort to cover the damage of a tormented night. In a vivid dream, I’d been a helpless bystander while Monica was held in chains in a dungeon—a good, old-fashioned Sheriff of Nottingham dungeon with a torturer in a black mask, red-hot pokers to jab into her eyes, thumbscrews, and all the other trappings. Things were damn dire for her, and Robin Hood wasn’t around to save the day. The nightmare had been so vivid, my need to save Monica so pressing, I’d awakened trying to run in bed. The sheets looked as if I’d deliberately tied them in knots.
Showered and with a thick coat of foundation hiding some of the dark bags, I was happy to leave the scene of my delusions.
Cece was waiting for me when I called her room, and she was eager to relay her nocturnal activities—ones far different from my own. We met in the hallway. She rolled her eyes. “Dahling, the only movie part you’ll get today is as the reanimated dead. What’s wrong?”
At our table in the hotel restaurant, I told her about Eleanor’s call and her unwillingness to involve experts to save her sister.
“This whole kidnapping thing is playing out in slow motion, and it doesn’t make sense,” she said. “Eleanor acts like she’s in a trance. Maybe she doesn’t watch television, but she should know the longer this drags out, the less likely Monica will survive.” She threw up her hands. “Even the kidnapper isn’t in a hurry. There’s absolutely no sense of urgency.”
“I get the feeling the Levert fortune has slowed everything down. In their world, it’s rude to rush. Even a kidnapping.” It sounded ridiculous, but Cece understood what I meant. The extremely rich had a different relationship with time. Things happened at a speed that suited them, and the kidnapper had demanded a huge ransom. The only good news was that Eleanor had heard Monica in the background, which meant she was still alive. Of course, her voice could have been tape-recorded and played back.
“I’m in over my head,” I confided to Cece. “This isn’t following any playbook I know. It seems to me the kidnapper has to be someone close to Eleanor or Monica.” I pushed my toast around the saucer. “Lots of people can’t accept their friends will hurt them. Then again, the Levert sisters don’t appear to have a tremendous number of friends.”
“True. I had no idea how deeply the sisters are loathed until last night.” Her lively expression told me she’d come across something good.
“What did you get up to after I went to bed?”
She signaled the waitress for more coffee. “I thought Barclay might show up in the hotel bar. He didn’t, so I entertained myself with someone else.”
Cece had her ways, and the idea she’d replaced Barclay in her affections made me heave a sigh of relief. “And?”
“Monica Levert wasn’t particular about trespassing.”
“Meaning she stomped around on someone’s fenced property or she tampered with someone’s husband?”
“She seems to relish rustling other people’s bulls. It’s habitual conduct. She’s built