Bones of a Feather - Carolyn Haines [49]
I slipped the undies in my pocket. If Monica was a prisoner, there was no evidence of restraints. Yet again, I’d uncovered a tidbit of evidence that followed no particular direction, just a revolving finger of blame, pointed at first one suspect, then another. The harder I looked, the more confused I became.
On the trip back to Briarcliff, I called Tinkie. Cell phone reception was sketchy, but I gathered the party she’d attended had been a huge success and Oscar was back on track supporting her private investigation career. She was only a few miles from Natchez—with Sweetie Pie and Chablis in tow. She’d head straight for Briarcliff.
I needed to put video cameras in Tinkie’s house to record how she managed her husband. She had some secret weapon to bend Oscar to her will.
I phoned Cece, who’d just finished a search of the grounds with Jerome.
“We found the cistern.” There was an edge to her voice I couldn’t fathom.
“And?”
“I don’t think anyone’s been near it for the last hundred years.”
Again, her tone was all wrong. “Is Jerome with you?”
“That’s exactly right.”
“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Meet me at the house.”
Pressing on the accelerator, I risked a speeding ticket to get back to Briarcliff. I arrived just as Tinkie opened the back door of her Caddy and my beautiful red-spotted hound jumped from the backseat followed by the dainty Chablis. They were an odd duo, but despite the difference in size, both had enormous courage and heart.
“Oscar has a banking convention in Memphis. It was bring the dogs or kennel them, and you know how Chablis hates to be away from us.” Whatever her rationalization might be, Tinkie’s wide grin held no remorse for bringing the canines.
Sweetie almost knocked me down with the delight of our reunion. Chablis gnawed my shoelaces and flung her head wildly, growling with mock fierceness. “It’s good to see them.”
“The Eola doesn’t allow dogs,” Tinkie said matter-of-factly. “You’ll have to distract the staff while I sneak them in.”
Rules were meant to be broken, at least where Chablis and Sweetie were concerned. Tinkie normally was by-the-book with social conventions, but anti-dog policies were on her hit list. If she ever ran for office, her platform would be equal opportunities for pups.
Eleanor, who’d witnessed the arrival of the dogs, shook her head. “You can stay here. This old house could stand the joy of a hound and a … a … a little fluffy creature.”
I hid a smile. My first reaction to Chablis had been contempt. She was so glitzed, pampered, and fragile—she appeared to be more toy than dog. Appearances can be deceiving, and in Chablis’s case, they were. I loved her every bit as much as Tinkie and Oscar did. And they loved Sweetie with equal fervor.
“We couldn’t intrude on your privacy,” I said to Eleanor. “It’s a kind and generous offer, but—”
“Of course we can.” Tinkie’s face was alight. “It’s the perfect solution, and when the kidnapper calls again, we’ll be here. When an excellent offer.”
Eleanor faced me. “Your partner is right. Having you in the house is the smartest solution. We found no sign of Monica, but someone has been inside the north wing. The problem is, I can’t say when. It could have been weeks ago or yesterday.”
“The north wing?” Cece’s tone said it all. “How many wings are there?”
“Two. North and south. We use the central part of the house, especially in the summer. The air-conditioning and all. Costs a fortune to cool the whole place, and there’s only the two of us. So we shut off the other wings.”
I didn’t need the tour. I needed facts. “What did you find?”
“The blue