Bones of a Feather - Carolyn Haines [50]
As if on cue, an old model Honda pulled down the drive. Kissie climbed out from behind the wheel. “What’s going on? I could tell by your voice, Eleanor, something’s wrong.” She looked from one to the other. “What the hell is it?”
“When was the last time you were in the north wing?” I avoided her question with one of my own.
“About a month ago, I oiled the furniture and changed the bed linens. I left the rooms ready for a guest.”
Eleanor’s eyelids fluttered briefly as though she might faint. “The sheets were twisted, like someone had tossed all night.”
Or had sex. I read the same thought on Cece’s and Tinkie’s faces. Monica could have met assignations there.
“Any idea who might have been in the room?” Tinkie asked.
“No clothes or personal items had been left behind,” Eleanor said.
“I’d like to have a look.” It wasn’t that I doubted Eleanor, but there was always the chance a clue had escaped her attention—like the thong in my pocket.
“And I need to hook this up.” Tinkie brought a recorder to attach to the phone. The next time the kidnapper called, we could at least record the man’s voice to analyze it. Phrasing or an accent could be a big help.
I pulled Eleanor behind Tinkie’s Caddy. Kissie didn’t need to hear what I was about to ask. “Was Monica sleeping with Marty Diamond?”
Eleanor blanched. “Kissie’s beau?”
I pulled the panties from my pocket. “I believe these are hers.”
She examined the label. “Yes, they probably are. She has her lingerie imported from France and this is the brand she likes. My sister is very particular about such things.”
I took them from her and returned them to my pocket. “Monica has made a lot of enemies in town. She went out of her way to hurt people and ruin relationships. Why?” It was obvious that Eleanor was fond of Kissie. Monica had spoken of her with affection. I didn’t understand why Monica acted in a way so reckless of others’ feelings.
Eleanor’s face sagged. “I don’t know what motivates Monica. I tried to tell her not to sleep with men who were attached. She could have had her pick of European royalty or highly successful entrepreneurs. Her conduct appalled me, but she is my sister. Even when she was wrong in her behavior, I defended her.”
Cece and Tinkie kept Kissie occupied, while I continued to talk with Eleanor. “This gives Kissie motive to hurt Monica. I get the sense Kissie really cares for Marty. If she knew about his betrayal—and with Monica, of all people—she’d be hurt and furious. To quote my aunt Loulane, ‘Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.’”
“Even so, Kissie wouldn’t—”
“Don’t discount her. We can’t discount anyone. And I want a DNA sample. Barclay deserves an answer to his parentage. If Monica did have him and then abandon him, he has a right to know it.”
Eleanor drew a hairbrush from her pocket. “I came to the same conclusion. Monica will never acknowledge him as a true son—she just isn’t capable. But he deserves the truth. Maybe it’ll give him some peace.” Longing flooded her face. “I wanted a child, back when I was younger. Monica loathed the idea of a baby, but I wanted one.”
I took the brush with relief. “Don’t let us hold you up from going to see Mr. Nesbitt. We’ll take care of things here.” Eleanor was exhausted. I patted her shoulder. “Good luck with the insurance money.”
“I fear I’m going to need a great deal of luck,” she said as she got in her car and drove away.
I decided on a bold move. “Kissie, do you recognize these?” I brought the panties from my pocket.
The songwriter stepped back as if I’d pulled a snake out. “Where did you find those?”
“At your boyfriend’s cabin. Now why would he have a pair of sixty-dollar underwear?”
“I left them.” Chagrin gave way to suspicion. “What were you doing at Marty’s cabin?”
“That doesn’t matter. How did Monica’s underwear get there? Was Monica sleeping with Marty?”
Cece and Tinkie followed the conversation like a tennis match. They focused on Kissie,