Bones of a Feather - Carolyn Haines [58]
“Keep the beasts on a leash, else you’ll find them yourself next time.” He thrust the ropes into my hand and stalked off. I didn’t need my psychic friend Madame Tomeeka to tell me his thoughts were ugly and directed at me, but I had my doubts about him, too.
His long stride quickly took him down the garden path. He disappeared in the sheets of rain that fell from the leaden sky. No doubt he was worried about the letters he’d left outside where the rain might ruin them. I’d taken care to shut the box firmly and knew no water would get inside. Such was the craftsmanship. Jerome’s memories were safe, but they might not remain private for much longer.
I dashed through the downpour with the dogs and stood while they shook themselves on the stone entrance.
“Stay here.” I put the word on Sweetie. She was mostly obedient and a fabulous hound. But her head could be turned by a handsome canine such as her last beau, a New York harrier named Danny. The two dogs had given me a bad turn when they’d turned Bonnie and Clyde in a shoe-thieving campaign across Sunflower County while I was out of town on a case. Poor Oscar, their designated caregiver, had nearly had a heart attack.
I cradled Sweetie’s soft muzzle and lifted her soulful eyes to mine. “Don’t leave,” I told her.
Eleanor had offered to let Sweetie and Chablis stay at Briarcliff, but a dry dog and a wet dog were two different animals. I didn’t want to presume. The rain would let up and Sweetie would shake herself dry. Chablis could be easily toweled, so I took her inside. Hunting for something with which to dry the dog would give me the perfect excuse to poke around the mansion.
I’d made a serious miscalculation when I’d asked Eleanor to search Briarcliff. I’d assumed. While it might be logical to trust that the person paying me to find her missing sister would really want the sister found, it was still a mistake. And one that could easily result in injury for me or Tinkie. If Eleanor was that diabolical—and that pissed off at Monica—she wouldn’t think twice about putting her hired investigators in the way of danger.
Or possibly killing her own sister.
As I slipped into the house, I heard the murmur of voices. Tinkie and Eleanor were in the ladies’ parlor. Easing upstairs, I went to Eleanor’s bathroom. Instead of the linen closet, I opened the medicine cabinet. There wasn’t a single prescription bottle in sight. Vitamin D, E, C, and over-the-counter antioxidants were her only “medicines.”
In the wastebasket I hit pay dirt. The little amber prescription bottle was in Eleanor’s name. I recognized the drug as one popular among unhappy people who suffered from anxiety. It was powerful. Used improperly in heavy doses, the medication could render a person nearly comatose. Or dead.
The prescription had been filled only the week before, yet the bottle was empty. This wasn’t proof positive Eleanor drugged her sister in order to abduct her—and might be keeping her drugged if Monica was still alive—but it was certainly circumstantial.
Footsteps approached the bathroom. I grabbed a towel and began to vigorously dry Chablis. The little dustmop growled at my enthusiasm, but when the door opened and Eleanor gasped at my unexpected presence, I successfully feigned innocence.
“I hope it was okay to use a towel from this bathroom,” I said. “Chablis was soaked and I didn’t want her to shake in the house.”
“It’s fine,” Eleanor said, but her face told another story. She was pale and her words came out clipped. “There are numerous bathrooms upstairs and down. This is my private bath.”
“So sorry.” I picked up Chablis. Another low growl warned me I was on her shit list. I’d slipped the prescription bottle into my pocket and I used the towel to cover the bulge. “Where’s Tinkie?”
“Downstairs waiting for you. She said you were fetching the dogs from Jerome.”
I was all concern. “Did you get the check thing resolved?