Bones of a Feather - Carolyn Haines [63]
The horse seemed to be twelve feet tall. Front hooves pawed the air directly over my head. I couldn’t move. I was paralyzed by fear.
“No!” The scream came from the front door.
Everything happened in slow motion. Eleanor was framed in the doorway. She was yelling, but I couldn’t hear a sound. Sweetie and Chablis charged out of the house toward the horse.
I stood there unable to do a thing to save myself.
The rider’s black cape swirled around him as he swung the horse hard to the right. The front hooves slashed down two feet from my shoulder with a thud that shook my bones.
With a snort of exertion, the huge horse leaped forward and away as Sweetie and Chablis barked at its heels. Then horse and rider were gone, consumed by the fog and the night.
“Sarah Booth, are you okay?” Eleanor came down the steps and put an arm around me and led me to the porch. “I thought you were going to be trampled. Why didn’t you run?”
I didn’t have an answer for her. But before we could get inside, headlights swept the driveway. Thank God. Tinkie had returned.
14
Tinkie took command of the situation. She ordered me, Eleanor, and the dogs back into the house while she took Eleanor’s handgun and a flashlight and followed the hoofprints across the front lawn.
“Sit down before you fall.” Eleanor eased me into a chair. “I’ll get us a drink.”
She returned with three glasses, ice, and a bottle of Bushmills 1608. She filled the glasses and handed me one. “Did you recognize the rider?”
Before I could answer, the front door shut with a solid thud and Tinkie stormed into the room, her cheeks burning with angry color. “Whoever it was can certainly ride.”
“Did you recognize him, Eleanor?” I asked.
“I didn’t get a clear look. A large man, broad shoulders. I’m sorry. You were under the rearing horse and I was so focused on you.” She poured Tinkie a drink and gave it to her.
My hand had stopped shaking, so I could sip the whiskey without chipping my teeth. “It has to be Barclay. Broad shoulders, long legs. He knows the property.”
“I don’t think so.” Tinkie sat beside me and rubbed my back. “Barclay was with me until half an hour ago. He couldn’t have driven here, gone to the stables, saddled up, and ridden.”
I hated to admit it, but she was correct. It would be an act of superhuman speed. “If not Barclay, then who?”
“I don’t know, but I can assure you I’m going to find out. No one nearly tramples Sarah Booth and gets away with it.”
Eleanor started to speak but was interrupted by the phone ringing. Tinkie switched on the recording device and signaled Eleanor to pick up. She did so, but before she could say hello, Monica’s voice crackled from the speakerphone. “I’m alive, Eleanor.”
The line snapped with static, and there was a strange echo, as if she was in a huge empty room. “I’m being held in a terrible place. I’m cold and scared. But I’m not harmed. He hasn’t hurt me … yet. The kidnapper wants me to tell you that today you went to the insurance company and then the bank. I’m saying this so you know I’m alive and it’s today. If you don’t get the money for him, he will kill me. Don’t doubt it. Do what he says. He’ll call tomorrow with specific instructions. I—” The line went dead.
We sat in stunned silence. I’d never expected Monica to call. I’d honestly begun to believe she was dead.
Eleanor’s relief was palpable. She vibrated with emotion. “She’s alive. She’s alive!”
“Thank god.” Tinkie stood and gently held Eleanor’s shoulders, either supporting or restraining, I couldn’t tell which. “She had information that proves she is alive. A very good sign. If the kidnapper wanted to kill her, she’d be dead by now.”
I’d recovered my wits enough to realize one of my best suspects, Eleanor, seemed to be in the clear. She’d been in the house all afternoon and evening, and she was with me when Monica called. As to Barclay, I’d been positive he was the marauding horseman. Now I had to rethink the knotty problem of the horseman and why he was rampaging around Briarcliff.
At most, we had twenty-four hours to come