Bones of a Feather - Carolyn Haines [66]
“Oscar won’t lose the money.”
“Tinkie—”
“Eleanor said she’d make it good, no matter what. She has assets, but she isn’t liquid.” Her tone was defensive.
“What if she’s killed making the drop? What if she and Monica both are killed? And the kidnapper steals the money. Where will that leave Oscar, cashing a check with a forged signature on it?”
At last she saw reality. One side of her mouth quirked up. “You’re right. We have to handle this and protect Oscar.” She kissed my cheek. “Thank you, Sarah Booth. I mean it. You saved me from a serious miscalculation.”
Amen! “Tell him tomorrow. If he decides the risk is acceptable, then it’s fine. If not—”
“Monica may die.” Tinkie sounded as if she might cry. “We can’t let the kidnapper hurt her.”
“Whoever took Monica knows every move we make. He knew Eleanor went to the insurance company and the bank. I’m sure he knows the bank refused to cash the check, which is why the ransom demand has been delayed.”
“The kidnapper has to be local. He watches us without drawing attention to himself.”
I remembered the figure wearing night-vision goggles in the bushes outside Briarcliff. “Yes, and we need to figure out who it is. We’ve done good legwork, but we’re no closer to knowing who’s behind this than we were the first day we arrived.”
“First light. We’ll get that list of buildings from Eleanor and comb through them.” Tinkie stifled a yawn. “I’ll set my cell phone for five a.m.”
“It’s a date,” I said, crawling into the sack myself. As I settled into sleep I had one last thought. Despite my best efforts, Tinkie and I were sinking deeper and deeper into the Levert quicksand.
* * *
The weight of the covers pinned my body like a straitjacket, and though I struggled, I couldn’t free an arm. The air against my face was bitter cold. Someone shuffled in the dense shadows near the fireplace. A flint was struck and a spark flared. In a moment, fat lighter wood crackled as it caught fire.
I fought to sit up, but I was completely confined. “What are you doing?” I couldn’t shake the shackles of the bed or of the deep sleep into which I’d fallen. A better question arose in my brain. “Who are you?” My surroundings were unfamiliar, and panic constricted my chest as I thrashed in an effort to throw back the heavy coverlet.
“Calm yourself. There is no escape from the prison of bad choices,” a soft, feminine voice said. It came from near the fireplace, and when I finally managed to fight my way into a sitting position, I saw a female form. She wore a dress with a full skirt that touched the floor. A peculiar collar circled her neck, and her hair was bound in a tight bun.
“Who are you?” I asked again.
“Look into your heart. You know me.” She spoke in a lilting brogue as she approached the bed.
The fireplace illuminated one side of her face, and despite the red hair and voluminous dress, I recognized my haint. “Jitty?”
“Who else would come to warn you?” She was all business, in a historical kind of way. Judging by her attire, I would guess the Victorian era, but I’d never been a student of history.
“Am I in danger?” I asked.
“Are you breathin’, lass?” She snorted. “Trust no one hereabouts, Sarah Booth. Each mother’s son has his own agenda. Power and politics. Each puts his heart’s desire above anything else. The men, the women. Never believe love comes before power in a bloodline destined to reign. Lust is a tool of those hungry to rule.”
I knew who she was then. “Mary, Queen of Scots,” I whispered. The resemblance was remarkable. Whoever did hair, makeup, and costuming in the Great Beyond deserved an Oscar for this getup. “Where is the danger? Is it here, in Briarcliff?”
Jitty’s features filled with sadness. “There is no haven, save what you find in your own heart.”
“Is it Eleanor?” I asked. “Is it Jerome? Or Barclay?”
“Deception is the card, but the question is, which hand dealt it. The answer can be found in only one place, Sarah Booth. Search for it. And guard your virtue.”
“Jitty, I