Bones of a Feather - Carolyn Haines [70]
And I’d let him escape.
Using Sweetie’s bay as a guide, I stumbled onto the path again. Sweetie seemed to be leading me toward the gardener’s cottage. If Jerome was involved … if Monica was safely inside … I couldn’t hope for a better outcome.
“Get ’im, Sweetie,” I whispered under my breath.
To my utter delight, the fog was lifting at long last. From my knees down, the air was clear. Even at eye level it was beginning to thin. My joy was short-lived when I heard my dog cry out. Sweetie had been taken by surprise.
And then silence.
I stopped, the only sound my breath. I didn’t want to call out to Sweetie. If someone had harmed her, he might be waiting for me.
I stood for several moments as the fog dissipated and the path cleared. I couldn’t hear Sweetie or anyone else. The night seemed completely empty. I felt entirely alone.
Moving stealthily, I continued toward the cottage. No light showed inside, but I could still break in and use the telephone to get help. Tinkie could be here in a car in a matter of minutes, and I was done with shutting out the police. I wanted Gunny and a squad of officers on the scene. Monica, Sweetie, Hightower, and Jerome were MIA, and I intended that they be found and forced to give an explanation of their actions. Well, not Sweetie. Her actions were perfect, as usual.
As I neared the front porch, I saw her. My dog sprawled across the steps, unmoving.
“Sweetie!” I threw caution to the wind and ran to her. She was breathing. Her chest rose and fell in shallow gasps. Blood leaked from her mouth and down her chest.
Tied to her collar with a strip of gossamer lace was a note. I used the flashlight to read it. “Stop screwing around and get the money. Otherwise Monica is dead, and you won’t be far behind.”
“I’ll get help,” I reassured Sweetie as I readied the gun and opened the cottage door. I needed a landline, and woe be unto anyone who got in my path.
“Jerome!” I called out, but there was no answer. My fingers found the light switch. The cottage was empty. To my immense relief, the phone still worked. I called Tinkie, my fingers clumsy on the buttons. She answered groggily.
“Come to Jerome’s cottage. Hurry, please.”
“Sarah Booth.” She was wide awake. “What happened? Why are you out on the grounds in the middle of the night?”
“Sweetie is hurt. Don’t leave Eleanor alone. Bring her, but hurry.”
“What—I’m on the way.” Tinkie wouldn’t waste time with questions since my hound was injured. “Hang on, Sarah Booth. We’ll be there in three minutes.”
* * *
By the time Tinkie and Eleanor arrived with the car, I’d revived Sweetie. The side of her head was cut and she was groggy, but otherwise not seriously injured. Fuming with a desire to rip the offender’s throat out, I stroked Sweetie and whispered comforting nonsense to her.
Tinkie careened up to the front porch in the Caddy, unconcerned by the branches scratching her tomato red paint job.
“Is Sweetie okay?” Tinkie asked as she and Eleanor hurried toward me.
“Where’s Jerome?” Eleanor’s voice caught, as though emotion clogged her throat. She motioned at the open door. “He never leaves the cottage unlocked. Is he inside?”
“What, exactly, is your relationship with the gardener?” I’d had it with lies and half-truths.
“What do you mean? I haven’t seen Jerome since this morning when he was mulching the roses.” Eleanor’s tone was stiff.
“Cut the act.” I ran my hand over Sweetie’s soft fur and waited for her to show me she was ready to move. “I know about your affair with Jerome.”
She didn’t say anything, but she closed her eyes as if shutting out memories. “He wouldn’t have told you. How did you find out?”
“We’re investigators. It’s what we do. Now I want the truth. All of it. My dog has been injured, John Hightower is running around Briarcliff bleeding, and your sister is involved with people who may harm her.”
“I don