Bones of a Feather - Carolyn Haines [79]
“The Banks had a good name and little else. But Gaston chose me over the money. He left the bachelor party to meet me.” Her voice quivered but held. “I was late. Because of Monica. She threatened me. She told me if I didn’t meet her at an old plantation where we all went parking, she’d ruin me in society. She had photographs of an … indiscretion. Something that happened when I was very young.”
“So instead of meeting Gaston, you went to talk with Monica.”
She nodded. “Gaston left the party, as planned, and went outside to the place I was to pick him up. We were going to leave for France to start a life together. He was waiting for me when he was killed by muggers.”
“And you blame the Levert sisters? You were stealing her fiancé the night before her wedding and you blame them?” I didn’t have to fake incredulous.
“Yes. I do. They use their money to control everyone who gets near them. It cost Gaston his life and me my happiness.”
“Don’t kid yourself, Helena. The only person you can blame is yourself. You put your reputation ahead of your lover.”
“Reputation is obviously something you don’t understand.” She drew herself up, gaining control of her emotions. “Because you’ve never had one, except as a meddling old maid.” She tossed the leash at my face, but I caught it before it struck me.
Helena executed a perfect about-face and stormed down the drive to her waiting car. A driver opened the door and within seconds she was gone. I wondered how much of the true story of Gaston’s death Eleanor knew. Monica obviously knew it all, but I doubted she’d shared the knowledge of Gaston’s intended betrayal. Just another bit of the past that wouldn’t lie down and die.
“So you’re the infamous Roscoe,” I said to the dog. “What did you find that upset Helena so much?”
He didn’t answer, but he grinned at me. An idiotic dog grin that said “I pretend to be stupid but I’m not. In fact, I’m way smarter than you are.”
“Roscoe?”
The stump of his tail, which looked as if someone had chopped it with a meat cleaver aiming for a more vital body part, thumped. He lifted one paw, clearly attempting to shake.
So I’m a sucker. Roscoe was Millicent’s dog, and though I didn’t believe she’d deliberately trained him to dig through trash, it could be a handy activity for a private investigator. More to the point, with Millicent dead, Roscoe qualified as an orphan, and one not likely to find another loving parent based on what I knew of him. In fact, his criminal record in Natchez would go against him. The future looked grim for the cunning canine. If he showed up at her place, Helena would, without hesitation, send the dog to the pound for extermination.
But why was I worried about a dog with criminal inclinations when I had a missing woman and a dead body? I led Roscoe into the house and unsnapped his lead. Sweetie would show him the ropes around Briarcliff. I just had to be sure Chablis approved of this agenda.
No worries there, the three dogs met as old friends and scooted upstairs to do whatever it is dogs do when humans aren’t watching.
I put on another pot of coffee and stood at the kitchen window until Eleanor pulled under the portico. I gripped the counter as I waited for the two women to get into the house. Eleanor pushed through the door, her cheeks red with emotion.
“This had better be important. We have to get the money, Sarah Booth, but Tinkie insisted we come back here. She said it was an emergency.” Eleanor was upset, and she didn’t bother to hide it. “Don’t you understand my sister will die if I can’t manage to cash the stupid insurance check?”
“Millicent Gentry is dead.” I handed the camera to Eleanor.
Her fingers fumbled for a moment, but she looked at the image. “Oh, dear god,” she whispered, pushing the camera back into my hand.
Tinkie took it gently and examined the photo. “You’re sure this isn’t fake?”
“I’m not sure of anything.” I told them about Helena bringing Roscoe here. “I think the dog probably tracked