Bones of a Feather - Carolyn Haines [81]
“Let’s get the dogs,” I said, ignoring her lie. “If anyone can track Millicent, it’s Roscoe, the dog who shared her life.”
“Speaking of dogs, what are you going to do with Roscoe if Millicent is dead?”
The question stopped me in my tracks. “I guess Eleanor will assume responsibility for the dog. Millicent was her relative.”
“Guess again.” Tinkie wasn’t being difficult, she was facing facts that I’d managed not to look at. Eleanor wasn’t the kind of person who took care of a dog.
“Maybe Barclay. Since he is a true Levert, the dog belongs to him. He wants to inherit, he can start with Roscoe.”
Tinkie chuckled, and even though it was at my expense, it was nice to hear. “You may need to rethink that. Barclay doesn’t strike me as a man who would cotton to owning a hound.”
“Roscoe isn’t a hound. He’s a … beagle-terrier mix.” That was the nicest combination I could pick.
“With a bit of chow, heeler, and Tasmanian devil thrown in.” Tinkie’s grin was almost smug. “He’s going to get along fine with your horses. About half his breeding goes to herding, and that instinct will kick-in the minute he sees Reveler and Miss Scrapiron. Yippee, ki-yay.”
“He’s not going home with me.” I said it with feeling.
“Helena got rid of him fast. She’s smarter than she looks,” was Tinkie’s only reply as she pushed open the door and loosed the hounds.
18
The three dogs bounded across the front lawn like sprinters. “Maybe they’ve picked up Millicent’s scent and she’s alive,” Tinkie said, and I deduced a note of hopefulness. In contrast, she pulled a ladies’ .38 from the pocket of her khaki pants.
“Where did you get a gun?” I was shocked and didn’t bother hiding it.
“Johnny’s Gun and Pawn. Very reasonable. I got one for you, too. It’s in the car trunk.”
“Let’s hope we don’t need bullets.”
“Hope for the best, prepare for the worst. That’s a quote from your aunt Loulane.”
Now even my friends were quoting my dead relatives. “Let’s see what the dogs run to ground.”
Tinkie and I trudged through the underbrush, heading back to where I’d found the camera. The dogs were at least three hundred yards ahead. They seemed to be searching for a scent, tearing in and out of the hackberries and briars without success. Surely Roscoe could track his owner. Had I been lying in the woods, Sweetie would have found me.
“The last photo taken was of Millicent’s body,” I said, huffing a little in the heat. “But I don’t think John Hightower took it. He left Briarcliff thinking Millicent was still in the woods very much alive.”
“Are you sure he didn’t kill her?” Tinkie asked.
“I’m not certain, but why would he? What would he gain?”
“I don’t know.” In fact, I had hundreds of questions and no answers. “Where in the hell is Jerome?”
“I don’t know, but I think Eleanor does. She didn’t seem too surprised that his cottage was empty.”
Thinking back on it, Tinkie was correct. I’d been so worried about Sweetie, I hadn’t paid much attention to Eleanor’s reaction, or lack thereof.
“Jerome hasn’t been truthful. Years of working for the Leverts has given him their sense of honesty. Do you think he’s involved with Monica’s—”
Tinkie put a hand on my wrist. “I don’t think he would abduct Monica or hurt Millicent. I think he left because of what’s going on.” She applied some pressure. “We should split up. I’ll see if I can get any leads on Jerome.”
“And I can scour the woods for the dead body of Millicent.”
“The dogs will help you.” Tinkie tried to look innocent.
“Thanks a lot for nothing.” Jerome’s convenient disappearance had to be investigated, and someone had to look for Millicent. “Just be careful.” My agreement was less than enthusiastic.
“I’ll meet you back at Briarcliff in two hours. And I’ll take Chablis with me. She’s prone to heat stroke.” She blew me a kiss before she left to go back to the manor, hopefully to get Eleanor to talk. I was left with the yellow flies, gnats, and mosquitoes—until