Bones of a Feather - Carolyn Haines [93]
To give Eleanor a moment to collect herself, I asked Tinkie what she’d learned from Hightower.
“Barclay isn’t the horseman.”
“You’re positive?” I asked.
“I am, and I have proof.” She brought forth several photographs from her briefcase-sized designer purse. “Millicent and Hightower were busy little shutterbugs.”
The pix were shot at night with a telephoto infra-red lens. Though grainy and slightly blurred, the image of the horse and rider were easily distinguishable.
Tinkie used the tip of her Summer Blush fingernail to point. “See, the rider has long legs, like Barclay, but not such a long torso. In fact, this is a rather short-waisted person.” Her face softened for just a moment. “I measured Barclay to be sure.” She almost drooled. “His torso is proportionate to the length of his strong, muscular legs.” She paused, lost in thought, but then snapped out of it. “This person has a shorter torso ratio.”
“The broad shoulders indicate it’s a man, though,” I said, studying the grainy and blurred image.
“If it isn’t Barclay or Jerome, who is it?” The look Tinkie shot Eleanor would freeze water in hell. “Care to tell us?”
“I don’t know.” Eleanor tilted back her head and inhaled. “I don’t. I would tell you if I could. Jerome lied to me about the horse being on the property. The animal has nothing to do with the necklace, as far as I know. Probably someone pulling a practical joke.”
“What else did Hightower say?” I asked Tinkie.
“Once he started talking, it was hard to stop him. We thought Millicent was working for him, but it was the other way around. She came up with the idea of the photos. She said the sisters were up to something and she meant to find out what. She told Hightower the whole grave-robbing thing was a hoax—she never believed other necklaces existed. She’d figured out Barthelme recycled the same ruby necklace for each bride. The rumors of the buried jewels added to a legend, nothing more.”
So far, Millicent had been dead on, dead being the significant word.
Tinkie continued. “Once Millicent and John Hightower agreed to work together, he promised her a portion of the book earnings. I think the two of them hoped the sisters would pay big money to halt the book’s publication.”
“Blackmail can be quite lucrative,” I said.
“Hightower is a fool!” Eleanor snapped. “He has some faux history and a vendetta so old no one even knows the truth. No one cares about the history of his family’s past. I wouldn’t give him a penny, not that I have a penny to give anyone. That’s the irony. Everyone thought we could be bled for cash, but Monica and I are so anemic we’re on life support.” She laughed, a brittle, ugly sound. “We should have told the truth and let the parasites shrivel and fall off us.”
There was one very important point to cover. I asked Tinkie, “Hightower didn’t mention the photos of the necklace and the fraud?”
“He doesn’t know about them. I’m sure he would’ve said something if he did. And he has no clue Millicent is … was injured. He thinks she’s miffed at him for abandoning her here and simply won’t return his calls.”
“Millicent wasn’t going to cut him in on the necklace payoff.” There was no honor among blackmailers.
Eleanor got up and put several ice cubes in her glass. She refilled it with bourbon. Before she could settle back into the chair, the phone rang, a loud, shrill bell that cried disaster. We all three froze.
“Answer it,” I finally said, breaking the trance. “It could be the kidnapper.”
Eleanor scurried to the portable as Tinkie switched on the recording equipment.
“Hello?” Eleanor’s voice trembled.
“Do you have the money?” a male voice asked. In the background I detected an echo. Like an empty warehouse or building, just as Eleanor had described it.
“I do. I just want my sister.”
“If you want her returned alive, you’ll do everything I tell you.” The voice was cold, completely without emotion.
“I will.” Eleanor didn’t hesitate.
“Then shut up and listen.