Bones of a Feather - Carolyn Haines [99]
“She’s a user. And she hasn’t changed.”
“She was just a kid,” Tinkie said. “That doesn’t make it right, but she—”
“Anyway, now you know how I got the money.” Barclay was done with the subject. “So why are you taking me to Briarcliff?”
“We need your help.” I wasn’t certain he would go along with my plan.
“To save Monica?”
“Yes.”
“Why should I?” he asked.
“Because she’s your mother, because Eleanor loves her, because if she dies you’ll have to carry the guilt the rest of your life.”
When he didn’t say anything else, Tinkie pressed the pedal to the floorboard and we zoomed toward Briarcliff and a date with a kidnapper.
22
By the time six o’clock arrived, Eleanor was in a state of total anxiety. I wasn’t far behind her. Tinkie and I decided not to mention our suspicions about Gunny. But when it came time to call the law, we would contact the sheriff we knew to be honorable—Coleman Peters.
At five minutes before the appointed hour, I walked out the front door with my partner and Eleanor. Barclay remained in the house, watching us from a second-floor window. Hidden by the draperies, he used Tinkie’s telephoto lens on her camera and binoculars to try and pinpoint a vantage spot from which our kidnapper was spying us. We speculated the abductor to be on the Louisiana side of the river.
As we approached the bluff, all in a line, I noticed the bridge. The highest bridge in Mississippi. I knew instantly how the kidnapper had kept tabs on us. He’d rigged a camera with an extreme telephoto lens to a high beam on the ironwork—he’d have a clear view of Briarcliff and all that went on. I nudged Tinkie and whispered my thoughts.
“It’s impossible to spot the camera from here, but I think you’ve solved part of the mystery,” she said. Eleanor was too focused to heed our conversation. She held her cell phone so tightly I thought she’d crack the plastic. Very gently I touched her arm and took the phone from her. At first I thought she’d resist, but she yielded with a strangled gasp.
“Why doesn’t he call?” she asked.
“It’s only five fifty-eight. Two minutes to go.” I prayed the kidnapper was time conscious. The anguish of waiting for someone who couldn’t meet a deadline would be too much. The darkest of thoughts surfaced at such times.
Eleanor faced the river and an expression of nostalgia settled over her features. “When we were children, I loved Briarcliff. My parents came here every winter after they tired of Aspen or Geneva or Rome. This was where we were truly a family. We played croquet on the front lawn. Mother had tea parties or holiday fêtes with lanterns and torches. Everyone laughed. That’s what I remember the most, the sound of laughter mingling with a breeze in the oak trees. I thought this was the most beautiful place in the world.”
She sounded so lost—I wanted to comfort her, but I didn’t know how. “You have to believe Monica is alive. Don’t lose your faith in your sister.”
“You know my mother died here.” She extended her toe to the cliff’s edge. “She plunged to her death. The talk in town was that my father pushed her.”
I could only imagine the difficulty of living with such cruel gossip. The curse of murder came with wealth for the sisters.
“They said it was the Levert family legacy, our tradition, for the Levert heir to kill his wife.” Eleanor’s voice had grown short and choppy, and I was worried she would have a stroke. The hot August light was full on her as the fierce sun slipped toward the horizon across the river. “After Mother’s death, Monica and I vowed never to marry. Never to have children to carry on the horror of this family blight. We both broke that oath, and we have suffered greatly because of it.”
I knew Eleanor referred to the artist who was murdered by muggers the night before their wedding. And Jerome, the loyal gardener, who could never be good enough. Those were the burdens she carried. For Monica, it was Barclay, who safeguarded us even as we waited for the call that would determine her life. She’d never allowed herself the joy of motherhood.
“I’m sorry, Eleanor.