Wishbones

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

When the sun had set and the full moon rose big and fat and filled with liquid silver light, Graf and I saddled the horses. Our time in Costa Rica was coming to a close, and I wanted to ride on the beach and smell the salty tang. This was a magical place, a gentle place. In Petaluma, my heart had begun to heal, and I’d found myself yielding to the tender feelings growing for Graf.

He was a handsome man, his dark features and chiseled jaw GQ perfect in the moonlight as he rode Nugget. He could play a highwayman or a cowboy or a corporate exec. His features were classic and combined with his talent, they would take him far. Had it been destiny that brought him to Zinnia to perform a play originally slated for the Mississippi Gulf Coast? It still surprised me to think how radically my life had changed, almost overnight.

We rode along the beach where the sand was firm and the footing good for our horses. The waves seemed to chase us, rushing to cover the sand we’d left behind. Sweetie Pie bounded beside us, her silky ears flopping in the breeze and the salt spray flying from her paws. It was exhilarating.

We passed the castle rock and continued on, letting the horses canter. They slowed on their own accord, dropping into an ambling walk. Graf and I were side by side. He reached across and put his hand on my thigh.

“As lovely as this is, I’ll be glad to get back to Los Angeles.” He squeezed my leg lightly.

“Why?” I was surprised.

“I’m worried about you here, Sarah Booth. You were almost killed, and it seems that no one takes that seriously except me and Tinkie. There is someone in that house up to no good. It isn’t a prank or mischief, this is dangerous.”

We’d discussed the secret passageways, and our plan was to block them off during the night, while everyone else was asleep. “We’ll put a stop to the problem,” I said.

“Someone who goes to this much trouble isn’t going to be easily deterred.”

One of the best things about Graf was that he didn’t pretend to be an investigator. He was happy to help with the searches, but he didn’t spew theories. He waited to be asked. “What do you think about Estelle?” The wind lifted my hair, creating a cool breeze on my neck.

“It’s hard to say. I don’t really know her. I mean, she seems like the logical suspect, and she’s certainly acted crazy enough…” He let the sentence die.

“But what?”

“I can’t put my finger on anything. I do believe we should hunt for her, though. If she’s still in the area, we need to know it. And if she’s in trouble, we need to find her.”

“Amen to that.”

With the moonlight bright on the water, the waves looked tipped with silver. I felt so connected to Graf that I put my hand on his arm and pressed. Whatever mistakes he’d made in the past, he was a good man.

“Do you believe in ghosts, Sarah Booth?”

He couldn’t see my smile because I turned away. “I do, Graf. Wholeheartedly. I know they exist.”

He hesitated, and the only sounds were the waves on the shore and the wet footfalls of our horses. “Will you hold it against me if I’m a skeptic?”

“Not at all. In fact, I’m counting on it.”

“And why is that?”

“If I told you, I’d have to kill you.” I slapped Nugget on the rump and asked Flicker for a gallop as we turned and headed home.

The moon on the waves leaped and crested, and the horses flew along the sand, their shadows dancing behind them. It was a moment of perfect happiness, one of those rare times when there’s no need to fret or project. My world was magnifico.

By the time we got back to the house, we were late to meet Tinkie for dinner. She’d insisted that she needed to pack and talk to Oscar on the phone. Horseback riding, though she claimed she could do it, wasn’t one of her specialties. Tinkie could put together an ensemble from shoes to matching hair color in thirty minutes or less, but she wasn’t particularly attracted to outdoor sports.

While Graf unsaddled the horses and rubbed them down, I went to find her. It was her last evening, and I wanted this to be special. There were many wonderful restaurants in Petaluma, and one very elegant dining establishment. If her heart was set on elegance, I was prepared to make the sacrifice of dressing up. I could “borrow” one of Matty’s dresses from the ballroom.

When I tapped on her door, there was no answer. I tapped again, louder. “Tinkie!” Silence. I pushed the door open. Her bags were on the bed, half-packed. And her dress for the evening was laid out, along with shoes. But there was no sign of her or Chablis.

I tried her bathroom, but it was empty. Her makeup was still out on the counter. She’d insisted she was going to pack because her flight was early in the morning. So what had she done in the two hours that Graf and I had been riding?

There was no trace of her in her room, so I went to mine. Graf had said he would shower in his bathroom, avoiding the whole issue of the passageway. For a man who had no problem with a camera recording his passionate kisses, he was modest about showering with an audience.

I checked the balcony-no Tinkie. I went to the kitchen and out on the patio where Federico and Jovan had earlier been sipping wine. No Tinkie.

And more troubling, not even a peep or a bark from Chablis. She was a lovely and well-behaved dog, but like any creature of short stature, she made up for what she lacked in size with loudness. Normally, when Chablis sniffed Sweetie Pie, she went wild to play with her. I checked each floor of the house, calling Tinkie’s name. It seemed no one was in the mansion at all. Ricardo’s door was locked, and so was Federico’s. Everyone had obviously gone into town for dinner.

I met Graf on the path from the stables and told him that Tinkie and Chablis were missing.

“Did you check the secret passages?” he asked.

Dread rippled through me. “Tinkie said she would wait for us to return so we could explore them tonight while everyone was asleep.”

“You said the house was empty. She might have seized the opportunity.”

Graf wasn’t a private investigator, but he was pretty darn smart. “Let’s go.”

While I cleared canned goods and staples from the cabinet shelves in the kitchen, looking for the mechanism that would open the wall, Graf found a flashlight. Sweetie was at my side, sniffing and whining. The idea that Tinkie was trapped in the dumbwaiter scared me. Why hadn’t she yelled or cried out? Why hadn’t Chablis barked? If the base of the dumbwaiter was structurally unsound, Tinkie and Chablis could have had a nasty fall. Dire images plagued me as I shoved things out of the way and pulled and tugged at the wooden cabinet.

At last I found what sounded like a hollow panel. A false wall covered the opening of the dumbwaiter, but Graf popped it off with little trouble. To my sweet relief, the cubicle that rode up and down on cables was there, empty.

“Look.” Graf pointed at a place where the dust had been disturbed.

Someone had been inside it. And not so long ago. But there was no sign of Tinkie or Chablis or that the equipment was dangerous.

Graf found the button that sent it up and when he pressed, the dumbwaiter disappeared slowly and noiselessly upward.

Because I’m a victim of a vivid imagination, I looked down into the shaft to make certain my friend wasn’t there. The hole was empty.

Graf, Sweetie, and I moved on to the passageway that started in the pantry. This was easier to manage, and as soon as Graf found the button that released the sliding door, Sweetie bounded into the darkness, her hunting bay echoing back to us.

Graf led with the flashlight, and I held his hand as we hurried forward and then up a flight of wooden steps. We had to be heading for the sliding panel on the second floor, but in the darkness it was so easy to become disoriented.

To negotiate the stairs safely, we had to slow our pace. We were almost at the top when I heard a heartrending moan.

“Sweetie!” I called my hound, but there was no response. I’d never heard her make a noise like that.

A keening wail echoed off the walls of the narrow passageway. It was so sorrowful that my eyes teared up. I grasped Graf’s hand as he pulled me forward to the top of the stairs.

The flashlight beam led the way, and the first thing it struck was Tinkie, slumped against the wall. In her arms she cradled Chablis.

Tinkie cut loose with a wail and then turned to us. “She’s hurt,” she said. “I can’t get her to wake up.”

Graf and I surged forward. Sweetie was already there, licking her little friend’s face and licking Tinkie, too. While I took Chablis’s limp form into my arms, Graf pulled Tinkie to her feet. She was bleeding from a huge goose egg-sized lump on the side of her head. Someone had really whacked her.

When I tried to examine her head, Tinkie pushed me away.

“I couldn’t get the panel to slide open.” Tinkie was sobbing. “I heard someone coming, and I tried and tried, but I couldn’t find the release. Then Chablis rushed back down the passageway and attacked. I think she was kicked.”

Now wasn’t the time to question Tinkie. I held the flashlight in one hand and Chablis in the other while Graf searched for the release. We were at the second-floor hallway wall, and there had to be a device that would slide the panel aside so we could get out of the passageway.

“Aha!” He pressed something and the pale, soft light from the hall sconces illuminated a rectangle in the darkness. We all stepped into the light, and I glanced down at Chablis. The little girl was unconscious.

“Graf, bring a car around.” I spoke calmly, because I didn’t want to upset Tinkie further.

God bless Graf, he didn’t argue or ask questions, he flew down the stairs and out the front door to find one of the rental cars always left on the property.

“Is she dead?” Tinkie asked, holding back her sobs by sheer force of will.

“She has a heartbeat.” And she did, but it was weak. Her breathing was labored and her gums were too pale, a sign of shock. I wasn’t a vet, but I knew we had to get help for Chablis. “Tinkie, find a telephone book and an emergency vet clinic.”

She rushed to the foyer where a telephone and book waited. Though her hands were trembling, she found the number, placed the call, and had an English-speaking veterinarian promising to wait for us as Graf pulled around front. All of us, including Sweetie, got in the car.

Graf nearly took down the security guard at the gate, who didn’t move fast enough. We careened into the road and sped to town. In ten minutes we were parked at the clinic.

Chablis was still breathing, and Tinkie was sobbing softly. I did my best to comfort her, but there was nothing I could say. We were helpless.

Dr. Milazo took Chablis with great care and disappeared into an examining room. In several moments, he came back out.

“I’m afraid I need to operate,” he said. “Her ribs are broken. One has pierced a lung.”

“Do whatever is necessary,” Tinkie said bravely. “Can I wait here?”

Dr. Milazo looked around at the empty waiting room. “It would be best if you went home, Mrs. Richmond. I will call you when I have news.”

“But-” Tinkie started to protest, but Graf put his arm around her and drew her to his chest.

“It’s okay, Tinkie. We’re ten minutes from here. If Chablis or the doctor needs you, I’ll bring you.”

“I don’t want to leave her!” Tinkie’s wail was muffled by Graf’s shirt, and I turned away to keep from breaking down completely.

“We can be here fast,” Graf said. He was gently moving her to the door. “We need to leave and let Dr. Milazo take care of Chablis. That’s the best we can do for her now.”

He was so gentle and caring that I stayed out of it. He moved Tinkie out of the clinic and into the night. Instead of following, I went to the veterinarian. “How bad is it?” I asked.

“Serious. Someone meant to hurt this dog.” His dark gaze was level. “Who would do this to such a small creature?”

He had no clue what was happening in our lives, and it was possible he suspected us of abuse. “Tinkie was attacked by someone. Chablis tried to protect her. The attacker injured Chablis.”

“Have you reported this to the police?” he asked.

I sighed. That would make logical sense, and he wouldn’t understand why I hadn’t. “The dog was our first priority. Now I need to attend to my friend’s head wound and then call the authorities. Call me as soon as you have word on Chablis.”

He nodded and went back to the treatment rooms and surgery. As he shut the door, I wanted to sit down in one of the ugly plastic chairs and cry. In fact, I sank into one, trying hard to get my act together so I could badger Tinkie into getting medical attention. What I couldn’t escape was the awful truth: Tinkie was injured and Chablis was seriously injured-because they’d come to help me.

The clinic door creaked open, and Graf came to me. He pulled me into his arms. “Chablis is going to be okay.”

I wanted to believe him. I needed to believe him. But I couldn’t stop the sob that tore out of me. He held me tighter.

“Pull yourself together, Sarah Booth. We have to make sure Tinkie doesn’t have a concussion, and she’s not going to want to go to the hospital.”

He was right about that. Everyone accused me of being hardheaded, but Tinkie could match me any day. She was simply better at manipulating than I was.

“Is Sweetie in the car?” I finally asked.

“She’s comforting Tinkie, but we need to go.” He took my elbow and led me to the passenger door. In a moment we were in motion and headed toward the emergency room.

To both of our surprise, Tinkie didn’t really protest. She sat placidly while the young doctor examined her, took X-rays, and pronounced that she had no serious injuries.

On the way back to the mansion, she called Oscar to tell him that she wouldn’t be flying home the next day. When she started to talk about Chablis, her composure broke, and I took the phone and explained.

“I want my wife and dog home,” Oscar said. He wasn’t angry, he was scared. “You two are going to get killed one day, Sarah Booth.”

I couldn’t argue with him. We’d both been hurt on numerous occasions. “I didn’t come here to get involved in a mystery,” I told him. “None of us did. But as soon as Chablis can travel, I’ll put them on the first flight out.”

“Is Chablis going to-” His voice broke.

I almost couldn’t answer. “We must believe she’s going to be fine. Nothing else is acceptable.”

“Send them home to me, Sarah Booth. Both of them.”

“I’ll do my best, Oscar.” I hung up, remembering a time in the past when Oscar wouldn’t give Tinkie enough money to ransom Chablis from a dognapper. He’d changed. We’d all changed, and now I’d give almost anything I had to guarantee that the little dustmop dog that I’d once abducted would get well.