Wishbones

this between me and Tinkie and Graf.

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