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.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
I’d managed to get Tinkie into bed, and Jovan, when she and Federico got home from dinner, loaned us a mild sedative. Because Tinkie was so distressed, I chose to stay in her room, at least for a while. Graf had volunteered to talk to Federico about the secret passages and a method of sealing them. Distraught by what had happened to Tinkie and Chablis, Federico would agree, I felt sure.
When we’d gone to the hospital, we’d told the attending physician that Tinkie had accidentally struck the side of her head. We gave no details. Federico didn’t have to warn me that the movie didn’t need another “cursed” incident. So far, we’d been able to avoid the paparazzi. Having the security people at the gate-while they weren’t
