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.”