The Cat, the Lady and the Liar

by Leann Sweeney

  Syrah was sitting and staring at Isis, while Merlot, wearing one bright yellow binding around his neck, lay on his back at her feet. Bet she liked that. Another adoring fan.

  “All four of you have been up to no good all night,” I said. I walked over and disentangled Isis. She didn’t resist, didn’t even hiss or try to bite.

  A terrible thing happened tonight, and yet in this, the room I called my safe haven, four animals had been doing what cats do—exploring, playing and letting their curiosity take over. Their world would not be darkened by tragedy. They were loved and cared for, and how I wished it could be that way for every living thing. If that ever came to be, it would be too late for Evie Preston. Far too late.

  I sighed, picked up Isis and carried her to the living room. All three of my cats followed.

  Two paramedics were with Ritaestelle—Jake and Marcy. Marcy was kneeling by Ritaestelle and gently probing the older woman’s hip. Jake stood on her other side checking her blood pressure. Cats have been known to help lower blood pressure just by sitting in a person’s lap. I was willing to bet Ritaestelle needed that kind of help right now.

  Once Jake took the cuff off her arm, I walked over and held Isis out to her.

  She smiled feebly and took her cat. Isis pulled her head back immediately so she could look at Ritaestelle’s face. And then she leaned into her mistress’s chest, closed her eyes and began to purr.

  Thirteen

  The reunion between Isis and Ritaestelle was short-lived. The cat belonged to me again once the paramedics decided that Ritaestelle needed her hip X-rayed. Candace went with her in the ambulance to the county hospital.

  Which left me with Lydia Monk. That was because she is a county “investigator” and not a medical examiner—she’s not even close to being a doctor. I had to tell her everything that went on before I found Evie in the water. But I got to ask a few questions of my own after I told her all I knew.

  “Do you think Evie Preston drowned?” I asked.

  I’d changed my clothes and we were sitting in my living room with glasses of sweet tea. Even though I do not care for Lydia, that doesn’t mean I can’t be polite. Besides, I needed a little sugar boost after the evening’s stressful events.

  All four cats had disappeared as soon as Lydia came in through my back door and hadn’t shown their furry faces in the last thirty minutes. I sure could have used a cat in my lap to keep my blood pressure in check. But I was doing an adequate job keeping my emotions under control even though the image of Evie’s wide dead eyes kept reappearing. And I had to admit that this conversation between Lydia and me was going well insofar as there’d been no remarks from her about our imaginary romantic triangle.

  Lydia said, “I can’t be certain about whether she drowned until I find the doc on call to do an autopsy. But that blow she took to the head? My guess is that was what did her in. I saw no evidence of drowning. Her face was pale, but her lips weren’t discolored and I saw no frothing at the mouth. Believe me, I’ve seen more than my share of drowning deaths, what with all the lakes around here. She didn’t look like a drowning victim.”

  “All that blood came from her head?” I asked.

  “Oh yeah. Head wounds bleed like crazy. There were blood on the dock, a bloody broom, bloody slippers.” Lydia paused. “You didn’t notice? Because the way folks talk, you’re supposed to be so damn observant.”

  I literally bit my lip to keep from firing back that I was pulling a woman out of the water and not checking around for blood evidence. Keeping my voice even, I said, “I never went up onto the dock.”

  “Ah, that explains it, I suppose. Anyway, I suspect you won’t want that broom back—ever,” Lydia said.

  “W-was that the murder weapon?” And could Ritaestelle have wielded enough force to kill Evie with a broom? The thought made me shudder. Maybe I was wrong about Ritaestelle. Maybe something awful went on before I got down to the dock.

  “I have no idea if that broom did the woman in,” Lydia said. “Until a doctor examines the skull, we won’t know. From what I overheard, that Longworth woman is a little off, though. Maybe capable of attacking Evie Preston. You’re probably lucky she didn’t take a swing at you for having her cat.”

  “She’s grateful her cat is safe. And she doesn’t seem like a violent person to me,” I said.

  Lydia said, “And just what does a violent person seem like?”

  Good question. But I didn’t have a chance to respond because my front doorbell rang. That brought cats running from various hiding places to see what was up. Even Isis. They all gathered in the foyer, anticipating more nighttime adventures. It was well past midnight now, and I wondered if Candace had returned from the hospital to gather more evidence or ask more questions.

  I went to the door and saw Tom through the peephole. “Oh no,” I whispered. The sound of my voice had all thirty-two muscles in each of Syrah’s ears twitching. I opened the door, knowing I couldn’t pretend that no one was home.

  “Hi there, Tom,” I said loudly when I opened the door. Then I whispered, “She’s here. Think of some great reason why you’ve showed up.”

  Tom nodded and said, “Is something wrong with your security alarm?”

  Lydia was at the entrance to the foyer when I turned around.

  “Hi, Lydia. What are you doing here?” Tom said.

  She smiled—and I couldn’t read her. Was that a sarcastic smile or a stalker smile? Maybe both. “You know what I’m doing here, Tom. I show up at every murder scene. Better question: What are you doing here?”

  “My job. According to my control panel for my clients, Jillian’s alarm was engaged, disengaged within a few minutes and never reset. I thought that was suspicious. Just wanted to make sure everything was okay.”

  Ah. He’d checked my system—probably after he heard what had happened on his police scanner.

  “Everything’s not okay,” Lydia said. “Murder. Again.”

  “Really? What happened?” Tom knelt and my three cats hurried to him for some head scratching. An aloof Isis stayed back.

  “Who do you think you’re kidding, Tom? My guess is your wannabe girlfriend, Jillian, called you over here. She thinks she has a chance with you, but we both know she’s dreaming. Isn’t that right?” Lydia’s penciled-in eyebrows rose.

  “Who died?” Tom always avoided these crazy Lydia questions far better than I could ever manage.

  “Seems Jillian got all curious again, went to Woodcrest on some animal rescue mission at Shawn’s command. Now we’ve got a bona fide tragedy. Some chick from Woodcrest came here and got cracked over the head. Jillian is always sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong—and I hope you’re taking note of that.”

  My jaw dropped. She was blaming me? Saying that my going to Woodcrest led to Evie’s death? That made no sense, and yet guilt niggled at me anyway.

  “You must have reports to write, mustn’t you, Lydia?” Tom said.

  She glanced at her watch, the one with the wide gold lamé band. “I do. But I haven’t finished my tea. Jillian and I were having a nice little talk about her involvement in this latest crime.”

  “You have more questions?” I asked.

  “You want me to leave so you can be alone with him, don’t you?” Lydia turned to Tom. “She won’t come between us. Ever.”

  Oh boy. Cue the Twilight Zone music.

  It was a cat who managed to do what I couldn’t accomplish. Isis came sauntering over from her corner of the foyer and began rubbing against Lydia’s leg. Cats can always pick out the people who like them the least and make them uncomfortable.

  Lydia looked down at Isis and then back at me. “Get that cat away from me.”

  “She seems to like you,” I said, making no move to halt Isis’s marking activity.

  A smile played at Tom’s lips.

  “I said, make this animal go away.” Lydia sidestepped, but Isis followed.

  “I’m kind of afraid to do that. This is the cat that belongs to Ri
taestelle Longworth, and I have to say, she’s not as well behaved as my cats,” I said. “If I touch her, she might bite me.”

  “You’re scared? Well, I’m not.” Lydia made the mistake of reaching down and attempting to shoo Isis away.

  Isis, in good goddess form, screeched and made an attempt to bite Lydia’s hand.

  Lydia jumped to her left, her eyes wide. “What a nasty little creature.”

  Isis’s black coat puffed out, and she arched her back. But she didn’t run off.

  My turn to stifle a smile. “I have no control over this one. Sorry.”

  Tom reached down and swooped Isis up, then held her up to Lydia’s face. “Come on. You two can be friends.”

  Isis offered one of her trademark fang-baring hisses.

  Lydia craned her head away. “I think I’m done here. For now.” She pointed a bloodred fake nail at me. “But you keep your cat paws off Tom, you hear?”

  Tom handed Isis to me. “Can I walk you out, Lydia? You never know. There could be a killer lurking.”

  “Why, that would be so nice.” She smiled, looking almost giddy. With Lydia carrying her stiletto heels, they went out the front door.

  I breathed a sigh of relief and hugged on Isis. “Thank you, sweetheart. You have redeemed yourself.” I set her down and she raced off after Syrah. He was batting yet another button down the hallway.

  Tom returned a minute later. “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, I always say. I checked, and it looks like the crowd out back is wrapping up. Was it a drowning or definitely a murder?”

  “Murder.” I sighed heavily. “Come on in and I’ll tell you what I know.” We went into the living room, and when I finished I said, “I don’t think Ritaestelle did this, Tom.”

  His face was expressionless. He was probably thinking like a cop—not ready to rule out anyone as a killer just because I had an opinion about suspect numero uno.

  Morris came through the back door then and said they were done for the night but would be back early in the morning.

  After he left, Tom stood. “You look like you could use some sleep.” He pulled me up and gave me a much-needed hug, promising to return in the morning. Before he left, he reminded me to reengage my security alarm. Like I would have forgotten after all that had gone on. But the fact that he’d voiced his concern felt good.

  When I went to my bedroom, whom did I find waiting to cuddle up with me? Isis. She had saved me from a sticky circumstance, so I could hardly send her to the basement.

  “Come on, wild one. You’re welcome to join me,” I said once I settled in under the sheets. As if I had a choice in the matter.

  I hoped for a peaceful night. The feline crew had to be tired, too. Cats aren’t truly nocturnal—they prefer dusk and dawn antics, making them crepuscular.

  Isis, I soon learned, preferred sleeping by my head and taking up half the pillow, but before I even had to remove one long black hair from my face, I nodded off. And I would need that sleep in the next few days if they proved to be anything like the last two.

  Fourteen

  “Where’s the rest of the police force?” I said when I led Candace, Morris and Mike Baca into the kitchen at seven the next morning.

  Mike wore his forest green uniform—hardly ever saw him in that. “Probably asleep if they’re smart,” he said. “All twenty Mercy officers met at the station last night. We were all briefed by Morris, and I thought we had completed the initial paperwork, but then Lydia showed up. She kept everyone way too long with her questions.”

  His tone was restrained, very professional, but he and Lydia had been in a relationship once. Everyone in Mercy knew how embarrassed Mike was about that fling. How those two had ever hooked up in the first place was beyond me—but then I knew he’d made several bad choices in the relationship department.

  I gestured at the coffeepot and mugs on the counter. “Help yourself. I’m sure you guys will need plenty of that.”

  Murmuring thanks, they all made their way to the coffee. Candace looked the most alert of the three this morning, but, then, she was young and eager and an evidence hound.

  Though Merlot, Chablis and Syrah had joined me when I’d gotten up, they didn’t greet my guests this morning. They’d eaten and taken off to find their favorite sunning spots. Trouble was, it looked cloudy this morning. As for Isis? She stayed in bed. It was probably far too early for goddesses.

  “Can you tell me about Ritaestelle? What happened at the hospital?” I asked Candace.

  “She spent the night. Still there as far as I know.” Candace sipped her coffee.

  “Because of her hip?” I said.

  “She had one giant bruise. Saw it myself when she changed clothes after I took that robe into evidence. But I don’t know if her hip is cracked, sprained or what,” Candace said.

  Morris stirred sugar into his mug. “The hip is definitely a problem, but I heard she needed her head examined, too. Kept talking conspiracy theories.”

  “Deputy Ebeling,” Mike said sharply.

  “It’s true,” Morris said.

  “She required a neurological workup and a tox screen,” Mike said. “She kept saying she’d been drugged, and we have to follow up on that. No one but you is implying she has psychiatric problems.”

  “But you have to admit, Miss Longworth is odd, Chief,” Candace said. “ ’Course, if she was really drugged like she claimed, that could have caused all sorts of mental stuff.”

  “Claimed she was drugged is the key,” Morris said. “I say you folks are blinded by the gleam off all her gold bricks. She’s guilty as sin.”

  “That’s not how we begin an investigation in Mercy—with the presumption of guilt.” Mike’s tone was still stern.

  And Morris wondered why Candace was leading this investigation and not him. Sheesh.

  Mike continued, saying, “And when Chief Shelton shows up, you better keep your opinions to yourself, Morris. Miss Longworth has practically bankrolled Woodcrest singlehandedly.”

  “That’s what I’m sayin’. Money blinds people to the truth,” he said.

  Mike said, “Morris? Zip it, okay?”

  “Yes, sir.” But Morris Ebeling didn’t sound contrite, and I had the feeling his silence wouldn’t last.

  Feeling a tad tense, I busied myself by grinding more beans. I had to practically shout over the noise when I said, “Um . . . Chief Shelton’s coming here?”

  “She is,” Mike said.

  The grinder stopped. I dumped the old filter in the trash and started a fresh pot. “I’ve met her—twice. The first time she was pretty unhappy with me. I was driving a little too fast. Something about her demeanor scared me—something more than what I expected from a traffic stop. But then yesterday, when Tom and I went to Woodcrest, she was different. Nice. Concerned for her friend.”

  “Candace was telling me about your trip on the way over here. Just so you know, I’ve known Nancy for years. She’s all bark and no bite,” Mike said. “Since both Miss Longworth and Miss Preston are from her town, I decided she should be involved in the investigation.”

  “Speaking of that,” I said, “there is something I learned from Chief Shelton. Maybe it’s important.” I glanced back and forth between Candace and Mike.

  Candace said, “I thought you told me everything yesterday before we watched that movie.”

  I blinked. What had I told her? Obviously stress had taken a toll, because I couldn’t remember. “Did I mention that Evie Preston told the police chief about the shoplifting?”

  Candace nodded. “You did.”

  I sighed. “Good. I was worried, because I was pretty adamant last night that Ritaestelle didn’t kill Evie—but then I thought, what if she thought Evie considered her a thief? That could have made her pretty angry. Though I’m still not convinced Ritaestelle is capable of violence. There’s this sweetness about her.”

  “Sweetness, huh? Confusion was about all I saw. Anyway, I put the shoplifting in my report, so quit worrying. Wh
at I’m talking about is anything Miss Longworth might have said when she arrived at your door, anything you recalled after I left to go with her to the hospital.” Candace eyed me expectantly.

  “What sticks in my mind the most is how upset she was that someone was drugging her. She wanted my help, but the only thing I could do was to return her spoiled cat.”

  “You mean this one?” Mike was looking down, and sure enough, Isis had arrived. She was rubbing against his leg and depositing long black hairs on his uniform trousers.

  “That’s her,” I said. “Wait a minute.” I thumped my forehead with the heel of my hand. “What the heck is wrong with me? There is something I never told you. When I went outside and found poor Evie, Ritaestelle was holding something besides my cat. And when I was pulling Evie out of the water, I believe she dropped whatever it was and it fell into the water. I heard a splash.”

  “Holding something? Like what?” Candace said.

  “It was dark, but I think it was a rock. It wasn’t the broom—that’s for sure.”

  “Which hand?” Candace was definitely excited.

  Of course she’d want to know which hand. I hesitated, picturing Ritaestelle standing on the dock. Chablis had been clutched close in her right arm. “Her left hand was hanging down at her side. Yes. Left hand. Do you think she hit Evie with a rock?”

  “Maybe,” Candace said.

  “If it helps, Ritaestelle is right-handed,” I said. “I definitely remember she took the glass of water I gave her with her right hand.”

  “She could have switched the rock to her left hand to pick up Chablis,” Candace said. “Do you know how deep that water is on that side of the dock?”

  “Three feet at most, but it drops off quickly once you get to the end of the dock. What are you thinking?”

  “Yeah. What are you thinking? ’Cause I didn’t bring my swimming trunks,” Morris said sourly.