The Cat, the Lady and the Liar

by Leann Sweeney

  “Never mind. I heard that woman is staying with you. What’s with that?” she said.

  “I offered to help Ritaestelle out until she feels better,” I said.

  “I came to talk to her.” Lydia strode past me into the living room. But Kara drew her attention first, and she pointed at her. “You. Out of here. I need to talk to the, um . . . witness without you hanging around.”

  Kara didn’t move. “This isn’t a police station, and you’re not a cop, so why do I—”

  “I’m hired by the county to investigate suspicious deaths, and you know that as well as anyone,” Lydia said. “Leave.” She turned to me. “And if you could busy yourself elsewhere, please?”

  Please? Wow.

  Before I could respond, Ritaestelle said, “There is nothing I can tell you that these kind women do not already know. If you want to interrogate me, you will do it with them present.”

  Lydia rested a fist on her hip. “Really? You’re telling me how to do my job?”

  I said, “I have quilt orders to work on. I can go in the other room.”

  “You will not,” Kara said. “This is your house, and this, this—”

  “Please go ahead with your questions,” Ritaestelle said to Lydia. “I do not want to use up too much precious time in what I assume is your very busy day.”

  Lydia smiled. “At least someone understands. I suppose we can do this your way.” Lydia opened the patent leather purse slung over her left shoulder. She removed a small notebook. She sat across from Ritaestelle and laid her bag in her lap to rest her notebook on top. “I hear you’ve been in trouble in your little hometown down the road before any of this happened. Tell me about that.”

  Ritaestelle seemed surprised that this was the first question.

  Before she could say anything, Kara said, “What does that have to do with the murder? Do you have something that connects those two things?”

  “Am I talking to you?” Lydia said.

  I was standing behind Lydia, not knowing exactly what to do with myself. Sit? Go away? Run away? Or pick a cat up off the couch, where they’d all gathered? The last option seemed excellent, but I felt the need to protect Ritaestelle from Lydia’s blunt approach first. I said, “Lydia, this woman just got out of the hospital, and—”

  “I know. That’s why I couldn’t question her before.” Lydia smiled at Ritaestelle and said, “Tell me about your troubles in Woodcrest.”

  “But—” I started.

  Ritaestelle held up one hand. “Thank you, Jillian. I most certainly do appreciate your concern.” She returned Lydia’s stare. “You may talk to Chief Nancy Shelton about certain accusations directed at me. She has all the details.”

  Kara, whose expression showed keen interest in this subject, said, “This prior history goes to motive, Lydia?”

  “That’s Assistant Coroner Monk to you,” Lydia said. “And it’s none of your business. Now, Miss Longworth, tell me why your personal assistant, Evie Preston, came here of all places? Or did you two come together?”

  “I had no idea she was following me,” Ritaestelle said.

  “So she followed you and not the other way around?” Lydia was scribbling in her notebook as she said this.

  “Why would Evie come here if she wasn’t following Ritaestelle?” I asked.

  “Because,” Lydia said, “you, Jillian, had unfinished business with the victim. I know you went to see Miss Preston and spoke with her.”

  “But I went to see Miss Longworth, not Evie.” What in the heck was Lydia getting at?

  Lydia twisted in my direction. “That’s what your story is today, but for some weird reason, you’re harboring a suspect. Did you and Evie Preston get into it the other day?”

  Kara said, “You think Jillian had something to do with the murder?”

  Lydia glared at Kara. “I’m asking the questions here.”

  Ritaestelle said, “I understand your desire to do your job, Assistant Coroner Monk. My, that is a mouthful. Anyway, I believe I have asked and answered every question more than once prior to now. Surely you can consult with your fellow law enforcement professionals. I am very tired and I do not believe I could offer you any coherent answers at this time.”

  Lydia leaned forward. “Are you aware that I have to get documents ready and issue a death certificate?”

  “Oh my.” Ritaestelle lifted a hand to her lips. “I had not considered that. Of course you do. I want to help, but you seem so . . . angry with these kind women for some reason. May I assure you that they have done nothing wrong.”

  I walked around Lydia’s chair and over to the couch. I sat next to Merlot, who lifted his head and croaked a meow before resuming his nap. Guess he was getting used to the crazy lady coming to call.

  But I could see that Lydia had gotten to Ritaestelle. She now looked exhausted—probably because no one ever gets to sleep in the hospital and no one can take very much of Lydia without getting tired.

  Lydia said, “I am aware you have an upstanding reputation, Miss Longworth, but I need answers. You say Miss Preston followed you here. Why would she do that?”

  “I have no earthly idea,” Ritaestelle said. “That seems to be the biggest question—that and who followed her following me? It is all very confounding. My fear is that Evie had something to do with the events of the past few months, that perhaps she was in cahoots with someone at my home to make me look foolish.”

  “Like who?” Lydia asked.

  Kara looked at Ritaestelle with interest. Lydia seemed to be on point for once, and both Kara and I wanted to hear the answer.

  “I do not know that either, but someone in my house was drugging me. Evie could have been part of that. Or she could have seen me leave and followed to protect me. Do you not agree that is what needs to be sorted out?”

  “Oh, I do. Did you hit that young woman with something? Did her tailing you make you that mad?” Lydia said. Though she’d at least been polite to Ritaestelle up until now, that seemed to be over.

  “I—I tried to help her as best I could. Why, if not for those voices I heard, and the cats escaping, poor Evie might have lain on that dock all night,” Ritaestelle said.

  “What voices?” Kara said.

  Lydia offered Kara a withering glance before saying, “What voices? The ones in your head?”

  “No. Outside. I was not hallucinating, despite what people may think,” Ritaestelle said. “I do believe I heard an argument. That part is hazy, I am sorry to say.”

  “Convenient.” Lydia looked at her watch. “My time is up here. I have an appointment with Miss Preston’s mother. There will be an autopsy, which she is resisting. But we have no choice.”

  “Will you tell Evie’s mother that I send my sincere condolences?” Ritaestelle said.

  “Do I look like a mail carrier? That’s not my job.” Lydia rose and waved me off when I started to accompany her to the foyer.

  The slam of the door that came with her departure sent Merlot running for cover.

  Nineteen

  After Lydia’s not unexpectedly dramatic departure, Kara, Ritaestelle and I remained still and silent for several seconds.

  Finally Ritaestelle said, “Might I use your telephone?”

  I pulled my cell from my pocket and held it out.

  Ritaestelle shook her head. “I am quite uncomfortable with cellular telephones. Do you have a real one?”

  “Real one.” That was an interesting way to put it.

  “I’ll get the landline.” Kara rose and went into the kitchen.

  “I almost feel like I should apologize for Lydia. I see that she’s upset you,” I said. “But I have to admit, I’m not fond of her myself.”

  “She is quite blunt, but that is not what I would call a bad thing, in this case. I should have already called Evie’s mother. In that tapestry bag that my cousin carried inside you’ll find a small address book. Would you mind fetching that for me?”

  A minute later, Ritaestelle was speaking with Evie’s m
other and saying how sorry she was that Evie had died so tragically.

  Meanwhile, I put away the leftover cheese and crackers and Kara washed the cheese board and knife. Isis appeared at my feet after I closed the pantry door and began to mew repetitively—tiny little meows intended to inform me of something.

  “Are you hungry?” I said.

  Apparently not, because she trotted off toward the living room, fluffy tail high. Did she want to play? But then I tuned in to Ritaestelle’s voice.

  She was pleading with Evie’s mother, saying, “Please give that coroner woman your consent, Loretta. Otherwise they will involve the county authorities and drag this thing on and on. You need to lay poor Evie to rest, and that cannot happen quickly without your help.”

  I walked quietly to the edge of the dining room table that separates kitchen and living room. Isis was rubbing against Ritaestelle’s shins and still meowing. I stepped closer and saw tears streaming down Ritaestelle’s face. Even so, her voice was supportive and kind as she again encouraged Mrs. Preston to cooperate with Lydia.

  I could see why Ritaestelle had been so respected in her community. She was strong but kind; she’d probably been an adviser to many. The accusations dogging her lately must have hurt her deeply, just as her nephew’s words had stung me.

  Even her little goddess Isis wanted to help—or get me to help. I went to the couch and sat next to Ritaestelle, taking her free hand in mine. I squeezed it and she looked at me, gratitude evident in her eyes.

  Ritaestelle’s grip relaxed and she smiled. “I believe you are doing the right thing, Loretta. I can be reached at Miss Jillian Hart’s residence, so if you will call me—oh my, I do not even know the number.” She looked my way.

  But before I could give her the number, Ritaestelle said, “Oh, you have it from the caller ID? Good. Such a fine invention when our memories are beginning to dim. Please call me when the visitation times are settled. You take care, Loretta.”

  Ritaestelle took the phone away from her face and looked at it in confusion. I released her hand, took the receiver and ended the call.

  “Thank you, my dear Jillian. And thank you for your kindness.”

  Isis stared up at her mistress. Ritaestelle reached down and picked her up. “You were quite the noisy one while I was trying to speak.” She looked at me. “I would very much enjoy a nap about this time. Is that possible?”

  “Certainly,” I said.

  I helped her to her feet and led her down the hall to the guest room, grabbing her overnight bag on the way. Isis stayed with her on the bed as I closed the bedroom door.

  Back in the kitchen, Kara was rummaging through my freezer. “Do you have anything for supper? Or should I pick something up?”

  “There’s a chicken in the fridge. But I have no idea what I should do with it. My brain has quit on me,” I said.

  “You do look tired,” Kara said. “And a little sad. Is something bothering you?”

  Was I that transparent? Because my brain hadn’t really quit. It was simply filled once again with Farley’s ridiculous accusations. “I’ll be fine once this murderer is caught. Plus I am a little worried because I’m so behind on Christmas orders.”

  “It’s only the end of July,” Kara said.

  “Custom cat quilt orders have been pouring in—especially after your article about the cats we rescued from that professor was syndicated,” I said. “And there are the hundreds of e-mails from people who think I can solve their pet troubles.”

  Kara smiled. “Which you can’t. Let me worry about dinner, and you take some time to yourself.”

  “I don’t want to bother you with—”

  “Please. Let someone take care of you for a change.” Kara extended her arm toward the foyer. “Go. Quilt. Nap. Soak in the tub. Do whatever you need to feel better.”

  I chose quilting. Nothing is more relaxing. My three cats joined me. Chablis settled in my lap as I sat down in the comfy armchair in my quilting room. I picked up the small quilt I’d been working on—the appliquéd one for Kara. Then I remembered that the buttons for this project had been scattered everywhere—some of them in this very room. I’d collect them later. Instead, I switched to quilting on a custom order as Merlot and Syrah continued the button game. Yup, they were still finding buttons I didn’t even remember being in that box. One day they would tire of this, but for now, they were having fun.

  The rhythm of the work settled me, and I began to think about the poor victim. Had my visit with Evie Preston somehow put her in danger? And if so, why? Then it dawned on me that I had forgotten the why that began my involvement. What was Ritaestelle’s cat doing so far from home? Did Isis ending up near that highway figure into Evie’s death in some way? That might not be of interest to Candace or Mike, but I wanted to know.

  The smell of chicken and herbs filled the hall when I emerged from my little retreat at about seven that evening. The cats ran straight to the kitchen, and I wanted to run myself, the smells were so wonderful. But the doorbell sounded and stopped me as I entered the foyer. I checked the peephole and saw Tom.

  After I let him inside, he said, “I smell something that had my mouth watering the minute I got out of the car.”

  “That’s Kara’s doing. Let’s see what she’s up to.”

  Tom put his arm around my shoulder as we walked toward the kitchen, but Kara was sitting in the living room working on her laptop.

  “Hey, Tom. Hope you can stay for dinner,” she said. “Apparently Jillian likes to buy chickens as big as turkeys.”

  “You do not have to ask me twice. Working on a story for tomorrow?” he asked.

  “Yes. This morning’s edition sold better than any Mercy Messenger in two years, even if the murder was already a day old.” She closed her laptop and set it on the floor beside the recliner. “Unfortunately, tomorrow’s story will have little new information. And before you say anything, I did not mention Ritaestelle is staying in Mercy.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “I don’t want people calling me and asking me questions. Some folks might accuse me of harboring a criminal.”

  Tom said, “I met with three potential clients today, and two of them knew. I’ll bet most of the town already knows she’s staying here.”

  Kara’s lips pursed as she nodded in agreement. “I figured as much. I have never seen news travel as fast as in this little town.”

  “Where is your houseguest?” Tom asked.

  “Napping,” I said.

  Tom glanced back toward the hallway. He whispered, “Got the dirt on the nephew.”

  Just the mention of Farley Longworth made my stomach clench.

  He went on, saying, “In fact, an unnamed source—that’s for your benefit, Kara—told me plenty about the money problems that all those relatives living with Ritaestelle seem to have.”

  Kara leaned back against the recliner cushions. Chablis appeared from behind the sofa and jumped into her lap. “Go on. This should be interesting.” She began stroking my cat.

  I figured I’d learned plenty about Farley Longworth already and wanted to know nothing more. “Do we have to talk about this right now?”

  “With Ritaestelle asleep, this is the perfect time,” Kara said.

  Tom took my hand and led me to the couch, but when he sat down, I remained standing.

  “Maybe there’s something I can do to help with supper?” I looked at Kara.

  Tom tugged at my hand. “This guy upset you when he called here, and—”

  “He called you?” Kara said.

  “Yes, but it’s no big deal,” I said. “Maybe he was upset about Evie’s death and decided to take it out on me. Now, what can I do in the kitchen?”

  “Nothing. Everything but the chicken is ready, and that will take another thirty minutes,” Kara said. “What did this guy say to you?”

  I reluctantly sat next to Tom and said, “He accused me of trying to extort money for the return of Ritaestelle’s cat. Ridiculous, huh?”

  “Ridicul
ous, yes. What a jerk,” Kara said. “What else did you find out, Tom?”

  “I got plenty of info about the rest of that Longworth clan, the hired help and that Desmond character. He’s a real loser.” Tom said. “So is Farley, and everyone in Woodcrest knows it. Flunked out of college twice. Has two DUIs that I uncovered—but who knows how much stuff his father ‘took care of’ before dying in a hunting accident. Farley’s mother, Justine, continued to live at the estate, and he eventually joined her after a stint in rehab. See, Farley’s father left his share of the Longworth money to his sister, Ritaestelle—not to his wife and kid. They are a ‘feckless pair,’ as my source said. Feckless. Hadn’t heard that one since I finished high school required reading.”

  I wasn’t surprised by any of this, but it didn’t make me feel better. What Farley had said about people talking behind my back, his inferring that I’d killed my husband, still bothered the heck out of me. This must be how Ritaestelle felt, too. Those implications that she was losing her faculties, that she’d become a shoplifter despite being wealthy, must have been so hurtful. But what if she wasn’t wealthy at all? What if that’s why she was stealing things from the drugstore? I looked at Tom. “Did you find out anything about Ritaestelle’s finances?”

  “You bet I did,” he said. “You can’t investigate the relatives of old money without learning how much old money there is. Ritaestelle is rich enough to own a controlling interest in South Carolina if she wanted. I’d say that’s millions and millions of reasons to want her dead rather than Evie.”

  “Yes, that’s something I’ve been contemplating,” came Ritaestelle’s voice from the foyer. She limped toward us. “I should have been the one to die out on that dock.”

  My cheeks felt hot with embarrassment. We’d been talking behind her back—doing exactly what bothered me so much about what Farley had said was going on concerning me.

  I went over to help her into the living room. Isis trailed behind as I led Ritaestelle to the couch, saying, “Tom is a private investigator, and since I had a call from Farley, Tom decided to see why he seemed so . . . so upset when he phoned.”

  Ritaestelle sighed heavily as she sat on the couch. “First, in my opinion, ‘unpleasant’ better describes his behavior than ‘upset.’ What did Farley want? Because he always wants something.”