The Cat, the Lady and the Liar

by Leann Sweeney

  Candace dragged a chair over from the patio table and set it between Ritaetelle and myself, with her back to the lake so she could see us both at once. “Before I start with the questions, you should know the autopsy is complete and Evie has been released to her family.”

  “Bless her heart,” Ritaestelle said. “Bless her poor mother’s heart, too.”

  “What was the cause of death?” I said.

  “We don’t have the official word, but the blow to head’s what killed her. Probably something round and irregular, the doctor said. Like a rock. Miss Longworth, I’m hoping you’ve recovered your memory enough to recall more details about what you had in your hand when Jillian found you out on her dock.”

  Ritaestelle closed her eyes. “I have indeed given this some thought, Deputy Carson. Events do seem clearer now. I remember that before poor Evie tumbled into the water, I tried to catch her. That’s when my knee hit an object.” She lifted up her cotton pant leg and revealed a purple bruise.

  I winced.

  “It’s nothing, dear,” Ritaestelle said. “Not until precious Chablis joined me on the dock and I nearly tripped over whatever it was did I pick the rock up. I swooped the kitty up at the same time, very afraid she would end up in the lake as well. I was so frightened, I suppose my mind went blank.”

  “Did the rock feel wet or sticky?” Candace said.

  “Since my hands were already sticky from what I later learned was Evie’s blood, I cannot be sure.” Ritaestelle squeezed her eyes shut. “What a horrible way for that girl to die.”

  “Sure was. There’s something else I wanted to go over with you again. You told me you were drawn to Jillian’s back door by voices. The other night that was about all you could recall. Have you remembered anything else about what you heard? Knowing if they were male or female might help us a lot,” Candace said.

  “That coroner person asked me about the voices, and I had no definitive answer. If you could give me a few seconds to concentrate on exactly why I went to the back door that night, I might recall.” Ritaestelle rubbed her chin with an index finger and focused on the lake.

  This line of questioning sounded like Candace might be beginning to buy Ritaestelle’s story. I wondered if something had happened at the Longworth Estate to sway her toward a family member as a better suspect. Now was not the time to ask Candace any questions, however.

  Candace patiently waited, and finally Ritaestelle said, “I heard one voice that I am certain was a woman. That could have been Evie, but as for the other person, I cannot say. My hearing is not what it used to be.”

  “Was the woman shouting? Did she sound angry?” Candace said.

  Ritaestelle stopped rocking and her spine stiffened. “Why, she did shout. What I heard was a long, loud no.”

  “That’s good. The word no. Anything else?” Candace said.

  “I do believe what followed was not words. More like a primal cry.” She stared at Candace. “That is when I rose from the sofa. Yes. I knew something was very wrong. Why didn’t I remember this before?”

  “Probably because of what you encountered on that dock,” Candace said. “Shocked the heck out of you. But you couldn’t tell if that cry was male or female?”

  Ritaestelle shook her head no.

  “How long do you think it took you to get to the back door once you heard the voices?” Candace asked.

  “Oh my. I could not move very fast, but one of the cats—Syrah, I think—had been sitting at the window, and he leaped like a leopard in the direction of the back door as soon as he saw me get up.”

  “See?” I said. “Didn’t I tell you that my cats would have been paying attention to what was happening out there? Did I tell you that Merlot was focused on that window before I went to rescue Isis from the closet?”

  “You didn’t,” Candace said. “But that’s okay.” She turned back to Ritaestelle. “Can you guess how long it took you to get to the back door? A minute? Five minutes?”

  “A minute is a long time, Deputy Carson, but that would be my best estimate. Today I do believe I could make the trip in thirty seconds.”

  “When you opened the door, what did you hear?” Candace asked.

  “I heard the sound of Miss Jillian’s cats whooshing down those steps.” She pointed in the direction of the deck stairs.

  “Nothing else? No more voices, no sounds that would indicate another person was lurking around?”

  “I am afraid I was so focused on the cats and so upset that I had allowed them out into the night that I was only concentrating on getting them back inside the house.” She glanced my way. “I am very grateful nothing terrible happened to your friends. Two of them came right back on their own when I called out—” Ritaestelle raised fingers to her lips. “Oh my. I begged your kitties to come back. I forgot all about that. And two of them did return.”

  “They were waiting at the back door, Candace. She’s telling the truth,” I said.

  “Her version fits with what I learned when I canvassed your neighborhood. I needed to verify, that’s all,” Candace said.

  “My neighborhood?” I said. “But we all live so far apart.”

  “Voices carry over the lake at night. You know Mr. Voigt?” she said.

  “Yes. He has this big old fishing boat,” I said. “But we just wave at each other and that’s about all.”

  “The night of the murder, he was out on his deck having a smoke,” Candace said. “He heard the same thing that Ritaestelle did. The word no and an odd cry—he called it a wail. But he also confirms he heard what he said was a high-pitched voice coming from the direction of your house, Jillian. Someone calling for the cats.”

  “Why didn’t he phone 911?” I said.

  “Said he knows you’ve got cats that you care a lot about. Said the whole thing only lasted a few seconds and he decided it had to do with them.”

  He knew about my cats, and yet I wondered if he even knew my last name.

  “The questions you are asking have me wondering if you still believe I killed Evie,” Ritaestelle said.

  “I wondered the night of the murder, and maybe I tried to intimidate you into confessing,” Candace said. “But in my training, I remember the words of an experienced officer. He told me that the only innocent person at a crime scene is the victim. That’s what I was thinking about when I arrived on the scene.”

  “Sounds like your instructor was a wise man,” Ritaestelle said.

  “He was. I always follow the evidence,” she said. “I’ve uncovered some support for your statement. I checked the GPS system in your car, and you came directly here. Plus I have corroboration that the attack on the dock apparently occurred before you even opened the door. Your voice is high-pitched and Mr. Voigt heard someone with that tone calling for the cats. Circumstantial evidence and the amount of time needed to commit the crime seem to rule you out.”

  “Is Ritaestelle even strong enough to . . .” I swallowed before I went on. “To do what was done to Evie Preston?”

  “I doubt it, but adrenaline is a powerful thing. Let me ask you this, Miss Longworth. Who do you think wanted Evie Preston dead?”

  “I—I . . . I have no earthly idea. Evie was a confident young woman. She handled my affairs competently, dealt with the philanthropic requests that came in an assured and businesslike manner.”

  “Did your family like her?” Candace asked.

  “I would suspect not. I told Evie how much money my family should be allotted per month, and she either gave them a check or used the computer to transfer money to their accounts. Do you think that could have caused enough rancor that one of them killed her?”

  Candace sighed heavily and fixed a blond strand of hair behind her ear. “People kill for all kinds of stupid reasons—and you ask me, money is one of those. Right now I need to get on with the business of figuring out what Miss Preston knew, what secret she may have held, that led to her death. I would appreciate your continued cooperation—even if my investigation leads to so
meone you care about.”

  “Most likely the person who drugged me?” Ritaestelle said.

  “Yes, ma’am. Your servant, Mr. Robertson, seems to know quite a bit about the folks living in your house. But he seemed reticent to talk about them. Maybe you can encourage him to cooperate.” Candace glanced at her watch. “My break is up, and I need to get back to your house.”

  Ritaestelle smiled. “Do tell George I miss him, but that I am being well cared for and that he can speak freely to you.”

  “I’ll do that. He sure seems protective of you,” Candace said.

  “No such attitude came from my relatives, I assume.” Ritaestelle’s lips tightened, and she resumed her rocking.

  “I can’t tell you what they had to say right now, but I told you about the neighbor because Kara will be printing what he said tomorrow,” Candace said. “Casting public doubt on you as a suspect might make the killer nervous. Maybe they’ll make a mistake, do something stupid.” She stood and started for the steps but turned before she reached them. “I forgot one question. Who had access to your car?”

  “I always hang my keys on a hook by the back door that leads to the garages,” she said. “I have done so for years. Everyone in the household had access. Why are you asking?”

  “Because if you didn’t put those items in your car, someone else did. Seems as if it could have been just about anyone.” Candace’s stony cop face was gone for an instant. I could tell she was deflated.

  “Have you ever heard of gaslighting, Deputy Carson?” Ritaestelle said.

  “Gaslighting?” Candace sounded puzzled. “Are you talking about arson? And what would that have to do with this murder?”

  “Can you explain the gaslighting to her, Miss Jillian?” Ritaestelle said.

  “Sure.” I told Candace what we’d discussed earlier with Karen and Ed.

  “Oh. You mean you’re being set up,” Candace said to Ritaestelle. “Didn’t know there was a name like that for it. But that’s why I came today. We’re on the same page.”

  “We’ll have to rent the movie Gaslight if it’s on DVD,” I said.

  Candace pointed at me and smiled. “Sounds like a film I need to see.”

  She hurried down the steps and was gone.

  Ritaestelle and I spent the rest of the afternoon and evening indoors playing with the cats and talking. I threw together a hamburger Stroganoff that Ritaestelle thought was delicious. I wondered how many fifteen-minute meals she’d ever eaten and if she was simply being polite with her praise. After supper, while I did some hand quilting on orders that urgently needed my attention, Ritaestelle asked a million questions about my past, how I’d learned to quilt and why I’d moved to South Carolina. The conversation eventually turned to my late husband, and I was again reminded of Farley Longworth’s accusation. Still not wanting to talk about what he’d said, I instead told her about John and some of the wonderful things we’d done together.

  “Mr. Stewart has a genuine affection for you. Have you had enough time to heal from your loss and return that affection?” Ritaestelle said.

  “Some days yes and some days no,” I said.

  “That is an honest answer. Life is indeed complicated.” She glanced at the clock on the DVR box next to the television.

  “Nine o’clock,” she said. “I must say, I am extremely tired.”

  “Can I help you to your room?” I asked.

  “I truly am beginning to heal. The more I walk on my own, the better.” She left the living room with Isis leading the way.

  I was about to get up, set the security system and curl up with a book when my phone rang. I saw Tom’s name on the caller ID and felt a tad guilty talking to him right after my conversation with Ritaestelle about John and about my hesitancy at times to allow Tom completely into my life.

  I answered with a breezy, “Hey there,” hoping he wasn’t as perceptive as he usually was. I did like Tom, after all. A lot.

  “It’s Candace,” Tom said hurriedly. “I’ll pick you up in ten minutes.”

  “What are you talking about?” I said. But the urgency in his voice told me something was terribly wrong.

  “She was hit over the head in her apartment parking lot. They’ve taken her to the county hospital.”

  I could feel my heart pounding at my temples. “She’ll be okay, though?”

  “I don’t know. She’s unconscious.”

  Twenty-four

  As soon as I hung up with Tom, I speed-dialed Kara with a shaky hand. I couldn’t leave Ritaestelle alone, but I had to get to that hospital. I was hoping she’d come over and stay with my houseguest.

  When she answered, she said, “I was just about to call you. I’m on my way to the hospital. They found Candace lying unconscious in our apartment parking lot.”

  “Tom told me. Do you know how badly she’s hurt?” My mouth was so dry it was difficult to get the words out. My three friends, realizing I was upset, gathered close. Merlot sat next to me, ears pricked, Syrah was at my feet staring up at me and Chablis had jumped into my lap.

  “I don’t know anything about Candace’s condition,” Kara said. “By the time I got out to the parking lot, the ambulance had already left. The deputies weren’t about to tell the newspaper snoop anything about one of their own—even when I said I was off the record and asking as a friend.”

  “You didn’t hear anything that went on outside beforehand?” I said.

  “I was in the shower, and when I got out, the police scanner was squawking about an ambulance needing a police escort. I got dressed, saw all the flashing lights through my window, and you know the rest.”

  “Tom’s picking me up. I was hoping you could stay here with Ritaestelle, but of course Candace is your friend, too. What should I do?”

  “Arm the security system and tell the woman to stay put. She is an adult, Jillian.”

  “But—”

  “Do you believe Ritaestelle is next on this hit man’s list?” Kara said.

  “Maybe. I’m too upset to think straight.” Syrah meowed and pawed at my knee. Tears stung my eyes, but I fought them back.

  “This whole nasty business is swirling around Ritaestelle. Makes sense she might need protection after what’s just happened. But any Mercy cop who’s free will be at the hospital,” she said. “Maybe Chief Shelton can whip on over and guard your house.”

  “That could take a good thirty minutes. Tom will be here any minute to pick me up, and I don’t feel right leaving her alone, but—”

  “Leave,” came a voice from the foyer. Ritaestelle was standing there in her robe, Isis in her arms. “Obviously you need to be somewhere right now.”

  Kara said, “I heard what she said. Listen to her. Meanwhile, I’m pulling into the hospital lot. Bye.” She disconnected.

  I looked at Ritaestelle. “Candace has been attacked. Hit over the head. She’s in the hospital and—”

  “You need to be at your friend’s side. I promise you I will be fine. I will not open any doors or peer out any windows if I should hear anything outside,” she said.

  I hesitated, but I had to be with Candace. “Let me show you how to set the alarm. Engage it right after I leave, okay?”

  “Thank you. Perhaps you could write down your cellular phone number for me?” She stroked Isis and smiled sadly. “Terrible things have happened, and I feel responsible. I should have never come here.”

  “Don’t say that.” I lifted Chablis off my lap, set her on the floor and stood. “Tom and I and every person on the police force will work as hard as we can to find the truth. If you hadn’t come here, you might be dead now.”

  “I might indeed. But I would gladly exchange my life for Evie’s or for your friend’s at this juncture.”

  “This is not your fault.” I gestured toward the kitchen. “Come on. Let me show you how to engage the system.”

  After I was sure she knew what she was doing, I told her that I would be checking my cat cameras often, so she would have another level of se
curity.

  Before I left with Tom, she said, “Please call me when you have news about Deputy Carson to share. I will be praying for her.”

  When a police officer goes down, the response from the community, fellow officers, fire and rescue teams, paramedics, local politicians and of course the media is almost overwhelming. So many people were at the hospital awaiting word on Candace’s condition that all her visitors were directed to the outpatient surgery waiting room—even Nancy Shelton. Good choice for a gathering place since no one was having elective surgery this late at night.

  Tom and I headed straight for Mike Baca. He was pacing behind a vinyl sofa at the far end of the room.

  “Tell me she’ll be okay.” I said when we reached him.

  Mike’s face was drained of color. “She’s been taken from the emergency room to ICU. There was a lot of blood and she was unconscious the entire ride in the ambulance.”

  “Blow to the head, we heard,” Tom said.

  “Back of the skull, so she might not have even seen her attacker.” Mike focused on the floor and shook his head. “I should have handled this case myself.”

  “Don’t go blaming yourself, Chief,” came a voice behind us. It was Morris. His red-rimmed eyes betrayed how upset he was. “We’re gonna find this coward and take him down—take him down hard.”

  Seeing how emotional these two strong men were brought out a part of me I usually reserved for my cats. They needed a few comforting words. “Candace is tough. She’ll be good as new. I feel it.” But I didn’t truly feel it. All I felt was sick and scared and anxious.

  Tom ran a hand through his hair, and though he’d been calm and reassuring in the car, he wasn’t that way now. “Are there any leads? Like, how many of those bozos that live with Ritaestelle have an alibi?” He held up a hand before Mike could say anything. “Stupid question. You couldn’t have gotten that information yet.”

  “I have a deputy canvassing Candy’s apartment complex,” Mike said, “but from the reports I’ve been getting so far, no one saw or heard anything. Her gun was still in her holster and her car was where she’d parked it. Nothing amiss.”