The Cat, the Lady and the Liar acitm-3

by Leann Sweeney

  Miss Longworth was struggling to rise, and Augusta and Evie turned their attention to her.

  Bad decisions, I’m told, make for good stories. But I had the feeling this bad decision wouldn’t sound like a good story to Shawn. I’d failed at this assignment and had been caught snooping around where I shouldn’t have been. Time to leave while everyone was occupied. I hurried down the stairs and was met at the bottom by Mr. Robertson. A silver tray with two glasses of iced tea sat on a small telephone table in the hallway.

  George was holding my handbag. “You need this, ma’am?”

  “Yes, thanks.” I was breathless from hurrying down the steep stairs.

  “I suggest you go quick. I’m guessing Miss Preston isn’t too pleased about now.” He stepped aside and let me pass.

  “Thanks, Mr. Robertson,” I said.

  He nodded solemnly, but I caught a twinkle in his eye as I left the house with my shoes in one hand and my purse in the other.

  Minivans aren’t exactly the fastest vehicles, so my getaway wasn’t all that quick. Once I made it out of the long driveway and onto the county road, I hit fifty-five miles an hour, my max. My heart was still pounding, and I vowed never to do anything like that again. Shawn would have to deal with this problem himself. Maybe he’d be visiting Miss Longworth in the hospital. I mean, her hip or her leg could have been broken after that fall.

  I heard the sound of a siren and checked the rearview mirror. Dark car with flashing lights on the dash. Not your regular squad car. Must be an unmarked. Up ahead I saw a speed limit sign: forty-five. Wouldn’t you know? I had no reason to be speeding in the first place. It wasn’t like anyone at the house would get in their car and chase me.

  As I pulled over, I realized I’d been running from the lies I’d told. It was impossible to run from yourself, of course, and now my pocketbook would take a hit. Perhaps the officer would cut me a break.

  I watched in the side mirror as a woman in a navy suit—definitely not your usual police uniform—got out of the police car. She was tall and broad shouldered, with steel gray hair curled tightly to her head. I noted she wasn’t carrying the typical police “speeding ticket” pad. But I did see a gold badge glint on her lapel.

  I rolled down my window and she offered me a thin smile. Her eyes said it all: You are in trouble.

  But the first words out of her mouth weren’t, “Do you know how fast you were going?” as I’d expected. Instead, she said, “Jillian Hart?”

  “Uh, yes, ma’am.” She was definitely a ma’am.

  “I understand you were visiting the Longworth Estate. Is that correct?”

  The word ye-es came out as two syllables, conveying my confusion. Was telling a small lie and sneaking up the stairs cause for an arrest in Woodcrest? But someone in that house—Evie Preston, no doubt—had wasted no time calling the police.

  The woman said, “I don’t know your business in coming to town, Ms. Hart, but I suggest you stay away from Miss Longworth.” Her tone was stern, her pearl gray eyes filled with a lot more than a suggestion.

  “Um, Officer—Sorry. I didn’t get your name.” Maybe I overstepped in coming here, but I hadn’t done anything to be warned away, and in a manner that made it seem as if she was reading from an old Bonanza script.

  “It’s Chief. Police Chief Shelton. And they don’t want you coming round to the house. Is that clear?” she said.

  “Clear as can be. But who are they?” I said.

  “I don’t need to tell you that,” she said tersely. “I advise you to keep away from the estate and out of Woodcrest.”

  “I’m not trying to cause trouble,” I said, using my best conciliatory tone. But this woman was definitely getting under my skin. All I cared about was a cat who either needed to go back home or needed to be sent to a place where she would be loved and protected. Seemed like such a simple task. But apparently not.

  Chief Shelton’s eyes softened. “I never said you were causing trouble. Miss Longworth is not strong enough to be bothered by strangers right now. Can you understand that?”

  “Oh, you’re her friend, then.” That had to be the explanation for her pulling me over to give me this message in person. “I didn’t intend to bother her. It’s just that—”

  “Good. Then we’re clear.” She started to walk away but stopped and looked at me again. “No ticket this time, but watch your speed, Ms. Hart.”

  She waited for me to pull out onto the highway and then followed me to the sign that stated, MERCY—3 MILES. I watched in my mirror as she made a U-turn and drove back the way she’d come—going a lot faster than the posted speed limit.

  Three

  On my drive through town toward my house on Mercy Lake, I decided that Shawn wouldn’t be thrilled with what had happened inside the Longworth house, or what had happened outside on the way home. I’d failed to fool anyone, I’d snuck around and got caught and I’d discovered that Ritaestelle Longworth wasn’t well. Feeling a little down about all this, I decided I needed time with my three best friends before I talked to him.

  As for the nature of Ritaestelle’s problems, well . . . that bothered me. She’d thought she recognized me, but I’d never laid eyes on the woman before. Was she confused? Did she have Alzheimer’s? Those possibilities combined with the way the assistant reacted to me might lead Shawn to conclude that Ritaestelle wasn’t equipped to care for her cat. But from what the assistant said, they clearly wanted Isis back.

  And in my opinion, it wasn’t clear that she shouldn’t get her cat back. With plenty of hired help hanging around that mansion, how hard could it be to make sure one black cat got the attention she required? Added to that, Ritaestelle might be missing Isis this minute. A beloved pet can help the healing process.

  The minute I disengaged the alarm at my back door and walked inside my house, I was reminded of this. Three gorgeous friends sat waiting, Syrah and Merlot on the floor, and Chablis stretched out on the granite countertop.

  I knelt to give the two boys on the floor a scratch on the head, and Chablis jumped down for her share of affection a second later. I felt the tension in my shoulders ease almost immediately.

  “What do I do, kids?” I said.

  Merlot answered with a deep trill of a meow.

  “Should I tell Shawn what happened or think of another way to see Miss Ritaestelle Longworth?”

  Syrah cocked his head and twitched his ears, while Chablis lay at my feet and rolled onto her back for a tummy scratch. I obliged her.

  The sight of them, plus the fact that Isis the cat had both a name tag and a microchip, convinced me that Ritaestelle cared about her cat and shouldn’t suffer from missing her. Maybe I should try to talk to her again before I reported back to Shawn. Isis’s safety had obviously been important at some point. But how could I get back inside that house? I’d burned several bridges today already. Perhaps I had no choice but to come clean to Shawn.

  A familiar rappity-rap-rap on the back door that could belong only to my friend Deputy Candace Carson of the Mercy PD made me rise. Candace is in her twenties, while I am in my forties, but she’s still my best friend. Maybe she could help.

  She opened the door before I could get there and when she came inside said, “What have I said about keeping your door locked?”

  I sighed. “I know. I get so anxious to greet my fur friends that—”

  “And see what they’ve been up to?” She glanced past my left shoulder.

  I turned and now saw what I had missed earlier. On the floor next to the breakfast bar that separates my kitchen and living room were buttons. Buttons everywhere. Just beyond lay my overturned button box.

  I whirled, ready to confront my cats, but they had disappeared. Who said cats don’t know when they’ve done something wrong?

  “Darn,” I said. “I’ll be finding buttons for months. Under tables, stuffed in sofa cushions, behind the toilet. Sheesh.”

  I went over and picked up the small wooden box and saw teeth marks that had to belong
to Merlot. He weighed twenty pounds, so his bite was definitely recognizable. But I was sure the other two had a paw in this mess, too.

  Candace knelt next to me and helped retrieve buttons, saying, “What’s with these, anyway?”

  “I’m making an appliquéd Christmas quilt for Kara that incorporates all kinds of buttons in the design,” I said.

  “Christmas in July?” Candace held a square turquoise button and stared at it with what could only be interpreted as confusion. “And what’s with this square one?”

  “Cute, huh? You hardly ever see square buttons. Anyway, I always start early making gifts since orders for lots of cat quilts come in from now until a week before Christmas.”

  “Oh, I forgot. You plan ahead.” She laughed. She wasn’t wearing her uniform, and her ash blond hair hung loose on her shoulders. When Candace was on the job, she never wore her hair down. She usually braided it and wrapped the braid tightly at the nape of her neck.

  “Day off?” I asked.

  “I started my vacation today. One week without listening to Morris complain is like a trip to Disney World for me,” she said.

  Deputy Morris Ebeling, her sixtysomething partner, did need to put away his badge soon. He was a nice guy once you got beyond the grumpy facade.

  After the last of the buttons we could find were back in the box, I stood, holding the box closer to again inspect the damage Merlot had done.

  “You’re smiling,” Candace said. “Why?”

  “This plain old box belonged to my grandmother, the woman who first taught me to quilt. But these teeth marks?” I looked at her. “I like them.”

  Candace’s eyebrows came together in confusion. “Huh?”

  “I have no idea where all the other dings and knicks on the box came from. Like this one.” I traced one long scratch along the side with my finger. “But now it has a flaw from my little family, too.”

  “Okay, Miss Glass Half Full. And speaking of glasses, got any sweet tea?” She was already at the refrigerator and opened the door. “Ah, yes.” She removed the pitcher and took two glasses from the cupboard above the dishwasher.

  “You staying in town on your vacation?” I set the button box on the counter.

  “Yes. I’m painting my mom’s bedroom, among other things.” She handed me my tea.

  We both went into the living room and sat on the sofa.

  “What fun,” I said. “Or do you enjoy fumes and spills and drop cloths as much as you enjoy collecting evidence?”

  Candace grinned. “I do. And she’s got a leaky faucet that could use some attention, too.”

  “I know who to call next time I need help with home repairs. But now, maybe you can help me with something outside that realm. I’ve been volunteering more at the sanctuary and—”

  “No. I cannot take a cat, or a litter of kittens or a rambunctious Lab that someone couldn’t convince to even walk on a leash or—”

  “It’s not that. Shawn found this black cat named Isis.” I went on to explain about the cat, her owner and what had transpired today.

  I could tell Candace was becoming more and more interested as the story went on. When I was finished she said, “You were inside the Longworth house? Oh my god. Tell me what it was like. A palace, right? Like that palace the Queen of England lives in?”

  “You knew about this estate?” I said.

  Her eyes sparkled with interest, and she was leaning toward me. “Everyone knows about it. But hardly anyone from Mercy has been inside. Except for Ed. And you know Ed. He’s not much for talking.”

  Ed Duffy owns Ed’s Swap Shop—the business home of Mercy’s biggest and kindest hoarder. His little house-turned-into-a-store is filled with Mercy’s discards—afghans to xylophones. I filed Ed’s connection to Miss Longworth for future reference.

  I said, “What’s Ed’s connection to that house?”

  “I heard he knew the woman—Miss Longworth,” Candace said. “They were friends. But that’s about all I know.”

  “Aside from this great tidbit about Ed—thanks for that—do you know anything else about Ritaestelle Longworth?”

  “Just what goes around town, that’s all,” she said.

  “That would be plenty, then. Tell me about her.”

  But I was distracted by Syrah’s paw peeking out from behind the side of the sofa. Then his entire body swooped out, and he came around the couch, landing on his back. His paw was stabbing at something under the couch, and out popped a button. It slid across the hardwood, but before he could get to his prize, Chablis pounced from her hiding place behind my late husband’s leather recliner. She batted the button, and Merlot joined in the game. This would be going on for days. Nope, I wouldn’t get all my buttons back soon.

  Meanwhile, Candace had been talking, and I hadn’t heard a word. “Sorry. I missed what you said.”

  “I was saying that I thought the Longworth house would be like a palace inside because Miss Longworth is considered the queen of Woodcrest,” she said.

  “Shawn told me that she was socially prominent, but he in no way prepared me for what I saw. That estate is magnificent. But back to my problem. If I return after the police chief has warned me to stay away, could I be arrested for trespassing?”

  “You wouldn’t sneak in her window or break into her house if your cat’s life depended on it, much less your own. I say, get yourself an invitation, and Chief Shelton can’t do a thing about it. That police chief’s something else, by the way. Got a reputation as hard-core. She doesn’t put up with anything in her town. Bet she’d decide what time everyone could sneeze if the town council gave her the power.”

  “Uh-oh. Maybe I should leave this for Shawn to figure out,” I said. “I don’t want to make people angry.”

  “I’m not saying she’s a bad person,” Candace said. “From what I hear, she’s a good cop. Just don’t let her intimidate you. I know you want to reunite that lady with her cat.”

  “No matter what I think, Shawn will have to approve Isis’s return to the Longworth Estate, and I haven’t even talked to the woman—something Shawn insisted I should do. So how do I get that invitation to return? Miss Longworth’s surrounded by all these staff people, and besides, I pretty much ran out the door with my tail between my legs.”

  “I’m sure you can get back inside. Someone as sweet and nice as you just has to say the right words.” She smiled—a knowing smile that I couldn’t figure out.

  “I give. What are those words?” I said.

  “Ed Duffy sent me.”

  Four

  After Candace left for the paint store, I decided to call my friend Tom Stewart. He’s a former cop and now a security expert and private investigator. Kara works for him and has gotten pretty darn good at installing alarms and surveillance cameras with his help, something that I’d never thought she’d do.

  Cats jumped up to surround me on the sofa when I sat down and pulled my phone from my skirt pocket. I stroked Chablis, thinking about how much had changed in the last year, my relationship with Tom being one of those things. What does a forty-plus woman call the man she’s romantically involved with? Boyfriend didn’t sound right, and significant other was way too strong. We dated and shared lots of kisses and hugs. But I wasn’t ready for more than that, and Tom respected my “let’s take this slow” attitude.

  My husband, John, who died of a heart attack two years ago, had been the love of my life, and I still missed him so much. But I cared about Tom and was beginning to feel comfortable with our daily talks on the phone and weekends spent at the movies or out to dinner.

  This call, however, wasn’t just to chat. See, Tom’s mother, Karen, was a significant other to the very Ed Duffy I needed to talk to. I speed-dialed Tom’s cell phone.

  “Hey, Jilly,” he said when he answered.

  “Hi, there. I have a question.”

  “You want to marry me? Wow. But a proposal over the phone? Not how I dreamed this would happen,” he said.

  I laughed. “Me
either. Actually, my question has to do with our friendly hoarder, Ed. Do you know anything about his relationship with a wealthy woman named Ritaestelle Longworth?”

  He hesitated for a few seconds, then said, “That old lady from Woodcrest who lives in the big house? Ed knows her?”

  “Guess that answers my question,” I said.

  “You don’t expect to ask me about her and Ed and not tell me why. What’s going on?”

  I explained about my assignment to find out if Isis should be returned home and how I’d screwed things up this morning.

  “You’re way too hard on yourself. You had a setback, that’s all. Want me to pick you up and we’ll head to Ed’s shop? See what we can pry out of him?” Tom said.

  “Really? You’ll help me with this?” I said.

  “Sure. Talking with Ed at the shop is best because he’s more likely to open up if my mom’s not around. Could be he just collected junk from the Longworth basement once, but if Candace knew something was up between them, I’m betting there’s more to learn.”

  “What time will you be here?” I said.

  “Had lunch? ’Cause I haven’t.”

  “Lunch will ready in five minutes,” I said.

  After we’d finished chicken-salad sandwiches, fruit and the iced lattes Tom had brought from Belle’s Beans, we headed to the other side of town in Tom’s work van. He had a consultation with a woman who wanted a security system installed, so after we talked to Ed, he planned to drop me off at home and head straight to her house.

  Once we arrived at the shop, Tom held my hand as we maneuvered our way through the birdbaths, bicycles, lawn furniture, tires and other numerous items lying in the front yard of Ed’s Swap Shop. A small bell tinkled when we entered, and Tom immediately called out Ed’s name.

  “Be right with ya,” Ed called from one of the back rooms.

  I spotted a washstand in a corner, and since I am a sucker for antiques, I made my away around a trunk of dolls and a basket full of old VCR tapes—all children’s tapes as far as I could tell. Times sure have changed in a hurry. How long had the VCR lasted? A decade? Fifteen years?