The Cat, the Lady and the Liar acitm-3

by Leann Sweeney

  Morris must have picked up on the tension because he said, “They’re waitin’ for you down by the lake, Lydia.”

  She kicked off her shoes, sat and slid her feet into the tennis shoes. “Like I said, I know why I’m here.” She picked up her high heels, tramped through the kitchen and out the back door.

  “Thanks, Morris,” I said.

  He nodded. “Got to keep that woman on task sometimes.”

  Candace and Ritaestelle returned. Candace held the evidence bag in one hand and Ritaestelle’s elbow in the other. It seemed to take forever for them to reach us at the dining room table.

  Once Ritaestelle was seated, Candace handed the tagged paper sack containing the robe to Morris. “I took pictures of the robe while she was wearing it when we first came inside, so I think we’re done with this piece of evidence for now. The nail clippings and her fingerprint card are in the envelopes on the counter. I’ll transport all this to the station when we’re done here, Deputy Ebeling.”

  Morris gestured toward the counter. “I’m keeping a log right over there. Got the names of everyone who responded, even the coroner.” He began scratching at the mosquito bites on his neck. Bet the insects were having a feast down by the water.

  “Great.” Candace turned her attention to Ritaestelle. “Now, if you don’t mind, please tell me, ma’am . . . why did you kill Evie Preston?”

  Twelve

  “You believe I meant to harm Evie?” Ritaestelle sounded incredulous. “I—I tried to save her. She was lying there. She was bleeding. She needed my help, and I—” The tears began again.

  I caught Candace’s eye. “Um, do you want me to leave?”

  “No. In fact, now that we’ve contacted the police in Woodcrest to talk with the victim’s mother, we can get down to business. What time did Miss Longworth show up here?” Candace raised her eyebrows questioningly.

  I glanced at Ritaestelle and then back at Candace. “I’m guessing ten fifteen. I was surprised to see her, but she was frightened. She believes someone has been drugging her. And by the way, when I let her inside, her robe was spotless.”

  “We’ll get to that in a minute,” Candace said. “Let’s start with this claim that Miss Longworth was drugged.” She pulled out a dining room chair and sat.

  So did I.

  The two-way radio Morris held at his side crackled, and then someone said, “Can you come down here to the lake? The deputy coroner is asking for you.”

  Morris raised his eyes to the ceiling and muttered something about the mosquitoes before he left.

  The waiver Ritaestelle had signed was still on the table, and Candace pulled her notebook toward her—the one I’d seen in her evidence bag before. She picked up the pen that rested on the waiver, poised it over the notebook and looked at Ritaestelle. “Why did you come to see Jillian Hart if you thought you were being drugged? Why not go to a hospital?”

  “I have no fondness for hospitals or doctors. Besides, since I stopped drinking the tea—most of it went down the sink since yesterday—I have been feeling much better.”

  “Ah,” Candace said. “You think someone drugged your tea. Did you report your suspicions to the local police?”

  Good question, I thought. Except that I had a feeling Ritaestelle didn’t want anyone in Woodcrest alerted to anything else that put her in a bad light.

  Ritaestelle hesitated before saying, “I am sure you understand small-town life, Deputy Carson. I do not appreciate people learning about my private life if I am not the one telling the story. There would be talk. Besides, there is already talk around town that I am a shoplifter. Which I most certainly am not.”

  Candace began writing while saying, “So you decided to visit a stranger in another town? Can you see how that seems a little odd?”

  “Oh, I do. But Jillian visited me first,” Ritaestelle said. “She came to my house yesterday, and because of my condition, my drugged condition, I could not meet with her. But I know of her, and thus I know of her reputation for helping others. And my Isis had been missing for days, so once I had my wits, I realized that was why she called on me.”

  “Let me get this straight. You came here to reclaim your cat? And to get assistance from a stranger about these other problems?” Candace said.

  “Yes. That sums it up quite well, Deputy Carson. I fear that I am being harmed—harmed by the removal of my dear Isis, harmed by these preposterous charges that I am a thief and harmed by someone who has been sedating me. Jillian Hart, from what I have read, is a kind and decent person. She will help me, so I do not regret coming here. I only regret what has happened to poor Evie.”

  “But you didn’t bother to get dressed?” Candace said.

  Ritaestelle raised her chin, her eyes still moist with tears. “I had to sneak out once Augusta fell asleep. She has been watching me like a hawk, and I have no idea why. I am telling you, Deputy Carson, there is something very strange going on in Woodcrest and more specifically inside my beloved home. And just so you know, I have spoken with the police chief about my situation—the shoplifting, that is. She happens to be a friend.”

  “I suspect we’ll be speaking with Chief Shelton,” Candace said. “Let’s move along. Tell me everything that happened from the minute you got here.”

  Ritaestelle talked in her long, rambling style, relating the events that I already knew, but my interest picked up when she got to what happened after I left her alone in my living room.

  She said, “I thought I heard something outside. Voices, perhaps? But then I began to wonder if the drugs were still playing tricks on me. Still, something made me get up and go to the back door. And then I foolishly opened it. Jillian’s cat ran out into the night. I knew she would never forgive me if I was responsible for losing her cat, so I grabbed a broom to help me walk. I used it like a cane.”

  Candace looked perplexed, but she sounded as tough as nails when she said, “You can hardly walk, and yet you go down to the lake after a cat? You don’t call for Jillian’s help?”

  “I did call for her, but she must not have heard me. As for the rest of it, I—I cannot explain my actions.” Ritaestelle shook her head sadly. “You see, the cat ran right to poor Evie. She was lying there on the dock. She was not breathing. Her eyes were wide-open. She was . . . gone.”

  Lying on the dock? But I’d found her in the water. Obviously I’d missed something.

  “How’d she get in the water? Because the victim is soaking wet,” Candace said.

  Candace and I were on the same wavelength, it would seem.

  “The victim. What an awful word. But her being wet is my fault,” Ritaestelle said. “I cradled my poor Evie’s head and then realized what I was doing. I had assumed she was dead. But what if she could be brought back? So I tried to lay her flat on the dock so I could breathe for her. Rescue breathing, we used to call it back in the day. But it was dark, and she was so much closer to the edge than I realized. Instead of putting her on the dock, I rolled her off my lap right into the water.” New tears sprang to her eyes. “If that poor girl drowned because of me, I will never forgive myself.”

  “You’re saying you shoved her body into the water?” Candace was writing this down and didn’t look at Ritaestelle, but I heard the suspicion in her voice.

  “Pushed. Accidentally,” Ritaestelle said. “And then Jillian came rushing out. I grabbed up her cat, and then I am afraid I do not recall much else aside from looking for a cellular phone. Yes. I remember that part.”

  Candace looked at me. “You found Miss Preston in the water?”

  “Yes. I pulled her up on the rocks to do CPR, but . . . well, you know the rest.” I hung my head. I felt that sting of failure again. Maybe Evie could have been saved if I’d known what I was doing or came out of the house sooner.

  “And you didn’t hear Miss Longworth call for you or hear this noise she talked about coming from the backyard?” Candace asked me.

  “I was in my bedroom closet, so I couldn’t hear anything.” The adrena
line was definitely wearing off. My knees stung, and my wet clothes were making me shiver. I like to keep the house cool in the summer, so the air-conditioning was set at around seventy-two. And my body temperature felt like it was seventy-two.

  Candace looked back over her notes and then said, “Miss Longworth stated that you went to look for Isis, right?”

  “Yes. But there was a problem.” I explained about Isis’s predicament. And I wondered then that if I hadn’t spent so much time helping her out of the basket, just brought Isis and the basket out into the living room instead, perhaps I would have been able to save Evie.

  Candace rose. “You know, after hearing all this, I’m thinking we need to get a formal statement down at the police station, Miss Longworth. You know, with video running and everything?”

  Ritaestelle seemed confused for a second or two. Then she said, “Are you arresting me?”

  “I’ll have to get with my chief on this,” Candace said. “You got anyone you want to call? Like maybe any lawyer friends you might have?”

  I caught Candace’s eye and said, “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

  Candace nodded, and we walked a few feet away into the living room.

  I whispered, “This woman needs to see a doctor. Her hip and her claim she’s been drugged make me think you’d better check her out before you put her in jail.”

  Candace stared at me, considering this. Sounding deflated, she said, “You’re right.” She pulled her two-way radio from her pocket and spoke into it. “Morris?”

  “Yeah?” came his staticky reply.

  “Paramedics still hanging around?”

  “Oh yeah,” he said.

  “Send them up to the house,” Candace said. She looked at me. “Man, I sure wanted to get this woman out of here before Lydia made her way back up here. Not too much chance of that now.”

  “I don’t want Lydia hanging around any longer than necessary. But I honestly believe Ritaestelle is telling the truth—for what that’s worth. And she is having a difficult time walking. I suspect she’s in considerable pain.”

  Candace sighed. “I’m sure you’re right—about the pain.”

  We walked back to join Ritaestelle, whose tears had dried. She was looking rather stoic now. “May I see my cat before you lock me up?”

  “I didn’t say we’re arresting you, Miss Longworth. I need a heck of lot more information before we go down that road,” Candace said.

  “May I please see my cat?” she repeated.

  “Sure,” Candace said. “Jillian?”

  I left to find Isis, thinking that in believing Ritaestelle, I was following my heart rather than my head. That blood on her robe sure was telling, and I didn’t know if this whole “I was drugged” thing was true. Plus, I now recalled that Ritaestelle had been holding that rock in her hand when I first saw her on the dock. I needed to tell Candace about that when I got the chance.

  I opened the door to my quilting room, not prepared for what I saw. Fabrics that I kept in color-coordinated stacks on a bookshelf littered the floor. And the drawer where I kept my quilt bindings must have been left ajar because Isis had various bindings wrapped all over her. Chablis was in a corner, grooming herself. I wished I had had time to clean the blood off her before she took care of the problem herself. Too late now.

  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 h
ad 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.”