The Cat, the Lady and the Liar acitm-3

by Leann Sweeney

  Suddenly I felt the need to sit before my legs gave out. For the first time, the enormity of what had happened overwhelmed me. I found the closest easy chair. All of this bantering and the apparent need for one-upmanship seemed ludicrous. A young woman was dead. And yet politics, news scoops and evidence collection were all anyone seemed to care about.

  Kara addressed Mike as soon as he came into the living room. “Do you mind if I see the crime scene for myself?” She pulled a camera from the hobo-style bag slung over her shoulder.

  “From a distance.”

  Brennan held out a hand to Mike. “Good to see you again, Mike.”

  The two shook hands, and Mike said, “Nancy told me you’d be involved—help us share information. Thanks for that.”

  Brennan glanced back and forth between Tom and me. “You two please stay inside.” He turned to Mike. “Lead the way.”

  When they were gone, Tom came over and took my hands. “You’re cold, not to mention pale as a polar bear. This isn’t what you signed up for when you told Shawn you’d help with Isis. Where are the cats, by the way?”

  “I don’t know. Let’s find them,” I said. “I could use a cat in my lap right now.”

  And find them we did. In my quilting room. And guess who was stuck in my sewing cabinet drawer while my three sat in a half circle staring at her latest dilemma.

  Fifteen

  I carefully extracted Isis from the cabinet drawer while Tom crouched beside me and petted my cats.

  I said, “Isis apparently thinks she’s thinner than she actually is. Maybe her whiskers are too short. Whiskers should warn a cat about whether they’ll fit into a space.”

  “I get the feeling that Isis does what Isis wants, regardless of the consequences,” he said. “Sounds like a little criminal, if you ask me.”

  I held her up and looked into her green eyes. “Is he calling you names? Doesn’t he know you’re a goddess?” I smiled and set Isis down. She strolled away as if nothing had happened.

  I said, “Why do cats act like they had no part of an embarrassing situation? Is it that little human section of their brain at work?”

  “I haven’t gotten stuck in a wicker basket or a drawer lately, but I’d pretend it was no big deal if my peers were watching,” Tom said.

  I laughed. “Guess I would, too.”

  Chablis was attempting to climb up on his knees, probably because she’d been traumatized by last night’s events and was looking for any comfort she could find.

  He picked her up and stood, scratching her around her neck where she liked it the most. She was purring so loud they probably heard her down at the lake.

  The lake. The investigation. This stranger Brennan. I couldn’t wait for this morning to end. “How long do you think they’ll be hunting around in my yard?” I asked.

  “You know Candace,” Tom said. “She’d do a grid search like when they’re looking for buried remains if it were up to her,” Tom said. “But with the assistant DA and Mike around, they’ll keep her on task. I’d say an hour or two.”

  Isis reappeared and led the way as we walked back into the living room. She seemed to want to take over as top cat, and I wondered how long Syrah would put up with that. More reason for this cat to go home. But with Ritaestelle in the hospital, would that happen anytime soon?

  “Have you had breakfast?” I asked.

  “A donut. And you should have one. I got to the bakery the minute they opened. Those were still hot when they were boxed.”

  “A bagel sounds better—if the ones I bought the other day aren’t as hard as hockey pucks by now.”

  Turned out they were harder than hockey pucks, and I had a banana instead. Even the fruit didn’t set well. A small part of me wondered what they were doing outside, but a bigger part didn’t even want to look out the window. When Deputy Tony Martinez, who I knew usually worked the late shift, showed up dressed in shorts and carrying a camera case, I figured he must be the underwater specialist.

  Kara came inside about fifteen minutes after his arrival. Tom had watched the goings-on through the kitchen window, but I stayed in the living room—surrounded by felines.

  Kara grabbed a mug and poured herself some coffee before she and Tom joined me. She sat in her dad’s recliner and set her bag with the camera on the floor next to her.

  “Will my backyard be gracing the front page of the newspaper?” I said.

  “Just the dock,” she said. “If that’s okay with you.”

  I took a deep breath and stroked Merlot, not answering right away. He was stretched out between Tom and me. Chablis immediately climbed into Tom’s lap, and Syrah stayed where he’d been, on the sofa back close to my head. Isis had disappeared yet again. Maybe if she stayed stuck in whatever object she’d crawled into this time, she’d learn a lesson.

  “Please let me do this story the way it should be done, Jillian? That means interviewing you, too,” Kara said.

  There it was. The very thing that concerned me. “I’m not sure I should do that,” I said. “Somehow it seems unfair to Ritaestelle. She’s in enough trouble without me adding to it by talking about her.”

  “I’ve interviewed Mike Baca—an interview he was happy to provide, by the way—so I know most of the facts. But the duty of the press is to inform the public, to provide answers. I want to do the job right. You’re a witness with a unique perspective.”

  Unique? Was that what this sick feeling was called? “If you spoke to Mike, don’t you have what you need? Besides, you haven’t lived here long enough to understand that even if you put out the facts, folks will still think up their own scenarios about what happened here.”

  Kara leaned toward me, her tone soft but insistent. “That doesn’t matter to me. Besides, both Mike and Liam said an interview with you might stir up even more talk in town—talk they can follow up on.”

  He was already Liam to her? Hmm. He certainly had a great smile. You can tell a lot by a person’s smile, and I kind of liked what I’d seen. Guess Kara did, too. When I didn’t say anything, Tom put his arm around my shoulder and squeezed me gently. “The press and the police have a funny relationship. It can be an unpleasant one, but they need each other. Tips are often generated from press coverage. Think about it as doing a service to Ritaestelle. If you honestly believe she’s innocent, your interview might just help her.”

  I glanced back and forth between them. “Why do I feel like I’m betraying her trust?” Unfortunately, what bothered me more than betraying Ritaestelle was upsetting Kara if I refused to cooperate. That could put a strain on the new and still tenuous relationship we’d formed since she’d arrived in Mercy. That fear is what finally tipped the scales. I sighed and said, “Ask away.”

  She asked about how I knew Ritaestelle—even though she already knew this—and went on to quiz me about the woman’s arrival and then the discovery of the body.

  “Is it true you did CPR on the victim after you pulled her out of the water?” Kara said.

  Those horrible moments from last night flashed through my mind. I felt the unexpected sting of tears but blinked them back. “Yes. But could you leave out the part about the CPR? I couldn’t help her. She was dead.”

  Kara hesitated. “You tried to save her. That’s a fact, and I need to print it.”

  “I failed Evie Preston, Kara. I don’t want to have that written down for everyone to read.” I blinked harder, really fighting the tears now.

  Kara’s tone softened when she said, “Putting the story aside for a second, I want to say that I believe you were a hero out there. You did everything right. And I know that’s how other people in town will look at this.”

  I took a breath, told myself to calm down before I said, “Can’t you please just write about what the police know?”

  Kara sat back. “The last thing I want to do is upset you, but I need to verify with you what I learned from the police.”

  I trusted Kara, didn’t I? She would get the story right. “Go ahead,” I said.


  She recited what she’d heard from Mike, and I nodded to confirm everything she said until she asked, “And Ritaestelle Longworth appeared mentally unstable, correct?”

  With that, I stopped nodding. “Not to me. And I’m the one she came to see. I understand she’s had her share of recent troubles, but—”

  “But,” Kara said, “this once well-respected woman in her community has become a laughingstock. Your visit to Woodcrest confirmed that, correct?”

  I felt anger bubbling up. “Only one person in my backyard could have said such a thing about Ritaestelle. Nancy Shelton, right?”

  “The chief said she’s very concerned about Miss Longworth’s mental state.” Kara paused, taking the time to remove the elastic that held her long dark hair in a ponytail and gather up wayward strands before she refastened her hair at the nape of her neck.

  Maybe she was giving me time to think about this statement, because it sure wasn’t a question.

  But Tom spoke before I could. “What does that mean, Kara?” Tom asked. “I was there when Jillian talked with Chief Shelton yesterday. She’s friends with Ritaestelle, and nothing she said made me believe she considered the woman a laughingstock.”

  “Okay, those are my words, and I would never print that,” Kara said, sounding sheepish. “But I do like you stepping in to support Jillian. That’s sweet.”

  I said, “Is this the path the police have chosen to follow? To make Ritaestelle seem like a nutcase?”

  “Not necessarily.” Kara paused to sip her coffee. “But since it was brought up and since Miss Longworth came to your door not exactly appropriately dressed for a visit, it’s an angle worth pursuing. Despite what you think, I’ve learned plenty about small-town life in the last few months. When the rich and powerful fall, people are quick to belittle them—even stomp on them. Besides, I understand there have been other incidents that call into question Miss Longworth’s mental health. Can you tell me more about what you learned?”

  I was beginning to lose patience with Kara the Journalist, but I kept my tone even when I said, “No, I can’t. You should talk to Chief Shelton about what’s been happening in Woodcrest. The most important thing to me is that that this lady came to me for help and that her employee has been murdered.”

  “In your backyard,” Kara said. “How did Evie Preston end up here?”

  I shook my head. “I can only guess—and that’s not something you’d print.”

  “You’re right,” Kara said, “but I still want your take. Did she follow Ritaestelle? And if so, why?”

  “M-maybe Evie saw her boss leave the house and was concerned about her, so she followed,” I said.

  “That’s sort of giving credence to the idea that she’s emotionally unstable, don’t you think?” Kara pressed.

  “Why? Because Evie was worried enough about her to follow her? I don’t know. But how else did she get here?” The room seemed to be closing in on me. Why was Kara being so . . . intense?

  “Or,” Kara said, “could it have been the other way around? Miss Longworth followed Evie here. After all, you spoke with Evie when you went to the estate, and she knew who you were. But you never spoke with Miss Longworth that day.”

  I shook my head, but the small fear that had been hiding in the back of my mind was pushed front and center now. What if that were true? What if Ritaestelle followed Evie here, they somehow ended up in my backyard and Evie was killed? But then, why would Ritaestelle come to my door? That didn’t make sense.

  I said, “I don’t believe Ritaestelle murdered Evie. She simply didn’t have time.”

  Kara said, “Can you be sure how long you were in that closet with the cat?”

  “I can’t. Five minutes? Ten minutes? I’m not sure,” I said.

  “Miss Longworth claimed to have taken the broom outside to use as a cane, but what if she took it to use as a weapon? Have you considered that possibility?”

  “Kara,” I said sharply, “she couldn’t have planned on her cat causing the delay in my getting back to the living room. Besides, the woman could hardly walk. I honestly have no idea how she made it down to the dock. And aren’t you speculating now, and not merely confirming what the police told you?”

  Her features softened. “I am. Sorry. Let me ask you this. Did you get any hint when you were visiting with the woman that she was nervous, upset, that something terrible had happened before you let her in?”

  “No. She was as calm as I’d expect any person who’d just fled their home in fear would be. Her robe was clean when I let her in and—wait a minute. The cars.” Morris had mentioned both a Cadillac and a Ford when he came out to the backyard and talked to us last night.

  Tom said, “What are you thinking?”

  “When you walked Lydia outside, where were all the cars parked? Because if Evie followed Ritaestelle here, her Ford would have been parked behind Ritaestelle’s Cadillac,” I said.

  “The Caddy was in your driveway, but that’s it. I parked on the street along with everyone else. Morris was dusting a Ford Focus’s doors for prints—and it was on the side of the road. I’m assuming that car belonged to Evie Preston.”

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “I saw that Ford Morris talked about. When I went to get Candace’s evidence kit, it was parked on the road then, too. None of the police would have moved it, would they?”

  Kara said, “I doubt it, but I’ll ask.”

  “Kara, please listen. I promise you that if Ritaestelle was killing Evie out on my dock before she ever knocked on my front door, my cats—well, Merlot and Syrah, anyway—would have been at that window seat. They always check out strange goings-on—even if it’s a moth fluttering around. Besides, why would that . . . that possible altercation between Evie and Ritaestelle have happened here?” But I was thinking about Merlot. About him pacing, checking out what I had assumed were insects flitting outside. But what if he’d heard something? Heard Evie Preston out there. Was that why he’d seemed so nervous?

  “We might not yet understand why Evie or Ritaestelle came here, and we don’t know much about their relationship, either,” Tom said. “They could have had a nasty history. But you’re right about the cats. They may not be as good as a watchdog, but I’ve seen them pay attention to even small noises coming from outside. Of course, convincing the police that your cats’ behavior is important is a different story.”

  Kara smiled. “I don’t think you can sell that one—even to Candace. Anyway, thanks for giving me some excellent questions to ask the police. If the Ford was moved, that might prove to be important.”

  Tom said. “I wonder if they found Evie Preston’s cell phone. I’m sure she had one.”

  “Could be underwater,” I said.

  “If so, that will be a problem,” Tom said. “A little bit of water or a phone being briefly submerged can often be fixed and the data retrieved. But overnight? Nope. And phone calls these days are invaluable to the police in establishing a timeline. If Evie made any recent calls, perhaps one that came after Ritaestelle arrived here, then—”

  “Funny you should be talking about her,” came a voice from behind us.

  I turned and saw Mike Baca standing in the kitchen. “I’ve just spoken to the doctor, and Miss Longworth wants to see you, Jillian. Would you mind coming with us to the hospital? She says she’ll talk to us if you’re there.”

  I closed my eyes. I was in this up to my eyeballs. And all because of a narcissistic black cat.

  Sixteen

  The county hospital was a half-hour drive, even though it’s only fifteen miles away. That was because only a two-lane road goes from my place to the hospital. Tom and Kara agreed to stay at the house—Kara, I’m certain, because she wanted to learn as much as she could from the assistant DA and Deputy Martinez. Morris, meanwhile, had asked Tom to go over my security-camera footage, since I have several cameras that watch over my house near the windows. Tom installed them after Syrah was catnapped last fall. Even though it was doubtful they’d find a
nything of use, no stone could be left unturned.

  Stone. That noise out on the dock, I thought, as Police Chief Shelton, Mike and I got out of Mike’s Mercy PD SUV in the hospital parking lot. Had Ritaestelle dropped that rock into the lake last night on purpose? And if she was about to confess to murder, why did she want me present?

  But I wouldn’t be asking her that question. I was told not to ask her anything, to just sit quietly. Ritaestelle apparently wanted support, and that was what I would offer. No one had to force me to do that. She needed a friend right now.

  As we took the elevator up to her third-floor hospital room, I wondered if she so distrusted all those people who lived with her that she’d invited a virtual stranger for support. If so, that was as heartrending as when a person moves away and leaves his or her cat behind—something that happened all the time, according to Shawn.

  We walked side by side down the corridor to Ritaestelle’s room, the disinfectant smells surrounding us making my already queasy stomach protest even more. I glanced over and saw that Mike carried an eight-by-ten leather-covered notebook, but Shelton was the one who appeared most official. Her navy suit, her stiff demeanor, everything about her seemed to say, “I’m really the one in charge.”

  Mike rapped on Ritaestelle’s door and didn’t wait for an invitation to enter. Five people, three women and two men, were clustered around the bed. I recognized only Augusta—the woman who had been with Ritaestelle when she’d fallen the other day.

  “I thought she wasn’t supposed to have visitors,” I heard Shelton whisper to Mike. But then she smiled and said, “Look here at all of you. How’s our patient?”

  Ritaestelle’s gaze locked on me, and she held out both hands. I slid between these strangers and took her hands in mine. She squeezed, and her bony fingers were ice-cold.

  “Jillian, you dear woman,” she said. “To come here after all I’ve laid on your doorstep. I want to say that I will never forget your kindness and hospitality. How is my precious Isis? Not causing too much upheaval, I hope?”