The nurse said, “Are you sure?”
“Absolutely,” Ritaestelle replied.
“All right. After more blood work and an MRI of that hip, you’re being released, Miss Longworth. We know your hip isn’t fractured, but we can get an extent of the inflammation with the MRI.” She pushed a small cart that had several drawers to the bedside after we all moved aside to allow her to get close to her patient. She checked Ritaestelle’s hospital bracelet, administered the medicine and left.
Meanwhile, Ritaestelle never took her eyes off me. “I do not feel inclined to go home. After what’s happened I believe I am far less safe than I was yesterday.”
That stare turned pleading and bore into me.
I knew what she wanted. Yup, I was still in this up to my eyeballs.
Seventeen
Mike Baca dropped me off at the Main Street Diner when we returned to Mercy. I walked into the restaurant and was met with the smell of fries and grilled meat. This place always made me hungry—and I was grateful that my stomach had finally settled down. That didn’t mean I wasn’t worried about my offer to have Ritaestelle stay with me for a few days. But deep down I knew it was best for her. She needed help, and after learning about her family, I feared they weren’t the right crew for the job.
Mike hadn’t objected when I’d haltingly told Ritaestelle she could stay with me if she was afraid to go home. But Shelton sure hadn’t liked the idea. That was when I realized that having Ritaestelle in Mercy, rather than back in Woodcrest, was fine with Mike. Not so from Shelton’s point of view, though. Police are so territorial. But she’d forced a smile and said she wanted her friend to be comfortable.
I leaned on the counter near the cash register. Besides their trademark Texas chili dogs, they made wonderful burgers with chipotle mayo and sweet onions served on toast. I was craving one of those, so I took out my phone and called Tom for a headcount at the house. After I got the number—everyone wanted burgers—I placed my order and then walked down the street to Belle’s Beans. During the walk I took time to check my cat cam. Tom was sitting in the living room with Morris. They were surrounded by sleeping cats. Except for Isis, that is. I wondered where she was. Still stuck somewhere? Probably.
The owner of Belle’s Beans, whom I called the real Belle, was sitting reading the paper at one of the tall tables. Meanwhile, a young woman with a BELLE name tag stood behind the counter taking coffee orders.
When the real Belle saw me, she practically jumped off her bar stool and came over to greet me. She is spry for a woman in her late sixties—maybe as spry as Ritaestelle was before her fall. Belle’s lipstick, an almost Concord grape color, did not serve her well. Seemed to me that white-haired ladies should go for pinks and corals. Plus, as usual, she’d spread the lipstick well below her lower lip.
Belle gave me a bear hug, saying, “Oh, my goodness gracious, I heard what happened. I am so sorry.”
When she released me, I said, “It’s a terrible thing. Evie Preston was so young.”
“Have some coffee and tell me all about it.” Belle started for her table.
“I ordered takeout from the diner, so I can’t stay. I came to pick up coffee beans, and I am dying for an iced vanilla latte.”
Belle pouted, only emphasizing her awful makeup job. But then she called out to the Belle behind the counter. “Large iced vanilla latte to go and a bag of Kenyan beans for Miss Jillian.”
I knew that the real name of the young woman behind the counter was Wendy, but it was Belle’s practice to have every employee wear a name tag with BELLE on it. She felt it added to the friendly atmosphere. I couldn’t argue. This cute little coffee shop with its wonderful drinks and delicious pastries and cakes was probably the friendliest spot in Mercy.
“Listen, Belle, I promise to tell you everything when I can,” I said, keeping my voice low. “It’s a long story.”
“I’ll tell you this: Ritaestelle couldn’t possibly have killed anyone. She has been a pillar in that town of hers. Yes, a pillar. Helped anyone in need. But did she really come to your house in her dressing gown?”
I averted my eyes, thinking, Everyone knows. Heck, Belle probably knows more than I do. I met her eager stare. “It was a bathrobe. But are you saying you know Ritaestelle?”
“Why, yes. We are of the same generation, after all. But her cousin Muriel is the real connection. She married my cousin, so we’re sort of related,” Belle said.
“I believe Muriel was at the hospital this morning. Plump woman with red hair?”
“That would be her,” Belle said. “Not long after my cousin and Muriel were married, he took off with a nineteen-year-old nanny who lived at the Longworth Estate. The girl was supposed to be taking care of Farley Longworth, but apparently she was busy doing other things.”
“That was a while ago, then?” I said. “Because Farley is approaching middle age.”
“Yes. You do the math.” Belle grinned. “I don’t measure anything by years anymore. Helps a girl stay young.”
I grinned. “Is that why you chose grape lipstick today? For the youthful look?”
Belle touched her lips. “Yes, but I nearly scared poor Java to death when I put it on this morning. I don’t think I’ll try it again.”
Java was her cobby kitty, a lovely brown Persian.
“Cats know best,” I said. “I pay attention to what they tell me in their own way. But back to Farley. You knew him, too?”
“Not really. When my cousin was part of the Longworth family, my late husband and I were invited to a few gatherings, but aside from Ritaestelle, I didn’t care for that bunch. Maybe that’s why my cousin ran away from all that money. He couldn’t stand them either. He stayed away, too. Had his happily ever after life in Wisconsin until he passed away two years ago.”
Wendy boomed, “Large iced vanilla latte.”
Belle muttered, “I’m gonna have to talk to that particular Belle. Guess her mama never schooled her about using her inside voice. She’s not calling across a football field, for heaven’s sake.”
“Gotta go,” I said, giving Belle a hug. I paid for my coffee and latte and walked back to the diner. Now that the morning clouds had cleared, the sun shined bright and hot. No rain today, which I’m sure made Candace happy. Indeed, it was such pretty weather that the tourists who frequented Mercy in the summer were out in droves visiting the specialty shops and antiques stores on Main Street.
I was surprised to see Tom standing under the diner’s green awning when I arrived back there. I had been just about to call him to pick me up.
He said, “Food should be ready, right?”
It was, and ten minutes later we were at my house. As we took the back steps, I saw Candace traipsing up from the lake carrying a wad of used yellow crime scene tape.
She called, “We’re done.”
“Come on in for a burger,” I said. “I have a few things to tell you.”
Tom headed straight to the table in my breakfast nook and set the bag of food down.
I waited at the back door for Candace.
“Did she confess?” she said as she climbed the porch steps. “ ’Cause outdoor crime scenes are trouble with a capital T. Didn’t find any fingerprints on the dock, and Martinez didn’t have any luck looking underwater either. We need a confession.”
“Sorry to disappoint you, but she didn’t confess. And I really don’t think she did it, Candace,” I said.
A muscle in Candace’s jaw tightened. “The lady was standing out on your dock while a dead woman floated in the water not three feet away. That’s evidence of something, I’d say. Mike’s pussyfooting around on this one, and I don’t get it.”
“You think he has an agenda?” I asked.
Candace and I came inside and she shoved the wad of crime scene tape in the trash can in the utility room. She glanced at Kara, who was walking toward us.
“Can we shelve this discussion for now?” Candace whispered.
I nodded, realizing she wasn’t a
bout to talk about police business in front of someone following developments for the newspaper.
Morris joined us, too. Kara was holding Chablis but set her down when she reached the table. The other three cats trailed behind her. Syrah was sniffing the air like a bloodhound. He does have a taste for people food on occasion.
Tom found paper plates and napkins while I put the coffee beans in the airtight container where I keep them. Once we all had a burger and a stack of fries on our plates, I decided I’d better tell everyone the news.
I took a fortifying sip of my latte before I said, “Ritaestelle is coming here to stay after she’s released from the hospital this afternoon.”
Kara’s eyes grew wide, and Candace blinked about a dozen times.
Candace finally broke the silence. “Are you kidding me?”
“The woman’s afraid to go home. She’s convinced someone was drugging her tea and making her look like a thief,” I said. “And besides, she’s still hurting. All those stairs at her house would be a big problem.”
Candace set her untouched burger on her plate, her cheeks vivid with anger. “This is not good, Jillian.”
“Mike doesn’t agree. Besides, you should have seen her hip. I have no clue how she got down to the lake last night in the shape she was in,” I said.
“I did see her hip—last night,” Candace said. “She’s a little hobbled. So what? I agree with the chief that she needs watching, but you’re not the one to do it.”
“You both saw her leg? You have proof she was truly injured?” Kara said.
Candace stared at Kara. “The whole world doesn’t need to know. You get what I’m saying, right? We need to keep a few details out of the news.”
These two had trouble getting along when they first met in the spring, and with Candace running hot right now, I hoped her temper wouldn’t cause them to take several steps backward in what had become a decent friendship.
“Are you telling me what I can write and what I can’t?” Kara said.
Before I could say something—anything—to smooth the waters, Tom spoke. “That’s not true, right, Candace?” he said. “You totally embrace freedom of the press.”
Candace took a deep breath and turned back to me. “Of course I do. But still, why did you agree to take that woman in? You realize you could have a murderer sleeping down the hall.”
“I have to trust my heart—just like you have to trust the evidence,” I said evenly.
Candace took a deep breath, and the color on her cheeks faded. “I get that. I’m sorry, but I worry about you.”
“I know, and I appreciate that,” I said. “Here’s something else that will interest you. Mike has the keys to Ritaestelle’s car and permission to search it.”
Candace stood up so fast, she nearly knocked over her chair. “When is he coming? Maybe I should put crime scene tape around the Cadillac so no one will touch it before he gets here.”
Morris stopped eating long enough to say, “Jeez, Candace, sit your butt down and eat. We’re the only ones here, and we’re not messing with that car.”
Candace hesitated before sitting back down. “Sure. I know that. Do you think the chief will let me do the search?”
“You’re his little princess and lead on the case, so why not?” Morris picked up about ten fries and shoved them in his mouth.
I started when Syrah suddenly jumped in my lap. He stretched his neck toward my burger, his nose twitching. I pulled off a small piece of meat and set it on the floor by my chair. He jumped down, but not fast enough. Isis came from out of nowhere and gobbled up the morsel.
Syrah swatted her on the nose for this infringement. But she didn’t run off like Merlot or Chablis would have done. She just sat and stared into his eyes.
Oh boy. Candace and Kara first, then Candace and Morris, and now this. I needed some peace and quiet before I went to the hospital to pick up Ritaestelle.
As we waited for Mike to show up with the keys to the car, Candace passed her time wandering down by the lake, probably hoping to find any additional bit of evidence after once again complaining about outdoor crime scenes. Calls for new security systems started coming in to Tom just as we’d finished eating—probably because of the murder. He and Kara left for a consultation soon after. She still worked for him part-time installing systems and handling contracts. I finally had a few minutes to myself and settled on the couch along with the cats.
Isis soon discovered that Merlot was too big to bully. He gently nudged her away when she tried to take his spot next to me. Syrah was above me on the couch cushions, and Chablis sat in my lap. Isis weaved in and out of the coffee table legs before deciding that her place for now had to be the other end of the couch—a good three feet away from Merlot. With size comes intimidation. That was for sure.
I leaned back, feeling tired enough to fall asleep, but my cell phone rang. I took it from my pocket, and before I could say hello, a male voice said, “Why is my aunt staying with you? She needs to come home to her family.”
“Um, is this Farley?” I said.
“You bet it is. Farley Longworth the Fourth. What is going on between you and Aunt Rita? Are you after her money?”
What in the heck was this guy talking about? That should have been my first question, but instead I said, “How did you get my phone number?”
“I have connections. Lots of connections. Now, answer my question,” he said.
“I don’t have to tell you anything, Farley,” I said as kindly as I could. “Your aunt is capable of making her own decisions, and that’s all you need to know.”
He said, “I don’t think she should be staying with someone like you.”
“What do you mean?” I said, not appreciating his arrogant attitude.
“You come to South Carolina, build a big house, and wham, suddenly your husband’s dead and the property’s all yours, free and clear. I checked, you see. No mortgage. That makes it quite the easy life for you. You have to know there’s talk that you actually killed your husband. They just couldn’t prove it.”
I was too stunned to speak. Too hurt to even think of a reply to this horrible accusation.
Farley was more than willing to fill the silence. “Did Evie figure out why you came knocking on our door the other day? That you planned to extort money out of my aunt for the return of her cat?”
“What?” was all I could manage.
“Did Evie confront you about this cat business, so you killed her?” Snide didn’t begin to describe his tone.
I closed my eyes and took a calming breath. Discussing any of this with him would be fruitless. I disconnected—and realized that tears were streaming down my cheeks. The thought that anyone—even one person—suspected I could have harmed John made me feel like a hole had been seared through my heart. Grief washed over me, almost as intense as on the day he died.
I felt Syrah’s paw on my shoulder, then his face close to mine.
What an awful man, I thought, reaching back to scratch Syrah’s head. And who could I talk to about this? Who could possibly understand how wounded I felt? I wasn’t even sure if Kara would identify with these emotions.
As my heartbeat slowed and the tears dried, I thought more about the other things Farley Longworth had said and what he had not said. Did he know that Ritaestelle expected him to get his act together? Was that why he felt I was some sort of threat to any future money he hoped to inherit?
Seemed like I’d landed smack in the middle of a family feud. And now I was about to pick up the person at the center of all this. Maybe Candace was right. Asking Ritaestelle to stay with me might have been a huge mistake.
Eighteen
Since my minivan was blocked in by Ritaestelle’s Cadillac, I called Tom to see if he could drive me to the hospital to pick up Ritaestelle—that is, after he’d finished his security system consult.
But after I asked the question, he said, “What’s wrong? You sound upset.”
“A woman died in my backyard, Tom
,” I said.
“I know, but something else is going on. Come on. Spill it.”
I sighed, and though I appreciated how perceptive he was, I wasn’t ready to tell him what that awful person had to say about John’s death. Instead, I gave an abbreviated version. “I received a call from Farley Longworth. He isn’t too happy about Ritaestelle staying at my house while she recovers.”
“Because . . . ?”
“He believes the day I went to see Ritaestelle I wanted to trade Isis for a wad of cash.”
“That’s plain stupid,” Tom said. “I’ll check up on this guy, maybe see if he’s the one who needs money.”
“It’s not that big a deal, and—”
“Jillian, you don’t sound like yourself, so this is a big deal. I’m a PI. I check up on people every day. In fact, I think I’ll start digging up anything I can find on all those people you said were visiting Ritaestelle. Now, as for picking her up, I have another job after this one. But Kara could help. She’s just finished the paperwork for my client and she’s right here. Let me put her on.”
I talked to Kara and she agreed to drive me to the hospital. Tom would drop her at my place in a few minutes and we’d take her car—currently parked out front.
I patted several kitties good-bye and waited outside. The sun felt good on my skin. Candace, gloved and ready with her little hand vacuum, was standing by the Caddy. Apparently Mike Baca was on his way with the keys.
I walked toward her but stopped when she held up a hand.
“Don’t get too close,” she said.
I smiled. “I promise not to touch the car. Will the GPS system tell you exactly where Ritaestelle was before she came here?”
“Yes, if she didn’t delete her last trip. GPS systems are quickly becoming a cop’s best friend.” A thin sheen of sweat covered Candace’s forehead. Those cop uniforms must be brutal in the summer, even though Candace told me she had both summer and winter uniforms.
I turned, hearing a car pull into my driveway. Not Kara. It was Mike in his police SUV.
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