The Cat, the Lady and the Liar

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 had 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.”

My jaw dropped. She was blaming me? Saying that my going to Woodcrest led to Evie’s death? That made no sense, and yet guilt niggled at me anyway.

“You must have reports to write, mustn’t you, Lydia?” Tom said.

She glanced at her watch, the one with the wide gold lamé band. “I do. But I haven’t finished my tea. Jillian and I were having a nice little talk about her involvement in this latest crime.”

“You have more questions?” I asked.

“You want me to leave so you can be alone with him, don’t you?” Lydia turned to Tom. “She won’t come between us. Ever.”

Oh boy. Cue the Twilight Zone music.

It was a cat who managed to do what I couldn’t accomplish. Isis came sauntering over from her corner of the foyer and began rubbing against Lydia’s leg. Cats can always pick out the people who like them the least and make them uncomfortable.

Lydia looked down at Isis and then back at me. “Get that cat away from me.”

“She seems to like you,” I said, making no move to halt Isis’s marking activity.

A smile played at Tom’s lips.

“I said, make this animal go away.” Lydia sidestepped, but Isis followed.

“I’m kind of afraid to do that. This is the cat that belongs to Ritaestelle Longworth, and I have to say, she’s not as well behaved as my cats,” I said. “If I touch her, she might bite me.”

“You’re scared? Well, I’m not.” Lydia made the mistake of reaching down and attempting to shoo Isis away.

Isis, in good goddess form, screeched and made an attempt to bite Lydia’s hand.

Lydia jumped to her left, her eyes wide. “What a nasty little creature.”

Isis’s black coat puffed out, and she arched her back. But she didn’t run off.

My turn to stifle a smile. “I have no control over this one. Sorry.”

Tom reached down and swooped Isis up, then held her up to Lydia’s face. “Come on. You two can be friends.”

Isis offered one of her trademark fang-baring hisses.

Lydia craned her head away. “I think I’m done here. For now.” She pointed a bloodred fake nail at me. “But you keep your cat paws off Tom, you hear?”

Tom handed Isis to me. “Can I walk you out, Lydia? You never know. There could be a killer lurking.”

“Why, that would be so nice.” She smiled, looking almost giddy. With Lydia carrying her stiletto heels, they went out the front door.

I breathed a sigh of relief and hugged on Isis. “Thank you, sweetheart. You have redeemed yourself.” I set her down and she raced off after Syrah. He was batting yet another button down the hallway.

Tom returned a minute later. “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, I always say. I checked, and it looks like the crowd out back is wrapping up. Was it a drowning or definitely a murder?”

“Murder.” I sighed heavily. “Come on in and I’ll tell you what I know.” We went into the living room, and when I finished I said, “I don’t think Ritaestelle did this, Tom.”

His face was expressionless. He was probably thinking like a cop—not ready to rule out anyone as a killer just because I had an opinion about suspect numero uno.

Morris came through the back door then and said they were done for the night but would be back early in the morning.

After he left, Tom stood. “You look like you could use some sleep.” He pulled me up and gave me a much-needed hug, promising to return in the morning. Before he left, he reminded me to reengage my security alarm. Like I would have forgotten after all that had gone on. But the fact that he’d voiced his concern felt good.

When I went to my bedroom, whom did I find waiting to cuddle up with me? Isis. She had saved me from a sticky circumstance, so I could hardly send her to the basement.

“Come on, wild one. You’re welcome to join me,” I said once I settled in under the sheets. As if I had a choice in the matter.

I hoped for a peaceful night. The feline crew had to be tired, too. Cats aren’t truly nocturnal—they prefer dusk and dawn antics, making them crepuscular.

Isis, I soon learned, preferred sleeping by my head and taking up half the pillow, but before I even had to remove one long black hair from my face, I nodded off. And I would need that sleep in the next few days if they proved to be anything like the last two.