The Cat, the Lady and the Liar

Fourteen

“Where’s the rest of the police force?” I said when I led Candace, Morris and Mike Baca into the kitchen at seven the next morning.

Mike wore his forest green uniform—hardly ever saw him in that. “Probably asleep if they’re smart,” he said. “All twenty Mercy officers met at the station last night. We were all briefed by Morris, and I thought we had completed the initial paperwork, but then Lydia showed up. She kept everyone way too long with her questions.”

His tone was restrained, very professional, but he and Lydia had been in a relationship once. Everyone in Mercy knew how embarrassed Mike was about that fling. How those two had ever hooked up in the first place was beyond me—but then I knew he’d made several bad choices in the relationship department.

I gestured at the coffeepot and mugs on the counter. “Help yourself. I’m sure you guys will need plenty of that.”

Murmuring thanks, they all made their way to the coffee. Candace looked the most alert of the three this morning, but, then, she was young and eager and an evidence hound.

Though Merlot, Chablis and Syrah had joined me when I’d gotten up, they didn’t greet my guests this morning. They’d eaten and taken off to find their favorite sunning spots. Trouble was, it looked cloudy this morning. As for Isis? She stayed in bed. It was probably far too early for goddesses.

“Can you tell me about Ritaestelle? What happened at the hospital?” I asked Candace.

“She spent the night. Still there as far as I know.” Candace sipped her coffee.

“Because of her hip?” I said.

“She had one giant bruise. Saw it myself when she changed clothes after I took that robe into evidence. But I don’t know if her hip is cracked, sprained or what,” Candace said.

Morris stirred sugar into his mug. “The hip is definitely a problem, but I heard she needed her head examined, too. Kept talking conspiracy theories.”

“Deputy Ebeling,” Mike said sharply.

“It’s true,” Morris said.

“She required a neurological workup and a tox screen,” Mike said. “She kept saying she’d been drugged, and we have to follow up on that. No one but you is implying she has psychiatric problems.”

“But you have to admit, Miss Longworth is odd, Chief,” Candace said. “ ’Course, if she was really drugged like she claimed, that could have caused all sorts of mental stuff.”

“Claimed she was drugged is the key,” Morris said. “I say you folks are blinded by the gleam off all her gold bricks. She’s guilty as sin.”

“That’s not how we begin an investigation in Mercy—with the presumption of guilt.” Mike’s tone was still stern.

And Morris wondered why Candace was leading this investigation and not him. Sheesh.

Mike continued, saying, “And when Chief Shelton shows up, you better keep your opinions to yourself, Morris. Miss Longworth has practically bankrolled Woodcrest singlehandedly.”

“That’s what I’m sayin’. Money blinds people to the truth,” he said.

Mike said, “Morris? Zip it, okay?”

“Yes, sir.” But Morris Ebeling didn’t sound contrite, and I had the feeling his silence wouldn’t last.

Feeling a tad tense, I busied myself by grinding more beans. I had to practically shout over the noise when I said, “Um . . . Chief Shelton’s coming here?”

“She is,” Mike said.

The grinder stopped. I dumped the old filter in the trash and started a fresh pot. “I’ve met her—twice. The first time she was pretty unhappy with me. I was driving a little too fast. Something about her demeanor scared me—something more than what I expected from a traffic stop. But then yesterday, when Tom and I went to Woodcrest, she was different. Nice. Concerned for her friend.”

“Candace was telling me about your trip on the way over here. Just so you know, I’ve known Nancy for years. She’s all bark and no bite,” Mike said. “Since both Miss Longworth and Miss Preston are from her town, I decided she should be involved in the investigation.”

“Speaking of that,” I said, “there is something I learned from Chief Shelton. Maybe it’s important.” I glanced back and forth between Candace and Mike.

Candace said, “I thought you told me everything yesterday before we watched that movie.”

I blinked. What had I told her? Obviously stress had taken a toll, because I couldn’t remember. “Did I mention that Evie Preston told the police chief about the shoplifting?”

Candace nodded. “You did.”

I sighed. “Good. I was worried, because I was pretty adamant last night that Ritaestelle didn’t kill Evie—but then I thought, what if she thought Evie considered her a thief? That could have made her pretty angry. Though I’m still not convinced Ritaestelle is capable of violence. There’s this sweetness about her.”

“Sweetness, huh? Confusion was about all I saw. Anyway, I put the shoplifting in my report, so quit worrying. What I’m talking about is anything Miss Longworth might have said when she arrived at your door, anything you recalled after I left to go with her to the hospital.” Candace eyed me expectantly.

“What sticks in my mind the most is how upset she was that someone was drugging her. She wanted my help, but the only thing I could do was to return her spoiled cat.”

“You mean this one?” Mike was looking down, and sure enough, Isis had arrived. She was rubbing against his leg and depositing long black hairs on his uniform trousers.

“That’s her,” I said. “Wait a minute.” I thumped my forehead with the heel of my hand. “What the heck is wrong with me? There is something I never told you. When I went outside and found poor Evie, Ritaestelle was holding something besides my cat. And when I was pulling Evie out of the water, I believe she dropped whatever it was and it fell into the water. I heard a splash.”

“Holding something? Like what?” Candace said.

“It was dark, but I think it was a rock. It wasn’t the broom—that’s for sure.”

“Which hand?” Candace was definitely excited.

Of course she’d want to know which hand. I hesitated, picturing Ritaestelle standing on the dock. Chablis had been clutched close in her right arm. “Her left hand was hanging down at her side. Yes. Left hand. Do you think she hit Evie with a rock?”

“Maybe,” Candace said.

“If it helps, Ritaestelle is right-handed,” I said. “I definitely remember she took the glass of water I gave her with her right hand.”

“She could have switched the rock to her left hand to pick up Chablis,” Candace said. “Do you know how deep that water is on that side of the dock?”

“Three feet at most, but it drops off quickly once you get to the end of the dock. What are you thinking?”

“Yeah. What are you thinking? ’Cause I didn’t bring my swimming trunks,” Morris said sourly.

“You can actually swim? That takes a certain amount of energy,” Candace said.

“Cut the crap, you two. Don’t make me feel like a middle school teacher trying to keep the bickering students in line,” Mike said. “We’ll have to look beneath the surface before anyone goes wading in and disturbing whatever might lie underwater. That means goggles, a special camera and someone with the skill to handle this. I got a person in mind, so I’ll make some calls.”

“We better get busy looking for any other evidence we missed last night in the dark,” Candace said. “Might rain, and that’s the last thing I need—a washed-out crime scene and a stirred-up lake.” Candace set her mug down and started for the back door.

Grumpy Morris hung his head and followed her, muttering, “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Wet evidence. Wouldn’t want that.” Guess he liked the role of snarky middle schooler.

Mike stopped punching numbers on his phone and looked at me. “When Nancy arrives, I’ll be on the deck.” He checked his watch. “She should have been here already.”

But the knock that came on my front door a minute later wasn’t Nancy Shelton arriving. It was Kara and Tom. After they both greeted the three cats—mine, not Isis, who had disappeared again—we all went into the living room. The cats went to finish off any food they’d left earlier.

Tom carried two boxes of donuts from Wanda’s Bakery, and the smell of icing and yeast made my mouth water. When was the last time I’d eaten a donut?

“Why didn’t you call me last night, Jillian?” Kara said.

“I’m sorry. I wanted to, but it was late. You might have already been asleep, and—”

“You could have used the support,” Kara said. “I mean, you found a dead woman in your lake. This place is your sanctuary, and now it’s been tainted by a vicious death.”

“Nothing will ever taint this place for me, Kara. And I planned to call you first thing this morning—at a decent hour, of course, and—”

“I still could have come over. I do want to be here for you,” she said.

“I suppose it’s all over the newspaper,” I said.

I caught Tom’s glance—he was shaking his head slightly—and I instantly knew that this was a sore subject.

“You would think a story this big would be above the fold, wouldn’t you? But no. It’s not.” Kara’s jaw tightened.

“That’s not good, is it?” I said.

“A story like this? No. It’s plain embarrassing, if you ask me,” she said.

“You’ll own the paper soon enough, and then you’ll make sure something like this makes the front page right away.” Secretly I was glad the story wasn’t running already. People in Mercy loved to talk, and they’d probably be calling me or stopping me in the grocery store once the news spread.

Kara said, “The Mercy Messenger needs this kind of story to boost sales. But that idiot Buddy who works the night desk didn’t even get off his butt and come here, even though he heard the 911 call on the scanner. He sat in the office eating those five tuna sandwiches he always brings with him. The entire office always smells like tuna. Guess he figured the current owner, editor, do-everything-by-himself, Mr. Mortenson, would handle this today. Do you know how dumb that is?”

“I do now,” I said quietly.

Kara’s expression softened. “Damn. I am so sorry.” She came over and hugged me. When she released me, she said, “I sound like I used to. I sound like the person I was running away from in Houston. Tell me how I can help.”

“You’re here. You’ve already helped.” I looked at Tom. “Do not let Morris see those donuts, or Candace will not be happy. They’ll distract him. I suggest you set them on the counter in an inconspicuous place until the evidence gathering is complete.”

“Rain might end that endeavor,” Tom said. “By the way, Kara tells me Scott Mortenson is happy to let her do the story and all the follow-ups.”

“Oh. That’s great,” I said, trying to sound like this was a wonderful development. But I had mixed emotions. From Kara’s smile, I knew she was thrilled. Despite settling in a small town, she had journalism in her blood. Her first Mercy bylines would be big ones. But would I be her first interview? That might be awkward. I hoped I got a chance to talk to Candace about being in the middle—between Kara and the investigation.

Kara said, “I saw the cop cars out front, and I was hoping—”

The doorbell rang. This time it was Nancy Shelton, but she wasn’t alone. A tall man with a shaved head, maybe midthirties, was with her. She wore her navy blue suit—but this one was different. She wore slacks, and the trim along the edges of her jacket was metallic blue. These suits she wore, with the gold buttons to match her badge, had to be custom-made. I knew plenty about fabrics and sewing. A skilled seamstress had been at work—and had done a marvelous job.

The man with her wore a summer-weight suit with a silk brown-and-pink-striped tie. I instantly envied his thick, dark eyelashes. He probably had a wonderful smile, but right now he looked as serious as a politician giving a concession speech.

When I ushered them into the living room, Nancy Shelton introduced him as Liam Brennan, the county assistant district attorney. “Mr. Brennan will be coordinating the joint efforts of both our towns’ law enforcement to solve this murder as soon as possible.”

She sounded like she was giving a press conference—especially since she was staring straight at Kara the whole time. Did she know Kara was journalist?

I made my introductions then. “This is Kara Hart and Tom Stewart.”

Brennan’s brown eyes were on Kara, too. “Aren’t you buying the newspaper?”

Yup, they know, I thought.

But I caught a flicker of surprise in Kara’s eyes. “Yes,” she said. “And though I’m Jillian’s stepdaughter, I need to be clear that I’m also here because of my connection to the Mercy Messenger.”

“I didn’t see any story in this morning’s paper,” Brennan said in an almost taunting way.

I glanced at Kara, feeling the need to protect her. “You will see a story. Isn’t that right, Kara?”

She was staring Brennan down, not appearing the least bit intimidated. I should have known she didn’t need any protection from me.

Kara said, “Since I’m already taking over many aspects of the newspaper’s day-to-day operations, you’ll be seeing my byline. A lot.”

Brennan smiled, and that smile was as charming as I’d imagined it would be. “Look forward to it.” He turned to Tom. “And you own a private security business. But weren’t you a police officer at one time, and then you—”

“Good for you. You’ve done your homework,” Tom said tersely.

The escalating tension in the room had my stomach churning. Those donuts smelled sickly sweet and unappealing now. I said, “Let me get Mike. He was trying to round up some underwater equipment.”

But Mike must have heard their arrival because he came in through the back door.

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.