The Cat, the Lady and the Liar

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 anything 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?”

“Isis is fine,” I said, wondering why she was talking about hospitality when I’d arrived with two bigwig police officers right behind me prepared to grill her. But maybe her little speech was intended for the other people in the room.

“Let me introduce my friends and family,” Ritaestelle began. “You have seen my cousin Augusta at my home.”

Augusta nodded, her hands clasped beneath her large chest.

Ritaestelle said, “Muriel here is her sister, and—”

“I’m your cousin, too, Ritaestelle,” the woman with cherry red hair said.

“You are indeed, Muriel.” Ritaestelle gestured at a thin woman and a man about my age standing beside her. “Justine was my late brother’s wife, and this is Farley, his son.” She looked pointedly at Muriel. “My nephew.”

“Excuse me, Ritaestelle,” Shelton said. “We have a serious situation. We need your visitors to leave.” By her tone, she might as well have added, “This isn’t Sunday brunch at your estate.”

“And why must we leave?” the older gentleman who hadn’t been introduced said. He placed a hand on Ritaestelle’s shoulder.

He had thick white hair, faded blue eyes and a smile that baffled me. It seemed pleasant enough. But there was disingenuousness there. I had the feeling something else was going on between him and Chief Shelton. His body language—chin lifted and cold stare—had me thinking he was in control rather than the police.

Shelton said, “Desmond, I don’t need to tell you anything. So leave. Now.” Ah yes. This was the Nancy Shelton I’d encountered when she’d pulled me over.

Desmond sighed heavily. “If you insist.” He bent and kissed Ritaestelle on the cheek. Augusta and the three others all bid farewell, too, and the visitors filed out of the room. Farley offered me a contemptuous glance when he passed.

What was that about? I wondered.

Shelton turned to Mike. “Everyone visiting, except for Desmond Holloway, lives in the Longworth house. He’s an old friend.” She switched her gaze to Ritaestelle. “But wait. Don’t tell me Desmond’s moved in recently.”

Ritaestelle stared up at her sweetly. “I thought we had crossed that bridge a long time ago, Nancy. He most certainly has not moved in.”

Mike cleared his throat and opened his notebook. “We brought Miss Hart as you requested. Now, if you’ll please think very hard about last night’s events, because we have a few more questions.”

“That is all I have been thinking about, sir, and I have questions myself—what is your name, by the way? I see that you are wearing a name badge, but I do not have my reading glasses. I did leave my house in a such a rush, and then of course I ended up here and—”

“Mike Baca. Mercy PD,” he said tersely.

“Oh. The police chief. I read about you in the newspaper when that woman—”

“Ritaestelle. Please,” Shelton said. “We need to get down to business.”

Mike’s face was flushed, and I felt like I’d been caught in a small room with several buzzing, angry wasps. I swallowed hard.

“First,” Ritaestelle said, “would you mind pulling over that chair in the corner for Jillian? She is looking very pale. Hospitals do that to certain more sensitive souls.” She obviously wasn’t the least bit bothered by Shelton’s tone or Mike’s discomfort.

Before Mike could move, I dragged the chair over myself. We did need to get these questions over with.

Mike said, “First of all, we’d like a look at your car, Miss Longworth. We can get a warrant, but you could give us permission. Then we wouldn’t need to bother a judge. Same for your house.”

“Well, for heaven’s sake, why? What are you looking for?” Ritaestelle said.

“We need to corroborate your story that you drove directly from your house to Jillian’s,” Mike said. “Your GPS should tell us that. You found her place by using the GPS system, I understand.”

“I have managed to comprehend certain newfangled gadgets. Though I am not a fan of cellular telephones or computers, GPS is quite useful. I believe my keys are in my bag—in the closet.” She pointed across the room at the peach-colored laminate cupboards. “You can look in my car all you want.”

“And your house keys are there as well?” Mike said.

“I do not believe I can give you permission to search my home,” Ritaestelle said. “I have seen on the television how untidy you police officers leave a house once you are done searching. My housekeeper, Hildie, would be most put out having to straighten up after a search that I imagine would prove to be quite invasive.” She smiled as she glanced back and forth between the two stoic police officers.

“They’ll get a search warrant, anyway, Ritaestelle,” I said. “You might as well give them permission.” I wasn’t supposed to say anything, but she needed to cooperate and clear her name.

“I understand, Jillian,” she replied. “But I remember my dear brother speaking about search warrants and other various legal matters. The police do need a good reason to search a person’s home, correct?”

“Um, I think they have one,” I said.

“Oh. You mean Evie’s death?” She looked at Shelton. “You still believe I killed her? I suppose it is troublesome and very strange indeed that she showed up at Jillian’s home. That poor girl. Why was she out by that lake?”

Shelton said, “If we search your house, are you afraid we might find, well . . . other things?”

“You mean stolen items like the kind some cruel person planted on my person in Mr. Perry’s pharmacy? Or the ones Evie found in my lingerie chest?” Ritaestelle’s smile had faded. “You do understand those two events have Evie in common.”

Oh boy. Had she just given them a motive? Was Ritaestelle so angry with Evie about this shoplifting thing that she’d murdered her?

“We’re getting off track,” Mike said. “If you want us to get a warrant, we will. And like Jillian said, it won’t be a problem. And now that we’ve dealt with that, I—”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake. Please search my house. But make sure that includes all the rooms where my relatives reside. They come here pretending to care, but all they are truly concerned about is my money.” Ritaestelle’s lower eyelids reddened and her lips trembled. “And after all I’ve done for them.”

I understood now why she’d asked me to come. She certainly didn’t trust her family. But for some reason, she trusted me.

Mike shifted his weight, his gaze on the floor. After a few seconds of awkward silence, he pulled out a sheet of paper from his notebook and placed it on the bedside table. “This is permission to search your car and your house.” He handed her a pen.

She scrawled her signature at the bottom and pushed the paper toward Mike. “I hope you will note that I am a cooperative witness. Not a felon, but a witness.”

“We appreciate your cooperation, Miss Longworth,” he said. “Now, tell me everyone who lives in your house.”

“I can give you all that information later, Chief Baca,” Shelton said.

“I know you can. But I want to hear about them from Miss Longworth, if you don’t mind.” He kept his eyes focused on Ritaestelle.

“The folks who were just here, or everyone?” Ritaestelle said.

“Everyone,” Mike said.

“Well, there are my two cousins, Augusta and Muriel. You saw them. Augusta is the one with the large bosom. Muriel has that rather ridiculous red hair. They are my dear departed aunt’s girls. Listen to me. Girls. They are as old as I am. Then there is my sister-in-law, Justine. She does not look her age, does she? Pretty hair, plump lips. As they say, she’s had some work done. She was married to my brother and is apparently just too fragile to make it on her own. So I took her in. And her son, Farley, was here as well. Steaming mad, too. He stays that way. He has tried all manner of professions. But he is attempting to become an accountant this time. He is broke, of course, and—”

“Chief Baca wants to know about the rest of the household, too,” Shelton said.

Mike was writing quickly and didn’t look up when he said, “Yes. Who else lives with you?”

“George, my wonderful butler—seems an old-fashioned word, does it not? But he likes the title. He is tremendously proficient at what he does. I never have to ask for a thing. He anticipates my every need.” Ritaestelle shifted so more weight was on her right side—and she moved with some difficulty, as the strain on her face indicated. I noticed the ice pack on her left hip for the first time.

She went on, saying, “And Hildie is the housekeeper and cook. She is from Germany and can make a strudel like nobody’s business.”

Mike looked at her. “Anyone else live with you?”

“I do have more room if you ever find yourself in need of a roof over your head, Chief Baca.” She paused and shook her head slightly. “Listen to me making a joke when this is one of the most somber times in my entire life. Please forgive me.”

“That’s everyone? No other servants?” Mike said.

“No others,” she said. “The groundskeepers come every other day. They do not reside on the estate, though when my father was alive, they did. We have turned the building where they used to live into a guesthouse.”

“We’ll need those names, too. But I’ll get Chief Shelton to give them to me,” Mike said.

I saw discomfort tighten Ritaestelle’s face again.

“Are you in pain?” I said.

“It is nothing, dear. I have a bruised hip, and if not for all these X-rays and tests, I would be home by now,” she said.

Mike said, “I have more questions, but first I’ll find a couple more chairs.”

As he left, I noticed him reach for his cell phone. His departure wasn’t all about chairs.

Shelton stepped closer to the bed. “Let me see that bruise, Ritaestelle.”

She lifted the covers before Ritaestelle could protest. The ice pack fell off as Shelton revealed a huge black-andpurple bruise partially hidden by the hospital gown.

I stifled a gasp. I’d heard her fall but hadn’t realized how much damage she’d done to herself.

“My goodness. That must have been some fall,” Shelton said.

Why hadn’t I thought to call an ambulance that day rather than race out of town like a scared rabbit?

Ritaestelle pulled the covers back over her, and I saw blotches of color high on her cheeks. “You should have asked my permission to look at me in all my glory. I mean, I hardly have a stitch of clothing on.” But she only sounded sad, not angry, at this breach of privacy.

Shelton said, “Like you would have given me permission. They’re sure it’s not broken?”

“No. Seems I have very strong bones. There is some concern about blood clots, so they will be doing some fancy tests to check on that before they release me,” Ritaestelle said.

“I’d like to photograph the injury, if you don’t mind,” Shelton said.

“Candace, that cute little police officer I met last night, took enough pictures to fill an album. Quite embarrassing, too. I have not known her for fifty years like I have known you, Nancy.”

“All right. I’ll ask her for copies,” Shelton said.

Mike came back in the room with two chairs, and he was followed by a tiny black woman wearing pink scrubs.

“Vital signs, Miss Longworth,” the woman said. She was pushing a small contraption with a blood pressure cuff and an electronic thermometer. “And it’s been four hours since they gave you that pain shot. Do you want me to ask the nurse for more? I’m seeing pain written all over your face.”

“Elsa, you are so very observant,” Ritaestelle said.

We all moved aside so the woman could do her job. When she was finished, she said, “Now, what about that pain medicine?”

“My muscles are simply sore from thinking I am twenty years younger than I actually am. I believe I will be fine with a new ice pack.” She handed the disposable packaged blue gel to Elsa and then looked at me. “Your yard is quite expansive, Jillian. I do not know what on earth I was thinking last night walking out in the dark.”

Elsa said, “I’ll get you a new one, but ice won’t do the trick. You need that shot. Give the nurse about fifteen minutes.” Elsa nodded at us and left.

Mike and Shelton pulled their chairs next to Ritaestelle’s bed.

Mike said, “I’ve made some calls, and I want you to be aware that officers will be sent to search your house for any evidence that might be connected to Miss Preston’s death. I assume the victim didn’t live with you.”

“Oh no. She had an apartment in town and—”

“After you called me to make the notification last night, Chief Baca, I took it upon myself to search Evie’s apartment,” Shelton said.

I saw Mike’s eyebrows come together. “You searched her apartment?” he said.

“I, like you, know how to run an investigation. First I went to see Evie’s mother, though. Wise of your officer to ask me to make that notification. Since we had probable cause for a search and Evie’s mother didn’t have a problem, she gave me the key. She’s very distraught, as you can imagine.”

Ritaestelle turned her head away so we couldn’t see her expression. But her voice was thick with emotion when she said, “I am hoping to speak with Mrs. Preston soon. A mother should not outlive her daughter.”

Mike leveled narrowed eyes at Shelton. “Wouldn’t have been too hard to get a warrant.”

The spirit of cooperation between them that had seemed too good to be true apparently was.

“Wouldn’t have been hard to get a warrant for Ritaestelle’s car and her house, either.” Shelton picked a cat hair off her navy slacks. A long Chablis-colored hair.

“Touché,” Mike said. He turned to Ritaestelle. “Do you want to change your mind and have us get warrants?”

“I have nothing to hide—and that sounds exactly like a line from a movie. I know my brother is turning over in his grave about my decisions, but I did nothing to harm Evie. And if I could have managed to get down into that water like Jillian did, well—” She took a deep breath. “But I did not. I could not. Now, I imagine you have more questions. Please go on.”

Mike cocked his head. He seemed to be trying to read Ritaestelle, see if her emotion was for real. After a few seconds he said, “The chronology of events is what’s most important right now.” Mike readied his pen to write down more information. “Tell me when you decided to leave your house and go to Jillian’s place. And be as specific as you can.”

Ritaestelle explained about pouring out the tea she suspected was drugged around dinnertime, waiting for her watchdog cousin Augusta to fall asleep and sneaking out of the house down a back staircase. Seemed that her nephew never went to bed before four a.m., so she was worried he’d spot her if she went down the main stairs.

“You’re talking about Farley Longworth?” Mike asked.

“Yes,” Ritaestelle said. “I cannot tell you how distressed I am that he will be carrying on the family name. Too bad he will not have the family home or the family money to go with it—unless there’s a miraculous change in him before I die. Longworths should be ambitious and outgoing. He is neither. I have put instructions in my will that if he has not earned at least five hundred thousand dollars of his own by the time he turns sixty, then most of the money I have set aside for him will go to charity.”

Mike said, “Interesting. Does he know about this?”

“Not yet,” Ritaestelle said.

“Did you drive straight to Jillian’s house?” Shelton asked.

Ritaestelle offered a knowing smile. “You above all people know you cannot get straight to anywhere in these parts. But I traveled the most efficient route. The GPS directed me in an Australian accent. That is my most favorite voice. So entertaining.”

“And you don’t have a cell phone?” Mike asked.

“Not our Ritaestelle,” Shelton said. “Which is why I’m quite surprised to hear about her using GPS. A system like that is actually a computer, you know.”

“Why, that surprises me. Perhaps I will have to learn to use one of those before I die,” Ritaestelle said. “As for the GPS, I do not often get out, as you know, Nancy, but when I do attend a function in an unfamiliar location, I find the computer, as you called it, simple to use. I found Jillian’s house easily.” She paused, her gaze unfocused. “Evie must have followed me . . . and look what happened to that unfortunate girl. I never thought anyone was watching me.”

“Watching you? Following you?” Shelton said. “How would she know you’d be sneaking out in the first place? She doesn’t stay at your house past five or six in the afternoon, does she?”

Ritaestelle cocked her head, looking puzzled. “Why, those are very good questions, Nancy. I had not thought about that.”

“She came to work as usual yesterday and left on time?” Mike said.

“As far as I know. But Farley has taken a liking to her, so perhaps they were together last evening in the library or more likely in the room set up with that giant, awful television. Not my idea to have a sixty-inch television. Anyway, they might have heard me leave the house—which was certainly not my intent.”

Mike scribbled in his notebook while the look on Shelton’s face told me she wasn’t buying this explanation.

“How old is Farley?” Though I wasn’t supposed to be asking questions, I was curious.

“Forty,” Shelton and Ritaestelle said in unison.

Then Ritaestelle added, “Too old for Evie, if you want my opinion. But a man who acts like an adolescent is likely to have an attraction to an accomplished and attractive woman like Evie, wouldn’t you agree?”

I nodded. “I’d say most men would have found her attractive.”

Mike stared at me, saying, “I’ll be asking plenty of questions of all the people who knew Miss Preston.”

Message received, Mike, I thought.

Another woman, this one in beige scrubs, entered the room. Her name tag said, JENKINS, RN. “The doctor has changed your medicine to pills.” She glanced at all of us. “Um, I need to talk to my patient in private.”

“You may say whatever you need to, Nurse Jenkins,” Ritaestelle said. “I have no secrets.”

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.