The Cat, the Lady and the Liar

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.

Candace’s eyes glittered with anticipation, and after he greeted me, he and Candace got to work. Tom dropped Kara off a minute later, and I called to Mike and Candace that we were going to the hospital and that the house was locked up. Neither replied. They were too busy tearing that car apart looking for evidence.

When we arrived at the hospital, we found that Ritaestelle was checked out and waiting in her room. But she wasn’t alone. Muriel and Augusta were with her. Seems she’d told her cousins that they could follow us to my house. I wanted to say they could have saved us a trip by bringing the patient to me.

But when Kara had to drive twenty miles an hour as they puttered along behind us in their big, ancient Lincoln—we wouldn’t want to lose them, after all—I began to believe those two might need more help than Ritaestelle did.

I was sure Kara was chomping at the bit to ask our passenger questions, but before she could get out even one sentence, I asked her if we could have a peaceful ride home. I’d not had much peace of late, and neither had Ritaestelle. Thank goodness Kara reluctantly agreed. That phone call from Farley was still bothering me, but I willed those thoughts to the back of my mind and enjoyed the landscape of South Carolina in summer: wildflowers, trees greener than green and lush fields lined the road. I concentrated on that.

When we returned to my house, the police presence and the Cadillac were gone. For the first time in nearly twenty-four hours my property wasn’t the center of an investigation.

The hospital had provided Ritaestelle with a walker, which she adamantly refused to allow Kara to remove from the car.

She said, “If I can make it down to a lake in the dark, I do not need hospital equipment.”

We’d parked near my front door, where there were no stairs to maneuver. Ritaestelle limped ahead of us. She was wearing a sea foam green terry-cloth warm-up suit. Muriel and Augusta trailed behind, with Augusta carrying a tapestry satchel that I assumed held more of Ritaestelle’s clothes.

All four cats sat waiting in the foyer. Isis shocked both Kara and me by taking a running leap into Ritaestelle’s outstretched arms. She immediately nuzzled close to her owner’s face.

Kara’s eyes were wide with surprise when she glanced my way. Once Muriel and Augusta joined us, I closed the door behind them and shut out the summer heat.

Muriel perused the foyer and peered beyond into the living room. “Why, this is so much nicer than I thought. You’ll do quite nicely here, Ritaestelle.”

“Muriel seems to have left her manners at home,” Ritaestelle said. “I suppose she believed you were taking me to some hovel out in the country.”

“Why, I never—” started Muriel.

Augusta pinched Muriel’s elbow. “Oh yes, you did. Always with the double entendres. Do you think we don’t know you and your ways?”

Oh boy. This ought to be fun, I thought.

Aloud I said, “Ritaestelle needs to get off her feet. Let’s all settle in the living room.”

My three cats had already left the foyer, anticipating a human gathering. There were five women, after all, and they knew that meant there would be talking.

Turned out Muriel was diabetic, so she opted for water while the rest of us had sweet tea. I offered a late-afternoon snack—cheese and crackers was about the best I could do—but everyone turned it down. Ritaestelle said she was still recovering from the “revolting” hospital food. Muriel had to have her special diet and said she and Augusta would be leaving soon, anyway.

“We did want to see Ritaestelle get here safely,” Muriel said. She’d taken John’s recliner.

“That was your idea,” Augusta said.

She was sitting in the overstuffed chair with a sleepylooking Chablis on her lap. Syrah and Merlot had chosen to lurk under the coffee table.

“And safely?” Augusta went on. “What is that supposed to mean, Muriel? Did you think they were going to drive their automobile into a ditch or something?”

“Why, it’s simply a figure of speech, Augusta.” Muriel clasped her hands in her lap, looking insulted.

“I believe this is Ritaestelle’s business,” Augusta said. “Though I suppose there is a concern that she will be that much closer to the police officers investigating poor Evie’s death. Being here in Mercy provides such easy access, while if we were at home, we could protect her while she’s healing.” She tilted her head and focused her deep brown eyes on Ritaestelle. “Does that bother you, Ritaestelle? The hovering police presence?”

Smart lady, I thought. And the way Augusta talked, she could have been Ritaestelle’s twin—not just in her manner of speech, but even the tone of her voice.

Ritaestelle was stroking a purring Isis. “Since I firmly believe someone in my circle of friends and family drugged me, where do you think I feel more protected, Augusta?”

“Are you accusing me—or us—of doing you harm?” Augusta’s turn to sound offended.

“Yes, are you, Ritaestelle? Because that’s an awful thing to say,” Muriel chimed in.

I was sitting on the couch between Kara and Ritaestelle, and when I started to speak, Kara tapped my foot with hers. I’d hoped to interrupt this argument with some sort of distraction, but Kara obviously wanted their spat to play out. Maybe that was best, but it sure made the muscles at the back of my neck tighten. I set down my glass of tea, leaned back and kept my mouth shut.

“What I believe about the two of you, whether you have involved yourselves in nefarious behavior or not, is of no consequence until I am apprised of the facts,” Ritaestelle said. “And the facts will come out, ladies. You can trust me on that, because this woman here”—she patted the space between us—“will find the answers.”

Muriel and Augusta looked at me like I was a twoheaded snake. But perhaps it was the other way around. Maybe they were the two-head snake. I stared at them and blinked, much as one of my cats might have done.

Kara leaned around me and spoke to Ritaestelle. “You seem to have great faith in Jillian. Why is that?”

“Excellent question, Kara,” Ritaestelle said. “May I ask you a question that might provide an answer? Did your stepmother prove to be heroic in extricating you from a difficult situation in the past?”

Kara nodded. “She did.”

“Is she a kind, generous woman who believes in the truth?” Ritaestelle went on.

Kara said, “Yes, but—”

“I believe you have your answer,” she said with a smile. This was said in an extra-polite way, and yet I had no doubt that Ritaestelle knew exactly what she wanted and no one would obstruct her path. Her idea to stay with me was all part of the plan. I sure hoped she would let me in on her reasoning when we were alone.

Muriel and Augusta left after thirty minutes of squabbling about everything from the weather to the need for Hildie, their housekeeper, to polish the wood floors back at the “estate.” Both of them had to use “the ladies’ ” as they called it, so that took at least fifteen more minutes before I could usher them out.

I felt tired when I closed the door after them. And a little sad. They’d mentioned Evie once, and only when Ritaestelle asked if they knew when the services would be. They didn’t. Probably hadn’t even thought about it.

But if I was tired, Ritaestelle had definitely perked up. She said, “I cannot tell you how sorely I have needed a respite from those two. If only I could have come here under better circumstances. When this is over, I intend to take a vacation with Desmond—as far away from Woodcrest as I can get.”

“Desmond?” Kara said. She’d moved over to her father’s recliner, where Muriel had been seated.

“Desmond Holloway,” Ritaestelle said. “He is a dear friend, has been for many years. I am so glad he has returned to his roots.”

“His roots?” I asked.

“Yes. He came to Woodcrest when he was a young man. He was a Realtor and came to know everyone in town,” Ritaestelle said.

“But he never went to school with you—like Nancy Shelton and Ed Duffy did, for instance?” I said.

“Are you curious or suspicious, Jillian? Because I can assure you that Desmond is harmless. When he left town to ‘see the world,’ he was missed. He can be a very entertaining gentleman.”

She cared about him—more than she cared about her own relatives. Somehow that seemed sad. “Would you like more tea?” I asked, glancing back and forth between Kara and Ritaestelle. I could tell Kara wasn’t asking about Desmond just to be polite. She wanted a story. Maybe—hopefully—I’d interrupted her, at least for a while. After all, Ritaestelle had just gotten out of the darn hospital.

“My dear Jillian, if I drank anything more, I might float away as if I were riding a wave on your beautiful lake,” Ritaestelle said. “But if the offer for a snack still stands, I would appreciate one.”

“Cheese and crackers?” I rose.

She nodded. “Anything, dear.”

“Tell me about Desmond,” Kara said. “I saw a sparkle in your eye when you spoke about him.”

I went into the kitchen, with three cats on my heels. Isis remained in Ritaestelle’s lap. I should have known it was futile to stand between Kara and a story.

“You are discerning, Miss Kara. Just like your stepmother. But Desmond is simply a friend these days. Years ago, it might have been a different story. We might have married, had children, but he was a bit of a philanderer.” Ritaestelle’s voice quavered a little. “He returned only two months ago.”

I wondered if Desmond was the reason she’d never married. Had he been the love of her life? Had she turned Ed away for Desmond?

As I sliced cheddar on a cheese board, I heard Kara say, “But you want to go on vacation with this philanderer?”

“Why not?” she said. “He’s without adequate funds—same as he was back in the day—so he needs a friend like me to take him around the world. And I am foolish enough to enjoy his company, even knowing his character is not completely stellar.”

Kara laughed. “You seem to know exactly what you want.”

“I suppose that’s true to a point. But why are all my relatives still living with me? Because that is not truly what I want. Obligation gets in the way of want too much, I fear.”

I added a row of crackers to the cheese board and carried it out to the living room. I set the dish on the coffee table in front of Ritaestelle. I gave both her and Kara napkins thinking that this conversation was getting interesting, and maybe Kara’s questions weren’t all simply because she wanted a story. Maybe she did want to get to know Ritaestelle better.

But the doorbell interrupted any further questions. I saw Lydia Monk through the peephole and stifled a groan. Not her again. At least Tom wasn’t here this time.

I opened the door and said, “Hi, Lydia. The police have all left, so—”

She pushed by me and came inside. “I didn’t see his car. Where is he?” Her burnt orange T-shirt had beading and pearls around the V-neck. She wore white capris and strappy wedge-style sandals. Lots of cleavage showing today, so she must have dressed expecting to find Tom here.

“Who are you talking about?” Playing innocent with her was about the only way to deal with her delusions.

“Never mind. I heard that woman is staying with you. What’s with that?” she said.

“I offered to help Ritaestelle out until she feels better,” I said.

“I came to talk to her.” Lydia strode past me into the living room. But Kara drew her attention first, and she pointed at her. “You. Out of here. I need to talk to the, um . . . witness without you hanging around.”

Kara didn’t move. “This isn’t a police station, and you’re not a cop, so why do I—”

“I’m hired by the county to investigate suspicious deaths, and you know that as well as anyone,” Lydia said. “Leave.” She turned to me. “And if you could busy yourself elsewhere, please?”

Please? Wow.

Before I could respond, Ritaestelle said, “There is nothing I can tell you that these kind women do not already know. If you want to interrogate me, you will do it with them present.”

Lydia rested a fist on her hip. “Really? You’re telling me how to do my job?”

I said, “I have quilt orders to work on. I can go in the other room.”

“You will not,” Kara said. “This is your house, and this, this—”

“Please go ahead with your questions,” Ritaestelle said to Lydia. “I do not want to use up too much precious time in what I assume is your very busy day.”

Lydia smiled. “At least someone understands. I suppose we can do this your way.” Lydia opened the patent leather purse slung over her left shoulder. She removed a small notebook. She sat across from Ritaestelle and laid her bag in her lap to rest her notebook on top. “I hear you’ve been in trouble in your little hometown down the road before any of this happened. Tell me about that.”

Ritaestelle seemed surprised that this was the first question.

Before she could say anything, Kara said, “What does that have to do with the murder? Do you have something that connects those two things?”

“Am I talking to you?” Lydia said.

I was standing behind Lydia, not knowing exactly what to do with myself. Sit? Go away? Run away? Or pick a cat up off the couch, where they’d all gathered? The last option seemed excellent, but I felt the need to protect Ritaestelle from Lydia’s blunt approach first. I said, “Lydia, this woman just got out of the hospital, and—”

“I know. That’s why I couldn’t question her before.” Lydia smiled at Ritaestelle and said, “Tell me about your troubles in Woodcrest.”

“But—” I started.

Ritaestelle held up one hand. “Thank you, Jillian. I most certainly do appreciate your concern.” She returned Lydia’s stare. “You may talk to Chief Nancy Shelton about certain accusations directed at me. She has all the details.”

Kara, whose expression showed keen interest in this subject, said, “This prior history goes to motive, Lydia?”

“That’s Assistant Coroner Monk to you,” Lydia said. “And it’s none of your business. Now, Miss Longworth, tell me why your personal assistant, Evie Preston, came here of all places? Or did you two come together?”

“I had no idea she was following me,” Ritaestelle said.

“So she followed you and not the other way around?” Lydia was scribbling in her notebook as she said this.

“Why would Evie come here if she wasn’t following Ritaestelle?” I asked.

“Because,” Lydia said, “you, Jillian, had unfinished business with the victim. I know you went to see Miss Preston and spoke with her.”

“But I went to see Miss Longworth, not Evie.” What in the heck was Lydia getting at?

Lydia twisted in my direction. “That’s what your story is today, but for some weird reason, you’re harboring a suspect. Did you and Evie Preston get into it the other day?”

Kara said, “You think Jillian had something to do with the murder?”

Lydia glared at Kara. “I’m asking the questions here.”

Ritaestelle said, “I understand your desire to do your job, Assistant Coroner Monk. My, that is a mouthful. Anyway, I believe I have asked and answered every question more than once prior to now. Surely you can consult with your fellow law enforcement professionals. I am very tired and I do not believe I could offer you any coherent answers at this time.”

Lydia leaned forward. “Are you aware that I have to get documents ready and issue a death certificate?”

“Oh my.” Ritaestelle lifted a hand to her lips. “I had not considered that. Of course you do. I want to help, but you seem so . . . angry with these kind women for some reason. May I assure you that they have done nothing wrong.”

I walked around Lydia’s chair and over to the couch. I sat next to Merlot, who lifted his head and croaked a meow before resuming his nap. Guess he was getting used to the crazy lady coming to call.

But I could see that Lydia had gotten to Ritaestelle. She now looked exhausted—probably because no one ever gets to sleep in the hospital and no one can take very much of Lydia without getting tired.

Lydia said, “I am aware you have an upstanding reputation, Miss Longworth, but I need answers. You say Miss Preston followed you here. Why would she do that?”

“I have no earthly idea,” Ritaestelle said. “That seems to be the biggest question—that and who followed her following me? It is all very confounding. My fear is that Evie had something to do with the events of the past few months, that perhaps she was in cahoots with someone at my home to make me look foolish.”

“Like who?” Lydia asked.

Kara looked at Ritaestelle with interest. Lydia seemed to be on point for once, and both Kara and I wanted to hear the answer.

“I do not know that either, but someone in my house was drugging me. Evie could have been part of that. Or she could have seen me leave and followed to protect me. Do you not agree that is what needs to be sorted out?”

“Oh, I do. Did you hit that young woman with something? Did her tailing you make you that mad?” Lydia said. Though she’d at least been polite to Ritaestelle up until now, that seemed to be over.

“I—I tried to help her as best I could. Why, if not for those voices I heard, and the cats escaping, poor Evie might have lain on that dock all night,” Ritaestelle said.

“What voices?” Kara said.

Lydia offered Kara a withering glance before saying, “What voices? The ones in your head?”

“No. Outside. I was not hallucinating, despite what people may think,” Ritaestelle said. “I do believe I heard an argument. That part is hazy, I am sorry to say.”

“Convenient.” Lydia looked at her watch. “My time is up here. I have an appointment with Miss Preston’s mother. There will be an autopsy, which she is resisting. But we have no choice.”

“Will you tell Evie’s mother that I send my sincere condolences?” Ritaestelle said.

“Do I look like a mail carrier? That’s not my job.” Lydia rose and waved me off when I started to accompany her to the foyer.

The slam of the door that came with her departure sent Merlot running for cover.