The Cat, the Lady and the Liar

Nineteen

After Lydia’s not unexpectedly dramatic departure, Kara, Ritaestelle and I remained still and silent for several seconds.

Finally Ritaestelle said, “Might I use your telephone?”

I pulled my cell from my pocket and held it out.

Ritaestelle shook her head. “I am quite uncomfortable with cellular telephones. Do you have a real one?”

“Real one.” That was an interesting way to put it.

“I’ll get the landline.” Kara rose and went into the kitchen.

“I almost feel like I should apologize for Lydia. I see that she’s upset you,” I said. “But I have to admit, I’m not fond of her myself.”

“She is quite blunt, but that is not what I would call a bad thing, in this case. I should have already called Evie’s mother. In that tapestry bag that my cousin carried inside you’ll find a small address book. Would you mind fetching that for me?”

A minute later, Ritaestelle was speaking with Evie’s mother and saying how sorry she was that Evie had died so tragically.

Meanwhile, I put away the leftover cheese and crackers and Kara washed the cheese board and knife. Isis appeared at my feet after I closed the pantry door and began to mew repetitively—tiny little meows intended to inform me of something.

“Are you hungry?” I said.

Apparently not, because she trotted off toward the living room, fluffy tail high. Did she want to play? But then I tuned in to Ritaestelle’s voice.

She was pleading with Evie’s mother, saying, “Please give that coroner woman your consent, Loretta. Otherwise they will involve the county authorities and drag this thing on and on. You need to lay poor Evie to rest, and that cannot happen quickly without your help.”

I walked quietly to the edge of the dining room table that separates kitchen and living room. Isis was rubbing against Ritaestelle’s shins and still meowing. I stepped closer and saw tears streaming down Ritaestelle’s face. Even so, her voice was supportive and kind as she again encouraged Mrs. Preston to cooperate with Lydia.

I could see why Ritaestelle had been so respected in her community. She was strong but kind; she’d probably been an adviser to many. The accusations dogging her lately must have hurt her deeply, just as her nephew’s words had stung me.

Even her little goddess Isis wanted to help—or get me to help. I went to the couch and sat next to Ritaestelle, taking her free hand in mine. I squeezed it and she looked at me, gratitude evident in her eyes.

Ritaestelle’s grip relaxed and she smiled. “I believe you are doing the right thing, Loretta. I can be reached at Miss Jillian Hart’s residence, so if you will call me—oh my, I do not even know the number.” She looked my way.

But before I could give her the number, Ritaestelle said, “Oh, you have it from the caller ID? Good. Such a fine invention when our memories are beginning to dim. Please call me when the visitation times are settled. You take care, Loretta.”

Ritaestelle took the phone away from her face and looked at it in confusion. I released her hand, took the receiver and ended the call.

“Thank you, my dear Jillian. And thank you for your kindness.”

Isis stared up at her mistress. Ritaestelle reached down and picked her up. “You were quite the noisy one while I was trying to speak.” She looked at me. “I would very much enjoy a nap about this time. Is that possible?”

“Certainly,” I said.

I helped her to her feet and led her down the hall to the guest room, grabbing her overnight bag on the way. Isis stayed with her on the bed as I closed the bedroom door.

Back in the kitchen, Kara was rummaging through my freezer. “Do you have anything for supper? Or should I pick something up?”

“There’s a chicken in the fridge. But I have no idea what I should do with it. My brain has quit on me,” I said.

“You do look tired,” Kara said. “And a little sad. Is something bothering you?”

Was I that transparent? Because my brain hadn’t really quit. It was simply filled once again with Farley’s ridiculous accusations. “I’ll be fine once this murderer is caught. Plus I am a little worried because I’m so behind on Christmas orders.”

“It’s only the end of July,” Kara said.

“Custom cat quilt orders have been pouring in—especially after your article about the cats we rescued from that professor was syndicated,” I said. “And there are the hundreds of e-mails from people who think I can solve their pet troubles.”

Kara smiled. “Which you can’t. Let me worry about dinner, and you take some time to yourself.”

“I don’t want to bother you with—”

“Please. Let someone take care of you for a change.” Kara extended her arm toward the foyer. “Go. Quilt. Nap. Soak in the tub. Do whatever you need to feel better.”

I chose quilting. Nothing is more relaxing. My three cats joined me. Chablis settled in my lap as I sat down in the comfy armchair in my quilting room. I picked up the small quilt I’d been working on—the appliquéd one for Kara. Then I remembered that the buttons for this project had been scattered everywhere—some of them in this very room. I’d collect them later. Instead, I switched to quilting on a custom order as Merlot and Syrah continued the button game. Yup, they were still finding buttons I didn’t even remember being in that box. One day they would tire of this, but for now, they were having fun.

The rhythm of the work settled me, and I began to think about the poor victim. Had my visit with Evie Preston somehow put her in danger? And if so, why? Then it dawned on me that I had forgotten the why that began my involvement. What was Ritaestelle’s cat doing so far from home? Did Isis ending up near that highway figure into Evie’s death in some way? That might not be of interest to Candace or Mike, but I wanted to know.

The smell of chicken and herbs filled the hall when I emerged from my little retreat at about seven that evening. The cats ran straight to the kitchen, and I wanted to run myself, the smells were so wonderful. But the doorbell sounded and stopped me as I entered the foyer. I checked the peephole and saw Tom.

After I let him inside, he said, “I smell something that had my mouth watering the minute I got out of the car.”

“That’s Kara’s doing. Let’s see what she’s up to.”

Tom put his arm around my shoulder as we walked toward the kitchen, but Kara was sitting in the living room working on her laptop.

“Hey, Tom. Hope you can stay for dinner,” she said. “Apparently Jillian likes to buy chickens as big as turkeys.”

“You do not have to ask me twice. Working on a story for tomorrow?” he asked.

“Yes. This morning’s edition sold better than any Mercy Messenger in two years, even if the murder was already a day old.” She closed her laptop and set it on the floor beside the recliner. “Unfortunately, tomorrow’s story will have little new information. And before you say anything, I did not mention Ritaestelle is staying in Mercy.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I don’t want people calling me and asking me questions. Some folks might accuse me of harboring a criminal.”

Tom said, “I met with three potential clients today, and two of them knew. I’ll bet most of the town already knows she’s staying here.”

Kara’s lips pursed as she nodded in agreement. “I figured as much. I have never seen news travel as fast as in this little town.”

“Where is your houseguest?” Tom asked.

“Napping,” I said.

Tom glanced back toward the hallway. He whispered, “Got the dirt on the nephew.”

Just the mention of Farley Longworth made my stomach clench.

He went on, saying, “In fact, an unnamed source—that’s for your benefit, Kara—told me plenty about the money problems that all those relatives living with Ritaestelle seem to have.”

Kara leaned back against the recliner cushions. Chablis appeared from behind the sofa and jumped into her lap. “Go on. This should be interesting.” She began stroking my cat.

I figured I’d learned plenty about Farley Longworth already and wanted to know nothing more. “Do we have to talk about this right now?”

“With Ritaestelle asleep, this is the perfect time,” Kara said.

Tom took my hand and led me to the couch, but when he sat down, I remained standing.

“Maybe there’s something I can do to help with supper?” I looked at Kara.

Tom tugged at my hand. “This guy upset you when he called here, and—”

“He called you?” Kara said.

“Yes, but it’s no big deal,” I said. “Maybe he was upset about Evie’s death and decided to take it out on me. Now, what can I do in the kitchen?”

“Nothing. Everything but the chicken is ready, and that will take another thirty minutes,” Kara said. “What did this guy say to you?”

I reluctantly sat next to Tom and said, “He accused me of trying to extort money for the return of Ritaestelle’s cat. Ridiculous, huh?”

“Ridiculous, yes. What a jerk,” Kara said. “What else did you find out, Tom?”

“I got plenty of info about the rest of that Longworth clan, the hired help and that Desmond character. He’s a real loser.” Tom said. “So is Farley, and everyone in Woodcrest knows it. Flunked out of college twice. Has two DUIs that I uncovered—but who knows how much stuff his father ‘took care of’ before dying in a hunting accident. Farley’s mother, Justine, continued to live at the estate, and he eventually joined her after a stint in rehab. See, Farley’s father left his share of the Longworth money to his sister, Ritaestelle—not to his wife and kid. They are a ‘feckless pair,’ as my source said. Feckless. Hadn’t heard that one since I finished high school required reading.”

I wasn’t surprised by any of this, but it didn’t make me feel better. What Farley had said about people talking behind my back, his inferring that I’d killed my husband, still bothered the heck out of me. This must be how Ritaestelle felt, too. Those implications that she was losing her faculties, that she’d become a shoplifter despite being wealthy, must have been so hurtful. But what if she wasn’t wealthy at all? What if that’s why she was stealing things from the drugstore? I looked at Tom. “Did you find out anything about Ritaestelle’s finances?”

“You bet I did,” he said. “You can’t investigate the relatives of old money without learning how much old money there is. Ritaestelle is rich enough to own a controlling interest in South Carolina if she wanted. I’d say that’s millions and millions of reasons to want her dead rather than Evie.”

“Yes, that’s something I’ve been contemplating,” came Ritaestelle’s voice from the foyer. She limped toward us. “I should have been the one to die out on that dock.”

My cheeks felt hot with embarrassment. We’d been talking behind her back—doing exactly what bothered me so much about what Farley had said was going on concerning me.

I went over to help her into the living room. Isis trailed behind as I led Ritaestelle to the couch, saying, “Tom is a private investigator, and since I had a call from Farley, Tom decided to see why he seemed so . . . so upset when he phoned.”

Ritaestelle sighed heavily as she sat on the couch. “First, in my opinion, ‘unpleasant’ better describes his behavior than ‘upset.’ What did Farley want? Because he always wants something.”

“He seemed bothered that you were staying here rather than at home.” I was trying to sugarcoat this, I knew. The poor woman had enough on her mind.

“And,” Kara added, “Farley’s got some crazy notion that Jillian wanted money for your cat’s return.”

“What?” Ritaestelle gripped her left fingers with her right hand so tightly her knuckles whitened. “I must speak with that man. For now, all I can do is apologize for his behavior. I am quite familiar with apologizing for Farley.”

“I never did get to tell you about why I came to your house,” I said. “Shawn Cuddahee sent me to check you out. He wanted to know if it was safe to return Isis to your home.”

At the mention of her name, Isis jumped on the coffee table. Ritaestelle held out her arms, and the cat leaped onto her lap. “That was the tipping point, was it not? Your arrival at the estate to check on me?”

“What do you mean?” Kara said, sounding curious.

“I had been accused of stealing, been drugged, but you, Jillian, caring only about this precious black cat, brought it all to light. You came thinking you would find an addled old woman. Instead, you saw me lying on the floor. You knew something was very wrong.”

I nodded. “True. But that doesn’t explain how Isis escaped in the first place.”

“Indeed, that is a mystery in and of itself,” she replied. “My sweet girl here has great disdain for the outdoors. I once bought her one of those catios—you know, a screened building that can allow your cat to be outside but still not wander off?”

“Catios?” Tom said. “You have got to be kidding.”

I smiled at him. “I’ve seen them advertised at cat shows. You would not believe the things people will buy for their cats—like special little quilts.”

He looked flustered. “I didn’t mean what you do is anything but great. Dashiell loves his quilt.”

“You have a cat, Mr. Stewart?” Ritaestelle said.

“He does,” Kara said. “And I have two kittens. But tell us about the day Isis disappeared. This might make a good story.”

“I would be happy to,” she said. “The police do not seem the least bit interested in that event, so perhaps a little publicity would not hurt. I consider that a seminal moment. My tormenter, whoever it is, took things to the intolerable level with that dirty trick. First, though, I smell something wonderful, so perhaps we could chat over dinner?”