The Cat, the Lady and the Liar

Twenty-One

The next morning, I awoke with Isis sitting on my chest staring at me. Must be time for breakfast. I checked the alarm clock and saw that it was eight—late for me—and realized I hadn’t stirred all night. I’d sure needed a good night’s sleep.

But why was Isis in my room and not with Ritaestelle? I got up, put on my cotton robe and slipped my feet into the handiest shoes—a pair of flip-flops.

My own cats were not in my room. Another mystery—as if I didn’t have enough of those.

Last night, after deciding she’d needed a private investigator to help clear her name, Ritaestelle had refused to speak about anything else to Candace. Candace had left, saying she was only trying to be as open as she could concerning the investigation. I had the feeling she was beginning to think Ritaestelle was innocent after all.

Still, I felt caught between Candace and Ritaestelle, between Kara and Candace, even between Isis and my own cats at times. Plus, I’d started out by agreeing to be the middle person between Shawn and Ritaestelle. Maybe hiring Tom was the best thing for Ritaestelle. Still, since she was obviously a suspect, I wondered why she wasn’t calling her lawyer rather than Tom.

I passed the guest room as I walked down the hall and saw that Ritaestelle’s door was open and her bed neatly made. She’s an early bird, I thought as I went out to the kitchen with Isis leading the way.

No Ritaestelle to be seen in the living room or in the kitchen. But my three cats were all sitting like little statues, their faces intent on the back door. My heart skipped. Was something wrong? Did Ritaestelle attempt another trip to the dock?

I shooed all the felines away from the back door and went outside. I saw Ritaestelle sitting in the wicker rocking chair staring out at the glassy lake. The morning sun spread its golden warmth across the water and gleamed on the backs of five ducks gliding their way to shore. There were times I wished I were an artist so I could capture this morning beauty, something I was treated to so often.

“Pretty, huh?” I said.

“Absolutely lovely. And so soothing,” Ritaestelle said, not taking her eyes off the lake.

Though the chair did have a floral cushion, I wondered how comfortable it was for someone with a bruised hip. “Can I get you a pillow? Wicker isn’t always friendly when you’re sore.”

She looked at me and smiled. “No, thank you, dear. I am feeling simply fine, good enough to take those ballroom lessons I always intended on doing. I do not suppose they offer those in prison.”

“You aren’t going to prison.” I dragged a lawn chair over next to her and sat. “Tom will make sure of that. But couldn’t you use a lawyer, too?”

“I am putting my faith in you and in Mr. Stewart, as well as the Lord. My brother may have been a lawyer, but he did not much care for his colleagues who specialized in criminal law. Said they were a different breed. The only lawyer I trust is our family attorney. He specializes in estates and trusts. I do not believe he would be much help in this situation.”

“I suppose not. But he, or even Tom might know someone—”

Ritaestelle held up a heavily veined hand. “If I need to go down that road, I will seek counsel. For now, as I said, you and Mr. Stewart will continue to be my guides through this terrible journey. That is, if you are willing to put up with me a bit longer.”

“Of course we are,” I said.

She looked at me for the first time since I’d come out on the deck. “Since I would like a visit with Belle, I took the liberty of calling Mr. Stewart and asking if he could meet us at her place of business. Would you very much mind driving me there?”

“Why Belle?” I asked.

“Because she was part of my family once,” Ritaestelle said, “and I was very preoccupied with my charities and the socializing involved at the time. Perhaps I was not as welcoming as I should have been to her cousin or to her. I want to apologize. She might also have a perspective on relatives who I saw in a different light back then, but who have for the most part been quite cold and uncaring in recent years.”

We arrived at Belle’s Beans about an hour later, and though I didn’t think Ritaestelle was ready for ballroom dancing, she did seem less hobbled by her injury.

Tom waved at us from one of the larger tables he’d nabbed in the far corner.

“What would you like?” I asked. “Coffee, latte, cappuccino?”

“I am quite fond of cappuccino. Does Belle take credit cards? Because I do not have a red cent with me,” Ritaestelle said.

“You can pay me back. Join Tom, and I’ll be right with you.” I literally put my hands on her shoulders and turned her in Tom’s direction before she could protest. See, I’d spotted a problem. Waiting in line was none other than Morris Ebeling, who I swore spent all his free time here. This ought to be fun.

I was hoping he would get his coffee, leave and not notice me—or Ritaestelle. But though Morris is cantankerous even on a good day, he is still a cop. He’s observant, and I could tell by his expression when he greeted me that he’d definitely seen us arrive.

“This where Tom is meeting with his new client?” Morris turned and said as soon as I stepped in line. “Last I knew, he had an office.”

Guess Candace had already filled him in. “I wanted coffee, so we agreed to meet here,” I said, sounding cheerful. I was hiding my guilt at withholding the other reason we were here—to see Belle. But my loyalty toward Ritaestelle, my belief in her, was making me do things that surprised me. Why? Was it because she reminded me of my dear, dear grandmother who had been Texas Southern, not Deep South Southern, but shared so many of Ritaestelle’s traits? I truly had no idea.

Morris pointed at me. “I know you, girl. From the look in your eyes, I’d say that ain’t the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. But I forgive you—mostly ’cause I know we’ll find out the reason soon enough.” He turned back and ordered his coffee and Danish from the fake Belle behind the counter.

I arrived at the table a few minutes later with a tray carrying our coffees, several pastries and two yogurt, fruit and granola cups. Though Tom had his large coffee in a to-go cup, I’d made sure ours was in china cups. Had Ritaestelle ever had anything to go in her life? I thought not.

The whispering and stares had already begun, but Tom and Ritaestelle seemed to be ignoring this, so I did the same. Really, what else could I do?

“Where’s Belle?” I said as I took a spoon to one of the yogurt cups.

“Said she’d be here in about fifteen minutes.” Tom reached for a raspberry and cream cheese Danish.

Ritaestelle, as I expected, chose the other yogurt.

“Miss Longworth and I were talking about exactly what she expects of me—actually of us, Jillian,” Tom said.

I stopped my spoon before it reached my mouth. “What does that mean?”

“These cousins aren’t likely to open up to me. From what Miss Longworth tells me, Muriel, in particular, isn’t exactly fond of men after what Belle’s cousin did to her. I was hoping you could help with them.” Tom bit into his Danish.

“What am I supposed to do?” I was about to put myself in the middle of Ritaestelle and her cousins. I felt like I was becoming the town go-between.

Tom finished chewing and then said, “Engage them. Get them to talk. You’re excellent at winning friends. In the meantime, I’ll deal with Farley and his mother, as well as Desmond Holloway.”

“Desmond?” Ritaestelle said. “What could he possibly have to do with this? The man is harmless.”

“Miss Longworth, with all due respect, you’ll have to let go of the reins if you expect me to do my job,” Tom said. “Desmond’s part of your life and needs investigating. I might also be able to wrangle information out of Nancy Shelton. I’ve been a cop. I know what buttons to push with her.”

“You may know, but I sure don’t, Tom.” I set the spoon down. I’d lost my appetite. “I’m no private investigator. Can’t Kara help you?”

“Kara? Think about that for a second,” Tom said.

“Oh. The Messenger. I get it,” I said. “But—”

“Listen, Jilly. Doing private eye work is about being charming, nice, and a little manipulative,” he said. “That’s the part you don’t like, and I know that. There’s also times when you have to be confrontational, but since that is way outside your comfort zone—like on another planet and in another lifetime—we’ll leave that to me.”

Ritaestelle was paying close attention to her yogurt and coffee. She probably felt as if she couldn’t ask me to do anything else for her. But as strange as that may seem, that was what sold me. Being needed was important to me. And she needed my help.

“I’ll do what I can,” I said. “But you’ll have to be very specific about what I’m supposed to do.”

Ritaestelle reached over and put a hand over mine. “Thank you, dear. You have no idea what this means to me.” Her eyes filled. “If only I had a family that included the likes of you two.”

I smiled at her. “It’s okay, Ritaestelle. We’ll get to the bottom of this.”

“The bottom of your cups, I hope,” came a familiar voice behind me. Belle had arrived. She smiled and nodded at all of us, and I was happy that she’d chosen pink lipstick. But the applying of said lipstick? That hadn’t changed except that today she’d spread a straight line across her upper lip.

“Why, Belle Lowry, you look amazing,” Ritaestelle said. “I must apologize to you for so many things, but why not start with how sorry I am that I did not keep in touch.”

Belle sidled over to Ritaestelle’s chair, put an arm around her and squeezed her close. “You do not have to apologize to me. I am so thrilled to see you enjoying a cup of my coffee.”

“I must say, this is the best cappuccino I have ever had—and this is from a woman who has enjoyed the same in Italy.” Ritaestelle held up her chocolate spoon. “But this cute little utensil? I don’t want to spoil it by stirring my coffee.”

Belle grabbed a chair from the table next to ours and sat. “I understand from Tom there’s trouble and that we need to clear things up. How can I help?”

Tom explained that we needed more information about the family from someone who might have a fresh perspective. “You pick up on the unspoken, Belle. You can read people. Tell us what you know from the days when your cousin was part of the family.”

Belle cast a glance at Ritaestelle. “This is a tad awkward.”

“Do not feel that way,” Ritaestelle said. “I have come to understand that something went quite wrong with my family a long time ago. I chose to pretend. I chose to look the other way. I can no longer do that.”

Belle cleared her throat. “You want to know what I saw? Or what my cousin told me?”

“Both,” Tom said.

“Guess we should start with my cousin Ronnie.” Belle looked at Tom. “He’s the one who married Muriel. Loved her, too. He never cared about the family money, but apparently Ritaestelle’s sister-in-law Justine accused him of just that. Said who else would marry Muriel if it wasn’t for her money?”

Oh boy. Why not get right to the heart of the matter, Belle? I thought. But if this bothered Ritaestelle, she didn’t let it show.

“Anyone else have issues with your cousin?” Tom asked.

Belle didn’t look at Ritaestelle when she said, “Ronnie was the one with the issues. He felt like Ritaestelle wouldn’t give him the time of day. Same thing with her brother, rest his soul.” She looked Ritaestelle straight in the eye. “He never felt part of the family. You were just too busy.”

Ritaestelle closed her eyes and nodded slowly. “I have come to contemplate that very issue. I reached out to the needy in the community when the neediest of all were right next to me every day.”

Belle’s already rosy cheeks turned a deeper shade. “Please don’t take what I’ve said the wrong way. You have done some fine things. Ronnie could have chosen another path. Sought guidance from our pastor. Seen a marriage counselor. Cheating on his wife? There’s no excuse for that. I told him as much, too.”

“What else did you observe about the family?” Tom asked.

Belle pondered the question for a few seconds. “I must say Augusta was always ready to tell it like it was. I appreciated that about her. But I also sensed some jealousy on her part. She was bothered that Muriel landed a husband and she hadn’t.”

“Did the cousins seem jealous of Ritaestelle?” I asked.

“You want my take, they were scared and jealous,” Belle said.

“Scared?” Ritaestelle sounded genuinely surprised.

“Scared you’d cut them off. You and your brother held the purse strings, plus those two did like to be in your company. Lord knows they weren’t the prettiest or most popular girls in school, were they?” Belle laughed, her gaze far off. “When you’re not pretty or popular, you tend to want to hang around those that are. And you and your brother were certainly the most popular pair in Woodcrest.”

“Probably because of the family name, not because of our personalities,” Ritaestelle said.

“Why, I never thought I’d hear you sell yourself short. You must feel very troubled,” Belle said.

“These past few months have worn me down, Belle,” Ritaestelle said. “My reputation as an honest woman has been tarnished. All I can say is, some person knew exactly how to get to me.”

“And had the access to do it,” Tom said. “That limits the possibilities. I know that you don’t want to go home, but can you call one of your cousins and ask that the people who live in the house be available for interviews?”

“I’ll telephone George. He will make sure you have access to anything you need,” Ritaestelle said.

“I forgot about the butler and the housekeeper. We’ll need to talk to them.” Tom looked at Belle. “Let’s get down to some real dirt, now. What have you heard?”

Belle’s lips twisted into a pucker as she bit the side her mouth. She glanced at Ritaestelle.

“Come on. This woman is tough. She can take it.” Tom lifted his cup and drained what was left of his coffee.

“People think you did it, Ritaestelle,” Belle said softly. “They say you killed Evie Preston because she wouldn’t cover up for your shoplifting anymore.”

“Do you believe that?” Ritaestelle said.

“No. And here’s why. If you put up with that bunch of freeloaders living with you, and you never murdered one of them, why in the heck would you kill a girl you’d only known for what? A year, tops? Doesn’t make sense.” Belle nodded. “And that’s the truth.”

Ritaestelle smiled. “I always did like you, Belle Lowry. Thank you for your honesty.”

“We’ve got to get answers,” I said. The thought of helping Tom no longer seemed quite so daunting. I could always count on Belle to say things that just plain made sense.