The Cat, the Lady and the Liar

Twenty-Four

As soon as I hung up with Tom, I speed-dialed Kara with a shaky hand. I couldn’t leave Ritaestelle alone, but I had to get to that hospital. I was hoping she’d come over and stay with my houseguest.

When she answered, she said, “I was just about to call you. I’m on my way to the hospital. They found Candace lying unconscious in our apartment parking lot.”

“Tom told me. Do you know how badly she’s hurt?” My mouth was so dry it was difficult to get the words out. My three friends, realizing I was upset, gathered close. Merlot sat next to me, ears pricked, Syrah was at my feet staring up at me and Chablis had jumped into my lap.

“I don’t know anything about Candace’s condition,” Kara said. “By the time I got out to the parking lot, the ambulance had already left. The deputies weren’t about to tell the newspaper snoop anything about one of their own—even when I said I was off the record and asking as a friend.”

“You didn’t hear anything that went on outside beforehand?” I said.

“I was in the shower, and when I got out, the police scanner was squawking about an ambulance needing a police escort. I got dressed, saw all the flashing lights through my window, and you know the rest.”

“Tom’s picking me up. I was hoping you could stay here with Ritaestelle, but of course Candace is your friend, too. What should I do?”

“Arm the security system and tell the woman to stay put. She is an adult, Jillian.”

“But—”

“Do you believe Ritaestelle is next on this hit man’s list?” Kara said.

“Maybe. I’m too upset to think straight.” Syrah meowed and pawed at my knee. Tears stung my eyes, but I fought them back.

“This whole nasty business is swirling around Ritaestelle. Makes sense she might need protection after what’s just happened. But any Mercy cop who’s free will be at the hospital,” she said. “Maybe Chief Shelton can whip on over and guard your house.”

“That could take a good thirty minutes. Tom will be here any minute to pick me up, and I don’t feel right leaving her alone, but—”

“Leave,” came a voice from the foyer. Ritaestelle was standing there in her robe, Isis in her arms. “Obviously you need to be somewhere right now.”

Kara said, “I heard what she said. Listen to her. Meanwhile, I’m pulling into the hospital lot. Bye.” She disconnected.

I looked at Ritaestelle. “Candace has been attacked. Hit over the head. She’s in the hospital and—”

“You need to be at your friend’s side. I promise you I will be fine. I will not open any doors or peer out any windows if I should hear anything outside,” she said.

I hesitated, but I had to be with Candace. “Let me show you how to set the alarm. Engage it right after I leave, okay?”

“Thank you. Perhaps you could write down your cellular phone number for me?” She stroked Isis and smiled sadly. “Terrible things have happened, and I feel responsible. I should have never come here.”

“Don’t say that.” I lifted Chablis off my lap, set her on the floor and stood. “Tom and I and every person on the police force will work as hard as we can to find the truth. If you hadn’t come here, you might be dead now.”

“I might indeed. But I would gladly exchange my life for Evie’s or for your friend’s at this juncture.”

“This is not your fault.” I gestured toward the kitchen. “Come on. Let me show you how to engage the system.”

After I was sure she knew what she was doing, I told her that I would be checking my cat cameras often, so she would have another level of security.

Before I left with Tom, she said, “Please call me when you have news about Deputy Carson to share. I will be praying for her.”

When a police officer goes down, the response from the community, fellow officers, fire and rescue teams, paramedics, local politicians and of course the media is almost overwhelming. So many people were at the hospital awaiting word on Candace’s condition that all her visitors were directed to the outpatient surgery waiting room—even Nancy Shelton. Good choice for a gathering place since no one was having elective surgery this late at night.

Tom and I headed straight for Mike Baca. He was pacing behind a vinyl sofa at the far end of the room.

“Tell me she’ll be okay.” I said when we reached him.

Mike’s face was drained of color. “She’s been taken from the emergency room to ICU. There was a lot of blood and she was unconscious the entire ride in the ambulance.”

“Blow to the head, we heard,” Tom said.

“Back of the skull, so she might not have even seen her attacker.” Mike focused on the floor and shook his head. “I should have handled this case myself.”

“Don’t go blaming yourself, Chief,” came a voice behind us. It was Morris. His red-rimmed eyes betrayed how upset he was. “We’re gonna find this coward and take him down—take him down hard.”

Seeing how emotional these two strong men were brought out a part of me I usually reserved for my cats. They needed a few comforting words. “Candace is tough. She’ll be good as new. I feel it.” But I didn’t truly feel it. All I felt was sick and scared and anxious.

Tom ran a hand through his hair, and though he’d been calm and reassuring in the car, he wasn’t that way now. “Are there any leads? Like, how many of those bozos that live with Ritaestelle have an alibi?” He held up a hand before Mike could say anything. “Stupid question. You couldn’t have gotten that information yet.”

“I have a deputy canvassing Candy’s apartment complex,” Mike said, “but from the reports I’ve been getting so far, no one saw or heard anything. Her gun was still in her holster and her car was where she’d parked it. Nothing amiss.”

I cringed hearing him call her Candy. She would hate that.

“This wasn’t a random mugging if nothing was taken,” Tom said. “My bet is someone got nervous after Candace interviewed them and decided to take action.”

“She reinterviewed Ritaestelle this afternoon,” I said. “Candace planned to give Kara a story hinting that Ritaestelle might no longer be the main suspect in Evie’s death. She hoped to draw some other suspect out of the woodwork. Could that be why she was attacked?”

“That fits,” Mike said. “Candy has been researching something called a forensic interview. She says that interviewing while paying attention to demeanor is almost as good as tangible evidence. That’s why she came to reinterview Ritaestelle. What she saw, as well as what she heard, probably made her doubt Ritaestelle’s guilt. Getting out the word that Ritaestelle wasn’t the only suspect would be important.”

“Did Candace talk to Kara to get these ‘hints’ out to the public after she left your house?” Tom asked me.

I glanced around the room looking for her. “I don’t know, but when I called Kara, she said she’d be here at the hospital.”

I caught Shelton’s eye then, and she made her way over to us. Meanwhile, I was reminded by this crowded room, these many people with concerned faces, that I knew nothing about Candace’s condition. That bothered the heck out of me. Was her mother with her? Was she awake? Was her injury so serious that she might die? No, I couldn’t think about that.

Shelton said, “Do you know anything?”

“No one’s given any of us a report,” Mike said. “I can only hope they’re too busy helping Candy so they don’t have time for us.”

“That’s a good way to look at it,” I said. Good enough that I felt like the tension that had grabbed hold of every muscle in my body seemed to ease a bit.

“She was your friend. This must be hard on you,” Shelton said.

“She is my friend,” I said.

Tom, Mike and Morris wandered in the direction of the vending machines, still talking about evidence and neighborhood canvasses and possible weapons. I felt even more relieved when they left. This wasn’t procedural for me; it was gut-wrenching, and it was all I could do to hold back the tears.

“I’m really sorry this happened,” Shelton said.

This was the person we’d spoken to in the park the day of the murder, not the hard, cold woman who had pulled me over. “I’m so worried.”

“She’s one of our own, so we’re all troubled, but your worry is different. More intense.” Shelton glanced at the array of sofas and chairs that filled the room. “Where’s Ritaestelle?”

“I had to leave her alone. And that’s bothering me, too. What if this person comes after her next?”

“Do you know of some specific reason they might do that?” Shelton had slipped back into cop role.

“Who knows what any of this is about? But she didn’t feel safe at home. That should tell you something.” Again, my anxiety made me sound curt.

Shelton checked her watch. “It’s late. I wouldn’t want to wake her, but I could park outside your house, make sure nothing happens to her. How’s that?”

“You’d do that?” I said.

“She and I are friends, even if I was stupid enough to have been suspicious of her in the last few months.”

I wanted to hug the woman. “Oh my gosh, I’d feel so much better if you’d do that.”

“I’ll leave right now,” she said.

Nancy Shelton, always in her blue suit with its shiny buttons and those comfortable-looking shoes, left. Why couldn’t Lydia take a clue from a professional? The thought of Lydia made me glance around, wondering if she was hanging around, too, but I didn’t see her—and I sure didn’t want to.

I checked the cat-cam feed on my cell phone and saw Ritaestelle sitting on the sofa. I noticed that she’d gotten dressed. Maybe she decided she wouldn’t be sleeping at all tonight, and in her world, I imagined that being awake meant being dressed. She was entertaining Syrah and Merlot with a feather toy while the other cats were batting buttons around.

Though I hated to disturb Ritaestelle, I didn’t want her to freak out if she heard a car outside. I didn’t see the telephone near her when I’d been checking on them, but she answered on the first ring, so she must have put it beside her.

“Jillian? Is that you?” she asked.

“Yes. I wanted—”

“How is Deputy Carson?” she asked. “I have been so concerned.”

“We don’t have any word on her condition yet. I’m calling because Chief Shelton decided to drive over and make sure you’re all right.”

“That is truly unnecessary, Jillian,” Ritaestelle said. “I have been scrutinized so much in the last few months, I must say being here alone feels safe.”

“She might not even come to the door, said she planned on parking outside to watch the house,” I said. “But since I saw you were awake when I peeked in on my cat cam, I wanted you to know she’d be hanging around.”

“That is very kind of you, and I did not mean to sound as if I were complaining,” Ritaestelle said. “You have been generous to a fault. Please call me back when you know anything about Deputy Carson. She is on my mind and in my prayers.”

We said good-bye, and I slipped my phone into my pocket. I still wondered where Kara was. But of course she knew Candace’s mother since Candace’s mom was always dropping by the apartment building. Those two could be together.

I didn’t see any reason why I had to wait here, clueless. No. I had to find them. So I left the waiting room and followed the signs to the ICU. Sure enough, they were sitting in the padded chairs that lined the wall across from the ICU doors. A desk between the doors and the visitors seemed almost like a blockade. A woman wearing scrubs sat at the desk focused on a computer monitor.

This is where I should have come to begin with—but like a good girl, I had to follow directions and go to that other place.

When Candace’s mother saw me, she stood and hurried to embrace me. Soon my shoulder was wet with her tears. “Why did this happen, Jillian? And why did she ever think she could do such a dangerous job?”

I hugged Belinda Carson tightly and said, “Can you imagine her doing anything else?”

Belinda pulled away and dabbed beneath her eyes with a crumpled tissue. “No. You’re right. But if I lose her . . .”

Again I said, “Candace is tough. She’ll come through this just fine. They’ve told you she’ll be all right, haven’t they?” This had to be true. It had to be.

“They haven’t told us anything, Jillian, and I am getting so upset waiting here, and—”

Kara said, “Why don’t you stay off your feet, Belinda? This might be a long night.” She put her hands on Belinda’s upper arms and guided her back to her chair.

A large brown paper sack sat on the floor, and Belinda looked at it. “That’s her uniform. There’s blood on it. Her poor head was bleeding so much.”

I gripped her hand, and Kara put her arm around Belinda’s shoulders. We all sat in a row, silent except for Belinda’s small hiccuping sobs.

Finally she seemed to gather herself. “Candace would be so angry with me for crying like a baby. But she’s not a mother, and—”

“She wouldn’t be angry,” I said. “I’ll bet she’s in there right now telling them they need to make sure you’re all right.”

“I saw her in the emergency room,” Belinda said softly. “She was so still, and her beautiful hair was all matted with blood, and they said they’d have to shave some of it away to stitch up the gash, and—”

“Shh.” I squeezed her cold hand tighter. “Everything will—”

A balding man came out through the ICU doors and said, “Mrs. Carson?”

Belinda stood. “That’s me. How is my girl? Will she be all right?”

The man walked over and introduced himself as Dr. Patrick, a neurologist. He then said, “Your daughter woke up about five minutes ago. She is hungry and thirsty and quite irritable.” He smiled. “Those are all good signs.”

Belinda’s knees buckled, and it was a good thing Kara and I were on either side to catch her or the ICU might have had another patient.

“Can we see her?” Belinda said.

“Sure.” He looked at Kara and then at me. “But are these ladies relatives?”

“As good as family. Why do you ask?”

“I want her visitors limited to family, but if she has these two sisters, well, I see no problem.” Dr. Patrick winked. “Do you mind if we discuss your daughter’s condition with them present?”

“I do not mind in the least. They might have to explain everything to me later, the state I’m in.” Belinda smiled for the first time. Candace’s smile. It tugged at my heart.

Dr. Patrick said, “Before you visit her—and family can come in one at a time on the half hour—we’re going to give Candace a mild sedative. She’s being quite, um . . . animated right now, but since she has a grade-three concussion, she needs rest. Encourage her to stay calm. We’ll be observing her for any signs of bleeding in the brain for the next twenty-four hours. I have to say, you daughter has one hard head. No fractured skull. She does have twenty-three stitches, though.”

“Twenty-three? Oh my word,” Belinda said.

“But you’re saying she’ll be okay? With this grade-three concussion? What does that mean, anyway?” I said.

Dr. Patrick looked at me. “Sorry. We do have to code injuries. Grade three simply means someone has lost consciousness for longer than, say, thirty minutes and thus the concussion is more severe. That doesn’t mean she won’t have a full recovery. But I also expect her to have mild neurological symptoms for the next few weeks. Short-term memory loss, the irritability we’re already seeing, headaches, trouble finding the right word for something. All of these symptoms should clear up with time.”

Belinda said, “You sound like a very competent doctor, so don’t take this the wrong way, but the ICU seems so . . . intimidating. Can I just take her home and—”

“Absolutely not,” Dr. Patrick said. “As I said, we’ll be taking more pictures of her brain to make sure there’s no slow bleeding in there. This is the safest place for her right now. We treat our peace officers with the special care they deserve.”

“Don’t forget she was attacked, Belinda,” Kara said. “As far as I know, they haven’t caught who did this. She needs to be here.”

“I know you’re right. It’s just that—” Belinda’s tears started again, and I put my arm around her shoulders.

“I will see you in the morning for an update, Mrs. Carson. Right now, I have to inform all the others waiting to hear about her condition,” the doctor said. I had the feeling that tears and this man did not mix, because he hurried off down the hall like a cat with its tail on fire.

While I waited with Belinda, who was told by the woman at the desk that it would be about thirty minutes before she could see Candace, Kara went back to where all the others were waiting. She might hear or learn something that she could add to the article I was sure would appear in tomorrow’s paper. The next half hour passed much more quickly thanks to the good news we’d heard. Belinda was soon her old chatty self and said that she told Candace not to give up her vacation because of a murder—that she wouldn’t have been in that parking lot if she’d listened. At last she was ushered into the ICU while I waited for her.

Belinda’s time with her daughter must have been great, because she wore a broad smile when she came back out through the double doors. “Candace is awake and cranky. That’s my girl,” she said.

“Does she remember what happened?” I asked.

“I didn’t ask. I’ll leave that to you. Right now, I need a Coca-Cola. Do you want one?” When I refused, she started off down the hall.

Meanwhile, Kara and Tom came by. Tom took a spot beside me, and Kara said she had to get her story to the paper as quickly as possible. She headed for the elevators after telling me to get word to Candace that she was glad she was awake and talking and probably giving the nurses hell.

I whispered to Tom how I was now officially Candace’s sister—and that meant I could I visit her. Belinda returned with her Coke, and the three of us waited together.

When I was allowed in for my five-minute visit with Candace, I signed a visitor sheet and went inside the ICU accompanied by the woman who sat at the desk. She pointed out Candace’s curtained-off area in the circular room.

I went to her bedside. Her eyes were closed, an IV dripped into a vein, and she had a blood pressure cuff around her upper arm. The machinery behind her bed beeped and displayed numbers and graphs. They made me so nervous; I tried to ignore them. How could patients rest with all this going on? But they were being well cared for, and that was all that mattered.

I sat and took a deep breath, exhaling quietly so as not to wake Candace up. I was content to sit by her side and watch her breathe. But her eyes fluttered open and widened when she saw me.

In a thick voice she said, “I thought you were Mom again and I had to pretend to be too drugged up to talk. Poor thing needs to chill. I’m fine as can be.”

“You got a new hairdo, I see.” I smiled and rested a hand over hers. It was so darn cold in here, and her fingers felt like ice.

“What did they do to my hair?” She started to lift her hand, but I stopped her.

“Check the mirror tomorrow and have a gasp. For now, you need to stay still if you want to get out of here.” I squeezed her frosty fingers.

“Listen, Jillian. I couldn’t ask my mother this because she’d give the guy in that next bed another heart attack by freaking out, but what the hell happened to me?”

I smiled. “Someone bonked you on the head. Good thing you have concerned neighbors. One of them found you and called 911.”

“They catch the jerk?” Her eyes closed, and she almost seemed to be nodding off.

I now understood about the five-minute visiting regulation.

“Not yet. But we will.” To myself, I added, If it’s the last thing any of us do.

Candace laughed the sarcastic laugh I was familiar with. “ ‘Officer down. Officer down.’ I can hear those words spewing out on radios all over the place. What they should have been saying is ‘Idiot officer let someone get the jump on her.’ ”

“Hey, don’t get worked up over something you can do nothing about. You need to chill more than your mom right now. Can I do anything for you before my time is up? You want some of these yummy ice chips I see?”

“I asked for a steak, but that’s all they brought me. But there is something. My notes about the Longworths are in my RAV4—I think. Did I even get out of my car?”

“You must have, because they found you in the parking lot,” I said.

“Anyway, find the notes. Get my keys from the uniform they took off me. Mom says she has it in a bag from the emergency room.”

“You sure you don’t want Mike to take care of this?” I asked.

“No. You get them.” She grinned. “I went to that big old house and talked to the crazy family, but the details are fuzzy.”

“You remember where you were earlier in the day,” I said. “That’s a good sign.”

“I remember ole Chief Mike Baca making a fool of himself over Justine Longworth. She’s gotta be a whole lot older than him. Why does he always pick the wrong woman?”

“Candace, your notebook contains police business. I shouldn’t—”

“I’m with-it enough to know that the chief is gonna shut me down. So I want you to read them. My banged-up brain won’t let me remember.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “I hate that.”

“Your brain will be fine and you’ll solve this case. For now—”

“He’ll put me on stupid sick leave. But you can help me stay connected. You and Tom. Yeah. We should get Tom on the case.” She giggled. “Yup. All hands on deck.”

She’d obviously forgotten that Tom was already on the case. If Candace was in her right mind—and she sure wasn’t—she wouldn’t want me reading her notes.

Candace reached through the bars on the side of the bed and gripped my arm. “Bring me the book tomorrow and read it to me. You and Tom want to help old lady Longworth. You believed her when I didn’t. You should know what I know. Or what I don’t know. Or—Jeez, I sound stupid, don’t I?”

“Not at all. I’ll get your notes. I promise.”

But would I give them to Mike or bring them here?