The Cat, the Lady and the Liar

by Leann Sweeney

  “You’re his little princess and lead on the case, so why not?” Morris picked up about ten fries and shoved them in his mouth.

  I started when Syrah suddenly jumped in my lap. He stretched his neck toward my burger, his nose twitching. I pulled off a small piece of meat and set it on the floor by my chair. He jumped down, but not fast enough. Isis came from out of nowhere and gobbled up the morsel.

  Syrah swatted her on the nose for this infringement. But she didn’t run off like Merlot or Chablis would have done. She just sat and stared into his eyes.

  Oh boy. Candace and Kara first, then Candace and Morris, and now this. I needed some peace and quiet before I went to the hospital to pick up Ritaestelle.

  As we waited for Mike to show up with the keys to the car, Candace passed her time wandering down by the lake, probably hoping to find any additional bit of evidence after once again complaining about outdoor crime scenes. Calls for new security systems started coming in to Tom just as we’d finished eating—probably because of the murder. He and Kara left for a consultation soon after. She still worked for him part-time installing systems and handling contracts. I finally had a few minutes to myself and settled on the couch along with the cats.

  Isis soon discovered that Merlot was too big to bully. He gently nudged her away when she tried to take his spot next to me. Syrah was above me on the couch cushions, and Chablis sat in my lap. Isis weaved in and out of the coffee table legs before deciding that her place for now had to be the other end of the couch—a good three feet away from Merlot. With size comes intimidation. That was for sure.

  I leaned back, feeling tired enough to fall asleep, but my cell phone rang. I took it from my pocket, and before I could say hello, a male voice said, “Why is my aunt staying with you? She needs to come home to her family.”

  “Um, is this Farley?” I said.

  “You bet it is. Farley Longworth the Fourth. What is going on between you and Aunt Rita? Are you after her money?”

  What in the heck was this guy talking about? That should have been my first question, but instead I said, “How did you get my phone number?”

  “I have connections. Lots of connections. Now, answer my question,” he said.

  “I don’t have to tell you anything, Farley,” I said as kindly as I could. “Your aunt is capable of making her own decisions, and that’s all you need to know.”

  He said, “I don’t think she should be staying with someone like you.”

  “What do you mean?” I said, not appreciating his arrogant attitude.

  “You come to South Carolina, build a big house, and wham, suddenly your husband’s dead and the property’s all yours, free and clear. I checked, you see. No mortgage. That makes it quite the easy life for you. You have to know there’s talk that you actually killed your husband. They just couldn’t prove it.”

  I was too stunned to speak. Too hurt to even think of a reply to this horrible accusation.

  Farley was more than willing to fill the silence. “Did Evie figure out why you came knocking on our door the other day? That you planned to extort money out of my aunt for the return of her cat?”

  “What?” was all I could manage.

  “Did Evie confront you about this cat business, so you killed her?” Snide didn’t begin to describe his tone.

  I closed my eyes and took a calming breath. Discussing any of this with him would be fruitless. I disconnected—and realized that tears were streaming down my cheeks. The thought that anyone—even one person—suspected I could have harmed John made me feel like a hole had been seared through my heart. Grief washed over me, almost as intense as on the day he died.

  I felt Syrah’s paw on my shoulder, then his face close to mine.

  What an awful man, I thought, reaching back to scratch Syrah’s head. And who could I talk to about this? Who could possibly understand how wounded I felt? I wasn’t even sure if Kara would identify with these emotions.

  As my heartbeat slowed and the tears dried, I thought more about the other things Farley Longworth had said and what he had not said. Did he know that Ritaestelle expected him to get his act together? Was that why he felt I was some sort of threat to any future money he hoped to inherit?

  Seemed like I’d landed smack in the middle of a family feud. And now I was about to pick up the person at the center of all this. Maybe Candace was right. Asking Ritaestelle to stay with me might have been a huge mistake.

  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 o
f 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.