“What about your friend Desmond? If he knew about the earrings, could he have told others?” I said.
Ritaestelle narrowed her eyes in thought. “Perhaps. Desmond is quite the conversationalist. He will engage anyone about anything. But I have always assumed the most intense gossip began after a similar incident a week later. Evie was with me at the pharmacy, as you know. Her turn to be humiliated. She asked me if I had forgotten those items were in my bag.”
“What items?” Kara asked.
“Small things—nail polish, a few emery boards, perhaps a lipstick. But I was quick to notice that others in the store saw Evie point this out to me. The very next day Nancy paid me a visit and told me that several people had informed her that I might have a problem. She wanted details.”
Tom shook his head, apparently not buying this. “The police chief came to you about this piddly stuff?”
“She came as a concerned friend, not as an officer of the law,” Ritaestelle said. “Despite what went around town, I was never ‘let off the hook’ by her. Yes, that is what people said. A rich woman steals things and gets away with it. But I returned the earrings and never took anything from the pharmacy. Nancy wanted to make sure I was all right, even suggested I visit my physician.”
“Did you?” Kara said.
But before Ritaestelle could answer, there was the familiar sound of a knock at the back door.
Merlot stood, obviously anticipating that I would get up. “That’s Candace.”
“I smell supper,” she said once I let her in. After she came into the kitchen she, added, “And I see a party I wasn’t invited to.”
“I am so sorry. I should have thought to call you. Can I fix you a plate?” I said.
“I’m just giving you a hard time. But I am hungry.” She craned her neck, looking over the counter to see what was on the table.
“Hey there, Candace,” Kara said.
I noticed that Candace had a large manila envelope in one hand, and as she offered a “Hey there” back, she walked over to the built-in kitchen desk and set the envelope down.
Meanwhile, I got another plate from the cabinet above the dishwasher and silverware from the drawer.
Candace grabbed the plate and took off for the dining room table, saying, “My stomach thinks my throat has been cut.”
Ritaestelle laughed for the first time since we’d met. “Sounds like something a police officer would say.”
“How are you feeling, Miss Longworth?” Candace asked as she piled leftovers on her plate.
Guess it was a good thing I’d bought a chicken as large as a turkey after all.
“I am feeling quite well, thanks to the generous hospitality of Miss Jillian Hart,” Ritaestelle said. “I might have to adopt her.”
“She’s bighearted—that’s for sure.” Candace sat, and I handed her the knife and fork. She looked at Tom. “Did you move in when I wasn’t looking?”
Tom’s turn to laugh, but all this good humor from Candace had me thinking that she must have found something in the Cadillac—perhaps some piece of evidence that was now in that envelope she obviously didn’t want anyone to see.
While Candace dug in, Tom stood, checking his watch. “I have to go. All these new orders for security cameras and alarms have to be to my supplier by tomorrow.” He looked at me. “Walk me to the door?”
Once we were in the foyer, Tom took me in his arms. He whispered, “Tell Candace about Farley. After that phone call to you and what I learned about his less than stellar character, I don’t trust that guy.”
He kissed me good-bye, and as I rejoined the others, I felt guilty for kissing another man while my heart was once again heavy with grief. I could only keep telling myself that John would have wanted me to move on.
I put these thoughts aside when I realized that Kara and Candace were feuding again. These two were friends, even lived in the same apartment complex, yet here they were, sounding angry with each other—and not for the first time.
Kara was saying, “You can’t kick me out of my stepmother’s home.” She leaned back, arms folded across her chest. “I’m staying.”
“Then I’ll have to haul Miss Longworth down to the police station for questioning.” Candace took a large bite off her chicken leg and started chewing, never taking her eyes off Kara.
Kara raised an eyebrow. “That’s how you’re going to play this?”
As Candace finished chewing, Ritaestelle spoke up. “Kara, honey, I will be happy to share whatever it is Deputy Carson questions me about afterward, if you would like. I have no secrets. Can you abide by her request for now?”
Candace waved her chicken leg at Ritaestelle. “There you go. Problem solved.”
I didn’t say anything to Kara, but I implored her with my eyes and she finally relented. Her irritation seemed gone when she said, “I’m not allowed in a police interrogation room, and I suppose this is the equivalent for now.” She stood, smiling at Ritaestelle. “But I intend to take you up on that offer. I’ll be finishing up my work for tomorrow’s edition by midnight. Please call me.”
Time to walk Kara to the front door. I gave her a big hug, saying, “Thank you for making such a lovely dinner, and for being so nice about being kicked out. I’m sorry, though.”
She withdrew and gripped my upper arms. “The last thing I want is to stress you out. But make sure Ritaestelle calls me.”
I nodded and she left.
This time when I returned, Candace was clearing the table and Ritaestelle was standing at the sink, filling it with steaming, sudsy water.
“You need to be off your feet. This nurse’s orders.” I handed her a dish towel to dry her hands, gripped her elbow and led her into the living room.
“I can handle a few dirty dishes, Miss Jillian,” she said. “I sometimes help Hildie out at home after we have had guests. She is a stern woman unless she is in her kitchen. Then her personality simply brightens the world. I was hoping some of that might work for me tonight. And besides, you should not have to tidy up after me.”
“Please let me help you sit down. I’d feel terrible if you injured yourself again,” I said.
“She’s right,” Candace said, placing the last of the dirty dishes on the counter. She fetched the envelope from the desk.
“Candace came to talk to you,” I said. “I’ll handle kitchen duties while you two talk.”
Candace joined Ritaestelle.
Meanwhile, with the platter holding a chicken carcass nearby, I had four cats to please. I pulled off a mound of scraps and divided them on to four saucers. I set each dish down on the floor by the back door, giving each cat plenty of space. Isis wasn’t big on sharing, and I hoped to avoid a spat.
I used the full sink to soak the dishes. Everyone had filled their bellies, so there were no leftovers to put away. After I took out the trash, I joined Candace and Ritaestelle. While I’d been cleaning up, I’d tried hard not to listen to their conversation. But not listening was easier said than done. I’d heard, “Well, I never,” more than once from Ritaestelle.
The envelope and the pictures it had held were sitting on my coffee table. Ritaestelle’s face was ashen. I was instantly worried. She looked terrible. What if she had a heart condition I didn’t know about?
Ritaestelle looked up at me. “I can see that you are fretting about me, Miss Jillian. Calm yourself, dear. I will be fine once I understand all this better.” She turned to Candace. “If it is agreeable with you, I would like my friend to see these pictures.”
Candace gestured at them. “Sure. Have a look. We found these things in Miss Longworth’s car.”
I picked up the pictures. The first several were photos of the outside of the Cadillac. They were taken in a progression to show the seats and then the console that separated the front seats. The next picture showed the open console and revealed a Ziploc bag containing unopened cheap cosmetics, candy bars, a three-pack of Sharpie markers, and several pieces of turquoise jewelry with little price tag string
s. It was impossible to see everything. But the next shot had the contents laid out on a cloth. It looked like someone had been to the Dollar Store and made a killing. Oh. Bad word choice.
I glanced at Candace. “Wow.”
She in turn looked at Ritaestelle, who said, “I know nothing about any of these items.”
“Next pictures,” Candace said.
This photo was of the open glove box. A small red velvet box was visible. The next shot showed the box open and holding a diamond engagement ring. The stone was small and the setting looked less than modern.
“That belongs to my cousin Muriel,” Ritaestelle said. “How in the world did that—how did any of this—end up in my car?”
“Good question,” Candace said. “Seems we found only one print—beneath the glove box. I’ll be comparing it to yours, but I should have found dozens of prints, and I didn’t.”
“I am sure Muriel went into a hysterical episode once you showed this to her. I certainly do not blame her. She adored the man who gave her that ring.”
“She was a little upset when I asked her if she gave it to you,” Candace said.
“Muriel was married to Belle’s cousin once,” I said to Candace.
“Belle Lowry?” Candace said.
“Yes,” Ritaestelle said. “Of course, I assume living here in Mercy you both know Belle. How is the dear woman?”
“She’s fine. Everyone loves her coffee shop. But back to the matter at hand,” Candace said. “You’re certain you have no idea how these items ended up in your car?”
“This is more of the same, Deputy Carson. It has been going on for weeks. Have I not been forthright about everything?”
“You have, but it still doesn’t explain this,” Candace said.
“Someone must dislike me very much to do this sort of thing.” Ritaestelle shook her head, and though her color had returned, her eyes were filled with misery. “Someone in my family, I am assuming. Who else had access to my car?”
“I don’t know,” Candace said. “The absence of fingerprints is suspicious. Someone wiped it down.”
“You’ve decided there’s no evidence that Ritaestelle took those things?” I said.
“That’s right. Pardon me, Miss Longworth, but that doesn’t mean you didn’t. I just don’t have any proof. Tomorrow I’ll try to find out where these items came from.” Candace leveled a gaze at Ritaestelle. “Am I gonna find you on some security camera footage from a store stealing things, Miss Longworth?”
Ritaestelle’s lips tightened into a thin line. She hesitated before looking at me. “Your friend, Mr. Stewart? I understood someone to say he was private detective of sorts. Is that correct?”
“He is, but—”
“Could I impose on you to bring me your telephone, Miss Jillian?” Ritaestelle said. “I would like to hire Mr. Stewart. I want him to find evidence that will prove that I am telling the truth.”
“You understand I have to follow the evidence, don’t you, Miss Longworth?” Candace said.
“I completely understand. But I hope you understand that it is time I took action to protect myself from the lies some terrible person is trying to spread across the entire county.”
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.
The Cat, the Lady and the Liar acitm-3 Page 16