“Yes. Highly personal murder, I’d say,” Tom said. “Evie Preston followed Ritaestelle and was confronted by a killer. Sorry to say this, Ritaestelle, but you seem to have lived your life with blinders on. Now they’ve been ripped off, and you’re in big trouble. Still, I can’t rule out that Evie had some secrets herself. I’ll be checking on her, too.”
“Blinders,” Ritaestelle said, as if to herself. She looked at Tom. “That is a very insightful observation, Mr. Stewart.”
“Gaslighting,” I murmured.
“Ah, yes. That’s exactly what this sounds like.” Karen, sitting between me and Ed on the couch, patted my thigh. “I didn’t know you enjoyed the 1940s as much as I do.”
“Whatever are you talking about?” Ritaestelle said.
Tom glanced back and forth between Karen and me, looking lost.
“Gaslighting,” I said. “The term comes from an old movie. Karen, you probably know more about it than I do.”
“If I remember right,” she said, “in the film Gaslight, a woman is almost driven mad by her husband’s manipulations. One of the things he does is dim the gas lights in their home and then make her believe she’s imagining that they’ve been turned down.”
Tom nodded. “I get it. That’s like what the Manson family did when they broke into houses—that was before they got into more violent stuff. They would rearrange the furniture and steal nothing.”
“I’m not a cinema expert, nor do I know much about Charles Manson,” Ritaestelle said, “but, Karen, your explanation is such a relief. There is actually a word for what someone is trying to do to me.”
“We find the reason, we’ll get answers. Money seems the most likely motive. Someone drives you crazy, gets you declared incompetent and ends up in control of a fortune.” Tom looked at Ed. “By the way, did you know Ritaestelle’s brother, too?”
“Nope. He was older than us by—what? Five years?” He looked Ritaestelle’s way.
“That would be correct,” she answered. “You have a good memory, Edwin.”
Ed took a long swig of his lemonade, looking more embarrassed than I’d ever seen him.
The awkward silence was broken by a knock on the door.
Tom rose from the recliner he’d been sitting in. “I’ll get that.”
He let Desmond Holloway in, and the two shook hands. What the heck was he doing here?
But I remembered that sixth glass and understood then that he’d been invited.
After introductions he went straight to Ritaestelle, bent and kissed her lightly on the lips. “I came to help you, princess.”
The cramped living room and the late-morning air that whooshed in with Holloway made me feel so warm I gulped down half my glass of cucumber ice water.
Ed offered Desmond his spot on the sofa closest to Ritaestelle. Then he walked to the hall closet and brought out a folding chair. But Tom took the chair from him, set it up and told Ed to have the recliner. That was the spot I was most used to seeing Ed in, and for some reason the tension that had arrived with Holloway seemed to ease. But why did the man bother me?
He chatted on for several minutes about missing having coffee with Ritaestelle every morning, not talking to her on the phone, not sharing dinner a few times a week. I noticed that Ritaestelle seemed like a schoolgirl, hanging on his every word.
“You two have coffee every morning?” Tom asked.
He and I must think alike, because if they shared a drink every day, maybe the tea hadn’t been drugged. Perhaps it was the coffee. But what motive would he have to harm Ritaestelle?
Tom got straight to that. He looked at Ritaestelle, unsmiling. “You leaving anything in your will for this guy?”
“Thomas Lee Stewart,” Karen said. “You’re bordering on rude.”
“Mom, you may have grown up in the South and have all the same manners the Longworth bunch has, but I need to get to the bottom of this mess. If you think that’s rude, you can head for the kitchen or bedroom.”
“I don’t appreciate your tone,” Karen said. “And you shouldn’t tell your mother what to do in her own house. But I understand, and I forgive you.” She folded her hands in her lap and spoke to Ritaestelle. “I believe you should answer my son’s question.”
Ritaestelle cleared her throat. “Desmond and I are quite frank with each other. He is well aware that I will not be bequeathing anything to him.”
Tom looked at Holloway. “What about spending time together? When Ritaestelle was stumbling around her house in a stupor and her cat went missing, where were you?”
Wow. Tom sure didn’t like Holloway, and I wondered if he knew something he hadn’t shared with me.
Holloway’s ears were bright red even though he had a pasted-on smile. “We spoke on the phone. When she wasn’t feeling well, Ritaestelle didn’t want to see me.”
“That’s true, Mr. Stewart,” Ritaestelle said. “Besides, Desmond would never harm me.”
“Really?” Tom looked at Holloway. “Who else were you messing with when you were hanging out with Ritaestelle before you skipped town way back when? Word is, Augusta was on your list of conquests.”
This time Desmond’s entire face lit up with embarrassment. “I—I suppose Augusta told you that?”
“No, she didn’t,” Tom said.
“Who told you? And what else did they say?” Holloway was fidgeting with a diamond ring on his left pinkie, turning it around and around.
But before Tom could answer, Ritaestelle said, “Augusta, too? I knew about Nancy, and Charlotte, that girl who went on to sing in the opera, and even my friend Raye. I knew there were others, too. But Augusta? She is related to me, for heaven’s sake.”
Yup, Tom knew exactly where he’d been headed with this and wore a satisfied smile as Holloway fought to find the words to get out of the trouble he suddenly found himself in. The fact that he’d even been involved with Chief Shelton made me think this Desmond character went after anything in a skirt.
“She meant nothing to me, Ritaestelle,” Holloway finally said.
“You mean she did not have enough money. You discarded one paramour after another and kept returning to me because I was wealthy. I forgave you, though I knew your true colors, but this? I am sorry, but this is too much.” Her jaw tightened, and she looked at Tom. “Is there anything else about Desmond I should know?”
“I can give you a complete report later. He does get around—like all over the world with wealthy women,” Tom said.
Holloway rose. “I will allow you time to digest this information, but do be careful believing everything you hear. I care very much about you, Ritaestelle.”
Once he was gone, Ritaestelle glanced back and forth between Ed and Karen. “I must apologize for taking up your time with my problems—some of which I obviously knew nothing about.”
“You’re a good woman, Rita,” Ed said. “Don’t let nobody, even yourself, convince you of anything different.”
We talked a while longer, but I realized why Tom had brought these particular players together today. He wanted happiness for his mother, he wanted Ritaestelle to hear an unpleasant truth, but most of all, he wanted Ed to be at peace. Ritaestelle had hurt him once, but that was over. He’d found love again, a love with Karen that I knew would last. Yup, I had a new insight into Tom, one I liked very much.
Twenty-Three
We left fifteen minutes later and returned to my house for lunch. Ritaestelle said little during the drive, and she didn’t talk during our meal of salad and sandwiches. Once Tom left to begin his case file and set up interviews with Farley, his mother and others, Ritaestelle asked if I’d join her outside.
She seemed to be walking better, but I did take her elbow once we were out on the deck and helped her settle into the wicker rocker. The warm breeze began playing with her silver hair. I remembered that red Velcro roller in her bangs when she came to my door what seemed like a century ago. Her hair had gone flat and wispy in the last couple of days, but that seemed to be the l
ast thing on her mind. She rocked and stared out at the water, seemingly lost in thought.
I sat next to her in the lawn chair. I usually sat at the glass patio table behind us in one of the wrought-iron armchairs. I’d read or stitch and listen to the water lapping and the birds singing. But for now I wanted to be close to my new friend.
After about five minutes of silence, I mustered enough courage to ask Ritaestelle about Desmond Holloway. Since I had the feeling the meeting with him was what had brought her outside to think, she might need to talk about him—get that bad taste out of her mouth.
“From what I understood today, you were willing to forgive Desmond’s other indiscretions, but not when it came to Augusta. Tell me about that,” I said.
Ritaestelle’s rocking tempo picked up when I posed this question.
“I thought he was being completely honest,” she said. “I believed him when he told me he had revealed everything about all his lady friends. That was the condition I’d set for me to allow him back into my life—that he tell the truth. Now I know that not only did he lie by omission, but Augusta did, too. I feel like a fool.”
“You knew about your friend Nancy, though?” I said.
“That was aeons ago. She cannot stand the man now. She, too, realized that he was not to be trusted. But unlike me, she gave up on him, while I welcomed him back with open arms. I suppose that her being a police officer helped her see him for what he was. She warned me when he returned to Woodcrest that he was a deceiver, but did I listen?”
I could picture Nancy Shelton giving him a big piece of her mind when she found out he was a cheater. She might have even broken a few of his fingers. “Are you finished with Desmond now?”
“Most definitely. My relationship with Augusta is what concerns me. I certainly need to discuss her betrayal—though I would never toss her out the door. She is family and a most devoted soul, despite what might have gone on with her and Desmond.” Ritaestelle’s rocking slowed.
“Um, I may be out of line, but why are all these people living with you?” I asked.
Ritaestelle looked over at me. “You are not out of line. I have asked myself the same question, especially in the last few days. I am what you might call a soft touch when it comes to them. Whatever would they do without me?”
“They might have to fend for themselves,” I said. “The question is, would that be a bad thing?”
I didn’t get an answer because Candace came around the side of the house and said, “Hey there.”
I stood, and after she climbed the deck steps, she nodded at Ritaestelle and said, “Afternoon, Miss Longworth.”
“You look quite tired, Deputy Carson,” she said. “Perhaps it’s the heat? Seems quite warm to be wearing that dark green uniform.”
“You get used to it,” Candace said. “I have a few questions. I’ve just come from the initial interviews with your family and staff. Going back for the search of your house. It may sound like more of the same stuff, but I’ve found that after a few days, certain things someone witnessed become clearer.”
“Please ask whatever you want. And may I take this moment to say that I am sincerely sorry I have caused so many problems,” Ritaestelle said.
Candace dragged a chair over from the patio table and set it between Ritaetelle and myself, with her back to the lake so she could see us both at once. “Before I start with the questions, you should know the autopsy is complete and Evie has been released to her family.”
“Bless her heart,” Ritaestelle said. “Bless her poor mother’s heart, too.”
“What was the cause of death?” I said.
“We don’t have the official word, but the blow to head’s what killed her. Probably something round and irregular, the doctor said. Like a rock. Miss Longworth, I’m hoping you’ve recovered your memory enough to recall more details about what you had in your hand when Jillian found you out on her dock.”
Ritaestelle closed her eyes. “I have indeed given this some thought, Deputy Carson. Events do seem clearer now. I remember that before poor Evie tumbled into the water, I tried to catch her. That’s when my knee hit an object.” She lifted up her cotton pant leg and revealed a purple bruise.
I winced.
“It’s nothing, dear,” Ritaestelle said. “Not until precious Chablis joined me on the dock and I nearly tripped over whatever it was did I pick the rock up. I swooped the kitty up at the same time, very afraid she would end up in the lake as well. I was so frightened, I suppose my mind went blank.”
“Did the rock feel wet or sticky?” Candace said.
“Since my hands were already sticky from what I later learned was Evie’s blood, I cannot be sure.” Ritaestelle squeezed her eyes shut. “What a horrible way for that girl to die.”
“Sure was. There’s something else I wanted to go over with you again. You told me you were drawn to Jillian’s back door by voices. The other night that was about all you could recall. Have you remembered anything else about what you heard? Knowing if they were male or female might help us a lot,” Candace said.
“That coroner person asked me about the voices, and I had no definitive answer. If you could give me a few seconds to concentrate on exactly why I went to the back door that night, I might recall.” Ritaestelle rubbed her chin with an index finger and focused on the lake.
This line of questioning sounded like Candace might be beginning to buy Ritaestelle’s story. I wondered if something had happened at the Longworth Estate to sway her toward a family member as a better suspect. Now was not the time to ask Candace any questions, however.
Candace patiently waited, and finally Ritaestelle said, “I heard one voice that I am certain was a woman. That could have been Evie, but as for the other person, I cannot say. My hearing is not what it used to be.”
“Was the woman shouting? Did she sound angry?” Candace said.
Ritaestelle stopped rocking and her spine stiffened. “Why, she did shout. What I heard was a long, loud no.”
“That’s good. The word no. Anything else?” Candace said.
“I do believe what followed was not words. More like a primal cry.” She stared at Candace. “That is when I rose from the sofa. Yes. I knew something was very wrong. Why didn’t I remember this before?”
“Probably because of what you encountered on that dock,” Candace said. “Shocked the heck out of you. But you couldn’t tell if that cry was male or female?”
Ritaestelle shook her head no.
“How long do you think it took you to get to the back door once you heard the voices?” Candace asked.
“Oh my. I could not move very fast, but one of the cats—Syrah, I think—had been sitting at the window, and he leaped like a leopard in the direction of the back door as soon as he saw me get up.”
“See?” I said. “Didn’t I tell you that my cats would have been paying attention to what was happening out there? Did I tell you that Merlot was focused on that window before I went to rescue Isis from the closet?”
“You didn’t,” Candace said. “But that’s okay.” She turned back to Ritaestelle. “Can you guess how long it took you to get to the back door? A minute? Five minutes?”
“A minute is a long time, Deputy Carson, but that would be my best estimate. Today I do believe I could make the trip in thirty seconds.”
“When you opened the door, what did you hear?” Candace asked.
“I heard the sound of Miss Jillian’s cats whooshing down those steps.” She pointed in the direction of the deck stairs.
“Nothing else? No more voices, no sounds that would indicate another person was lurking around?”
“I am afraid I was so focused on the cats and so upset that I had allowed them out into the night that I was only concentrating on getting them back inside the house.” She glanced my way. “I am very grateful nothing terrible happened to your friends. Two of them came right back on their own when I called out—” Ritaestelle raised fingers to her lips. “Oh my. I begged your kittie
s to come back. I forgot all about that. And two of them did return.”
“They were waiting at the back door, Candace. She’s telling the truth,” I said.
“Her version fits with what I learned when I canvassed your neighborhood. I needed to verify, that’s all,” Candace said.
“My neighborhood?” I said. “But we all live so far apart.”
“Voices carry over the lake at night. You know Mr. Voigt?” she said.
“Yes. He has this big old fishing boat,” I said. “But we just wave at each other and that’s about all.”
“The night of the murder, he was out on his deck having a smoke,” Candace said. “He heard the same thing that Ritaestelle did. The word no and an odd cry—he called it a wail. But he also confirms he heard what he said was a high-pitched voice coming from the direction of your house, Jillian. Someone calling for the cats.”
“Why didn’t he phone 911?” I said.
“Said he knows you’ve got cats that you care a lot about. Said the whole thing only lasted a few seconds and he decided it had to do with them.”
He knew about my cats, and yet I wondered if he even knew my last name.
“The questions you are asking have me wondering if you still believe I killed Evie,” Ritaestelle said.
“I wondered the night of the murder, and maybe I tried to intimidate you into confessing,” Candace said. “But in my training, I remember the words of an experienced officer. He told me that the only innocent person at a crime scene is the victim. That’s what I was thinking about when I arrived on the scene.”
“Sounds like your instructor was a wise man,” Ritaestelle said.
“He was. I always follow the evidence,” she said. “I’ve uncovered some support for your statement. I checked the GPS system in your car, and you came directly here. Plus I have corroboration that the attack on the dock apparently occurred before you even opened the door. Your voice is high-pitched and Mr. Voigt heard someone with that tone calling for the cats. Circumstantial evidence and the amount of time needed to commit the crime seem to rule you out.”
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