The Cat, the Lady and the Liar acitm-3

by Leann Sweeney

  Her world revolved around Ritaestelle, hers and everyone’s who lived here, no doubt. That seemed so sad. “We’ve bothered you enough. Your insights have been helpful.”

  Before she left, Tom asked her about her whereabouts last night. She gave the same answer as her sister and was on her way, tottering out of the dining room on her high heels as fast as she was able.

  Twenty-Eight

  Once Muriel was gone, I reached for a pimento-cheese sandwich and said, “I messed up about the ring. Sorry.”

  “She would have found out anyway. I didn’t mean to throw you off your game.” He plucked several grapes off their stems.

  “I don’t much care for those cousins, and I feel guilty about that. I should have sympathy for them because they’re pretty darn pitiful,” I said. The pimento cheese was homemade and yummy. I grabbed another one. “Muriel talked about Ritaestelle wasting her opportunities, and yet what have they done with their lives? Both of them have never stepped out of Ritaestelle’s shadow.”

  “What was the most important thing you learned from them?” Tom asked. He dipped a baby carrot in the dressing and, cupping his hand beneath to catch drips, brought it to his mouth.

  “Probably the tranquilizers,” I said. “Guess that will be my first question for Ritaestelle when we get back home.”

  I stood and put a slice of strudel on my napkin. “We should change chairs. Your turn to sit in the top spot.”

  “Good idea,” Tom said, around a mouthful of sandwich.

  “You didn’t press them too hard about their alibis for last night. Is that because you don’t think either of them hurt Candace?” I said.

  “Interrogation 101. You get people locked into a story. Then you ask them again later and see if you get the same answer. In this case, Mike will be asking them again and I’ll give him what we’ve got. Then we’ll see if they’re consistent.”

  “Makes sense to me,” I said. “This is quite an education.”

  Justine Longworth arrived next, after I’d had only one bite of pastry. But oh my god, what a bite it was. The flaky strudel, rich with cinnamon and butter and apples, practically melted in my mouth.

  I tapped at my chin with a new napkin and smiled at Justine, who carried what looked like a black dress in a dry cleaner’s bag.

  Tom stood, introduced himself and thanked her for coming to talk to us.

  She took the chair next to his after draping the dress over a different seat back. Now that I was close to her, and despite her makeup, I could tell she’d indeed had cosmetic surgery. Her mouth was pulled tight by what was probably a recent facelift. A face as thin as hers didn’t look normal with the bee-sting look to her lips and the collagenenhanced cheeks. I had no argument with her hair, though. Layered, then highlighted and low-lighted in shades of brownish red and dark blond, the style and colors suited her complexion.

  Her khaki sleeveless dress had that Ann Taylor look. Whatever funds Ritaestelle allotted her relatives, none of them seemed to be wanting.

  “You were married to Ritaestelle’s brother, I understand,” Tom said.

  “Yes,” she said.

  She sounded curt and seemed none too happy to be talking to the likes of us.

  “How is your relationship with Ritaestelle?” he asked.

  “That’s not the kind of information the police were interested in,” Justine said. She seemed composed, but again, definitely not happy.

  “We’re not the police. We were hired by your sister-in-law to find out the truth about past events.” Tom offered his best sarcastic smile. “You know, the kind of stuff that made her run to a stranger for help.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Be specific,” she said.

  Not intimidated, I thought. Maybe this woman had more backbone than anyone else who lived here.

  “Is that alcohol I smell on your breath, Ms. Longworth?” Tom said.

  Whoa. Good thing we’d changed chairs and he picked up on that. Since Tom’s mother was a recovering alcoholic, he probably had Justine figured out the minute she sat down.

  “I enjoy a glass of wine every now and then. What does that have to do with anything?” she said.

  But that alabaster skin was growing blotchy at her throat. He’d found her weakness instantly and confronted her. I could never have been so blunt.

  “Maybe your drinking has nothing to do with anything, but it’s—what?” Tom checked his watch. “Two o’clock? A little early, don’t you think?”

  “Get on with your questions.” Her eyes bored into Tom’s.

  “I already asked one and you didn’t answer. Got something to hide?” he said.

  “Oh, all right. I get along fine with Ritaestelle. We stay out of each other’s way. She prefers socializing, inviting this one and that one here. Has her dinner parties. Me? I like to be alone.” She raised her sculpted brows and tried to smile.

  “Alone with your friend Chivas? Bet your drink of choice is expensive,” Tom said.

  He was baiting her, and I had no idea why. But I trusted he knew what he was doing.

  “What I do in the privacy of my upstairs rooms is no one’s business,” Justine said coldly. “It certainly has kept me out of this embarrassment Ritaestelle has created. My husband is turning over in his grave, I’m sure.”

  “She’s a disgrace? Is that what you’re saying?” Tom said.

  “She’s apparently a thief and a liar.” Justine turned her head away from Tom, but the facade was beginning to crumble. She was blinking hard.

  Softly Tom said, “I can see you don’t want to believe that. And who’s the real disgrace, Justine?”

  Her head snapped back in his direction, and she glared at him, but tears glistened in her eyes. A tense few seconds passed before she said, “I thought she was the sane one. I thought I could depend on her. Obviously that’s not the case.”

  “Who’s the real disgrace?” Tom repeated.

  She whispered, “I am.” Tears slipped from her lids and down her cheeks.

  I grabbed a napkin and passed it across to her. My heart had sped up. Were we about to get a confession?

  “Thank you,” she said to me, then dabbed at her wet face. She made eye contact with Tom again, but this time the hostility was gone. “Ritaestelle is the rock in this family. Always there for everyone. Her leaving us like this, well, you see how selfish I can sound. But in truth, her departure has made me realize how poorly I’ve treated her and how much I owe her.”

  “Sounds nice,” Tom said, “but that means you didn’t always feel that way. What’s your main beef with Ritaestelle?”

  “The way she treats my son. Like he’s a moron. He deserved—” She stopped herself. “No. That’s the story I tell myself when I open a bottle of wine at noon. You want to know the real issue?”

  Tom leaned toward her, arms resting on the table. “That’s why we’re here.”

  “My husband left all the Longworth money not to us, but to Ritaestelle. There. I’ve said it. My own husband thought I’d fritter it away. Trouble is, he was probably right. I’m not good at anything but leeching off my sister-in-law. And Farley is the same. We depend on Ritaestelle for everything—and that is both a curse and a blessing.”

  Tom nodded and smiled. “Thanks for being straight. Most refreshing thing that’s happened in, oh, the last hour.”

  Justine bit the side of her mouth. “I don’t know anything. That’s the truth.”

  “Maybe you know more than you think.” Tom gripped the chair’s arms and settled back. “Muriel said that you would know what the police found yesterday when they executed the search warrant. What was she talking about?”

  “Oh, that.” Justine twisted the makeup-stained napkin. “Some of my jewelry was found behind Ritaestelle’s armoire—hidden in a brown paper sack. Items that my late husband bought me.”

  Muriel’s ring and now Justine’s jewelry. Wow. Those were a step up from a bag of rubber bands.

  “You believe Ritaestelle took th
em?” Tom asked.

  Justine shook her head. “I simply cannot picture Ritaestelle sneaking around, grabbing up things that aren’t hers and hiding them away. The woman can buy anything she wants.”

  “Who can you picture doing something like that?” Tom said.

  “I suppose Muriel or Augusta. Out of spite. They have their own issues concerning the family fortune—or didn’t you make them cry and spill their guts, Mr. Stewart?” Her turn for sarcasm. But this time she almost managed a real smile.

  Tom laughed. “We saved the best for you, Justine. You’ve been very helpful.”

  She reached to her right and rested a hand on the black dress. “Mrs. Hart, would you mind taking this for Ritaestelle to wear this evening? Evie’s visitation is tonight, and I’m sure she won’t want to miss it.”

  “No problem. Do you have a time and place?” I said.

  “I’ll have George write everything down. You’ll find a shoebox on the hall table holding the other things she might need.”

  “One more question,” Tom said. “Where were you last night?”

  “In my room visiting with my friend Jim Beam. See, I don’t go for the expensive stuff. I go for what suits someone like me—someone cheap.”

  She left the room, shoulders hunched, head down—something no amount of cosmetic surgery could ever fix.

  “She’s right about the visitation,” I said. “Ritaestelle will definitely want to go.”

  “That’s not exactly how I wanted to spend my evening,” Tom said.

  “I can take her,” I said.

  “No, we will take her. After what happened to Candace, I’m not taking any chances.” His turn for a strudel break before the last family member arrived. “The question remains, who did that to Candace and why?”

  I said, “I have a hard time even thinking about anyone hurting her. But I guess you’re right about being careful.”

  “I know I’m right,” he said.

  “Guess what I forgot. To ask about Isis. Someone put that cat outside and—”

  “No one will admit to it. We’ll find out eventually,” he said.

  “Why are you so sure?” I said.

  “One of these people—my guess for now is Justine— will crack. The pressure of a police search yesterday, us coming here today and all of them seeing a dead woman tonight will be too much.” He rested a hand on mine. “We’ll get the truth.”

  I smiled at Tom but then felt another’s presence before I looked toward the entrance to the dining room and saw him.

  Farley Longworth was leaning on the doorframe. “Isn’t that sweet. I see you’ve already found a replacement, Mrs. Hart.”

  Twenty-Nine

  He said my name with such contempt, I felt the blood drain from my face.

  Tom glanced at me and then at Farley. “What’s that supposed to mean, Longworth?”

  He sauntered into the room, a small balding man with skin as pale as his mother’s. “Why don’t you ask her?”

  Tom stood. “I’m here to ask you questions—because your aunt hired me to do that.”

  Farley was wearing navy pleated Bermuda shorts and a white polo. All that was missing was a cardigan tied around his shoulders. He took a glass from the table and poured himself some tea before sitting down. “How is Aunt Rita? And how much is she offering you to set up her family to look like criminals?”

  It felt like a fist had tightened in my gut. Hearing his voice brought back that awful call he’d made and his terrible accusation that I’d killed John. I swallowed hard and put my hands in my lap. If they began to tremble, I didn’t want this man to see. I didn’t want him to know how he’d hurt me.

  I felt Tom’s foot press mine, and that small gesture was enough to settle me.

  He said, “Where were you last night?” Tom started off the interview where he’d finished with everyone else.

  I wondered why for a second, but it was a direct and almost accusatory question. Yes. That was the right way to go after this guy.

  “Did you know my father was a lawyer? He would suggest I have an attorney present to answer questions from even you. What are you? A failed cop?” Farley’s smile was smug.

  “Oh, I don’t think you want to go there, Longworth,” Tom said. “I’ve got a failure list from your aunt that has your name written all over it. Where were you last night?”

  Farley rolled his eyes and sighed. “If Aunt Rita thinks this is the way to get her out of trouble, I’ll go along. I actually like the old woman. I was at the movie theater. Summer blockbuster time, you know.”

  “Alone?” Tom asked. “No. Dumb question. You’re probably alone most of time.”

  Farley’s tongue flicked around his lips, and he picked up his glass. Then he looked at me. “Where were you? With your boyfriend here? Is he the reason you—”

  “You don’t know anything about me,” I said, keeping my tone even. But I felt ready to erupt. I couldn’t let this twerp get to me. “We’re here because your aunt is afraid of her own family. Why is that, Farley?”

  Tom’s eyebrows rose in surprise, and I knew the surprise was directed my way because of my harsh tone. I still hadn’t told him what Farley had said to me.

  Farley stared at me and I stared right back. We were facing off like Syrah and Isis had done the other day.

  “Can’t answer that one, Longworth?” Tom said with a laugh. “Too tough a question, huh? Yeah, well, I’ll bet you could screw up a two-car funeral. That’s about how smart you are.”

  “I don’t have to sit here and be insulted.” He started to get up.

  Tom tapped his temple. “Think money, Longworth. Think about all the comforts of home you’ll miss out on when your aunt kicks your ass to the curb because you wouldn’t cooperate.”

  Farley sat back down. “I’ve told the police everything I know. I didn’t hear my aunt leave that night. I was here the whole time. I—”

  “What about Evie? Was she here? I heard you liked Evie,” Tom said.

  “She went home, said she’d work from there even though she wasn’t done. But she did call for the password list. I gave it to her,” he said.

  He’d gone sullen now—like the spoiled brat he probably had always been.

  “Password list?” Tom asked.

  “I told that cop. The hot one, not the guy,” he said. “Ask her.”

  I wasn’t about to make the mistake of giving away the fact that Candace couldn’t remember most of what went on here yesterday, so I said, “The Mercy police as well as your aunt want you to cooperate. What is this password list?”

  “We all have computers and bank accounts that Evie manages.” He paused and in a quiet voice said, “Managed. Anyway, we all have passwords, but she keeps a list so she can transfer money into our accounts and I guess so she can check up on what we’re doing on our computers.”

  “Each of you has two passwords and Evie knew them?” Tom asked.

  “Didn’t I just say that?” he said impatiently.

  “You’re getting testy, Longworth,” Tom said, obviously very interested in this arrangement. “Why would Evie Preston need the password to everyone’s computer? Why not just to the bank accounts on a main server in the house?”

  “She watched the money, okay?” Farley’s face was flushed, his eyes darting everywhere to avoid meeting Tom’s.

  Tom leaned back with a smile. “Let me guess. Online porn? Or online gambling? Which one was Evie keeping an eye on at your aunt’s request?”

  “Gambling,” Farley muttered. He looked up. “Happy now? And just so you know, she watched what everyone was doing. Like how much dear mummy was ordering from the liquor store every week. Where Augusta was shopping online. How much jewelry Muriel ordered from that stupid QVC television station.”

  Oh boy. Had that been Ritaestelle’s idea? Or Evie’s? Is that what got her killed? But I remembered then that he said he’d answered the phone that night. That made me want to ask a question that had bothered me from the start.


  “Do you always answer the phone?” I said.

  “No one else will, so yeah, I play servant most days.” He refused to look at me.

  Was he anticipating my question? “Did you talk to Shawn Cuddahee when he called about Ritaestelle’s missing cat?”

  “What if I did?” he said. “The man wouldn’t be straight with me about what he wanted, so why should I be straight with him?”

  “You knew who he was?” I said.

  “I know how to use Google. What does that have to do with anything?” But something in Farley’s expression and that evasiveness said it did have something to do with everything.

  “You never passed the message on to Ritaestelle or Evie?” I asked.

  “Why should I?” he answered.

  Farley Longworth might be the most immature forty-year-old I’d ever met. “Because your aunt loved her cat. You had to know that Shawn calling her more than once was probably about Isis.”

  I could almost see his brain working to find an angle to put this in a good light. And he found it. “See, that’s just it. Do I want my aunt, who’s obviously physically and mentally ill, to become more disturbed by the news that her cat was found dead?”

  “Come on, Longworth,” Tom said. “A rescue shelter wouldn’t be calling with that news. The county animal control officer would do that job if Isis had been found dead.”

  “I didn’t know why he was phoning. You know why? Because he was a smart-ass and wouldn’t say. I blew it off. So what?”

  Smart-ass? I guess Shawn could come across that way. And any conversation between this man and Shawn would have gone downhill pretty fast.

  “Anyone ever tell you that you’re a jerk?” Tom said.

  “I think I’m done. Good luck.” He rose and turned to leave, but then turned back. “Oh. Tell Aunt Rita I love her, would you?”

  Once he left, I took a deep breath, let it out and began shoving strudel into my face. There is nothing as comforting as dessert.

  Tom stared at me for several seconds, eyes narrowed. “That guy did more than accuse you of extortion when he called the other day.”