The Cat, the Lady and the Liar acitm-3

by Leann Sweeney

  The organ music faded after we left the lobby, and I heard the quiet murmur of voices as we approached. But before we reached the room where Evie’s casket was, Ritaestelle stopped. “May I have a moment?”

  “Sure,” I said.

  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She then clasped her hands together and bowed her head briefly. When she was finished, she raised her head, and I saw her chin quiver. “I need strength.”

  “You’ve got plenty of that,” I said.

  We walked into the room, and at once all eyes were on Ritaestelle. The entire Longworth family was clustered together, all except for Farley. Tom, Mike and several officers in uniform from both police departments stood in a far corner. The people I assumed were Evie’s family stood stoically near her white coffin.

  The smell of death lingered beneath the scent of the baskets and sprays of flowers that lined the room. In a building this old, with its seventies-style paneled walls, that awful odor could not be masked even by a million flowers.

  Ritaestelle left my side and made a beeline for a woman who looked to be around fifty. Words were exchanged, and the two embraced. Evie’s mother, no doubt.

  Nancy Shelton appeared next to me. “I told Desmond to leave,” she said out of the side of her mouth. “He only came to see Ritaestelle. He cares nothing about the poor Preston family.”

  “Ritaestelle is not too happy with him right now, so I’m sure she’s appreciative,” I said. I was stalling. I didn’t want to greet the mourners. What would I say? Hi. Your daughter died in my backyard. Nice to meet you.

  “I heard that your friend Tom dug up plenty on Desmond,” Shelton said. “As far as I’m concerned, he did Ritaestelle a favor. Now, would you like me to introduce you to Evie’s mother and brothers?”

  I inhaled, trying hard to only breathe through my mouth. The smell was making me a little sick. “Wait a minute,” I said. “I’ll be right back.”

  I stepped back into the hall, took my phone from the pocket of my black dress pants and made sure it was silenced. I’d left my purse in the car since I needed to carry the umbrellas and help Ritaestelle, but the phone was my comfort line. I pulled up the cat cam, saw four cats sleeping in various spots and sighed. There. That felt better.

  Making sure the phone was silenced, I put it in my back pocket. I tugged at my jacket and pressed my lips together to spread my lipstick. More stalling by worrying over ridiculous things. Truth was, I didn’t want to look at that poor dead woman’s face.

  Shelton stuck her head out the door. She whispered, “Is something wrong?”

  “No. Sorry.” I walked into the room and followed her lead to where Evie Preston’s family stood.

  Ritaestelle was kneeling in front of Evie’s casket, head bowed. Augusta, Muriel and Justine had moved closer to her, I noted. I wondered what the conversation would be like when they finally got to talk to Ritaestelle.

  Nancy introduced me to Loretta Preston, as well as to Evie’s brothers, Jeb and Carl. They were big, burly men—so different from their petite sister.

  Loretta had dark circles under her red-rimmed eyes, and every line on her face seemed to stand out. The words ravaged by grief came to mind. I appreciated the way her sons stood on either side of her, ready to catch her if she fell—because she sure looked ready to collapse.

  Loretta Preston grabbed both my hands in hers. “I understand you tried to save my baby girl. That you were heroic in your efforts to bring her back to life. I will be forever grateful that someone showed mercy and kindness at the end of her life.”

  Shelton leaned close and said, “I’ll be over there with the other officers.”

  “I—I didn’t do enough,” I said. Mercy. Such a powerful word. I recalled feeling like a failure that night, and not much had changed over the last several days. I added, “I’m only sorry no one could save her.”

  “I take comfort knowing that she’s in a better place,” Loretta said.

  Ritaestelle seemed to be having trouble getting up, and I reached out to help her.

  She smiled sadly once she was on her feet. “I am sure you want to say a few words to poor Evie.”

  Not exactly. If having trouble breathing is part of a panic attack, I had newfound sympathy for those who’d experienced one. My chest was tight, and I felt lightheaded. But though I would have preferred to run out the door as I had done at the Longworth house the other day, I took my place on the kneeling bench. I did, however, avoid so much as a glance at Evie. When I bowed my head, I realized this panic had an origin. This was my first funeral visitation since John’s death.

  The hushed conversations, the flowers and that hovering unpleasant scent were all painful reminders of what I’d gone through not so long ago—after John died. Tears filled my eyes, and I had to bite my lower lip to avoid releasing the sob caught in my throat.

  Tom, perceptive as always, arrived at my side and rested a hand on my shoulder. He leaned over and whispered, “This must be hard. Come on.” He took my elbow and helped me up.

  To get my mind off the past, I immediately looked for Ritaestelle. She was seated in a folding chair along the wall to my left with her relatives huddled around her. Justine was kneeling by her, holding her hand, but the cousins remained standing. I gave Ritaestelle a look that said, “You need any help?”

  She shook her head almost imperceptibly.

  Meanwhile, people I didn’t know were streaming in to pay their respects to Evie. Tom took my hand, and we walked over to the police gathered in the corner. As I joined them, the two paramedics, Jake and Marcy, who’d worked on Evie the night of the murder, arrived, and the uniformed officers went to greet them. That left Tom, Nancy, Mike and me.

  Keeping his voice low, Tom said, “I was telling Mike about our visit to the Longworth house today.”

  Mike said, “I wish the family hadn’t said anything to you about the tranquilizers we discovered during the search.”

  “Why?” I said.

  “Because that means they probably told anyone who would listen. Problem was, we had to call them in to Miss Longworth’s room to identify items, and Candace was just bagging the pill bottle.”

  “That news is all over town, so you’re right,” Shelton said. “Augusta called me up the minute you left. But what about these passwords you mentioned earlier, Stewart? What’s the significance? Seems like that was in Evie’s job description.”

  “I’ll let Mike give you a complete report. One thing we did learn for certain is that Farley carried the poor cat out the back door. I don’t think he was taking her for her regular veterinary checkup.”

  Shelton shook her head in disgust. “Farley Longworth is one sorry bastard—excuse my French. You notice he’s not here. We should sweat him. Bet he has a lot to tell.”

  “Agreed,” Mike said. “The family’s phone records and financials we subpoenaed should come in tomorrow, and that’ll show the extent of his gambling problem. But as for those pills we confiscated? I’ve already spent the day working on that. Those tranquilizers were ordered over the Internet. They had Miss Longworth’s name on them, but we can’t be sure she did the ordering. The woman doesn’t even use a cell phone. Would she have the skills to order drugs online? I doubt it. Good news is, Candace got a decent latent off the pill bottle.”

  I’d forgotten to ask Ritaestelle about the pills, and now I wished I had. She might have a clue as to who did order them. Could have been Evie for all we knew.

  “Prints,” Tom said. “Good old Candace printed everyone, I hear.”

  “Yeah, but Candace can’t remember where she put the print cards,” Mike said. “She can’t remember much of anything, and it’s driving her crazy.”

  “They weren’t in her evidence kit?” I asked. The night of the murder I’d seen her put Ritaestelle’s card in there after she’d taken her fingerprints.

  “No, we looked,” Mike said. “But I haven’t had a chance to check her vehicle. She might have stuck them in the glove compartment. You didn
’t happen to see an envelope when you got her notes?”

  I should have known he was aware we took the notes. It’s not like Mercy officers don’t share information. But I still felt like I’d done something wrong. “Candace told us to get them once I reminded her—and I did have to remind her—that Tom was hired to help with the investigation.”

  Mike said, “I’ve got no problem with you working for Miss Longworth. Any other PI? Maybe. Not you.” He slapped Tom on the back and smiled. Mike and Tom went back a long way, and I was relieved Mike wasn’t angry about our involvement.

  As they continued to talk, I thought about those fingerprints. When there was a break in the conversation, I said, “Could one of the family members have been worried about those prints and knocked Candace out to steal those cards?”

  Mike rubbed his chin with tented fingers. “You may be on to something, but if one of them took the cards, he or she had to know we could print them again.” He nodded in the direction of the Longworths. “And we can’t rule out that one of them, or maybe Farley, told Candy something incriminating and that someone decided she had to go down. But whatever that information was, it’s now erased forever by that blow to her skull. I talked to the doc, and he says she probably won’t ever remember much detail from that day.”

  “At least she’s okay,” I said softly. I was uncomfortable talking about the case with Ritaestelle’s family only six feet away. Was the killer in the room, or was Farley, or even Desmond, the culprit? Desmond. The ladies’ man. What if he’d made a move on Evie and she threatened to tell Ritaestelle?

  Tom pulled me from my thoughts, saying, “Jillian, did you hear me?”

  “Sorry. Lost in thought,” I said.

  “Mike and I want to check Candace’s car one more time for those print cards,” he said. “Will you be okay here?”

  I could read the worry on his face. I’d had a little meltdown on that kneeling bench, and he knew it. “Sure,” I said. “Kara was supposed to be here—gosh, where is she?—and she’ll probably follow us home.”

  “I’m glad to play security detail again,” Shelton said.

  “Thanks, but—Oh, there she is,” I said.

  And Liam Brennan was with her.

  “What’s he doing here?” Shelton said.

  “Could be he is gathering information about the family—and Evie’s family, too. Were they . . . you know . . . eliminated as suspects?” I asked.

  “Rock-solid alibis.” Shelton watched Tom and Mike, who had paused to say hello to Kara before they left. “I checked up on Evie’s family and told Mike, but he hasn’t been sharing everything he knew.”

  “What do you mean?” I said as Brennan went toward the family and Kara walked over to join Shelton and me. She’d caught admiring looks from several police officers. Her short-sleeved brown linen dress showed off her figure, and with her dark hair clipped back and tumbling down her back, I swore she could have done a photo shoot for Vanity Fair right at that moment.

  Shelton cleared her throat. “We don’t need to get into that right now.” She smiled at Kara. “Good evening, Miss Hart.”

  Kara nodded at her and rubbed circles on my back, saying, “You okay? You look pale.”

  “I’m fine. Funerals are—well, you know,” I said.

  She nodded solemnly. “Oh, I know all right.” She looked at Shelton. “I haven’t met Evie Preston’s family, but I’d like to do a human interest story for the paper. What can you tell me about them?”

  Shelton, who’d been uncharacteristically pleasant until now, reverted to her normal cranky self in a flash. “Those people are from my town, and I don’t want you bothering them. They’re grieving.”

  “But—” Kara started.

  “Would you hush?” Shelton said. “The poor girl’s body is right over there.” She tossed her head in the direction of the casket. The twisting motion strained her navy jacket—did she ever wear anything else?—and a button popped off.

  I bent and picked it up. The button looked similar to the one Syrah had been playing with today. As I handed it to her, I said, “Did you lose a button like this before?”

  She flushed. “I’ve gained a few pounds in the last month. I suppose I could have lost one at your place.”

  “I’ll steal the button back from my cat and return it. I was a textile arts major, even did some dress designing before I fell in love with quilting. Are your suits custom-made by—”

  “Can you please give me insight into the family?” Kara said impatiently.

  Shelton turned to Kara, looking equally impatient. “Like I said, you’ll upset those people. I can’t have that.”

  “Do you even want to solve Evie’s murder?” Kara said. But at least she did whisper.

  “That’s a ridiculous question,” Shelton said. Tiny beads of sweat dotted her upper lip. It was warm in the room, and I was sure wearing that suit made it that much warmer.

  “Please,” I said. “This gathering is for Evie.” I looked at Kara. “Can you wait until after the visitation has ended to approach the family?”

  “I suppose.” She glared at Shelton. “But for now, I think I’ll introduce myself.” She walked over to them.

  “Don’t take this the wrong way,” Shelton said. “But we’re not used to your stepdaughter’s aggressive, big-city type of reporting here.”

  “A human interest story is aggressive?” I said.

  She raked a hand through her tight gray curls. “Maybe not, but did you see her headline about Deputy Carson? ‘Officer Attacked’? That seemed like someone was shouting at us. We aren’t fearmongers in these parts.”

  “I wouldn’t think that a genteel approach to murder and assault would be effective in helping the police convey information to the community or to generate tips,” I said.

  “I see you’ve been brainwashed by your stepdaughter,” she said. “But I suppose that’s part of trying to be a mother.”

  Trying? Maybe there was a grain of truth to that—I was trying—but why did she have to bite back at me? My guess? Nancy Shelton, no matter how hard she tried, couldn’t hide the fact that she was bitter. Did she even have a family, or did the Woodcrest Police fill that void for her?

  I caught Ritaestelle’s eye, and she looked almost pleading now, unlike before. I should have been paying closer attention to what was going on over there. “If you’ll excuse me, Ritaestelle looks like she’s had enough. She might want to go home.”

  “You know her that well, huh? Have you asked her if she might want to go to her real home?” Shelton said.

  “Ritaestelle was drugged,” I said. “What’s to stop whoever did it from doing it again?”

  “I have been her friend for years. I will protect her,” she said.

  Guess this mingling of people from Mercy and people from Woodcrest had her feeling territorial. “You’re right,” I said. “Why don’t we ask her?” But I knew what Ritaestelle would say.

  We walked over to the circle of women surrounding Ritaestelle.

  “Why, Mrs. Hart,” Augusta said. “Glad you could take time to say hello to us.” She nodded at Shelton. “Hello, Nancy.”

  Justine said, “We’ve been trying to convince our Ritaestelle to return home. We miss her and Isis.”

  Her breath smelled so strongly of alcohol, I was wondering if poor Ritaestelle might be getting intoxicated being so close to her.

  “Yes. You need to come home, something I was saying to Mrs. Hart moments ago,” Shelton said. “What do you say, Ritaestelle? We’ll let the Mercy police do their job and bring this killer to justice while I watch over you.”

  Muriel cleared her throat. “I don’t think it’s a good idea at all.” She focused on the linoleum floor, her hands gripping her small black handbag tightly.

  “Why is that, Muriel?” Shelton said sharply.

  “Because I have this feeling in the pit of my stomach that it’s not safe—not yet,” Muriel said. “I mean, look what happened to that police officer. Why don’t you take ca
re of us, Nancy? We could use some looking after.”

  “You’re afraid?” Shelton said. “What are you afraid of?”

  “Indeed, what are you afraid of, Muriel?” Ritaestelle said. She sounded very curious, and I felt the same way.

  She smiled at her cousin. “It’s a feeling, is all.”

  “Intuition is important,” Ritaestelle said. “I’m taking your advice, Muriel. If Jillian will have me, I would like to remain with her for a few more days. I have the utmost faith that Jillian and Mr. Stewart will get to the bottom of this.” Ritaestelle smiled up at me.

  Shelton wasn’t smiling. “You don’t trust me?”

  “Of course I do,” Ritaestelle said. “But you have always wanted to do things your way, when sometimes, you need a little help. You are working with all the officers, are you not?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I have the same information they do. But who just helped you fend off Desmond?”

  “You did. And that reminded me how close you are to all of us. Even to Desmond at one time. I believe one needs a little distance to see things clearly.” Ritaestelle made a gesture that encompassed all the women. “We are all so close to the problem—that problem being who is perpetrating these crimes—that perhaps we cannot see the forest for the trees.”

  Oh boy. The Nancy Shelton I’d come to know in the last week would surely bristle at that assessment.

  But she surprised me by smiling at Ritaestelle. “You’re right. It’s hard for me to let go and allow other people do what I consider to be my job. If you’re more comfortable at Mrs. Hart’s house, then I will follow you there and make sure you arrive safely.”

  Justine, Muriel and Augusta all murmured their agreement. But did any of these women truly agree? Or was it simply in their best interest to go along with the woman who held the purse strings? How deep did the jealousy run? Because it existed. I’d felt it earlier today. I’d been feeling it all along, but on a subconscious level. Seeing them all here together, with everyone being so kind and polite, seeing Ritaestelle exert her will in her soft-spoken yet insistent way—well, I saw how life must have been in the Longworth house. Probably for a very long time. The jealousy might be what Ritaestelle feared. Those undercurrents of ill will would pull her down if she went back there. She was smart enough to know it, too.