The Cat, the Lady and the Liar (20 page)

I chose quilting. Nothing is more relaxing. My three cats joined me. Chablis settled in my lap as I sat down in the comfy armchair in my quilting room. I picked up the small quilt I’d been working on—the appliquéd one for Kara. Then I remembered that the buttons for this project had been scattered everywhere—some of them in this very room. I’d collect them later. Instead, I switched to quilting on a custom order as Merlot and Syrah continued the button game. Yup, they were still finding buttons I didn’t even remember being in that box. One day they would tire of this, but for now, they were having fun.

The rhythm of the work settled me, and I began to think about the poor victim. Had my visit with Evie Preston somehow put her in danger? And if so, why? Then it dawned on me that I had forgotten the
why
that began my involvement. What was Ritaestelle’s cat doing so far from home? Did Isis ending up near that highway figure into Evie’s death in some way? That might not be of interest to Candace or Mike, but I wanted to know.

The smell of chicken and herbs filled the hall when I emerged from my little retreat at about seven that evening. The cats ran straight to the kitchen, and I wanted to run myself, the smells were so wonderful. But the doorbell sounded and stopped me as I entered the foyer. I checked the peephole and saw Tom.

After I let him inside, he said, “I smell something that had my mouth watering the minute I got out of the car.”

“That’s Kara’s doing. Let’s see what she’s up to.”

Tom put his arm around my shoulder as we walked toward the kitchen, but Kara was sitting in the living room working on her laptop.

“Hey, Tom. Hope you can stay for dinner,” she said. “Apparently Jillian likes to buy chickens as big as turkeys.”

“You do not have to ask me twice. Working on a story for tomorrow?” he asked.

“Yes. This morning’s edition sold better than any
Mercy Messenger
in two years, even if the murder was already a day old.” She closed her laptop and set it on the floor beside the recliner. “Unfortunately, tomorrow’s story will have little new information. And before you say anything, I did not mention Ritaestelle is staying in Mercy.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I don’t want people calling me and asking me questions. Some folks might accuse me of harboring a criminal.”

Tom said, “I met with three potential clients today, and two of them knew. I’ll bet most of the town already knows she’s staying here.”

Kara’s lips pursed as she nodded in agreement. “I figured as much. I have never seen news travel as fast as in this little town.”

“Where is your houseguest?” Tom asked.

“Napping,” I said.

Tom glanced back toward the hallway. He whispered, “Got the dirt on the nephew.”

Just the mention of Farley Longworth made my stomach clench.

He went on, saying, “In fact, an unnamed source—that’s for your benefit, Kara—told me plenty about the money problems that all those relatives living with Ritaestelle seem to have.”

Kara leaned back against the recliner cushions. Chablis appeared from behind the sofa and jumped into her lap. “Go on. This should be interesting.” She began stroking my cat.

I figured I’d learned plenty about Farley Longworth already and wanted to know nothing more. “Do we have to talk about this right now?”

“With Ritaestelle asleep, this is the perfect time,” Kara said.

Tom took my hand and led me to the couch, but when he sat down, I remained standing.

“Maybe there’s something I can do to help with supper?” I looked at Kara.

Tom tugged at my hand. “This guy upset you when he called here, and—”

“He called you?” Kara said.

“Yes, but it’s no big deal,” I said. “Maybe he was upset about Evie’s death and decided to take it out on me. Now, what can I do in the kitchen?”

“Nothing. Everything but the chicken is ready, and that will take another thirty minutes,” Kara said. “What did this guy say to you?”

I reluctantly sat next to Tom and said, “He accused me of trying to extort money for the return of Ritaestelle’s cat. Ridiculous, huh?”

“Ridiculous, yes. What a jerk,” Kara said. “What else did you find out, Tom?”

“I got plenty of info about the rest of that Longworth clan, the hired help and that Desmond character. He’s a real loser.” Tom said. “So is Farley, and everyone in Woodcrest knows it. Flunked out of college twice. Has two DUIs that I uncovered—but who knows how much stuff his father ‘took care of’ before dying in a hunting accident. Farley’s mother, Justine, continued to live at the estate, and he eventually joined her after a stint in rehab. See, Farley’s father left his share of the Longworth money to his sister, Ritaestelle—not to his wife and kid. They are a ‘feckless pair,’ as my source said. Feckless. Hadn’t heard that one since I finished high school required reading.”

I wasn’t surprised by any of this, but it didn’t make me feel better. What Farley had said about people talking behind my back, his inferring that I’d killed my husband, still bothered the heck out of me. This must be how Ritaestelle felt, too. Those implications that she was losing her faculties, that she’d become a shoplifter despite being wealthy, must have been so hurtful. But what if she wasn’t wealthy at all? What if that’s why she was stealing things from the drugstore? I looked at Tom. “Did you find out anything about Ritaestelle’s finances?”

“You bet I did,” he said. “You can’t investigate the relatives of old money without learning how much old money there is. Ritaestelle is rich enough to own a controlling interest in South Carolina if she wanted. I’d say that’s millions and millions of reasons to want
her
dead rather than Evie.”

“Yes, that’s something I’ve been contemplating,” came Ritaestelle’s voice from the foyer. She limped toward us. “I should have been the one to die out on that dock.”

My cheeks felt hot with embarrassment. We’d been talking behind her back—doing exactly what bothered me so much about what Farley had said was going on concerning me.

I went over to help her into the living room. Isis trailed behind as I led Ritaestelle to the couch, saying, “Tom is a private investigator, and since I had a call from Farley, Tom decided to see why he seemed so . . . so upset when he phoned.”

Ritaestelle sighed heavily as she sat on the couch. “First, in my opinion, ‘unpleasant’ better describes his behavior than ‘upset.’ What did Farley want? Because he always wants something.”

“He seemed bothered that you were staying here rather than at home.” I was trying to sugarcoat this, I knew. The poor woman had enough on her mind.

“And,” Kara added, “Farley’s got some crazy notion that Jillian wanted money for your cat’s return.”

“What?” Ritaestelle gripped her left fingers with her right hand so tightly her knuckles whitened. “I must speak with that man. For now, all I can do is apologize for his behavior. I am quite familiar with apologizing for Farley.”

“I never did get to tell you about why I came to your house,” I said. “Shawn Cuddahee sent me to check you out. He wanted to know if it was safe to return Isis to your home.”

At the mention of her name, Isis jumped on the coffee table. Ritaestelle held out her arms, and the cat leaped onto her lap. “That was the tipping point, was it not? Your arrival at the estate to check on me?”

“What do you mean?” Kara said, sounding curious.

“I had been accused of stealing, been drugged, but you, Jillian, caring only about this precious black cat, brought it all to light. You came thinking you would find an addled old woman. Instead, you saw me lying on the floor. You knew something was very wrong.”

I nodded. “True. But that doesn’t explain how Isis escaped in the first place.”

“Indeed, that is a mystery in and of itself,” she replied. “My sweet girl here has great disdain for the outdoors. I once bought her one of those catios—you know, a screened building that can allow your cat to be outside but still not wander off?”

“Catios?” Tom said. “You have got to be kidding.”

I smiled at him. “I’ve seen them advertised at cat shows. You would not believe the things people will buy for their cats—like special little quilts.”

He looked flustered. “I didn’t mean what
you
do is anything but great. Dashiell loves his quilt.”

“You have a cat, Mr. Stewart?” Ritaestelle said.

“He does,” Kara said. “And I have two kittens. But tell us about the day Isis disappeared. This might make a good story.”

“I would be happy to,” she said. “The police do not seem the least bit interested in that event, so perhaps a little publicity would not hurt. I consider that a seminal moment. My tormenter, whoever it is, took things to the intolerable level with that dirty trick. First, though, I smell something wonderful, so perhaps we could chat over dinner?”

T
he herbed chicken, rice, peas and salad that Kara made for supper brought compliments from everyone. As we ate the delicious meal, I realized just how much homecooked food can ease the mind. Between the quilting earlier and this meal, I felt more relaxed than I’d been in days. The wine Tom opened helped, too. Ritaestelle was quite appreciative of her glass of white wine since she’d had nothing alcoholic to drink ever since she had suspected she was being drugged.

As I loaded the last of the peas and rice onto my fork, I said, “Now that we’ve all had a chance to adore this food, tell us about Isis’s disappearance.”

Ritaestelle dabbed at her lips with one of my homemade plaid napkins. Bet she had nothing but the monogrammed kind at her house, but she didn’t seem to mind my more modest table setting in the least.

“I believe that someone took her and tossed her by the road. That’s the only explanation,” Ritaestelle said.

“Why do you say that?” Kara said.

“She was sleeping on my bed the first day I could no longer fight whatever was in that tea. I am assuming it was the tea. Anyway, she always stays close by. When I awoke, she was gone. And no one could explain it,” she said.

“Did you call animal control? Put up flyers?” I asked.

“Unfortunately, I was in no shape to even punch numbers on the telephone,” Ritaestelle said. “Evie told me she would find Isis, but she was beginning to act very suspicious of me. I think she believed I had gone completely mad by then. She did have to pull items I supposedly stole out of my bag at the pharmacy.”

“She seemed a little cool when I arrived on your doorstep the other day.” I paused, recalling a visit that seemed aeons ago. “But Evie did say that Isis needed to come home. Why wouldn’t she have returned Shawn’s phone calls if that were the case?”

“He called me?” Ritaestelle said.

“More than once. I never questioned him about who he spoke to, though. Might be worth asking now,” I said.

“If it was one of my relatives, I am sure they simply ignored him.” Ritaestelle pulled a piece of chicken off a breastbone and offered it to Isis. “That is how they have always done things, which is extremely impolite—and I have told them as much on many occasions. That is why, when I am able, I always answer the phone or greet guests at the door myself.”

“We heard that’s your routine,” Tom said, “but the explanation is new.”

“Yes, amazing what goes around town. Getting back to my cat’s mysterious disappearance and rescue, I must thank this gentleman Shawn in person. Can that be arranged?” Ritaestelle said.

“Sure,” I said.

“Oh my. That sounds so pretentious. I can do the arranging. Since numbers on the telephone are no longer blurry, I will call the man myself. Now, I heard part of what you all were discussing when I came into the living room earlier. Tell me about the rumors. I would appreciate hearing them from your point of view.” She glanced back and forth between Tom and me.

“Actually,” Tom said. “We’d like your version.”

“Hmm. I suppose you would.” She stared up at the ceiling, ostensibly to collect her thoughts.

All the cats had taken spots beneath the table in anticipation of a chicken treat like Isis had gotten. Merlot was lying on top of my feet, and I took a peek and saw the other two beside him. Chicken scraps are something all my cats enjoy.

Ritaestelle drew in a breath and went on. “This all began about two months ago. Earrings from a local merchant suddenly appeared in my handbag. They still had the price tag on that little cardboard piece that held them. I was with Desmond at a restaurant and took out my wallet to pay—I always pay when I am with him. I believe I let out quite an audible gasp when I saw them.”

“Had you recently been to that store?” Kara asked.

“Yes. The man who owns the shop designs and makes his own jewelry. He takes other items on consignment. I am a frequent buyer because he certainly can use the business.” Ritaestelle lowered her voice. “Bless his heart, the poor man does give his best effort.”

“How do you think the earrings got into your handbag?” Kara said. Her tone was formal. She was in journalist mode again.

“I have no earthly idea,” she said, “but the next day I promptly returned them. I must say it was humiliating, especially since the owner seemed less than gracious. I suppose some of the talk already started after that very first incident.”

“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.”