Leann Sweeney - The Cat, the Lady and the Liar

Tom was in the middle of enjoying his sandwich but swallowed quickly and said, “You might be right about that.”

Dolly nodded, looking pleased.

Wayne said, “Sorry, Dolly, but I’m with Herman. Something ain’t right. Miss Ritaestelle’s got to be sick. Think of all she’s done for this town. Rather than saying—”

“Done right for this town in your minds, maybe.” Dolly crossed her arms again, her cheeks flushed.

Herman stood. “I think we best be on our way. Old business isn’t what potential homeowners in Woodcrest need to be hearing about. Come along, Dolly.”

Dolly’s lips were pressed together, and bright spots of color lingered high on her cheeks. She hoisted a large white vinyl purse over her arm and stood.

Wayne was staring into his coffee, and I saw a smile playing on his lips.

Herman shook Tom’s hand and nodded at me. “Nice to meet you folks.”

“Yes.” Dolly mustered a smile. “Forgive me for my earlier remarks. The Longworth family has a long history of generosity. I sounded downright mean about Ritaestelle’s difficulties. And that’s not the kind of person I am.”

She and Herman left the restaurant, and as soon as the door closed after them, Wayne leaned toward me. “Forty-two years ago Ritaestelle showed up at a local dance hall with Dolly’s boyfriend. Or so Dolly says. But she says lots of things.”

Tom said, “Women have amazing memories.”

Wayne laughed. “Don’t I know that.”

“Hey,” I said, “I resemble that remark.”

We all had a laugh, and then Wayne left, too.

I said, “Seems there is something wrong with Miss Longworth—but shoplifting? The poor woman fell. How could she shoplift if she needs help walking down the hall?”

“Maybe Ritaestelle is having some sort of a breakdown. She could be on medication.”

“True,” I said. “Let’s finish our lunch and head to the park. Hopefully we can find out something else.”

Tom dug his fork into a gigantic heap of coleslaw while I continued the wonderful Southern Salad experience.

I felt guilty wearing Tom’s hat as we sat on a white wrought-iron bench in the charming and well-manicured city park. He has this small bald spot on his crown that might become seriously sunburned. But I didn’t dare take the hat off, and in fact I tucked telltale strands of hair back under the cap. I felt more comfortable with the sunglasses back on, but I had this sickening feeling that Chief Nancy Shelton might be just around the corner and would recognize me even if I’d worn the wig.

This acre of flowers and lush green trees smack in the center of town couldn’t have been more lovely. The bench we’d chosen was one of four that made up a square surrounding a small fountain. The murmuring of spilling water helped to calm me as Tom and I sat in silence. Such a peaceful place.

A woman about my age—midforties, maybe—arrived twenty minutes after we’d sat down. She was assisting an elderly lady who needed a cane to help her walk.

“There you go, Mama,” the younger woman said. She handed her mother a brown paper lunch sack after they’d both sat down on the bench perpendicular to ours.

The birds and the squirrels began to arrive before the older woman tossed out the first bread crumbs. Her shriveled, arthritic hand trembled as she tossed the food to the anxious sparrows and blackbirds. Two squirrels sat up like little begging dogs, and I soon saw why. “Mama” reached into her skirt pocket and pulled out several peanuts. With a peanut in each palm, she bent toward the squirrels and held out her shaky hands. The squirrels approached quickly, grabbed their prizes and ran off behind the oak trees beyond.

“You’ve got them trained,” I said with a smile.

The younger woman spoke. “She brought me here every day when I was a kid. Now it’s my turn to make sure she gets as much joy as we shared back then.” She placed an arm around her mother and squeezed her.

The cloudy-eyed and slightly confused look the old woman gave her daughter was one I knew well. In my grandfather’s later years, he remembered only routine—and none of his family. We had become strangers.

Tears welled in my eyes at the memory, and the young woman saw this. “Ah, you understand.” Her lips quivered, and she returned to their task, assisting her mother in getting a new handful of bread crumbs from the bag.

Tom took my hand in his and said, “You come here every day?”

“Yes,” the woman said, not making eye contact. She remained focused on helping her mother. “I’ve never seen you here before. Tourists?”

“You could say that,” he said. “But tourists on a mission.”

She looked at Tom then. “What does that mean?”

“We need information about a local woman,” I said. Looking for a house, pretending we were married, wouldn’t cut it for me this time. I just couldn’t lie to this woman. I couldn’t play what suddenly seemed like a ridiculous game.

Tom turned sharply to look at me, but I avoided his gaze, removed my sunglasses and went on. “I’m Jillian, by the way.”

“I—I’m Rebecca, and this is my mother, Gertrude.” But her voice was hesitant, her look guarded.

The old woman turned to her daughter. “Gertrude, you say? That sounds so familiar.”

Rebecca patted her mother’s thigh. “That’s your name, Mama. Gertrude Hill.”

“Oh. That’s nice, isn’t it?” Gertrude went back to feeding the birds.

Rebecca took a deep breath and released it slowly.

“Do you know Miss Longworth?” I asked.

Tom sighed, and I felt his shoulder slump a little. He probably didn’t think I was doing the right thing by taking this tack.

“Are you the FBI or something?” Rebecca said. “Has it gotten that bad?”

“Why would you think that?” Tom sounded as surprised as I felt.

“Are you?” Rebecca persisted. “Because I think you’re supposed to show me a badge or something if that’s the case.”

I shook my head. “No. We’re not police or FBI or anything like that. But we do know there’s been trouble at the Longworth house. Have you heard about it?”

“Why is it any of your business?” She leaned against the hard bench’s back, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Her penetrating stare was on me.

My heart sped up. Was this another mistake? Had my gut feeling about this woman been wrong? I’d sensed she’d be honest and open, but now she was suspicious—and with good reason.

“I was in the Longworth house yesterday,” I said. “I went there with some simple questions and soon discovered that Miss Longworth seems ill. Something isn’t right, and I feel obligated to find out what’s going on.”

Gertrude looked at her daughter and said, “She’s a good one, Becky.” She raised a crooked finger to one eye. “It’s right there in her eyes. What’s your name again, sweetie?”

“Jillian,” I said.

“Pretty name, just like you. And a sight better than Gertrude any day,” she replied.

Rebecca smiled and took her mother’s hand. “I should talk to her? Is that what you’re saying, Mama?”

Gertrude nodded. “That’s what I’m saying. Miss Ritaestelle made sure we got the mortgage for our first house. Told the banker we’d always be good for the payments. Did you know that, Becky?”

“No, I didn’t,” Rebecca said. The younger woman’s face had brightened; she was probably thrilled about these precious lucid moments.

“If Miss Ritaestelle is in trouble, then you need to help Jillian. Now, I need more peanuts. Did you forget to bring them again?” Gertrude said.

“They’re in your pocket, remember?” Rebecca said.

Gertrude struggled to reach into the folds of her skirt and came out with a handful of peanuts. “Well, slap me silly, who put those there?” She tossed a few over her shoulder, and the four squirrels that had now gathered scurried in that direction. Gertrude smiled broadly and turned to watch.