Leann Sweeney - The Cat, the Lady and the Liar

I was a little confused by this turnaround on Ritaestelle’s part but didn’t have to time to consider it for long because Candace joined us.

“That’s great you want to cooperate, but first of all, we need to collect evidence,” Candace said. Everyone knew Candace was obsessed with evidence.

Morris stood. He closed his eyes and moved his head from side to side in disgust. “Aw, for crying out loud, Candy.”

Candace looked at me. “Will you get my evidence kit from my car? We’ll need photos before we take her robe. That is a robe you’re wearing, right?”

Ritaestelle looked down toward her chest. “Why, yes. But I can explain. It is not as odd as you might think.”

Oh, yes, it is, I wanted to say.

“By the way, I am Deputy Candace Carson, Mercy PD. Didn’t have time to grab my badge when I heard about all this on the scanner, but believe me, I am a peace officer. I’ve spoken with my chief, and he’s asked me to take the lead on this.” Candace glanced at Morris briefly, and I’m sure she caught his unhappy expression before he looked at the ground.

Seemed like a good time for me to leave. I took off for Candace’s car for the requested evidence kit. I’d calmed down enough that questions seemed to ricochet off the inside of my skull. Why had Ritaestelle come outside? And considering her condition, how had she made it down to the dock? What was Evie Preston doing here? And what exactly happened in the relatively short time it took me to release Isis from the mess she’d gotten herself into?

When I returned to the backyard, I handed Candace her evidence satchel. I saw that Morris was now down by the lake. Bet he was plenty miffed that Police Chief Mike Baca had handed this investigation over to Candace so quickly. But then I realized that once she’d discerned that Evie Preston had been the victim of foul play, she’d called up Mike and asked for the assignment—even though she was supposed to be on vacation.

Candace took her camera from the evidence kit first. “Please hand the cat to Jillian and stand up, Miss Longworth.”

Ritaestelle blinked several times, as if processing these directions. Then she said, “Why, certainly.”

I took Chablis from her arms. Ritaestelle struggled to get out of the lawn chair, and Candace finally had to help her stand.

Candace said, “Just put your arms out and let me photograph the bloodstains.”

Again Ritaestelle looked down at her robe, her expression puzzled. But now her eyes widened in what sure seemed like horror. “On, my sweet Jesus. I cradled Evie’s head and—”

“Miss Longworth,” Candace interrupted. “Deputy Ebeling informed me before he left us that you invoked your right to counsel and then changed your mind. Let’s be clear that you realize anything you say may be used against you in a court of law.”

“I am completely aware. I simply mentioned that my late brother would have told me not to say anything. That does not mean I intend to follow any advice Farley might offer from the grave.” Ritaestelle lifted her chin, her lips tight. “I will tell you anything to assist you in unearthing what happened to Evie. It is the least I can do for her now.”

Candace said, “Then will you sign a document that you have waived your rights?”

“Certainly. Your name is Deputy Carson, correct?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Maybe we could go inside for the pictures?” I suggested. “Better lighting . . . and better footing.” I’d noticed that Ritaestelle’s slippers were gone. She needed to get inside before the fire ants found her.

Candace said, “Good idea. The deputy coroner is on her way, and we don’t want to be a distraction .” Candace eyed me.

Her look was a heads-up that I would be the distraction. Deputy Coroner Lydia Monk dislikes me intensely—mostly because she is obsessed with Tom Stewart. For some reason she thinks he’s her soul mate. Problem is, they’ve never even been on a date.

I helped Ritaestelle up the deck stairs and opened the back door. I should have anticipated the three cats that would be waiting there. When Isis took off like a speed demon toward the lake, Merlot and Syrah followed.

I shoved Chablis back in Ritaestelle’s arms and shot after them.

As I ran down the sloping lawn, I heard Candace shout, “Cats coming. Protect the evidence.”

Like you could protect anything, especially evidence, from a cat.

I saw Billy Cranor race up from the shore toward the three escapees, his fireman suspenders flapping at his waist. Isis managed to elude him and headed for a pine tree. A declawed cat—not my favorite subject, the declawing— can climb trees. But Isis apparently never practiced her technique. She made it about six feet up the trunk but couldn’t hang on. Billy grabbed her.

Meanwhile, after a futile attempt to avoid the path that Candace so desperately wanted us to stay away from, I reached the spot where my two had stopped to enjoy the outdoors before their inevitable capture. Syrah began furiously digging around in the pine needles, and I wondered if there was a mouse or chipmunk hiding under there. Merlot, knowing he was in trouble, decided to surrender by lying down and offering me his belly.

Billy said, “Can you handle those two while I take this one back to the house?”

“Indeed I can. Mine know better. The one you’ve got has never been taught the rules.” I knelt by Merlot and scratched his head. “Lying on your back, huh? What a pathetic ploy.” I scooped him up, and this got Syrah’s attention. The jealousy factor is never completely obliterated when it comes to my three, even by an adventure like this. I said, “Come on. In the house where you belong.”

Syrah raced ahead toward the back door—I swear he understands every word I say. Merlot began to purr. He’s too big for me to carry around on any regular basis, so he was especially enjoying this trip up to the house. I again tried to avoid the more worn path, but Billy hadn’t even bothered. This race and chase probably hadn’t helped Candace’s evidence collection efforts any either.

Before I made it back to the house, Morris Ebeling marched past me, his strides amazingly energetic. “Candy radioed for a Miranda waiver form and an evidence sack. Do I look like her errand boy?”

I knew better than to offer a reply, even a sympathetic one. I climbed the deck steps and opened the door carefully, in case Isis was free and decided to take off again. Syrah, who had been patiently waiting, slipped into the house first and scampered inside to who knows where. I’m sure he hoped to avoid the scolding I’d been giving Merlot.

Billy stood in the kitchen, still holding Isis. She was staring up at him with a look that I’ve seen on Candace’s face before: complete adoration. Did almost every female—even the nonhuman kind—find this guy irresistible?

“Thanks, Billy,” I said, setting my big cat down. Merlot decided to pretend nothing had happened and meandered over to his food dish.

“No problem. Better get back outside.” Billy offered Isis to me, but I shook my head. I wanted nothing to do with that little troublemaker right now. He put her on the floor, and she dashed off in the direction Syrah had gone. Billy went back outside, anxious no doubt, to return to the action now that he was relieved of cat duty.

Ritaestelle and Candace were seated at the dining room table, and Isis’s owner apparently didn’t see that black blur race through my living room.

I wasn’t sure if I should listen in on this interview, but with my open floor plan—the kitchen blending into the dining room and the dining room into the living room—how could I avoid hearing what they were saying? A gloved Candace solved my dilemma by waving me over.