Leann Sweeney - The Cat, the Lady and the Liar

“Send them up to the house,” Candace said. She looked at me. “Man, I sure wanted to get this woman out of here before Lydia made her way back up here. Not too much chance of that now.”

“I don’t want Lydia hanging around any longer than necessary. But I honestly believe Ritaestelle is telling the truth—for what that’s worth. And she is having a difficult time walking. I suspect she’s in considerable pain.”

Candace sighed. “I’m sure you’re right—about the pain.”

We walked back to join Ritaestelle, whose tears had dried. She was looking rather stoic now. “May I see my cat before you lock me up?”

“I didn’t say we’re arresting you, Miss Longworth. I need a heck of lot more information before we go down that road,” Candace said.

“May I please see my cat?” she repeated.

“Sure,” Candace said. “Jillian?”

I left to find Isis, thinking that in believing Ritaestelle, I was following my heart rather than my head. That blood on her robe sure was telling, and I didn’t know if this whole “I was drugged” thing was true. Plus, I now recalled that Ritaestelle had been holding that rock in her hand when I first saw her on the dock. I needed to tell Candace about that when I got the chance.

I opened the door to my quilting room, not prepared for what I saw. Fabrics that I kept in color-coordinated stacks on a bookshelf littered the floor. And the drawer where I kept my quilt bindings must have been left ajar because Isis had various bindings wrapped all over her. Chablis was in a corner, grooming herself. I wished I had had time to clean the blood off her before she took care of the problem herself. Too late now.

Syrah was sitting and staring at Isis, while Merlot, wearing one bright yellow binding around his neck, lay on his back at her feet. Bet she liked that. Another adoring fan.

“All four of you have been up to no good all night,” I said. I walked over and disentangled Isis. She didn’t resist, didn’t even hiss or try to bite.

A terrible thing happened tonight, and yet in this, the room I called my safe haven, four animals had been doing what cats do—exploring, playing and letting their curiosity take over. Their world would not be darkened by tragedy. They were loved and cared for, and how I wished it could be that way for every living thing. If that ever came to be, it would be too late for Evie Preston. Far too late.

I sighed, picked up Isis and carried her to the living room. All three of my cats followed.

Two paramedics were with Ritaestelle—Jake and Marcy. Marcy was kneeling by Ritaestelle and gently probing the older woman’s hip. Jake stood on her other side checking her blood pressure. Cats have been known to help lower blood pressure just by sitting in a person’s lap. I was willing to bet Ritaestelle needed that kind of help right now.

Once Jake took the cuff off her arm, I walked over and held Isis out to her.

She smiled feebly and took her cat. Isis pulled her head back immediately so she could look at Ritaestelle’s face. And then she leaned into her mistress’s chest, closed her eyes and began to purr.

The reunion between Isis and Ritaestelle was short-lived. The cat belonged to me again once the paramedics decided that Ritaestelle needed her hip X-rayed. Candace went with her in the ambulance to the county hospital.

Which left me with Lydia Monk. That was because she is a county “investigator” and not a medical examiner—she’s not even close to being a doctor. I had to tell her everything that went on before I found Evie in the water. But I got to ask a few questions of my own after I told her all I knew.

“Do you think Evie Preston drowned?” I asked.

I’d changed my clothes and we were sitting in my living room with glasses of sweet tea. Even though I do not care for Lydia, that doesn’t mean I can’t be polite. Besides, I needed a little sugar boost after the evening’s stressful events.

All four cats had disappeared as soon as Lydia came in through my back door and hadn’t shown their furry faces in the last thirty minutes. I sure could have used a cat in my lap to keep my blood pressure in check. But I was doing an adequate job keeping my emotions under control even though the image of Evie’s wide dead eyes kept reappearing. And I had to admit that this conversation between Lydia and me was going well insofar as there’d been no remarks from her about our imaginary romantic triangle.

Lydia said, “I can’t be certain about whether she drowned until I find the doc on call to do an autopsy. But that blow she took to the head? My guess is that was what did her in. I saw no evidence of drowning. Her face was pale, but her lips weren’t discolored and I saw no frothing at the mouth. Believe me, I’ve seen more than my share of drowning deaths, what with all the lakes around here. She didn’t look like a drowning victim.”

“All that blood came from her head?” I asked.

“Oh yeah. Head wounds bleed like crazy. There were blood on the dock, a bloody broom, bloody slippers.” Lydia paused. “You didn’t notice? Because the way folks talk, you’re supposed to be so damn observant.”

I literally bit my lip to keep from firing back that I was pulling a woman out of the water and not checking around for blood evidence. Keeping my voice even, I said, “I never went up onto the dock.”

“Ah, that explains it, I suppose. Anyway, I suspect you won’t want that broom back—ever,” Lydia said.

“W-was that the murder weapon?” And could Ritaestelle have wielded enough force to kill Evie with a broom? The thought made me shudder. Maybe I was wrong about Ritaestelle. Maybe something awful went on before I got down to the dock.

“I have no idea if that broom did the woman in,” Lydia said. “Until a doctor examines the skull, we won’t know. From what I overheard, that Longworth woman is a little off, though. Maybe capable of attacking Evie Preston. You’re probably lucky she didn’t take a swing at you for having her cat.”

“She’s grateful her cat is safe. And she doesn’t seem like a violent person to me,” I said.

Lydia said, “And just what does a violent person seem like?”

Good question. But I didn’t have a chance to respond because my front doorbell rang. That brought cats running from various hiding places to see what was up. Even Isis. They all gathered in the foyer, anticipating more nighttime adventures. It was well past midnight now, and I wondered if Candace had returned from the hospital to gather more evidence or ask more questions.

I went to the door and saw Tom through the peephole. “Oh no,” I whispered. The sound of my voice had all thirty-two muscles in each of Syrah’s ears twitching. I opened the door, knowing I couldn’t pretend that no one was home.

“Hi there, Tom,” I said loudly when I opened the door. Then I whispered, “ She’s here. Think of some great reason why you’ve showed up.”

Tom nodded and said, “Is something wrong with your security alarm?”

Lydia was at the entrance to the foyer when I turned around.

“Hi, Lydia. What are you doing here?” Tom said.

She smiled—and I couldn’t read her. Was that a sarcastic smile or a stalker smile? Maybe both. “You know what I’m doing here, Tom. I show up at every murder scene. Better question: What are you doing here?”

“My job. According to my control panel for my clients, Jillian’s alarm was engaged, disengaged within a few minutes and never reset. I thought that was suspicious. Just wanted to make sure everything was okay.”

Ah. He’d checked my system—probably after he heard what had happened on his police scanner.