Leann Sweeney - The Cat, the Lady and the Liar

“Everything’s not okay,” Lydia said. “Murder. Again.”

“Really? What happened?” Tom knelt and my three cats hurried to him for some head scratching. An aloof Isis stayed back.

“Who do you think you’re kidding, Tom? My guess is your wannabe girlfriend, Jillian, called you over here. She thinks she has a chance with you, but we both know she’s dreaming. Isn’t that right?” Lydia’s penciled-in eyebrows rose.

“Who died?” Tom always avoided these crazy Lydia questions far better than I could ever manage.

“Seems Jillian got all curious again, went to Woodcrest on some animal rescue mission at Shawn’s command. Now we’ve got a bona fide tragedy. Some chick from Woodcrest came here and got cracked over the head. Jillian is always sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong—and I hope you’re taking note of that.”

My jaw dropped. She was blaming me? Saying that my going to Woodcrest led to Evie’s death? That made no sense, and yet guilt niggled at me anyway.

“You must have reports to write, mustn’t you, Lydia?” Tom said.

She glanced at her watch, the one with the wide gold lamé band. “I do. But I haven’t finished my tea. Jillian and I were having a nice little talk about her involvement in this latest crime.”

“You have more questions?” I asked.

“You want me to leave so you can be alone with him, don’t you?” Lydia turned to Tom. “She won’t come between us. Ever.”

Oh boy. Cue the Twilight Zone music.

It was a cat who managed to do what I couldn’t accomplish. Isis came sauntering over from her corner of the foyer and began rubbing against Lydia’s leg. Cats can always pick out the people who like them the least and make them uncomfortable.

Lydia looked down at Isis and then back at me. “Get that cat away from me.”

“She seems to like you,” I said, making no move to halt Isis’s marking activity.

A smile played at Tom’s lips.

“I said, make this animal go away.” Lydia sidestepped, but Isis followed.

“I’m kind of afraid to do that. This is the cat that belongs to Ritaestelle Longworth, and I have to say, she’s not as well behaved as my cats,” I said. “If I touch her, she might bite me.”

“You’re scared? Well, I’m not.” Lydia made the mistake of reaching down and attempting to shoo Isis away.

Isis, in good goddess form, screeched and made an attempt to bite Lydia’s hand.

Lydia jumped to her left, her eyes wide. “What a nasty little creature.”

Isis’s black coat puffed out, and she arched her back. But she didn’t run off.

My turn to stifle a smile. “I have no control over this one. Sorry.”

Tom reached down and swooped Isis up, then held her up to Lydia’s face. “Come on. You two can be friends.”

Isis offered one of her trademark fang-baring hisses.

Lydia craned her head away. “I think I’m done here. For now.” She pointed a bloodred fake nail at me. “But you keep your cat paws off Tom, you hear?”

Tom handed Isis to me. “Can I walk you out, Lydia? You never know. There could be a killer lurking.”

“Why, that would be so nice.” She smiled, looking almost giddy. With Lydia carrying her stiletto heels, they went out the front door.

I breathed a sigh of relief and hugged on Isis. “Thank you, sweetheart. You have redeemed yourself.” I set her down and she raced off after Syrah. He was batting yet another button down the hallway.

Tom returned a minute later. “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, I always say. I checked, and it looks like the crowd out back is wrapping up. Was it a drowning or definitely a murder?”

“Murder.” I sighed heavily. “Come on in and I’ll tell you what I know.” We went into the living room, and when I finished I said, “I don’t think Ritaestelle did this, Tom.”

His face was expressionless. He was probably thinking like a cop—not ready to rule out anyone as a killer just because I had an opinion about suspect numero uno.

Morris came through the back door then and said they were done for the night but would be back early in the morning.

After he left, Tom stood. “You look like you could use some sleep.” He pulled me up and gave me a much-needed hug, promising to return in the morning. Before he left, he reminded me to reengage my security alarm. Like I would have forgotten after all that had gone on. But the fact that he’d voiced his concern felt good.

When I went to my bedroom, whom did I find waiting to cuddle up with me? Isis. She had saved me from a sticky circumstance, so I could hardly send her to the basement.

“Come on, wild one. You’re welcome to join me,” I said once I settled in under the sheets. As if I had a choice in the matter.

I hoped for a peaceful night. The feline crew had to be tired, too. Cats aren’t truly nocturnal—they prefer dusk and dawn antics, making them crepuscular.

Isis, I soon learned, preferred sleeping by my head and taking up half the pillow, but before I even had to remove one long black hair from my face, I nodded off. And I would need that sleep in the next few days if they proved to be anything like the last two.

“Where’s the rest of the police force?” I said when I led Candace, Morris and Mike Baca into the kitchen at seven the next morning.

Mike wore his forest green uniform—hardly ever saw him in that. “Probably asleep if they’re smart,” he said. “All twenty Mercy officers met at the station last night. We were all briefed by Morris, and I thought we had completed the initial paperwork, but then Lydia showed up. She kept everyone way too long with her questions.”

His tone was restrained, very professional, but he and Lydia had been in a relationship once. Everyone in Mercy knew how embarrassed Mike was about that fling. How those two had ever hooked up in the first place was beyond me—but then I knew he’d made several bad choices in the relationship department.

I gestured at the coffeepot and mugs on the counter. “Help yourself. I’m sure you guys will need plenty of that.”

Murmuring thanks, they all made their way to the coffee. Candace looked the most alert of the three this morning, but, then, she was young and eager and an evidence hound.

Though Merlot, Chablis and Syrah had joined me when I’d gotten up, they didn’t greet my guests this morning. They’d eaten and taken off to find their favorite sunning spots. Trouble was, it looked cloudy this morning. As for Isis? She stayed in bed. It was probably far too early for goddesses.

“Can you tell me about Ritaestelle? What happened at the hospital?” I asked Candace.

“She spent the night. Still there as far as I know.” Candace sipped her coffee.

“Because of her hip?” I said.

“She had one giant bruise. Saw it myself when she changed clothes after I took that robe into evidence. But I don’t know if her hip is cracked, sprained or what,” Candace said.

Morris stirred sugar into his mug. “The hip is definitely a problem, but I heard she needed her head examined, too. Kept talking conspiracy theories.”

“Deputy Ebeling,” Mike said sharply.

“It’s true,” Morris said.

“She required a neurological workup and a tox screen,” Mike said. “She kept saying she’d been drugged, and we have to follow up on that. No one but you is implying she has psychiatric problems.”

“But you have to admit, Miss Longworth is odd, Chief,” Candace said. “ ’Course, if she was really drugged like she claimed, that could have caused all sorts of mental stuff.”

“ Claimed she was drugged is the key,” Morris said. “I say you folks are blinded by the gleam off all her gold bricks. She’s guilty as sin.”