Leann Sweeney - The Cat, the Lady and the Liar

Kara grabbed a mug and poured herself some coffee before she and Tom joined me. She sat in her dad’s recliner and set her bag with the camera on the floor next to her.

“Will my backyard be gracing the front page of the newspaper?” I said.

“Just the dock,” she said. “If that’s okay with you.”

I took a deep breath and stroked Merlot, not answering right away. He was stretched out between Tom and me. Chablis immediately climbed into Tom’s lap, and Syrah stayed where he’d been, on the sofa back close to my head. Isis had disappeared yet again. Maybe if she stayed stuck in whatever object she’d crawled into this time, she’d learn a lesson.

“Please let me do this story the way it should be done, Jillian? That means interviewing you, too,” Kara said.

There it was. The very thing that concerned me. “I’m not sure I should do that,” I said. “Somehow it seems unfair to Ritaestelle. She’s in enough trouble without me adding to it by talking about her.”

“I’ve interviewed Mike Baca—an interview he was happy to provide, by the way—so I know most of the facts. But the duty of the press is to inform the public, to provide answers. I want to do the job right. You’re a witness with a unique perspective.”

Unique? Was that what this sick feeling was called? “If you spoke to Mike, don’t you have what you need? Besides, you haven’t lived here long enough to understand that even if you put out the facts, folks will still think up their own scenarios about what happened here.”

Kara leaned toward me, her tone soft but insistent. “That doesn’t matter to me. Besides, both Mike and Liam said an interview with you might stir up even more talk in town—talk they can follow up on.”

He was already Liam to her? Hmm. He certainly had a great smile. You can tell a lot by a person’s smile, and I kind of liked what I’d seen. Guess Kara did, too. When I didn’t say anything, Tom put his arm around my shoulder and squeezed me gently. “The press and the police have a funny relationship. It can be an unpleasant one, but they need each other. Tips are often generated from press coverage. Think about it as doing a service to Ritaestelle. If you honestly believe she’s innocent, your interview might just help her.”

I glanced back and forth between them. “Why do I feel like I’m betraying her trust?” Unfortunately, what bothered me more than betraying Ritaestelle was upsetting Kara if I refused to cooperate. That could put a strain on the new and still tenuous relationship we’d formed since she’d arrived in Mercy. That fear is what finally tipped the scales. I sighed and said, “Ask away.”

She asked about how I knew Ritaestelle—even though she already knew this—and went on to quiz me about the woman’s arrival and then the discovery of the body.

“Is it true you did CPR on the victim after you pulled her out of the water?” Kara said.

Those horrible moments from last night flashed through my mind. I felt the unexpected sting of tears but blinked them back. “Yes. But could you leave out the part about the CPR? I couldn’t help her. She was dead.”

Kara hesitated. “You tried to save her. That’s a fact, and I need to print it.”

“I failed Evie Preston, Kara. I don’t want to have that written down for everyone to read.” I blinked harder, really fighting the tears now.

Kara’s tone softened when she said, “Putting the story aside for a second, I want to say that I believe you were a hero out there. You did everything right. And I know that’s how other people in town will look at this.”

I took a breath, told myself to calm down before I said, “Can’t you please just write about what the police know?”

Kara sat back. “The last thing I want to do is upset you, but I need to verify with you what I learned from the police.”

I trusted Kara, didn’t I? She would get the story right. “Go ahead,” I said.

She recited what she’d heard from Mike, and I nodded to confirm everything she said until she asked, “And Ritaestelle Longworth appeared mentally unstable, correct?”

With that, I stopped nodding. “Not to me. And I’m the one she came to see. I understand she’s had her share of recent troubles, but—”

“But,” Kara said, “this once well-respected woman in her community has become a laughingstock. Your visit to Woodcrest confirmed that, correct?”

I felt anger bubbling up. “Only one person in my backyard could have said such a thing about Ritaestelle. Nancy Shelton, right?”

“The chief said she’s very concerned about Miss Longworth’s mental state.” Kara paused, taking the time to remove the elastic that held her long dark hair in a ponytail and gather up wayward strands before she refastened her hair at the nape of her neck.

Maybe she was giving me time to think about this statement, because it sure wasn’t a question.

But Tom spoke before I could. “What does that mean, Kara?” Tom asked. “I was there when Jillian talked with Chief Shelton yesterday. She’s friends with Ritaestelle, and nothing she said made me believe she considered the woman a laughingstock .”

“Okay, those are my words, and I would never print that,” Kara said, sounding sheepish. “But I do like you stepping in to support Jillian. That’s sweet.”

I said, “Is this the path the police have chosen to follow? To make Ritaestelle seem like a nutcase?”

“Not necessarily.” Kara paused to sip her coffee. “But since it was brought up and since Miss Longworth came to your door not exactly appropriately dressed for a visit, it’s an angle worth pursuing. Despite what you think, I’ve learned plenty about small-town life in the last few months. When the rich and powerful fall, people are quick to belittle them—even stomp on them. Besides, I understand there have been other incidents that call into question Miss Longworth’s mental health. Can you tell me more about what you learned?”

I was beginning to lose patience with Kara the Journalist, but I kept my tone even when I said, “No, I can’t. You should talk to Chief Shelton about what’s been happening in Woodcrest. The most important thing to me is that that this lady came to me for help and that her employee has been murdered.”

“In your backyard,” Kara said. “How did Evie Preston end up here?”

I shook my head. “I can only guess—and that’s not something you’d print.”

“You’re right,” Kara said, “but I still want your take. Did she follow Ritaestelle? And if so, why?”

“M-maybe Evie saw her boss leave the house and was concerned about her, so she followed,” I said.

“That’s sort of giving credence to the idea that she’s emotionally unstable, don’t you think?” Kara pressed.

“Why? Because Evie was worried enough about her to follow her? I don’t know. But how else did she get here?” The room seemed to be closing in on me. Why was Kara being so . . . intense ?

“Or,” Kara said, “could it have been the other way around? Miss Longworth followed Evie here. After all, you spoke with Evie when you went to the estate, and she knew who you were. But you never spoke with Miss Longworth that day.”

I shook my head, but the small fear that had been hiding in the back of my mind was pushed front and center now. What if that were true? What if Ritaestelle followed Evie here, they somehow ended up in my backyard and Evie was killed? But then, why would Ritaestelle come to my door? That didn’t make sense.

I said, “I don’t believe Ritaestelle murdered Evie. She simply didn’t have time.”

Kara said, “Can you be sure how long you were in that closet with the cat?”

“I can’t. Five minutes? Ten minutes? I’m not sure,” I said.