Leann Sweeney - The Cat, the Lady and the Liar

“Gaslighting,” I said. “The term comes from an old movie. Karen, you probably know more about it than I do.”

“If I remember right,” she said, “in the film Gaslight , a woman is almost driven mad by her husband’s manipulations. One of the things he does is dim the gas lights in their home and then make her believe she’s imagining that they’ve been turned down.”

Tom nodded. “I get it. That’s like what the Manson family did when they broke into houses—that was before they got into more violent stuff. They would rearrange the furniture and steal nothing.”

“I’m not a cinema expert, nor do I know much about Charles Manson,” Ritaestelle said, “but, Karen, your explanation is such a relief. There is actually a word for what someone is trying to do to me.”

“We find the reason, we’ll get answers. Money seems the most likely motive. Someone drives you crazy, gets you declared incompetent and ends up in control of a fortune.” Tom looked at Ed. “By the way, did you know Ritaestelle’s brother, too?”

“Nope. He was older than us by—what? Five years?” He looked Ritaestelle’s way.

“That would be correct,” she answered. “You have a good memory, Edwin.”

Ed took a long swig of his lemonade, looking more embarrassed than I’d ever seen him.

The awkward silence was broken by a knock on the door.

Tom rose from the recliner he’d been sitting in. “I’ll get that.”

He let Desmond Holloway in, and the two shook hands. What the heck was he doing here?

But I remembered that sixth glass and understood then that he’d been invited.

After introductions he went straight to Ritaestelle, bent and kissed her lightly on the lips. “I came to help you, princess.”

The cramped living room and the late-morning air that whooshed in with Holloway made me feel so warm I gulped down half my glass of cucumber ice water.

Ed offered Desmond his spot on the sofa closest to Ritaestelle. Then he walked to the hall closet and brought out a folding chair. But Tom took the chair from him, set it up and told Ed to have the recliner. That was the spot I was most used to seeing Ed in, and for some reason the tension that had arrived with Holloway seemed to ease. But why did the man bother me?

He chatted on for several minutes about missing having coffee with Ritaestelle every morning, not talking to her on the phone, not sharing dinner a few times a week. I noticed that Ritaestelle seemed like a schoolgirl, hanging on his every word.

“You two have coffee every morning?” Tom asked.

He and I must think alike, because if they shared a drink every day, maybe the tea hadn’t been drugged. Perhaps it was the coffee. But what motive would he have to harm Ritaestelle?

Tom got straight to that. He looked at Ritaestelle, unsmiling. “You leaving anything in your will for this guy?”

“Thomas Lee Stewart,” Karen said. “You’re bordering on rude.”

“Mom, you may have grown up in the South and have all the same manners the Longworth bunch has, but I need to get to the bottom of this mess. If you think that’s rude, you can head for the kitchen or bedroom.”

“I don’t appreciate your tone,” Karen said. “And you shouldn’t tell your mother what to do in her own house. But I understand, and I forgive you.” She folded her hands in her lap and spoke to Ritaestelle. “I believe you should answer my son’s question.”

Ritaestelle cleared her throat. “Desmond and I are quite frank with each other. He is well aware that I will not be bequeathing anything to him.”

Tom looked at Holloway. “What about spending time together? When Ritaestelle was stumbling around her house in a stupor and her cat went missing, where were you?”

Wow. Tom sure didn’t like Holloway, and I wondered if he knew something he hadn’t shared with me.

Holloway’s ears were bright red even though he had a pasted-on smile. “We spoke on the phone. When she wasn’t feeling well, Ritaestelle didn’t want to see me.”

“That’s true, Mr. Stewart,” Ritaestelle said. “Besides, Desmond would never harm me.”

“Really?” Tom looked at Holloway. “Who else were you messing with when you were hanging out with Ritaestelle before you skipped town way back when? Word is, Augusta was on your list of conquests.”

This time Desmond’s entire face lit up with embarrassment. “I—I suppose Augusta told you that?”

“No, she didn’t,” Tom said.

“Who told you? And what else did they say?” Holloway was fidgeting with a diamond ring on his left pinkie, turning it around and around.

But before Tom could answer, Ritaestelle said, “Augusta, too? I knew about Nancy, and Charlotte, that girl who went on to sing in the opera, and even my friend Raye. I knew there were others, too. But Augusta ? She is related to me, for heaven’s sake.”

Yup, Tom knew exactly where he’d been headed with this and wore a satisfied smile as Holloway fought to find the words to get out of the trouble he suddenly found himself in. The fact that he’d even been involved with Chief Shelton made me think this Desmond character went after anything in a skirt.

“She meant nothing to me, Ritaestelle,” Holloway finally said.

“You mean she did not have enough money. You discarded one paramour after another and kept returning to me because I was wealthy. I forgave you, though I knew your true colors, but this? I am sorry, but this is too much.” Her jaw tightened, and she looked at Tom. “Is there anything else about Desmond I should know?”

“I can give you a complete report later. He does get around—like all over the world with wealthy women,” Tom said.

Holloway rose. “I will allow you time to digest this information, but do be careful believing everything you hear. I care very much about you, Ritaestelle.”

Once he was gone, Ritaestelle glanced back and forth between Ed and Karen. “I must apologize for taking up your time with my problems—some of which I obviously knew nothing about.”

“You’re a good woman, Rita,” Ed said. “Don’t let nobody, even yourself, convince you of anything different.”

We talked a while longer, but I realized why Tom had brought these particular players together today. He wanted happiness for his mother, he wanted Ritaestelle to hear an unpleasant truth, but most of all, he wanted Ed to be at peace. Ritaestelle had hurt him once, but that was over. He’d found love again, a love with Karen that I knew would last. Yup, I had a new insight into Tom, one I liked very much.

We left fifteen minutes later and returned to my house for lunch. Ritaestelle said little during the drive, and she didn’t talk during our meal of salad and sandwiches. Once Tom left to begin his case file and set up interviews with Farley, his mother and others, Ritaestelle asked if I’d join her outside.

She seemed to be walking better, but I did take her elbow once we were out on the deck and helped her settle into the wicker rocker. The warm breeze began playing with her silver hair. I remembered that red Velcro roller in her bangs when she came to my door what seemed like a century ago. Her hair had gone flat and wispy in the last couple of days, but that seemed to be the last thing on her mind. She rocked and stared out at the water, seemingly lost in thought.

I sat next to her in the lawn chair. I usually sat at the glass patio table behind us in one of the wrought-iron armchairs. I’d read or stitch and listen to the water lapping and the birds singing. But for now I wanted to be close to my new friend.

After about five minutes of silence, I mustered enough courage to ask Ritaestelle about Desmond Holloway. Since I had the feeling the meeting with him was what had brought her outside to think, she might need to talk about him—get that bad taste out of her mouth.