Leann Sweeney - The Cat, the Lady and the Liar

“Her version fits with what I learned when I canvassed your neighborhood. I needed to verify, that’s all,” Candace said.

“My neighborhood?” I said. “But we all live so far apart.”

“Voices carry over the lake at night. You know Mr. Voigt?” she said.

“Yes. He has this big old fishing boat,” I said. “But we just wave at each other and that’s about all.”

“The night of the murder, he was out on his deck having a smoke,” Candace said. “He heard the same thing that Ritaestelle did. The word no and an odd cry—he called it a wail. But he also confirms he heard what he said was a high-pitched voice coming from the direction of your house, Jillian. Someone calling for the cats.”

“Why didn’t he phone 911?” I said.

“Said he knows you’ve got cats that you care a lot about. Said the whole thing only lasted a few seconds and he decided it had to do with them.”

He knew about my cats, and yet I wondered if he even knew my last name.

“The questions you are asking have me wondering if you still believe I killed Evie,” Ritaestelle said.

“I wondered the night of the murder, and maybe I tried to intimidate you into confessing,” Candace said. “But in my training, I remember the words of an experienced officer. He told me that the only innocent person at a crime scene is the victim. That’s what I was thinking about when I arrived on the scene.”

“Sounds like your instructor was a wise man,” Ritaestelle said.

“He was. I always follow the evidence,” she said. “I’ve uncovered some support for your statement. I checked the GPS system in your car, and you came directly here. Plus I have corroboration that the attack on the dock apparently occurred before you even opened the door. Your voice is high-pitched and Mr. Voigt heard someone with that tone calling for the cats. Circumstantial evidence and the amount of time needed to commit the crime seem to rule you out.”

“Is Ritaestelle even strong enough to . . .” I swallowed before I went on. “To do what was done to Evie Preston?”

“I doubt it, but adrenaline is a powerful thing. Let me ask you this, Miss Longworth. Who do you think wanted Evie Preston dead?”

“I—I . . . I have no earthly idea. Evie was a confident young woman. She handled my affairs competently, dealt with the philanthropic requests that came in an assured and businesslike manner.”

“Did your family like her?” Candace asked.

“I would suspect not. I told Evie how much money my family should be allotted per month, and she either gave them a check or used the computer to transfer money to their accounts. Do you think that could have caused enough rancor that one of them killed her?”

Candace sighed heavily and fixed a blond strand of hair behind her ear. “People kill for all kinds of stupid reasons—and you ask me, money is one of those. Right now I need to get on with the business of figuring out what Miss Preston knew, what secret she may have held, that led to her death. I would appreciate your continued cooperation—even if my investigation leads to someone you care about.”

“Most likely the person who drugged me?” Ritaestelle said.

“Yes, ma’am. Your servant, Mr. Robertson, seems to know quite a bit about the folks living in your house. But he seemed reticent to talk about them. Maybe you can encourage him to cooperate.” Candace glanced at her watch. “My break is up, and I need to get back to your house.”

Ritaestelle smiled. “Do tell George I miss him, but that I am being well cared for and that he can speak freely to you.”

“I’ll do that. He sure seems protective of you,” Candace said.

“No such attitude came from my relatives, I assume.” Ritaestelle’s lips tightened, and she resumed her rocking.

“I can’t tell you what they had to say right now, but I told you about the neighbor because Kara will be printing what he said tomorrow,” Candace said. “Casting public doubt on you as a suspect might make the killer nervous. Maybe they’ll make a mistake, do something stupid.” She stood and started for the steps but turned before she reached them. “I forgot one question. Who had access to your car?”

“I always hang my keys on a hook by the back door that leads to the garages,” she said. “I have done so for years. Everyone in the household had access. Why are you asking?”

“Because if you didn’t put those items in your car, someone else did. Seems as if it could have been just about anyone.” Candace’s stony cop face was gone for an instant. I could tell she was deflated.

“Have you ever heard of gaslighting, Deputy Carson?” Ritaestelle said.

“Gaslighting?” Candace sounded puzzled. “Are you talking about arson? And what would that have to do with this murder?”

“Can you explain the gaslighting to her, Miss Jillian?” Ritaestelle said.

“Sure.” I told Candace what we’d discussed earlier with Karen and Ed.

“Oh. You mean you’re being set up,” Candace said to Ritaestelle. “Didn’t know there was a name like that for it. But that’s why I came today. We’re on the same page.”

“We’ll have to rent the movie Gaslight if it’s on DVD,” I said.

Candace pointed at me and smiled. “Sounds like a film I need to see.”

She hurried down the steps and was gone.

Ritaestelle and I spent the rest of the afternoon and evening indoors playing with the cats and talking. I threw together a hamburger Stroganoff that Ritaestelle thought was delicious. I wondered how many fifteen-minute meals she’d ever eaten and if she was simply being polite with her praise. After supper, while I did some hand quilting on orders that urgently needed my attention, Ritaestelle asked a million questions about my past, how I’d learned to quilt and why I’d moved to South Carolina. The conversation eventually turned to my late husband, and I was again reminded of Farley Longworth’s accusation. Still not wanting to talk about what he’d said, I instead told her about John and some of the wonderful things we’d done together.

“Mr. Stewart has a genuine affection for you. Have you had enough time to heal from your loss and return that affection?” Ritaestelle said.

“Some days yes and some days no,” I said.

“That is an honest answer. Life is indeed complicated.” She glanced at the clock on the DVR box next to the television.

“Nine o’clock,” she said. “I must say, I am extremely tired.”

“Can I help you to your room?” I asked.

“I truly am beginning to heal. The more I walk on my own, the better.” She left the living room with Isis leading the way.

I was about to get up, set the security system and curl up with a book when my phone rang. I saw Tom’s name on the caller ID and felt a tad guilty talking to him right after my conversation with Ritaestelle about John and about my hesitancy at times to allow Tom completely into my life.

I answered with a breezy, “Hey there,” hoping he wasn’t as perceptive as he usually was. I did like Tom, after all. A lot.

“It’s Candace,” Tom said hurriedly. “I’ll pick you up in ten minutes.”

“What are you talking about?” I said. But the urgency in his voice told me something was terribly wrong.

“She was hit over the head in her apartment parking lot. They’ve taken her to the county hospital.”

I could feel my heart pounding at my temples. “She’ll be okay, though?”

“I don’t know. She’s unconscious.”

As soon as I hung up with Tom, I speed-dialed Kara with a shaky hand. I couldn’t leave Ritaestelle alone, but I had to get to that hospital. I was hoping she’d come over and stay with my houseguest.