Leann Sweeney - The Cat, the Lady and the Liar

Justine Longworth arrived next, after I’d had only one bite of pastry. But oh my god, what a bite it was. The flaky strudel, rich with cinnamon and butter and apples, practically melted in my mouth.

I tapped at my chin with a new napkin and smiled at Justine, who carried what looked like a black dress in a dry cleaner’s bag.

Tom stood, introduced himself and thanked her for coming to talk to us.

She took the chair next to his after draping the dress over a different seat back. Now that I was close to her, and despite her makeup, I could tell she’d indeed had cosmetic surgery. Her mouth was pulled tight by what was probably a recent facelift. A face as thin as hers didn’t look normal with the bee-sting look to her lips and the collagenenhanced cheeks. I had no argument with her hair, though. Layered, then highlighted and low-lighted in shades of brownish red and dark blond, the style and colors suited her complexion.

Her khaki sleeveless dress had that Ann Taylor look. Whatever funds Ritaestelle allotted her relatives, none of them seemed to be wanting.

“You were married to Ritaestelle’s brother, I understand,” Tom said.

“Yes,” she said.

She sounded curt and seemed none too happy to be talking to the likes of us.

“How is your relationship with Ritaestelle?” he asked.

“That’s not the kind of information the police were interested in,” Justine said. She seemed composed, but again, definitely not happy.

“We’re not the police. We were hired by your sister-in-law to find out the truth about past events.” Tom offered his best sarcastic smile. “You know, the kind of stuff that made her run to a stranger for help.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Be specific,” she said.

Not intimidated, I thought. Maybe this woman had more backbone than anyone else who lived here.

“Is that alcohol I smell on your breath, Ms. Longworth?” Tom said.

Whoa. Good thing we’d changed chairs and he picked up on that. Since Tom’s mother was a recovering alcoholic, he probably had Justine figured out the minute she sat down.

“I enjoy a glass of wine every now and then. What does that have to do with anything?” she said.

But that alabaster skin was growing blotchy at her throat. He’d found her weakness instantly and confronted her. I could never have been so blunt.

“Maybe your drinking has nothing to do with anything, but it’s—what?” Tom checked his watch. “Two o’clock? A little early, don’t you think?”

“Get on with your questions.” Her eyes bored into Tom’s.

“I already asked one and you didn’t answer. Got something to hide?” he said.

“Oh, all right. I get along fine with Ritaestelle. We stay out of each other’s way. She prefers socializing, inviting this one and that one here. Has her dinner parties. Me? I like to be alone.” She raised her sculpted brows and tried to smile.

“Alone with your friend Chivas? Bet your drink of choice is expensive,” Tom said.

He was baiting her, and I had no idea why. But I trusted he knew what he was doing.

“What I do in the privacy of my upstairs rooms is no one’s business,” Justine said coldly. “It certainly has kept me out of this embarrassment Ritaestelle has created. My husband is turning over in his grave, I’m sure.”

“She’s a disgrace? Is that what you’re saying?” Tom said.

“She’s apparently a thief and a liar.” Justine turned her head away from Tom, but the facade was beginning to crumble. She was blinking hard.

Softly Tom said, “I can see you don’t want to believe that. And who’s the real disgrace, Justine?”

Her head snapped back in his direction, and she glared at him, but tears glistened in her eyes. A tense few seconds passed before she said, “I thought she was the sane one. I thought I could depend on her. Obviously that’s not the case.”

“Who’s the real disgrace?” Tom repeated.

She whispered, “I am.” Tears slipped from her lids and down her cheeks.

I grabbed a napkin and passed it across to her. My heart had sped up. Were we about to get a confession?

“Thank you,” she said to me, then dabbed at her wet face. She made eye contact with Tom again, but this time the hostility was gone. “Ritaestelle is the rock in this family. Always there for everyone. Her leaving us like this, well, you see how selfish I can sound. But in truth, her departure has made me realize how poorly I’ve treated her and how much I owe her.”

“Sounds nice,” Tom said, “but that means you didn’t always feel that way. What’s your main beef with Ritaestelle?”

“The way she treats my son. Like he’s a moron. He deserved—” She stopped herself. “No. That’s the story I tell myself when I open a bottle of wine at noon. You want to know the real issue?”

Tom leaned toward her, arms resting on the table. “That’s why we’re here.”

“My husband left all the Longworth money not to us, but to Ritaestelle. There. I’ve said it. My own husband thought I’d fritter it away. Trouble is, he was probably right. I’m not good at anything but leeching off my sister-in-law. And Farley is the same. We depend on Ritaestelle for everything—and that is both a curse and a blessing.”

Tom nodded and smiled. “Thanks for being straight. Most refreshing thing that’s happened in, oh, the last hour.”

Justine bit the side of her mouth. “I don’t know anything. That’s the truth.”

“Maybe you know more than you think.” Tom gripped the chair’s arms and settled back. “Muriel said that you would know what the police found yesterday when they executed the search warrant. What was she talking about?”

“Oh, that.” Justine twisted the makeup-stained napkin. “Some of my jewelry was found behind Ritaestelle’s armoire—hidden in a brown paper sack. Items that my late husband bought me.”

Muriel’s ring and now Justine’s jewelry. Wow. Those were a step up from a bag of rubber bands.

“You believe Ritaestelle took them?” Tom asked.

Justine shook her head. “I simply cannot picture Ritaestelle sneaking around, grabbing up things that aren’t hers and hiding them away. The woman can buy anything she wants.”

“Who can you picture doing something like that?” Tom said.

“I suppose Muriel or Augusta. Out of spite. They have their own issues concerning the family fortune—or didn’t you make them cry and spill their guts, Mr. Stewart?” Her turn for sarcasm. But this time she almost managed a real smile.

Tom laughed. “We saved the best for you, Justine. You’ve been very helpful.”

She reached to her right and rested a hand on the black dress. “Mrs. Hart, would you mind taking this for Ritaestelle to wear this evening? Evie’s visitation is tonight, and I’m sure she won’t want to miss it.”

“No problem. Do you have a time and place?” I said.

“I’ll have George write everything down. You’ll find a shoebox on the hall table holding the other things she might need.”

“One more question,” Tom said. “Where were you last night?”

“In my room visiting with my friend Jim Beam. See, I don’t go for the expensive stuff. I go for what suits someone like me—someone cheap.”

She left the room, shoulders hunched, head down—something no amount of cosmetic surgery could ever fix.

“She’s right about the visitation,” I said. “Ritaestelle will definitely want to go.”

“That’s not exactly how I wanted to spend my evening,” Tom said.

“I can take her,” I said.

“No, we will take her. After what happened to Candace, I’m not taking any chances.” His turn for a strudel break before the last family member arrived. “The question remains, who did that to Candace and why?”