Leann Sweeney - The Cat, the Lady and the Liar

When I passed the cats on the way to my room, Syrah stopped, pushing the small shiny button toward me. Guess shiny was better, and there was a scrap of blue fabric attached. How my cats loved fabric, even in minute amounts.

“Sorry, buddy. We’ll play tomorrow. I promise.”

Ritaestelle and I arrived at Griggs Funeral Home at seven sharp that evening. The small parking lot had only one spot left.

I took Ritaestelle’s arm and helped her. The footing wasn’t good, even for me.

“I have prayed on this and know coming tonight is the right thing to do,” Ritaestelle said. “But I am worried others might not see it that way.”

“You said in the car that Evie’s mother was very nice on the phone the other day. Maybe that’s all that counts,” I said.

I heard the crunch of gravel behind us. I turned, worried we might be the next two to be smacked on the head. But it was Desmond Holloway. He came up to Ritaestelle on her other side, and she was so surprised she stopped dead.

“Um, Desmond,” I said. “Do you think this is a good time?” I gripped the two umbrellas I held in my left hand a little tighter. This wasn’t what the poor woman needed right now.

He ignored me, saying, “Ritaestelle, I am truly sorry for our misunderstanding about Augusta. Please forgive me?”

“Misunderstanding?” Ritaestelle said. “I did not misunderstand. What I have done is choose to close my eyes to your flaws. That has now come to an end. If you will please be so kind as to leave me be. I am here to mourn the loss of a young woman who met a tragic and untimely death.”

Desmond stepped back and buttoned the top gold button on his nautical-looking blazer. Jeez. We were headed to a funeral visitation, not an outing on a yacht.

He couldn’t hide the desperation in his eyes and apparently wasn’t about to be dismissed so easily. He grasped Ritaestelle’s elbow. “Please talk to me, my precious. Let me make this up to you—”

“Leave her alone,” came the strong, firm voice of Nancy Shelton.

When had she arrived on the scene? But I was relieved to see her.

Desmond dropped his hand, and I was grateful. I could tell Ritaestelle was, too.

Clouds had hidden what was left of the sun, and thunder rumbled in the distance. A light rain began to fall.

Shelton said, “You two go inside. Desmond, you stay. I want a word with you.”

We left, leaving them behind. I glanced back and saw Shelton’s face close to Desmond’s, but whatever she was saying, the words didn’t carry. But her body language said she wasn’t happy with him at all.

I heard the organ music before we even opened the door to the old building. There was only one funeral home within twenty miles of both Mercy and Woodcrest. The Griggs brothers had been in business for more than fifty years, but now Anna Griggs, daughter of one of the brothers, managed the place. She greeted us when we walked in.

If she was surprised to see Ritaestelle, her face didn’t show it. She smiled and gestured at the guest book on the table behind her. Two vases of lilies framed the book. She never said a word, just stepped back after we signed and pointed to our left with another smile and a nod. I left the umbrellas in the stand by the door where others had left theirs and helped Ritaestelle down the short hall.

The organ music faded after we left the lobby, and I heard the quiet murmur of voices as we approached. But before we reached the room where Evie’s casket was, Ritaestelle stopped. “May I have a moment?”

“Sure,” I said.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She then clasped her hands together and bowed her head briefly. When she was finished, she raised her head, and I saw her chin quiver. “I need strength.”

“You’ve got plenty of that,” I said.

We walked into the room, and at once all eyes were on Ritaestelle. The entire Longworth family was clustered together, all except for Farley. Tom, Mike and several officers in uniform from both police departments stood in a far corner. The people I assumed were Evie’s family stood stoically near her white coffin.

The smell of death lingered beneath the scent of the baskets and sprays of flowers that lined the room. In a building this old, with its seventies-style paneled walls, that awful odor could not be masked even by a million flowers.

Ritaestelle left my side and made a beeline for a woman who looked to be around fifty. Words were exchanged, and the two embraced. Evie’s mother, no doubt.

Nancy Shelton appeared next to me. “I told Desmond to leave,” she said out of the side of her mouth. “He only came to see Ritaestelle. He cares nothing about the poor Preston family.”

“Ritaestelle is not too happy with him right now, so I’m sure she’s appreciative,” I said. I was stalling. I didn’t want to greet the mourners. What would I say? Hi. Your daughter died in my backyard. Nice to meet you.

“I heard that your friend Tom dug up plenty on Desmond,” Shelton said. “As far as I’m concerned, he did Ritaestelle a favor. Now, would you like me to introduce you to Evie’s mother and brothers?”

I inhaled, trying hard to only breathe through my mouth. The smell was making me a little sick. “Wait a minute,” I said. “I’ll be right back.”

I stepped back into the hall, took my phone from the pocket of my black dress pants and made sure it was silenced. I’d left my purse in the car since I needed to carry the umbrellas and help Ritaestelle, but the phone was my comfort line. I pulled up the cat cam, saw four cats sleeping in various spots and sighed. There. That felt better.

Making sure the phone was silenced, I put it in my back pocket. I tugged at my jacket and pressed my lips together to spread my lipstick. More stalling by worrying over ridiculous things. Truth was, I didn’t want to look at that poor dead woman’s face.

Shelton stuck her head out the door. She whispered, “Is something wrong?”

“No. Sorry.” I walked into the room and followed her lead to where Evie Preston’s family stood.

Ritaestelle was kneeling in front of Evie’s casket, head bowed. Augusta, Muriel and Justine had moved closer to her, I noted. I wondered what the conversation would be like when they finally got to talk to Ritaestelle.

Nancy introduced me to Loretta Preston, as well as to Evie’s brothers, Jeb and Carl. They were big, burly men—so different from their petite sister.

Loretta had dark circles under her red-rimmed eyes, and every line on her face seemed to stand out. The words ravaged by grief came to mind. I appreciated the way her sons stood on either side of her, ready to catch her if she fell—because she sure looked ready to collapse.

Loretta Preston grabbed both my hands in hers. “I understand you tried to save my baby girl. That you were heroic in your efforts to bring her back to life. I will be forever grateful that someone showed mercy and kindness at the end of her life.”

Shelton leaned close and said, “I’ll be over there with the other officers.”

“I—I didn’t do enough,” I said. Mercy. Such a powerful word. I recalled feeling like a failure that night, and not much had changed over the last several days. I added, “I’m only sorry no one could save her.”

“I take comfort knowing that she’s in a better place,” Loretta said.

Ritaestelle seemed to be having trouble getting up, and I reached out to help her.

She smiled sadly once she was on her feet. “I am sure you want to say a few words to poor Evie.”

Not exactly. If having trouble breathing is part of a panic attack, I had newfound sympathy for those who’d experienced one. My chest was tight, and I felt lightheaded. But though I would have preferred to run out the door as I had done at the Longworth house the other day, I took my place on the kneeling bench. I did, however, avoid so much as a glance at Evie. When I bowed my head, I realized this panic had an origin. This was my first funeral visitation since John’s death.