The Cat, the Lady and the Liar

“Would you hush?” Shelton said. “The poor girl’s body is right over there.” She tossed her head in the direction of the casket. The twisting motion strained her navy jacket—did she ever wear anything else?—and a button popped off.

I bent and picked it up. The button looked similar to the one Syrah had been playing with today. As I handed it to her, I said, “Did you lose a button like this before?”

She flushed. “I’ve gained a few pounds in the last month. I suppose I could have lost one at your place.”

“I’ll steal the button back from my cat and return it. I was a textile arts major, even did some dress designing before I fell in love with quilting. Are your suits custom-made by—”

“Can you please give me insight into the family?” Kara said impatiently.

Shelton turned to Kara, looking equally impatient. “Like I said, you’ll upset those people. I can’t have that.”

“Do you even want to solve Evie’s murder?” Kara said. But at least she did whisper.

“That’s a ridiculous question,” Shelton said. Tiny beads of sweat dotted her upper lip. It was warm in the room, and I was sure wearing that suit made it that much warmer.

“Please,” I said. “This gathering is for Evie.” I looked at Kara. “Can you wait until after the visitation has ended to approach the family?”

“I suppose.” She glared at Shelton. “But for now, I think I’ll introduce myself.” She walked over to them.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Shelton said. “But we’re not used to your stepdaughter’s aggressive, big- city type of reporting here.”

“A human interest story is aggressive?” I said.

She raked a hand through her tight gray curls. “Maybe not, but did you see her headline about Deputy Carson? ‘Officer Attacked’? That seemed like someone was shouting at us. We aren’t fearmongers in these parts.”

“I wouldn’t think that a genteel approach to murder and assault would be effective in helping the police convey information to the community or to generate tips,” I said.

“I see you’ve been brainwashed by your stepdaughter,” she said. “But I suppose that’s part of trying to be a mother.”

Trying? Maybe there was a grain of truth to that—I was trying—but why did she have to bite back at me? My guess? Nancy Shelton, no matter how hard she tried, couldn’t hide the fact that she was bitter. Did she even have a family, or did the Woodcrest Police fill that void for her?

I caught Ritaestelle’s eye, and she looked almost pleading now, unlike before. I should have been paying closer attention to what was going on over there. “If you’ll excuse me, Ritaestelle looks like she’s had enough. She might want to go home.”

“You know her that well, huh? Have you asked her if she might want to go to her real home?” Shelton said.

“Ritaestelle was drugged,” I said. “What’s to stop whoever did it from doing it again?”

“I have been her friend for years. I will protect her,” she said.

Guess this mingling of people from Mercy and people from Woodcrest had her feeling territorial. “You’re right,” I said. “Why don’t we ask her?” But I knew what Ritaestelle would say.

We walked over to the circle of women surrounding Ritaestelle.

“Why, Mrs. Hart,” Augusta said. “Glad you could take time to say hello to us.” She nodded at Shelton. “Hello, Nancy.”

Justine said, “We’ve been trying to convince our Ritaestelle to return home. We miss her and Isis.”

Her breath smelled so strongly of alcohol, I was wondering if poor Ritaestelle might be getting intoxicated being so close to her.

“Yes. You need to come home, something I was saying to Mrs. Hart moments ago,” Shelton said. “What do you say, Ritaestelle? We’ll let the Mercy police do their job and bring this killer to justice while I watch over you.”

Muriel cleared her throat. “I don’t think it’s a good idea at all.” She focused on the linoleum floor, her hands gripping her small black handbag tightly.

“Why is that, Muriel?” Shelton said sharply.

“Because I have this feeling in the pit of my stomach that it’s not safe—not yet,” Muriel said. “I mean, look what happened to that police officer. Why don’t you take care of us, Nancy? We could use some looking after.”

“You’re afraid?” Shelton said. “What are you afraid of?”

“Indeed, what are you afraid of, Muriel?” Ritaestelle said. She sounded very curious, and I felt the same way.

She smiled at her cousin. “It’s a feeling, is all.”

“Intuition is important,” Ritaestelle said. “I’m taking your advice, Muriel. If Jillian will have me, I would like to remain with her for a few more days. I have the utmost faith that Jillian and Mr. Stewart will get to the bottom of this.” Ritaestelle smiled up at me.

Shelton wasn’t smiling. “You don’t trust me?”

“Of course I do,” Ritaestelle said. “But you have always wanted to do things your way, when sometimes, you need a little help. You are working with all the officers, are you not?”

“Yes,” she said. “I have the same information they do. But who just helped you fend off Desmond?”

“You did. And that reminded me how close you are to all of us. Even to Desmond at one time. I believe one needs a little distance to see things clearly.” Ritaestelle made a gesture that encompassed all the women. “We are all so close to the problem—that problem being who is perpetrating these crimes—that perhaps we cannot see the forest for the trees.”

Oh boy. The Nancy Shelton I’d come to know in the last week would surely bristle at that assessment.

But she surprised me by smiling at Ritaestelle. “You’re right. It’s hard for me to let go and allow other people do what I consider to be my job. If you’re more comfortable at Mrs. Hart’s house, then I will follow you there and make sure you arrive safely.”

Justine, Muriel and Augusta all murmured their agreement. But did any of these women truly agree? Or was it simply in their best interest to go along with the woman who held the purse strings? How deep did the jealousy run? Because it existed. I’d felt it earlier today. I’d been feeling it all along, but on a subconscious level. Seeing them all here together, with everyone being so kind and polite, seeing Ritaestelle exert her will in her soft-spoken yet insistent way—well, I saw how life must have been in the Longworth house. Probably for a very long time. The jealousy might be what Ritaestelle feared. Those undercurrents of ill will would pull her down if she went back there. She was smart enough to know it, too.

“Are you ready to head back to my house?” I asked Ritaestelle.

She started to rise, and everyone wanted to be the one to help her up. But Muriel got to her first. She said, “Before you go, Ritaestelle, I want to tell you how sorry I am.”

“Sorry for what?” Ritaestelle said.

Muriel seemed flustered. “For everything. For me taking advantage of you. For—”

Shelton said, “She’ll be back home soon enough, and you can sit down together. But Ritaestelle looks too tired to chat right now.” Shelton looked at me. “You ready?”

I glanced over and saw that Kara and Brennan were still talking to the Prestons. Kara would get her story, no matter what Nancy Shelton said or did.

“Let me say good-bye to Kara,” I said.

After I did and she told me she would call me tomorrow, we left. Muriel, Justine and Augusta had already gone by the time we went out the door. I told Shelton there was no need to follow us, that we’d be fine, but she insisted. Being on the sidelines of this investigation was getting to her, and I couldn’t blame her.

The umbrellas had been a good idea, because rain had started to fall. Nancy Shelton kept a firm grip on Ritaestelle’s elbow, while I managed to keep us dry during the walk to the car.

Once Ritaestelle and I were driving home, I decided to ask her about the tranquilizers. When I told her about the discovery, she seemed dumbfounded.

“Someone could have ordered drugs with my name on the bottle? Prescription drugs?” she said.