“I understand,” I said. “But as far as Ritaestelle Long-worth? Don’t you think it’s odd to go from having money out the wazoo to stealing cheap stuff from the drugstore? That seems like such a major turnaround. My brain tells me to leave this alone, but my heart is telling me this is a woman who could use a friend.”
Candace shook her head vigorously. “Don’t, Jillian. Leave this alone. You’ve gone above and beyond. Just call it quits.”
I sighed. “You’re right.”
Candace pulled a
And so we did. Candace and I share a love of old movies, especially Hitchcock, and we enjoyed every minute. Isis even cozied up to Candace for a while, but then she and Chablis started chasing each other. I was amazed. Talk about turnarounds.
Once we both started yawning, Candace headed for home around ten p.m. I set the security alarm, poured myself a glass of water and went to my bedroom. The dress I probably wouldn’t wear again for another year still lay on the floor. I tossed it into the closet, again missing the hamper. I shut the door and made a beeline for my bed.
But before I could climb beneath the covers, the doorbell rang.
The only person besides Candace who would show up at my place this late without calling was Kara. My heart thumped against my chest. Was something wrong? And why didn’t Kara call me if there was a problem?
I hurried to the kitchen, shut off the alarm and rushed to the foyer. But when I looked through the peephole, it wasn’t Kara after all. The woman I recognized on my doorstep made me gasp in surprise.
Ritaestelle Longworth.
Nine
The surprise must have still been evident on my face when I opened the door, because Ritaestelle Longworth said, “You weren’t expecting me?” She smiled amiably.
Then I realized she wore a white chenille bathrobe with her initials in scrolled gold embroidery on the left pocket. She also had a red Velcro hair roller in her silver bangs and a honey-colored Coach handbag over her arm.
“I—I . . . Please come inside.” I opened the door wider and then immediately thought about Isis. My three cats had raced after me to the foyer to see what was up, but not Isis. Had she gotten a whiff of her owner—a cat’s sense of smell is hundreds of times more keen than a human’s—and decided not to greet the person who’d thrown her out? Probably.
After Miss Longworth stepped inside, I shut the door after her, still too confused by her arrival to think of anything to say.
She erased the awkward silence by starting right in with, “Since you came to see me yesterday and we did not converse, I thought I would come your way and say hello. I looked up your address and that wonderful little GPS device in my car made the journey quite trouble-free. See, I knew I recognized you—from that article they ran in the newspaper a while back. How you solved that murder and helped all those poor cats find homes. You are such a hero, Ms. Hart.”
Here she was, dressed in her nightclothes, a roller in her hair, talking in her restrained, polite, Old South manner like she’d been invited for tea. Was this really happening?
“Um, thank you, Miss Longworth. What can I do for you?” I would have checked my watch had I been wearing one. Did she realize how late it was? Perhaps not. This woman was obviously troubled—and yet she was as smiley as a Cheshire cat.
“Please call me Ritaestelle. Now, I am most certain you are completely bewildered by my sudden appearance in your charming little town. Do you mind if we sit down? As you were witness to, I had a fall yesterday, and my hip is a smidgeon intolerant of me standing.”
“Of course. Please come into the living room. Can I help you to the sofa?” I said.
“No, no, I can make it. Oh, and look at your lovely cats leading the way. How precious.”
No mention of Isis. Did she even remember her own cat? This all seemed a little surreal.
We made our way to the living room, her limp obvious, and I wondered if she’d been seen by a doctor.
She eased herself into one of the overstuffed chairs and sighed as she sank into the cushions. “What a comfy, splendid chair.” She glanced around. “And I do imagine you have a lovely view of the lake in the daytime, what with all your windows.”
“I do. But, if I can ask again, why are you here and—” I couldn’t seem to get the rest of the sentence out— the part about her being dressed for bed.
“Before we get into an explanation, my dear young woman—and you have every right to be inquiring—I could certainly use a drink of water. I left my house in rather a rush, as I am sure you have already determined.” She smiled that odd and oh, so gracious smile again.
“Um, sure. Ice?”
“That would be wonderful.” She reached down and patted Chablis on the head. My cat was sniffing at Ritaestelle’s chenille slippers. Yes, the lady was even wearing slippers that matched her robe. Syrah had taken his regal sitting position at the foyer entrance, and Merlot paced in front of the windows. Moths and flies must be fluttering around out there.
I went to the kitchen, wondering if I should bring up the subject of Isis, wait for Ritaestelle to say something or forget about her cat for the time being. Isis seemed to want the latter, considering she hadn’t shown her face. Yes, that seemed the best option for now.
After I handed Ritaestelle her water, she thanked me profusely and then said, “Now, as to my attire. I do not normally leave the house dressed like this. But I had a chance to escape and I took it.”
I blinked.
“It is seriously shameful when you are forced to leave your home in such an unpleasant fashion.”
“It is.” I nodded in agreement, feeling downright foolish. Perhaps I should have been a tad frightened by this visit, but it all seemed so innocent and, well, silly. Ritaestelle was probably in need of a doctor for more than her hip—and perhaps simply someone to talk to. I could do that much for her. “Can you tell me about what happened tonight?”
Ritaestelle sipped at her water and then carefully set her glass on a coaster on the end table beside her. “Certainly. I do owe you an explanation after you have so kindly invited me into your home. Let me begin by saying I know what you do—make those darling quilts for cats, help at the Mercy Animal Sanctuary. But you also assist with crime investigations. As I mentioned, that is how I recognized you—from your photograph in the newspaper. Your abilities in crime investigation are what interest me the most. You see, I think I have been a victim of sabotage.”
“Sabotage? That’s a strong word.” Merlot loped across the room and leaped onto the sofa next to me. Then, strangely enough, all twenty pounds of him climbed into my lap. What was bothering him? He can be a big old fraidy cat, but this woman seemed harmless enough.
“That is the biggest, most handsome cat I have ever seen.” She glanced down and then around the room. “But what happened to your other friends?”
Indeed, Syrah and Chablis had disappeared. And once again, though the focus was on cats, she still hadn’t mentioned Isis. Maybe she had amnesia. Maybe that explained her other problems. “Merlot’s a Maine coon, and this breed is often large. But forgive me if I’m a little confused about the mention of sabotage. What do you mean by that?”
“The sabotage. Yes, that is why I came. I am still a little unclear about certain events, probably because of the drugs someone has been spiking my tea with. I do so enjoy my tea. But perhaps sabotage is not quite the word I was searching for.”
