The Cat, the Lady and the Liar

“The victim. What an awful word. But her being wet is my fault,” Ritaestelle said. “I cradled my poor Evie’s head and then realized what I was doing. I had assumed she was dead. But what if she could be brought back? So I tried to lay her flat on the dock so I could breathe for her. Rescue breathing, we used to call it back in the day. But it was dark, and she was so much closer to the edge than I realized. Instead of putting her on the dock, I rolled her off my lap right into the water.” New tears sprang to her eyes. “If that poor girl drowned because of me, I will never forgive myself.”

“You’re saying you shoved her body into the water?” Candace was writing this down and didn’t look at Ritaestelle, but I heard the suspicion in her voice.

“Pushed. Accidentally,” Ritaestelle said. “And then Jillian came rushing out. I grabbed up her cat, and then I am afraid I do not recall much else aside from looking for a cellular phone. Yes. I remember that part.”

Candace looked at me. “You found Miss Preston in the water?”

“Yes. I pulled her up on the rocks to do CPR, but . . . well, you know the rest.” I hung my head. I felt that sting of failure again. Maybe Evie could have been saved if I’d known what I was doing or came out of the house sooner.

“And you didn’t hear Miss Longworth call for you or hear this noise she talked about coming from the backyard?” Candace asked me.

“I was in my bedroom closet, so I couldn’t hear anything.” The adrenaline was definitely wearing off. My knees stung, and my wet clothes were making me shiver. I like to keep the house cool in the summer, so the air- conditioning was set at around seventy-two. And my body temperature felt like it was seventy-two.

Candace looked back over her notes and then said, “Miss Longworth stated that you went to look for Isis, right?”

“Yes. But there was a problem.” I explained about Isis’s predicament. And I wondered then that if I hadn’t spent so much time helping her out of the basket, just brought Isis and the basket out into the living room instead, perhaps I would have been able to save Evie.

Candace rose. “You know, after hearing all this, I’m thinking we need to get a formal statement down at the police station, Miss Longworth. You know, with video running and everything?”

Ritaestelle seemed confused for a second or two. Then she said, “Are you arresting me?”

“I’ll have to get with my chief on this,” Candace said. “You got anyone you want to call? Like maybe any lawyer friends you might have?”

I caught Candace’s eye and said, “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

Candace nodded, and we walked a few feet away into the living room.

I whispered, “This woman needs to see a doctor. Her hip and her claim she’s been drugged make me think you’d better check her out before you put her in jail.”

Candace stared at me, considering this. Sounding deflated, she said, “You’re right.” She pulled her two-way radio from her pocket and spoke into it. “Morris?”

“Yeah?” came his staticky reply.

“Paramedics still hanging around?”

“Oh yeah,” he said.

“Send them up to the house,” Candace said. She looked at me. “Man, I sure wanted to get this woman out of here before Lydia made her way back up here. Not too much chance of that now.”

“I don’t want Lydia hanging around any longer than necessary. But I honestly believe Ritaestelle is telling the truth—for what that’s worth. And she is having a difficult time walking. I suspect she’s in considerable pain.”

Candace sighed. “I’m sure you’re right—about the pain.”

We walked back to join Ritaestelle, whose tears had dried. She was looking rather stoic now. “May I see my cat before you lock me up?”

“I didn’t say we’re arresting you, Miss Longworth. I need a heck of lot more information before we go down that road,” Candace said.

“May I please see my cat?” she repeated.

“Sure,” Candace said. “Jillian?”

I left to find Isis, thinking that in believing Ritaestelle, I was following my heart rather than my head. That blood on her robe sure was telling, and I didn’t know if this whole “I was drugged” thing was true. Plus, I now recalled that Ritaestelle had been holding that rock in her hand when I first saw her on the dock. I needed to tell Candace about that when I got the chance.

I opened the door to my quilting room, not prepared for what I saw. Fabrics that I kept in color-coordinated stacks on a bookshelf littered the floor. And the drawer where I kept my quilt bindings must have been left ajar because Isis had various bindings wrapped all over her. Chablis was in a corner, grooming herself. I wished I had had time to clean the blood off her before she took care of the problem herself. Too late now.

Syrah was sitting and staring at Isis, while Merlot, wearing one bright yellow binding around his neck, lay on his back at her feet. Bet she liked that. Another adoring fan.

“All four of you have been up to no good all night,” I said. I walked over and disentangled Isis. She didn’t resist, didn’t even hiss or try to bite.

A terrible thing happened tonight, and yet in this, the room I called my safe haven, four animals had been doing what cats do—exploring, playing and letting their curiosity take over. Their world would not be darkened by tragedy. They were loved and cared for, and how I wished it could be that way for every living thing. If that ever came to be, it would be too late for Evie Preston. Far too late.

I sighed, picked up Isis and carried her to the living room. All three of my cats followed.

Two paramedics were with Ritaestelle—Jake and Marcy. Marcy was kneeling by Ritaestelle and gently probing the older woman’s hip. Jake stood on her other side checking her blood pressure. Cats have been known to help lower blood pressure just by sitting in a person’s lap. I was willing to bet Ritaestelle needed that kind of help right now.

Once Jake took the cuff off her arm, I walked over and held Isis out to her.

She smiled feebly and took her cat. Isis pulled her head back immediately so she could look at Ritaestelle’s face. And then she leaned into her mistress’s chest, closed her eyes and began to purr.

Thirteen

The reunion between Isis and Ritaestelle was short-lived. The cat belonged to me again once the paramedics decided that Ritaestelle needed her hip X-rayed. Candace went with her in the ambulance to the county hospital.

Which left me with Lydia Monk. That was because she is a county “investigator” and not a medical examiner—she’s not even close to being a doctor. I had to tell her everything that went on before I found Evie in the water. But I got to ask a few questions of my own after I told her all I knew.

“Do you think Evie Preston drowned?” I asked.

I’d changed my clothes and we were sitting in my living room with glasses of sweet tea. Even though I do not care for Lydia, that doesn’t mean I can’t be polite. Besides, I needed a little sugar boost after the evening’s stressful events.

All four cats had disappeared as soon as Lydia came in through my back door and hadn’t shown their furry faces in the last thirty minutes. I sure could have used a cat in my lap to keep my blood pressure in check. But I was doing an adequate job keeping my emotions under control even though the image of Evie’s wide dead eyes kept reappearing. And I had to admit that this conversation between Lydia and me was going well insofar as there’d been no remarks from her about our imaginary romantic triangle.

Lydia said, “I can’t be certain about whether she drowned until I find the doc on call to do an autopsy. But that blow she took to the head? My guess is that was what did her in. I saw no evidence of drowning. Her face was pale, but her lips weren’t discolored and I saw no frothing at the mouth. Believe me, I’ve seen more than my share of drowning deaths, what with all the lakes around here. She didn’t look like a drowning victim.”

“All that blood came from her head?” I asked.

“Oh yeah. Head wounds bleed like crazy. There were blood on the dock, a bloody broom, bloody slippers.”