The Cat, the Lady and the Liar

“Where’s the rest of the police force?” I said when I led Candace, Morris and Mike Baca into the kitchen at seven the next morning.

Mike wore his forest green uniform—hardly ever saw him in that. “Probably asleep if they’re smart,” he said. “All twenty Mercy officers met at the station last night. We were all briefed by Morris, and I thought we had completed the initial paperwork, but then Lydia showed up. She kept everyone way too long with her questions.”

His tone was restrained, very professional, but he and Lydia had been in a relationship once. Everyone in Mercy knew how embarrassed Mike was about that fling. How those two had ever hooked up in the first place was beyond me—but then I knew he’d made several bad choices in the relationship department.

I gestured at the coffeepot and mugs on the counter. “Help yourself. I’m sure you guys will need plenty of that.”

Murmuring thanks, they all made their way to the coffee. Candace looked the most alert of the three this morning, but, then, she was young and eager and an evidence hound.

Though Merlot, Chablis and Syrah had joined me when I’d gotten up, they didn’t greet my guests this morning. They’d eaten and taken off to find their favorite sunning spots. Trouble was, it looked cloudy this morning. As for Isis? She stayed in bed. It was probably far too early for goddesses.

“Can you tell me about Ritaestelle? What happened at the hospital?” I asked Candace.

“She spent the night. Still there as far as I know.” Candace sipped her coffee.

“Because of her hip?” I said.

“She had one giant bruise. Saw it myself when she changed clothes after I took that robe into evidence. But I don’t know if her hip is cracked, sprained or what,” Candace said.

Morris stirred sugar into his mug. “The hip is definitely a problem, but I heard she needed her head examined, too. Kept talking conspiracy theories.”

“Deputy Ebeling,” Mike said sharply.

“It’s true,” Morris said.

“She required a neurological workup and a tox screen,” Mike said. “She kept saying she’d been drugged, and we have to follow up on that. No one but you is implying she has psychiatric problems.”

“But you have to admit, Miss Longworth is odd, Chief,” Candace said. “ ’Course, if she was really drugged like she claimed, that could have caused all sorts of mental stuff.”

“Claimed she was drugged is the key,” Morris said. “I say you folks are blinded by the gleam off all her gold bricks. She’s guilty as sin.”

“That’s not how we begin an investigation in Mercy—with the presumption of guilt.” Mike’s tone was still stern.

And Morris wondered why Candace was leading this investigation and not him. Sheesh.

Mike continued, saying, “And when Chief Shelton shows up, you better keep your opinions to yourself, Morris. Miss Longworth has practically bankrolled Woodcrest singlehandedly.”

“That’s what I’m sayin’. Money blinds people to the truth,” he said.

Mike said, “Morris? Zip it, okay?”

“Yes, sir.” But Morris Ebeling didn’t sound contrite, and I had the feeling his silence wouldn’t last.

Feeling a tad tense, I busied myself by grinding more beans. I had to practically shout over the noise when I said, “Um . . . Chief Shelton’s coming here?”

“She is,” Mike said.

The grinder stopped. I dumped the old filter in the trash and started a fresh pot. “I’ve met her—twice. The first time she was pretty unhappy with me. I was driving a little too fast. Something about her demeanor scared me—something more than what I expected from a traffic stop. But then yesterday, when Tom and I went to Woodcrest, she was different. Nice. Concerned for her friend.”

“Candace was telling me about your trip on the way over here. Just so you know, I’ve known Nancy for years. She’s all bark and no bite,” Mike said. “Since both Miss Longworth and Miss Preston are from her town, I decided she should be involved in the investigation.”

“Speaking of that,” I said, “there is something I learned from Chief Shelton. Maybe it’s important.” I glanced back and forth between Candace and Mike.

Candace said, “I thought you told me everything yesterday before we watched that movie.”

I blinked. What had I told her? Obviously stress had taken a toll, because I couldn’t remember. “Did I mention that Evie Preston told the police chief about the shoplifting?”

Candace nodded. “You did.”

I sighed. “Good. I was worried, because I was pretty adamant last night that Ritaestelle didn’t kill Evie—but then I thought, what if she thought Evie considered her a thief? That could have made her pretty angry. Though I’m still not convinced Ritaestelle is capable of violence. There’s this sweetness about her.”

“Sweetness, huh? Confusion was about all I saw. Anyway, I put the shoplifting in my report, so quit worrying. What I’m talking about is anything Miss Longworth might have said when she arrived at your door, anything you recalled after I left to go with her to the hospital.” Candace eyed me expectantly.

“What sticks in my mind the most is how upset she was that someone was drugging her. She wanted my help, but the only thing I could do was to return her spoiled cat.”

“You mean this one?” Mike was looking down, and sure enough, Isis had arrived. She was rubbing against his leg and depositing long black hairs on his uniform trousers.

“That’s her,” I said. “Wait a minute.” I thumped my forehead with the heel of my hand. “What the heck is wrong with me? There is something I never told you. When I went outside and found poor Evie, Ritaestelle was holding something besides my cat. And when I was pulling Evie out of the water, I believe she dropped whatever it was and it fell into the water. I heard a splash.”

“Holding something? Like what?” Candace said.

“It was dark, but I think it was a rock. It wasn’t the broom—that’s for sure.”

“Which hand?” Candace was definitely excited.

Of course she’d want to know which hand. I hesitated, picturing Ritaestelle standing on the dock. Chablis had been clutched close in her right arm. “Her left hand was hanging down at her side. Yes. Left hand. Do you think she hit Evie with a rock?”

“Maybe,” Candace said.

“If it helps, Ritaestelle is right-handed,” I said. “I definitely remember she took the glass of water I gave her with her right hand.”

“She could have switched the rock to her left hand to pick up Chablis,” Candace said. “Do you know how deep that water is on that side of the dock?”

“Three feet at most, but it drops off quickly once you get to the end of the dock. What are you thinking?”

“Yeah. What are you thinking? ’Cause I didn’t bring my swimming trunks,” Morris said sourly.

“You can actually swim? That takes a certain amount of energy,” Candace said.

“Cut the crap, you two. Don’t make me feel like a middle school teacher trying to keep the bickering students in line,” Mike said. “We’ll have to look beneath the surface before anyone goes wading in and disturbing whatever might lie underwater. That means goggles, a special camera and someone with the skill to handle this. I got a person in mind, so I’ll make some calls.”

“We better get busy looking for any other evidence we missed last night in the dark,” Candace said. “Might rain, and that’s the last thing I need—a washed-out crime scene and a stirred-up lake.” Candace set her mug down and started for the back door.

Grumpy Morris hung his head and followed her, muttering, “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Wet evidence. Wouldn’t want that.” Guess he liked the role of snarky middle schooler.

Mike stopped punching numbers on his phone and looked at me. “When Nancy arrives, I’ll be on the deck.” He checked his watch. “She should have been here already.”

But the knock that came on my front door a minute later wasn’t Nancy Shelton arriving. It was Kara and Tom. After they both greeted the three cats—mine, not Isis, who had disappeared again—we all went into the living