I held her up and looked into her green eyes. “Is he calling you names? Doesn’t he know you’re a goddess?” I smiled and set Isis down. She strolled away as if nothing had happened.
I said, “Why do cats act like they had no part of an embarrassing situation? Is it that little human section of their brain at work?”
“I haven’t gotten stuck in a wicker basket or a drawer lately, but I’d pretend it was no big deal if
I laughed. “Guess I would, too.”
Chablis was attempting to climb up on his knees, probably because she’d been traumatized by last night’s events and was looking for any comfort she could find.
He picked her up and stood, scratching her around her neck where she liked it the most. She was purring so loud they probably heard her down at the lake.
The lake. The investigation. This stranger Brennan. I couldn’t wait for this morning to end. “How long do you think they’ll be hunting around in my yard?” I asked.
“You know Candace,” Tom said. “She’d do a grid search like when they’re looking for buried remains if it were up to her,” Tom said. “But with the assistant DA and Mike around, they’ll keep her on task. I’d say an hour or two.”
Isis reappeared and led the way as we walked back into the living room. She seemed to want to take over as top cat, and I wondered how long Syrah would put up with that. More reason for this cat to go home. But with Ritaestelle in the hospital, would that happen anytime soon?
“Have you had breakfast?” I asked.
“A donut. And you should have one. I got to the bakery the minute they opened. Those were still hot when they were boxed.”
“A bagel sounds better—if the ones I bought the other day aren’t as hard as hockey pucks by now.”
Turned out they were
Kara came inside about fifteen minutes after his arrival. Tom had watched the goings-on through the kitchen window, but I stayed in the living room—surrounded by felines.
Kara grabbed a mug and poured herself some coffee before she and Tom joined me. She sat in her dad’s recliner and set her bag with the camera on the floor next to her.
“Will my backyard be gracing the front page of the newspaper?” I said.
“Just the dock,” she said. “If that’s okay with you.”
I took a deep breath and stroked Merlot, not answering right away. He was stretched out between Tom and me. Chablis immediately climbed into Tom’s lap, and Syrah stayed where he’d been, on the sofa back close to my head. Isis had disappeared yet again. Maybe if she stayed stuck in whatever object she’d crawled into this time, she’d learn a lesson.
“Please let me do this story the way it should be done, Jillian? That means interviewing you, too,” Kara said.
There it was. The very thing that concerned me. “I’m not sure I should do that,” I said. “Somehow it seems unfair to Ritaestelle. She’s in enough trouble without me adding to it by talking about her.”
“I’ve interviewed Mike Baca—an interview he was happy to provide, by the way—so I know most of the facts. But the duty of the press is to inform the public, to provide answers. I want to do the job right. You’re a witness with a unique perspective.”
Unique? Was that what this sick feeling was called? “If you spoke to Mike, don’t you have what you need? Besides, you haven’t lived here long enough to understand that even if you put out the facts, folks will still think up their own scenarios about what happened here.”
Kara leaned toward me, her tone soft but insistent. “That doesn’t matter to me. Besides, both Mike and Liam said an interview with you might stir up even more talk in town—talk they can follow up on.”
He was already Liam to her? Hmm. He certainly had a great smile. You can tell a lot by a person’s smile, and I kind of liked what I’d seen. Guess Kara did, too. When I didn’t say anything, Tom put his arm around my shoulder and squeezed me gently. “The press and the police have a funny relationship. It can be an unpleasant one, but they need each other. Tips are often generated from press coverage. Think about it as doing a service to Ritaestelle. If you honestly believe she’s innocent, your interview might just help her.”
I glanced back and forth between them. “Why do I feel like I’m betraying her trust?” Unfortunately, what bothered me more than betraying Ritaestelle was upsetting Kara if I refused to cooperate. That could put a strain on the new and still tenuous relationship we’d formed since she’d arrived in Mercy. That fear is what finally tipped the scales. I sighed and said, “Ask away.”
She asked about how I knew Ritaestelle—even though she already knew this—and went on to quiz me about the woman’s arrival and then the discovery of the body.
“Is it true you did CPR on the victim after you pulled her out of the water?” Kara said.
Those horrible moments from last night flashed through my mind. I felt the unexpected sting of tears but blinked them back. “Yes. But could you leave out the part about the CPR? I couldn’t help her. She was dead.”
Kara hesitated. “You tried to save her. That’s a fact, and I need to print it.”
“I failed Evie Preston, Kara. I don’t want to have that written down for everyone to read.” I blinked harder, really fighting the tears now.
Kara’s tone softened when she said, “Putting the story aside for a second, I want to say that I believe you were a hero out there. You did everything right. And I know that’s how other people in town will look at this.”
I took a breath, told myself to calm down before I said, “Can’t you please just write about what the police know?”
Kara sat back. “The last thing I want to do is upset you, but I need to verify with you what I learned from the police.”
I trusted Kara, didn’t I? She would get the story right. “Go ahead,” I said.
She recited what she’d heard from Mike, and I nodded to confirm everything she said until she asked, “And Ritaestelle Longworth appeared mentally unstable, correct?”
With that, I stopped nodding. “Not to me. And I’m the one she came to see. I understand she’s had her share of recent troubles, but—”
I felt anger bubbling up. “Only one person in my backyard could have said such a thing about Ritaestelle. Nancy Shelton, right?”
“The chief said she’s very concerned about Miss Longworth’s mental state.” Kara paused, taking the time to remove the elastic that held her long dark hair in a ponytail and gather up wayward strands before she refastened her hair at the nape of her neck.
Maybe she was giving me time to think about this statement, because it sure wasn’t a question.
But Tom spoke before I could. “What does that mean, Kara?” Tom asked. “I was there when Jillian talked with Chief Shelton yesterday. She’s friends with Ritaestelle, and nothing she said made me believe she considered the woman a
“Okay, those are my words, and I would never print that,” Kara said, sounding sheepish. “But I do like you stepping in to support Jillian. That’s sweet.”
I said, “Is this the path the police have chosen to follow? To make Ritaestelle seem like a nutcase?”
“Not necessarily.” Kara paused to sip her coffee. “But since it was brought up and since Miss Longworth came to your door not exactly appropriately dressed for a visit, it’s an angle worth pursuing. Despite what you think, I’ve learned plenty about small-town life in the last few months. When the rich and powerful fall, people are quick to belittle them—even stomp on them. Besides, I understand there have been other incidents that call into question Miss Longworth’s mental health. Can you tell me more about what you learned?”
I was beginning to lose patience with Kara the Journalist, but I kept my tone even when I said, “No, I can’t. You should talk to Chief Shelton about what’s been happening in Woodcrest. The most important thing to me is that that this lady came to me for help and that her employee has been murdered.”
