The Cat, the Lady and the Liar

Augusta nodded, her hands clasped beneath her large chest.

Ritaestelle said, “Muriel here is her sister, and—”

“I’m your cousin, too, Ritaestelle,” the woman with cherry red hair said.

“You are indeed, Muriel.” Ritaestelle gestured at a thin woman and a man about my age standing beside her. “Justine was my late brother’s wife, and this is Farley, his son.” She looked pointedly at Muriel. “My nephew.”

“Excuse me, Ritaestelle,” Shelton said. “We have a serious situation. We need your visitors to leave.” By her tone, she might as well have added, “This isn’t Sunday brunch at your estate.”

“And why must we leave?” the older gentleman who hadn’t been introduced said. He placed a hand on Ritaestelle’s shoulder.

He had thick white hair, faded blue eyes and a smile that baffled me. It seemed pleasant enough. But there was disingenuousness there. I had the feeling something else was going on between him and Chief Shelton. His body language—chin lifted and cold stare—had me thinking he was in control rather than the police.

Shelton said, “Desmond, I don’t need to tell you anything. So leave. Now.” Ah yes. This was the Nancy Shelton I’d encountered when she’d pulled me over.

Desmond sighed heavily. “If you insist.” He bent and kissed Ritaestelle on the cheek. Augusta and the three others all bid farewell, too, and the visitors filed out of the room. Farley offered me a contemptuous glance when he passed.

What was that about? I wondered.

Shelton turned to Mike. “Everyone visiting, except for Desmond Holloway, lives in the Longworth house. He’s an old friend.” She switched her gaze to Ritaestelle. “But wait. Don’t tell me Desmond’s moved in recently.”

Ritaestelle stared up at her sweetly. “I thought we had crossed that bridge a long time ago, Nancy. He most certainly has not moved in.”

Mike cleared his throat and opened his notebook. “We brought Miss Hart as you requested. Now, if you’ll please think very hard about last night’s events, because we have a few more questions.”

“That is all I have been thinking about, sir, and I have questions myself—what is your name, by the way? I see that you are wearing a name badge, but I do not have my reading glasses. I did leave my house in a such a rush, and then of course I ended up here and—”

“Mike Baca. Mercy PD,” he said tersely.

“Oh. The police chief. I read about you in the newspaper when that woman—”

“Ritaestelle. Please,” Shelton said. “We need to get down to business.”

Mike’s face was flushed, and I felt like I’d been caught in a small room with several buzzing, angry wasps. I swallowed hard.

“First,” Ritaestelle said, “would you mind pulling over that chair in the corner for Jillian? She is looking very pale. Hospitals do that to certain more sensitive souls.” She obviously wasn’t the least bit bothered by Shelton’s tone or Mike’s discomfort.

Before Mike could move, I dragged the chair over myself. We did need to get these questions over with.

Mike said, “First of all, we’d like a look at your car, Miss Longworth. We can get a warrant, but you could give us permission. Then we wouldn’t need to bother a judge. Same for your house.”

“Well, for heaven’s sake, why? What are you looking for?” Ritaestelle said.

“We need to corroborate your story that you drove directly from your house to Jillian’s,” Mike said. “Your GPS should tell us that. You found her place by using the GPS system, I understand.”

“I have managed to comprehend certain newfangled gadgets. Though I am not a fan of cellular telephones or computers, GPS is quite useful. I believe my keys are in my bag—in the closet.” She pointed across the room at the peach-colored laminate cupboards. “You can look in my car all you want.”

“And your house keys are there as well?” Mike said.

“I do not believe I can give you permission to search my home,” Ritaestelle said. “I have seen on the television how untidy you police officers leave a house once you are done searching. My housekeeper, Hildie, would be most put out having to straighten up after a search that I imagine would prove to be quite invasive.” She smiled as she glanced back and forth between the two stoic police officers.

“They’ll get a search warrant, anyway, Ritaestelle,” I said. “You might as well give them permission.” I wasn’t supposed to say anything, but she needed to cooperate and clear her name.

“I understand, Jillian,” she replied. “But I remember my dear brother speaking about search warrants and other various legal matters. The police do need a good reason to search a person’s home, correct?”

“Um, I think they have one,” I said.

“Oh. You mean Evie’s death?” She looked at Shelton. “You still believe I killed her? I suppose it is troublesome and very strange indeed that she showed up at Jillian’s home. That poor girl. Why was she out by that lake?”

Shelton said, “If we search your house, are you afraid we might find, well . . . other things?”

“You mean stolen items like the kind some cruel person planted on my person in Mr. Perry’s pharmacy? Or the ones Evie found in my lingerie chest?” Ritaestelle’s smile had faded. “You do understand those two events have Evie in common.”

Oh boy. Had she just given them a motive? Was Ritaestelle so angry with Evie about this shoplifting thing that she’d murdered her?

“We’re getting off track,” Mike said. “If you want us to get a warrant, we will. And like Jillian said, it won’t be a problem. And now that we’ve dealt with that, I—”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake. Please search my house. But make sure that includes all the rooms where my relatives reside. They come here pretending to care, but all they are truly concerned about is my money.” Ritaestelle’s lower eyelids reddened and her lips trembled. “And after all I’ve done for them.”

I understood now why she’d asked me to come. She certainly didn’t trust her family. But for some reason, she trusted me.

Mike shifted his weight, his gaze on the floor. After a few seconds of awkward silence, he pulled out a sheet of paper from his notebook and placed it on the bedside table. “This is permission to search your car and your house.” He handed her a pen.

She scrawled her signature at the bottom and pushed the paper toward Mike. “I hope you will note that I am a cooperative witness. Not a felon, but a witness.”

“We appreciate your cooperation, Miss Longworth,” he said. “Now, tell me everyone who lives in your house.”

“I can give you all that information later, Chief Baca,” Shelton said.

“I know you can. But I want to hear about them from Miss Longworth, if you don’t mind.” He kept his eyes focused on Ritaestelle.

“The folks who were just here, or everyone?” Ritaestelle said.

“Everyone,” Mike said.

“Well, there are my two cousins, Augusta and Muriel. You saw them. Augusta is the one with the large bosom. Muriel has that rather ridiculous red hair. They are my dear departed aunt’s girls. Listen to me. Girls. They are as old as I am. Then there is my sister-in-law, Justine. She does not look her age, does she? Pretty hair, plump lips. As they say, she’s had some work done. She was married to my brother and is apparently just too fragile to make it on her own. So I took her in. And her son, Farley, was here as well. Steaming mad, too. He stays that way. He has tried all manner of professions. But he is attempting to become an accountant this time. He is broke, of course, and—”

“Chief Baca wants to know about the rest of the household, too,” Shelton said.

Mike was writing quickly and didn’t look up when he said, “Yes. Who else lives with you?”

“George, my wonderful butler—seems an old-fashioned word, does it not? But he likes the title. He is tremendously proficient at what he does. I never have to ask for a thing. He anticipates my every need.” Ritaestelle shifted so more weight was on her right side—and she moved with some difficulty, as the strain on her face indicated. I noticed the ice pack on her left hip for the first time.

She went on, saying, “And Hildie is the housekeeper and cook. She is from Germany and can make a strudel like nobody’s business.”

Mike looked at her. “Anyone else live with you?”

“I do have more room if you ever find yourself in need of a roof over your head, Chief Baca.” She paused and