Ritaestelle’s grip relaxed and she smiled. “I believe you are doing the right thing, Loretta. I can be reached at Miss Jillian Hart’s residence, so if you will call me—oh my, I do not even know the number.” She looked my way.
But before I could give her the number, Ritaestelle said, “Oh, you have it from the caller ID? Good. Such a fine invention when our memories are beginning to dim. Please call me when the visitation times are settled. You take care, Loretta.”
Ritaestelle took the phone away from her face and looked at it in confusion. I released her hand, took the receiver and ended the call.
“Thank you, my dear Jillian. And thank you for your kindness.”
Isis stared up at her mistress. Ritaestelle reached down and picked her up. “You were quite the noisy one while I was trying to speak.” She looked at me. “I would very much enjoy a nap about this time. Is that possible?”
“Certainly,” I said.
I helped her to her feet and led her down the hall to the guest room, grabbing her overnight bag on the way. Isis stayed with her on the bed as I closed the bedroom door.
Back in the kitchen, Kara was rummaging through my freezer. “Do you have anything for supper? Or should I pick something up?”
“There’s a chicken in the fridge. But I have no idea what I should do with it. My brain has quit on me,” I said.
“You do look tired,” Kara said. “And a little sad. Is something bothering you?”
Was I that transparent? Because my brain hadn’t really quit. It was simply filled once again with Farley’s ridiculous accusations. “I’ll be fine once this murderer is caught. Plus I am a little worried because I’m so behind on Christmas orders.”
“It’s only the end of July,” Kara said.
“Custom cat quilt orders have been pouring in—especially after your article about the cats we rescued from that professor was syndicated,” I said. “And there are the hundreds of e-mails from people who think I can solve their pet troubles.”
Kara smiled. “Which you can’t. Let me worry about dinner, and you take some time to yourself.”
“I don’t want to bother you with—”
“Please. Let someone take care of you for a change.” Kara extended her arm toward the foyer. “Go. Quilt. Nap. Soak in the tub. Do whatever you need to feel better.”
I chose quilting. Nothing is more relaxing. My three cats joined me. Chablis settled in my lap as I sat down in the comfy armchair in my quilting room. I picked up the small quilt I’d been working on—the appliquéd one for Kara. Then I remembered that the buttons for this project had been scattered everywhere—some of them in this very room. I’d collect them later. Instead, I switched to quilting on a custom order as Merlot and Syrah continued the button game. Yup, they were still finding buttons I didn’t even remember being in that box. One day they would tire of this, but for now, they were having fun.
The rhythm of the work settled me, and I began to think about the poor victim. Had my visit with Evie Preston somehow put her in danger? And if so, why? Then it dawned on me that I had forgotten the
The smell of chicken and herbs filled the hall when I emerged from my little retreat at about seven that evening. The cats ran straight to the kitchen, and I wanted to run myself, the smells were so wonderful. But the doorbell sounded and stopped me as I entered the foyer. I checked the peephole and saw Tom.
After I let him inside, he said, “I smell something that had my mouth watering the minute I got out of the car.”
“That’s Kara’s doing. Let’s see what she’s up to.”
Tom put his arm around my shoulder as we walked toward the kitchen, but Kara was sitting in the living room working on her laptop.
“Hey, Tom. Hope you can stay for dinner,” she said. “Apparently Jillian likes to buy chickens as big as turkeys.”
“You do not have to ask me twice. Working on a story for tomorrow?” he asked.
“Yes. This morning’s edition sold better than any
“Thanks,” I said. “I don’t want people calling me and asking me questions. Some folks might accuse me of harboring a criminal.”
Tom said, “I met with three potential clients today, and two of them knew. I’ll bet most of the town already knows she’s staying here.”
Kara’s lips pursed as she nodded in agreement. “I figured as much. I have never seen news travel as fast as in this little town.”
“Where is your houseguest?” Tom asked.
“Napping,” I said.
Tom glanced back toward the hallway. He whispered, “Got the dirt on the nephew.”
Just the mention of Farley Longworth made my stomach clench.
He went on, saying, “In fact, an unnamed source—that’s for your benefit, Kara—told me plenty about the money problems that all those relatives living with Ritaestelle seem to have.”
Kara leaned back against the recliner cushions. Chablis appeared from behind the sofa and jumped into her lap. “Go on. This should be interesting.” She began stroking my cat.
I figured I’d learned plenty about Farley Longworth already and wanted to know nothing more. “Do we have to talk about this right now?”
“With Ritaestelle asleep, this is the perfect time,” Kara said.
Tom took my hand and led me to the couch, but when he sat down, I remained standing.
“Maybe there’s something I can do to help with supper?” I looked at Kara.
Tom tugged at my hand. “This guy upset you when he called here, and—”
“He called you?” Kara said.
“Yes, but it’s no big deal,” I said. “Maybe he was upset about Evie’s death and decided to take it out on me. Now, what can I do in the kitchen?”
“Nothing. Everything but the chicken is ready, and that will take another thirty minutes,” Kara said. “What did this guy say to you?”
I reluctantly sat next to Tom and said, “He accused me of trying to extort money for the return of Ritaestelle’s cat. Ridiculous, huh?”
“Ridiculous, yes. What a jerk,” Kara said. “What else did you find out, Tom?”
“I got plenty of info about the rest of that Longworth clan, the hired help and that Desmond character. He’s a real loser.” Tom said. “So is Farley, and everyone in Woodcrest knows it. Flunked out of college twice. Has two DUIs that I uncovered—but who knows how much stuff his father ‘took care of’ before dying in a hunting accident. Farley’s mother, Justine, continued to live at the estate, and he eventually joined her after a stint in rehab. See, Farley’s father left his share of the Longworth money to his sister, Ritaestelle—not to his wife and kid. They are a ‘feckless pair,’ as my source said. Feckless. Hadn’t heard that one since I finished high school required reading.”
I wasn’t surprised by any of this, but it didn’t make me feel better. What Farley had said about people talking behind my back, his inferring that I’d killed my husband, still bothered the heck out of me. This must be how Ritaestelle felt, too. Those implications that she was losing her faculties, that she’d become a shoplifter despite being wealthy, must have been so hurtful. But what if she wasn’t wealthy at all? What if that’s why she was stealing things from the drugstore? I looked at Tom. “Did you find out anything about Ritaestelle’s finances?”
“You bet I did,” he said. “You can’t investigate the relatives of old money without learning how much old money there is. Ritaestelle is rich enough to own a controlling interest in South Carolina if she wanted. I’d say that’s
