millions and millions of reasons to want
“Yes, that’s something I’ve been contemplating,” came Ritaestelle’s voice from the foyer. She limped toward us. “I should have been the one to die out on that dock.”
My cheeks felt hot with embarrassment. We’d been talking behind her back—doing exactly what bothered me so much about what Farley had said was going on concerning me.
I went over to help her into the living room. Isis trailed behind as I led Ritaestelle to the couch, saying, “Tom is a private investigator, and since I had a call from Farley, Tom decided to see why he seemed so . . . so upset when he phoned.”
Ritaestelle sighed heavily as she sat on the couch. “First, in my opinion, ‘unpleasant’ better describes his behavior than ‘upset.’ What did Farley want? Because he always wants something.”
“He seemed bothered that you were staying here rather than at home.” I was trying to sugarcoat this, I knew. The poor woman had enough on her mind.
“And,” Kara added, “Farley’s got some crazy notion that Jillian wanted money for your cat’s return.”
“What?” Ritaestelle gripped her left fingers with her right hand so tightly her knuckles whitened. “I must speak with that man. For now, all I can do is apologize for his behavior. I am quite familiar with apologizing for Farley.”
“I never did get to tell you about why I came to your house,” I said. “Shawn Cuddahee sent me to check you out. He wanted to know if it was safe to return Isis to your home.”
At the mention of her name, Isis jumped on the coffee table. Ritaestelle held out her arms, and the cat leaped onto her lap. “That was the tipping point, was it not? Your arrival at the estate to check on me?”
“What do you mean?” Kara said, sounding curious.
“I had been accused of stealing, been drugged, but you, Jillian, caring only about this precious black cat, brought it all to light. You came thinking you would find an addled old woman. Instead, you saw me lying on the floor. You knew something was very wrong.”
I nodded. “True. But that doesn’t explain how Isis escaped in the first place.”
“Indeed, that is a mystery in and of itself,” she replied. “My sweet girl here has great disdain for the outdoors. I once bought her one of those catios—you know, a screened building that can allow your cat to be outside but still not wander off?”
“Catios?” Tom said. “You have got to be kidding.”
I smiled at him. “I’ve seen them advertised at cat shows. You would not believe the things people will buy for their cats—like special little quilts.”
He looked flustered. “I didn’t mean what
“You have a cat, Mr. Stewart?” Ritaestelle said.
“He does,” Kara said. “And I have two kittens. But tell us about the day Isis disappeared. This might make a good story.”
“I would be happy to,” she said. “The police do not seem the least bit interested in that event, so perhaps a little publicity would not hurt. I consider that a seminal moment. My tormenter, whoever it is, took things to the intolerable level with that dirty trick. First, though, I smell something wonderful, so perhaps we could chat over dinner?”
Twenty
The herbed chicken, rice, peas and salad that Kara made for supper brought compliments from everyone. As we ate the delicious meal, I realized just how much homecooked food can ease the mind. Between the quilting earlier and this meal, I felt more relaxed than I’d been in days. The wine Tom opened helped, too. Ritaestelle was quite appreciative of her glass of white wine since she’d had nothing alcoholic to drink ever since she had suspected she was being drugged.
As I loaded the last of the peas and rice onto my fork, I said, “Now that we’ve all had a chance to adore this food, tell us about Isis’s disappearance.”
Ritaestelle dabbed at her lips with one of my homemade plaid napkins. Bet she had nothing but the monogrammed kind at her house, but she didn’t seem to mind my more modest table setting in the least.
“I believe that someone took her and tossed her by the road. That’s the only explanation,” Ritaestelle said.
“Why do you say that?” Kara said.
“She was sleeping on my bed the first day I could no longer fight whatever was in that tea. I am assuming it was the tea. Anyway, she always stays close by. When I awoke, she was gone. And no one could explain it,” she said.
“Did you call animal control? Put up flyers?” I asked.
“Unfortunately, I was in no shape to even punch numbers on the telephone,” Ritaestelle said. “Evie told me she would find Isis, but she was beginning to act very suspicious of me. I think she believed I had gone completely mad by then. She did have to pull items I supposedly stole out of my bag at the pharmacy.”
“She seemed a little cool when I arrived on your doorstep the other day.” I paused, recalling a visit that seemed aeons ago. “But Evie did say that Isis needed to come home. Why wouldn’t she have returned Shawn’s phone calls if that were the case?”
“He called me?” Ritaestelle said.
“More than once. I never questioned him about who he spoke to, though. Might be worth asking now,” I said.
“If it was one of my relatives, I am sure they simply ignored him.” Ritaestelle pulled a piece of chicken off a breastbone and offered it to Isis. “That is how they have always done things, which is extremely impolite—and I have told them as much on many occasions. That is why, when I am able, I always answer the phone or greet guests at the door myself.”
“We heard that’s your routine,” Tom said, “but the explanation is new.”
“Yes, amazing what goes around town. Getting back to my cat’s mysterious disappearance and rescue, I must thank this gentleman Shawn in person. Can that be arranged?” Ritaestelle said.
“Sure,” I said.
“Oh my. That sounds so pretentious. I can do the arranging. Since numbers on the telephone are no longer blurry, I will call the man myself. Now, I heard part of what you all were discussing when I came into the living room earlier. Tell me about the rumors. I would appreciate hearing them from your point of view.” She glanced back and forth between Tom and me.
“Actually,” Tom said. “We’d like your version.”
“Hmm. I suppose you would.” She stared up at the ceiling, ostensibly to collect her thoughts.
All the cats had taken spots beneath the table in anticipation of a chicken treat like Isis had gotten. Merlot was lying on top of my feet, and I took a peek and saw the other two beside him. Chicken scraps are something all my cats enjoy.
Ritaestelle drew in a breath and went on. “This all began about two months ago. Earrings from a local merchant suddenly appeared in my handbag. They still had the price tag on that little cardboard piece that held them. I was with Desmond at a restaurant and took out my wallet to pay—I always pay when I am with him. I believe I let out quite an audible gasp when I saw them.”
“Had you recently been to that store?” Kara asked.
“Yes. The man who owns the shop designs and makes his own jewelry. He takes other items on consignment. I am a frequent buyer because he certainly can use the business.” Ritaestelle lowered her voice. “Bless his heart, the poor man does give his best effort.”
“How do you think the earrings got into your handbag?” Kara said. Her tone was formal. She was in journalist mode again.
“I have no earthly idea,” she said, “but the next day I promptly returned them. I must say it was humiliating, especially since the owner seemed less than gracious. I suppose some of the talk already started after that very
