interviews?”
“I’ll telephone George. He will make sure you have access to anything you need,” Ritaestelle said.
“I forgot about the butler and the housekeeper. We’ll need to talk to them.” Tom looked at Belle. “Let’s get down to some real dirt, now. What have you heard?”
Belle’s lips twisted into a pucker as she bit the side her mouth. She glanced at Ritaestelle.
“Come on. This woman is tough. She can take it.” Tom lifted his cup and drained what was left of his coffee.
“People think you did it, Ritaestelle,” Belle said softly. “They say you killed Evie Preston because she wouldn’t cover up for your shoplifting anymore.”
“Do you believe that?” Ritaestelle said.
“No. And here’s why. If you put up with that bunch of freeloaders living with you, and you never murdered one of them, why in the heck would you kill a girl you’d only known for what? A year, tops? Doesn’t make sense.” Belle nodded. “And that’s the truth.”
Ritaestelle smiled. “I always did like you, Belle Lowry. Thank you for your honesty.”
“We’ve got to get answers,” I said. The thought of helping Tom no longer seemed quite so daunting. I could always count on Belle to say things that just plain made sense.
Twenty-Two
We finished our breakfast and coffee and walked outside, with Tom supporting Ritaestelle. This day promised to be a scorcher. The sign above the bank across the street told us that even though it was a little after ten in the morning, the temperature was already eighty-five degrees.
Just as Tom was helping Ritaestelle into the front passenger seat of his Prius, Candace and Chief Shelton hurried toward us.
“Glad we caught y’all.” Candace eyed me and mouthed the words, “We’re okay.” She certainly looked less stressed than she had when she left my house last night.
“Caught? That could be taken more than one way,” Tom said.
“Don’t be funny, Tom. We’d like to talk to Miss Longworth for a few minutes,” Candace said.
“Is something wrong?” Ritaestelle said.
“Not any more wrong than it already is,” Shelton said. “But I don’t think you want to discuss matters outside in this heat.”
“I believe I have told you everything I know,” Ritaestelle said.
“She’s done talking.” Tom looked down at Ritaestelle in the passenger seat of his car. “Buckle up, Miss Longworth. Wouldn’t want to give these officers any excuse to haul you down the street to the police station.” He shut the car door.
Candace, hands on hips, looked steaming mad. “What is this about, Tom?”
But Tom matched her with some anger of his own. “This is about the two of you bullying this woman. Do you honestly believe she had the strength to hit a vital young woman so hard that she knocked her out? Where’s the common sense in your investigation, huh, Candace?”
Candace’s mouth opened, but no words came out.
Shelton blurted, “Okay, so you’ve got a point. Plus we know she was drugged. Her urine test proved it.”
“How did you get access to her medical test results?” Tom said.
I felt a wave of relief wash over me. Maybe now they’d start listening to Ritaestelle.
“We had a warrant.” Candace’s tone was flat. “Remember that little thing called probable cause from your police days, Tom? Miss Longworth found a body. Regardless of what you think or what Miss Longworth thinks, I’m doing this the right way. I’m collecting and following the evidence.”
“I know you are, Candace.” I looked up at Tom. “And you know that, too, right?”
Tom smiled. “Yeah, I do know. Not easy, is it, Candace?”
She squinted at him for a second, and then cracked a smile herself. “Tom Stewart, you are gonna pay for this one day.”
“You’re doing a damn fine job, Deputy Carson. If you weren’t, I wouldn’t have this little PI assignment.” Tom turned to me. “Come on. We’ve got another stop to make.”
I opened the back passenger door, and Tom started for the driver’s side.
Shelton said, “Wait. When will Ritaestelle be coming home? Her family has been asking after her.”
As Tom opened the car door, he said, “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Chief? But she’s staying away from Woodcrest for now.”
As we drove away, Ritaestelle said, “I am unclear about that particular interaction, but I do appreciate you speaking up for me, Mr. Stewart.”
“That’s what you’re paying me for. Your friend Chief Shelton, I’m guessing, would love to have you back in Woodcrest so she could take over this investigation. Cops are territorial like that.”
“Ah. Are you saying I should not trust Nancy?” Ritaestelle said.
“For now, trust us,” Tom said. “But in the end, my money’s on Candace to figure this out—with our help.”
I saw Ritaestelle nod her head in agreement. “Can I ask where we are driving to now in your precious little car?”
“You are about to be reunited with another old friend,” Tom said.
Five minutes later we pulled into the driveway of Karen Stewart’s cottage.
“Why are we visiting your mother, Tom?” I asked.
“You’ll see.” He slid from behind the wheel, came around and helped Ritaestelle get out.
But as we walked up the steps of her latticed porch, it dawned on me. Karen was in a relationship with Ed Duffy. And Ed had told us he’d once cared very much about Ritaestelle.
Sure enough, both Karen and Ed met us at the front screen door. Karen wore a vintage-looking cotton print dress, belted at the waist and buttoned up to her neck. Ed’s shirt was clean and pressed—as Karen always made sure of when he was at home.
“We’ve been expecting you,” Karen said as she opened the door for us to enter.
The ceiling fan in Karen’s small, darkened living room was churning at high speed. She never ran the air conditioner, and I assumed all the heavy drapes were closed to keep the heat out as much as possible.
Tom helped Ritaestelle to a mustard-colored velour rocker in the corner while saying, “Mom, this is Ritaestelle Longworth. Ed, you already know her, of course.”
Ritaestelle’s eyes grew wide and her fingers covered her mouth for a few seconds. “Sweet Lord. Edwin Duffy? Is that really you?”
“Yes, ma’am. Nice to see you again.” Ed stared at the floor, not at the woman he told us he had once loved.
“I am never
“I’ve made fresh lemonade, so I’ll be right back,” Karen said.
“Let me help you.” I followed her into the kitchen, wondering what in the heck Tom thought he was doing. Why did he want his poor mother to endure this reunion? I’d have to get some answers about this move.
Unlike the cluttered shop where Ed spent most of his time, Karen’s small house was tidy and spotless. Just like the clothes she always wore, her kitchen was vintage—a stainless toaster still as shiny as the day she had bought it, a gleaming glass whistling teapot on the old gas range. The refrigerator was turquoise, rounded on the edges and small. She opened the door and took out a Fiestaware pitcher. Another pitcher holding ice water and sliced cucumbers sat near the sink.
She placed the lemonade on a wooden tray she’d already set up with six glasses. Why six? Maybe she liked even numbers. That was something I would expect of Karen. Tom’s mother was an odd lady, with her dark, slick
