The Cat, the Lady and the Liar

hair, deep blue eyes and commanding presence. Seemed like Ed preferred women who took charge.

Karen said, “I never would have thought I would be entertaining one of Ed’s old girlfriends. Old in more ways than one. Forced him to tell me all about her, though. The man could have married into money. Instead he ended up with me.”

“I’d say he got lucky,” I said with a smile. Karen might be peculiar, but she was good for Ed and he adored her. That gave me a hint about this visit. Karen, a recovering alcoholic, didn’t need secrets between herself and Ed. She’d found happiness, and my guess was that Tom wanted to keep it that way.

“Would you mind carrying the ice water, Jillian?” Karen said.

We both walked back into the living room, and soon everyone held his or her beverage of choice.

Karen sat next to Ed, who’d trimmed his beard in the last few days. I had to say, at times his clothes and limited grooming reminded me of a cult leader, but not today. He sat as stiff as a soldier on the plaid couch with its wooden arms. But perhaps because of his confession to Karen about his old love Ritaestelle, he didn’t seem as anxious today as when we’d talked to him about her the other day.

“Ritaestelle and Ed were just catching up,” Tom said. “But the reason we came today is that we hoped that you, Ed, could offer insight into why someone might want to set up Ritaestelle—make her look bad.” Tom went on to explain the details about the shoplifting accusations, the drugging, and a beloved cat that mysteriously found herself wandering by a busy highway.

While Tom talked, I kept glancing at Ritaestelle, but she kept her eyes focused on the cold glass she clung to with both hands.

“I ain’t sure why you’re goin’ back fifty years, Tommy,” Ed said in his slow, measured tone. “Sure, everyone, ’specially the girls in school, suffered from envy when it came to Ritaestelle. Class president, valedictorian, and a pretty thing to boot. Seemed natural they’d be wantin’ some of that. But what’s that got to do with anything?”

I noticed Ed was careful not to say he had also “wanted some of that.” Karen stared at him intently when he spoke of Ritaestelle. But not in a jealous way. Seemed to me she’d had a long talk with Ed about this woman.

“Maybe history has nothing to do with the murder, though I doubt that,” Tom said. “Here’s the deal. Before I start talking to Ritaestelle’s family, I want to be armed with as much information as possible. Mom’s insistence that I become a Boy Scout taught me one thing—be prepared. This is personal to someone. Close and personal. A serial killer didn’t chase Evie into Jillian’s backyard.”

“I sure as hell hope not,” Ed said.

“What about her cousins Muriel and Augusta? Did you know them?” Tom said.

“Sure. Everyone knew everyone in Woodcrest. Augusta was a year ahead of us and Muriel a year behind. Needy girls, but their daddy died young and I could see they were troubled and missin’ him.”

“That’s very true, Edwin,” Ritaestelle said. “Especially because my aunt—their mother, Estelle—was ill. Part of my name came from her. Unfortunately she became quite neglectful due to her sickness and died of cancer when we were all in our twenties. But her funeral brought Edwin and me together. We were close for a time. What did happen to us, Edwin?”

Oh boy. What happened to their relationship? Did Ritaestelle realize what she was saying? I felt the need to protect Karen and get this conversation back on track.

“This crime was personal, not random,” I said. I’d known this and guessed Candace and Mike knew this as well. But Tom’s approach wasn’t about finding evidence he could hand to that prosecutor we’d met, or to a judge. Maybe that was why he quit the force—so he could do things his way.

“Yes. Highly personal murder, I’d say,” Tom said. “Evie Preston followed Ritaestelle and was confronted by a killer. Sorry to say this, Ritaestelle, but you seem to have lived your life with blinders on. Now they’ve been ripped off, and you’re in big trouble. Still, I can’t rule out that Evie had some secrets herself. I’ll be checking on her, too.”

“Blinders,” Ritaestelle said, as if to herself. She looked at Tom. “That is a very insightful observation, Mr. Stewart.”

“Gaslighting,” I murmured.

“Ah, yes. That’s exactly what this sounds like.” Karen, sitting between me and Ed on the couch, patted my thigh. “I didn’t know you enjoyed the 1940s as much as I do.”

“Whatever are you talking about?” Ritaestelle said.

Tom glanced back and forth between Karen and me, looking lost.

“Gaslighting,” I said. “The term comes from an old movie. Karen, you probably know more about it than I do.”

“If I remember right,” she said, “in the film Gaslight, a woman is almost driven mad by her husband’s manipulations. One of the things he does is dim the gas lights in their home and then make her believe she’s imagining that they’ve been turned down.”

Tom nodded. “I get it. That’s like what the Manson family did when they broke into houses—that was before they got into more violent stuff. They would rearrange the furniture and steal nothing.”

“I’m not a cinema expert, nor do I know much about Charles Manson,” Ritaestelle said, “but, Karen, your explanation is such a relief. There is actually a word for what someone is trying to do to me.”

“We find the reason, we’ll get answers. Money seems the most likely motive. Someone drives you crazy, gets you declared incompetent and ends up in control of a fortune.” Tom looked at Ed. “By the way, did you know Ritaestelle’s brother, too?”

“Nope. He was older than us by—what? Five years?” He looked Ritaestelle’s way.

“That would be correct,” she answered. “You have a good memory, Edwin.”

Ed took a long swig of his lemonade, looking more embarrassed than I’d ever seen him.

The awkward silence was broken by a knock on the door.

Tom rose from the recliner he’d been sitting in. “I’ll get that.”

He let Desmond Holloway in, and the two shook hands. What the heck was he doing here?

But I remembered that sixth glass and understood then that he’d been invited.

After introductions he went straight to Ritaestelle, bent and kissed her lightly on the lips. “I came to help you, princess.”

The cramped living room and the late-morning air that whooshed in with Holloway made me feel so warm I gulped down half my glass of cucumber ice water.

Ed offered Desmond his spot on the sofa closest to Ritaestelle. Then he walked to the hall closet and brought out a folding chair. But Tom took the chair from him, set it up and told Ed to have the recliner. That was the spot I was most used to seeing Ed in, and for some reason the tension that had arrived with Holloway seemed to ease. But why did the man bother me?

He chatted on for several minutes about missing having coffee with Ritaestelle every morning, not talking to her on the phone, not sharing dinner a few times a week. I noticed that Ritaestelle seemed like a schoolgirl, hanging on his every word.

“You two have coffee every morning?” Tom asked.

He and I must think alike, because if they shared a drink every day, maybe the tea hadn’t been drugged. Perhaps it was the coffee. But what motive would he have to harm Ritaestelle?

Tom got straight to that. He looked at Ritaestelle, unsmiling. “You leaving anything in your will for this guy?”

“Thomas Lee Stewart,” Karen said. “You’re bordering on rude.”

“Mom, you may have grown up in the South and have all the same manners the Longworth bunch has, but I need to get to the bottom of this mess. If you think that’s rude, you can head for the kitchen or bedroom.”

“I don’t appreciate your tone,” Karen said. “And you shouldn’t tell your mother what to do in her own house. But I understand, and I forgive you.” She folded her hands in her lap and spoke to Ritaestelle. “I believe you should answer my son’s question.”

Ritaestelle cleared her throat. “Desmond and I are quite frank with each other. He is well aware that I will not be bequeathing anything to him.”

Tom looked at Holloway. “What about spending time together? When Ritaestelle was stumbling around her house in a stupor and her cat went missing, where were you?”

Wow. Tom sure didn’t like Holloway, and I wondered if he knew something he hadn’t shared with me.

Holloway’s ears were bright red even though he had a pasted-on smile. “We spoke on the phone. When she