The Cat, the Lady and the Liar

All I felt was sick and scared and anxious.

Tom ran a hand through his hair, and though he’d been calm and reassuring in the car, he wasn’t that way now. “Are there any leads? Like, how many of those bozos that live with Ritaestelle have an alibi?” He held up a hand before Mike could say anything. “Stupid question. You couldn’t have gotten that information yet.”

“I have a deputy canvassing Candy’s apartment complex,” Mike said, “but from the reports I’ve been getting so far, no one saw or heard anything. Her gun was still in her holster and her car was where she’d parked it. Nothing amiss.”

I cringed hearing him call her Candy. She would hate that.

“This wasn’t a random mugging if nothing was taken,” Tom said. “My bet is someone got nervous after Candace interviewed them and decided to take action.”

“She reinterviewed Ritaestelle this afternoon,” I said. “Candace planned to give Kara a story hinting that Ritaestelle might no longer be the main suspect in Evie’s death. She hoped to draw some other suspect out of the woodwork. Could that be why she was attacked?”

“That fits,” Mike said. “Candy has been researching something called a forensic interview. She says that interviewing while paying attention to demeanor is almost as good as tangible evidence. That’s why she came to reinterview Ritaestelle. What she saw, as well as what she heard, probably made her doubt Ritaestelle’s guilt. Getting out the word that Ritaestelle wasn’t the only suspect would be important.”

“Did Candace talk to Kara to get these ‘hints’ out to the public after she left your house?” Tom asked me.

I glanced around the room looking for her. “I don’t know, but when I called Kara, she said she’d be here at the hospital.”

I caught Shelton’s eye then, and she made her way over to us. Meanwhile, I was reminded by this crowded room, these many people with concerned faces, that I knew nothing about Candace’s condition. That bothered the heck out of me. Was her mother with her? Was she awake? Was her injury so serious that she might die? No, I couldn’t think about that.

Shelton said, “Do you know anything?”

“No one’s given any of us a report,” Mike said. “I can only hope they’re too busy helping Candy so they don’t have time for us.”

“That’s a good way to look at it,” I said. Good enough that I felt like the tension that had grabbed hold of every muscle in my body seemed to ease a bit.

“She was your friend. This must be hard on you,” Shelton said.

“She is my friend,” I said.

Tom, Mike and Morris wandered in the direction of the vending machines, still talking about evidence and neighborhood canvasses and possible weapons. I felt even more relieved when they left. This wasn’t procedural for me; it was gut-wrenching, and it was all I could do to hold back the tears.

“I’m really sorry this happened,” Shelton said.

This was the person we’d spoken to in the park the day of the murder, not the hard, cold woman who had pulled me over. “I’m so worried.”

“She’s one of our own, so we’re all troubled, but your worry is different. More intense.” Shelton glanced at the array of sofas and chairs that filled the room. “Where’s Ritaestelle?”

“I had to leave her alone. And that’s bothering me, too. What if this person comes after her next?”

“Do you know of some specific reason they might do that?” Shelton had slipped back into cop role.

“Who knows what any of this is about? But she didn’t feel safe at home. That should tell you something.” Again, my anxiety made me sound curt.

Shelton checked her watch. “It’s late. I wouldn’t want to wake her, but I could park outside your house, make sure nothing happens to her. How’s that?”

“You’d do that?” I said.

“She and I are friends, even if I was stupid enough to have been suspicious of her in the last few months.”

I wanted to hug the woman. “Oh my gosh, I’d feel so much better if you’d do that.”

“I’ll leave right now,” she said.

Nancy Shelton, always in her blue suit with its shiny buttons and those comfortable-looking shoes, left. Why couldn’t Lydia take a clue from a professional? The thought of Lydia made me glance around, wondering if she was hanging around, too, but I didn’t see her—and I sure didn’t want to.

I checked the cat-cam feed on my cell phone and saw Ritaestelle sitting on the sofa. I noticed that she’d gotten dressed. Maybe she decided she wouldn’t be sleeping at all tonight, and in her world, I imagined that being awake meant being dressed. She was entertaining Syrah and Merlot with a feather toy while the other cats were batting buttons around.

Though I hated to disturb Ritaestelle, I didn’t want her to freak out if she heard a car outside. I didn’t see the telephone near her when I’d been checking on them, but she answered on the first ring, so she must have put it beside her.

“Jillian? Is that you?” she asked.

“Yes. I wanted—”

“How is Deputy Carson?” she asked. “I have been so concerned.”

“We don’t have any word on her condition yet. I’m calling because Chief Shelton decided to drive over and make sure you’re all right.”

“That is truly unnecessary, Jillian,” Ritaestelle said. “I have been scrutinized so much in the last few months, I must say being here alone feels safe.”

“She might not even come to the door, said she planned on parking outside to watch the house,” I said. “But since I saw you were awake when I peeked in on my cat cam, I wanted you to know she’d be hanging around.”

“That is very kind of you, and I did not mean to sound as if I were complaining,” Ritaestelle said. “You have been generous to a fault. Please call me back when you know anything about Deputy Carson. She is on my mind and in my prayers.”

We said good-bye, and I slipped my phone into my pocket. I still wondered where Kara was. But of course she knew Candace’s mother since Candace’s mom was always dropping by the apartment building. Those two could be together.

I didn’t see any reason why I had to wait here, clueless. No. I had to find them. So I left the waiting room and followed the signs to the ICU. Sure enough, they were sitting in the padded chairs that lined the wall across from the ICU doors. A desk between the doors and the visitors seemed almost like a blockade. A woman wearing scrubs sat at the desk focused on a computer monitor.

This is where I should have come to begin with—but like a good girl, I had to follow directions and go to that other place.

When Candace’s mother saw me, she stood and hurried to embrace me. Soon my shoulder was wet with her tears. “Why did this happen, Jillian? And why did she ever think she could do such a dangerous job?”

I hugged Belinda Carson tightly and said, “Can you imagine her doing anything else?”

Belinda pulled away and dabbed beneath her eyes with a crumpled tissue. “No. You’re right. But if I lose her . . .”

Again I said, “Candace is tough. She’ll come through this just fine. They’ve told you she’ll be all right, haven’t they?” This had to be true. It had to be.

“They haven’t told us anything, Jillian, and I am getting so upset waiting here, and—”

Kara said, “Why don’t you stay off your feet, Belinda? This might be a long night.” She put her hands on Belinda’s upper arms and guided her back to her chair.

A large brown paper sack sat on the floor, and Belinda looked at it. “That’s her uniform. There’s blood on it. Her poor head was bleeding so much.”

I gripped her hand, and Kara put her arm around Belinda’s shoulders. We all sat in a row, silent except for Belinda’s small hiccuping sobs.

Finally she seemed to gather herself. “Candace would be so angry with me for crying like a baby. But she’s not a mother, and—”