The Cat, the Lady and the Liar

I could learn to like this sort of treatment. But as I bit into the delicious chicken- salad sandwich—was that dill she’d added?—I realized that perhaps this was the reason no family member left this house and went out on their own. Being waited on hand and foot might be almost too comfortable.

“Muriel,” I said once I’d finished off my little sandwich, “do you mind if we tape our conversation?” I nodded toward the recorder sitting in front of Tom.

“Oh dear. The police didn’t even do that. Why would you ever want to record what I have to say?” She ran a thin hand through her vibrant red hair.

Tom tapped his temple. “I’m not good at remembering. Do you object?”

Ah. Object. Good word choice, I thought.

“I—I suppose not,” she finally said after some hesitation. “But I do have an appointment this afternoon, so if we could get on with this?”

Tom pressed the RECORD button.

“Did you know we have a mutual acquaintance?” I said.

“You mean aside from Ritaestelle?” Muriel replied.

“Belle Lowry. She tells me her cousin was married to you for a time.” I hadn’t wanted to start out the interview this way, but Tom had told me I should—that it would put her on her heels right from the start.

“He was. What does ancient history have to do with anything?” Suddenly Muriel’s face almost matched her hair.

Ancient, but not forgotten history, I thought. “Nothing to do with anything. Just popped into my head.”

She looked as if she wanted to literally pop me in the head. Had she done exactly that to Evie and Candace? I wondered.

“What do you want to know?” Muriel sounded icily calm. “I am very much out of the loop around here. I was sleeping when Ritaestelle took off the other night in, of all things, her bathrobe.”

“You almost sound embarrassed,” I said. “Did the shoplifting and the drug taking embarrass you, too?”

“I suppose so,” Muriel said, “though I never would have said a word to anyone had there not been a murder. I suspected Ritaestelle was taking some sort of mind-altering substance. She started slurring her words and staggering around the house, you see. But if she’d turned into a thief, which seems to be the case, well . . . I can imagine she needed something to make her forget what she’d done.”

“You believed she actually stole things she hardly needed?” I tried to keep my voice even, not sound like this was ridiculous.

“I believe it because there’s proof. When you talk to Justine, ask her. She’ll tell you,” she said.

“I will. But why do you think she would do such a thing?” I asked.

“I believed Ritaestelle was troubled and this caused her to do certain things that were entirely out of character.” Muriel examined her French manicure, picking off a strip of clear polish and rolling it between her fingers.

“Troubled by what?” I asked, catching Tom’s slight smile out of the corner of my eye. Maybe I wasn’t as bad at this job as I thought I would be.

“We all come to moments in our life when the past shows us the future. She let opportunities slip by and she was filled with regret. She never married when she had so many suitors. She never knew the joy of sharing a life with a man.” Muriel nodded, as if she were convincing herself of this.

“What about Desmond?” I said. “He seems to have brought her joy.” Though that had come to a screeching halt now that she’d learned that he’d carried on with Augusta. But if Muriel didn’t know this, I wasn’t about to tell her.

Muriel laughed, and it was such a sweet, pleasant laugh that I almost forgot that this woman seemed to have no problem telling tales about her benefactor.

“Ah, Desmond,” she said. “In and out of Ritaestelle’s life. He will leave her again, of that much I am sure. Remember what I said about the past showing us the future?” She turned to Tom then. “And here I thought you were the detective. Yet Miss Jillian is asking all the questions. Why is that?”

“You’re saying you want me to ask the questions?” Tom said this in a tone that I had never heard before. He sounded harsh—almost cruel.

Muriel looked back to me, and I noticed a small twitch by her right eye. “What else can I help you with, Miss Jillian?”

She was trying to keep her composure. Perhaps now was the time to rattle her a little more. “I understand your engagement ring went missing.” This time the look I caught from Tom was less than approving. He closed his eyes and shook his head slightly. Had I just screwed up? Given away something that Mike Baca wanted to remain a secret for now?

“Yes, but how did you know?” Muriel said.

“I’m not sure I should get into that. Let’s move on. Now—”

“I knew she took it—and apparently Ritaestelle had the gall to tell you what she’d done. She was always jealous of my marriage, and this is how she pays me back after all I’ve done for her. By stealing from me.” Muriel’s lips tightened in anger. But she didn’t flush like she had earlier. “Did she give it to you as a gift because you are her new best friend?”

Now I was flustered. How could I get this on track? Throw it right back at her, I decided. “Did you tell the police she took your ring?”

“No. That’s family business—or so I thought. Perhaps I jumped to conclusions thinking she gave the ring to you. I suppose she admitted her theft to the police officers and that’s how you found out.” She looked at Tom. “Would you be so kind as to pour me a glass of water?”

He did so and handed it across the table.

She took it with a shaky hand.

“Am I making you nervous? Because that’s not my intent.” I was beginning to feel sorry for her, something I suppose a cop would never allow herself to do. But I wasn’t a cop and I couldn’t help myself, so I added, “Ritaestelle did not give me your ring.”

“I am so sorry if you took offense. I’m the one at fault. It’s the blood sugar problem,” she said. “We get so few visitors since Ritaestelle began to act strange, and I find that rather stressful—which causes big highs and big lows in the blood sugar. And poor Evie losing her life doesn’t help. Then I discovered that my ring had disappeared. No, stress is not good for a diabetic.” She took a long sip of water.

Her world revolved around Ritaestelle, hers and everyone’s who lived here, no doubt. That seemed so sad. “We’ve bothered you enough. Your insights have been helpful.”

Before she left, Tom asked her about her whereabouts last night. She gave the same answer as her sister and was on her way, tottering out of the dining room on her high heels as fast as she was able.

Twenty-Eight

Once Muriel was gone, I reached for a pimento-cheese sandwich and said, “I messed up about the ring. Sorry.”

“She would have found out anyway. I didn’t mean to throw you off your game.” He plucked several grapes off their stems.

“I don’t much care for those cousins, and I feel guilty about that. I should have sympathy for them because they’re pretty darn pitiful,” I said. The pimento cheese was homemade and yummy. I grabbed another one. “Muriel talked about Ritaestelle wasting her opportunities, and yet what have they done with their lives? Both of them have never stepped out of Ritaestelle’s shadow.”

“What was the most important thing you learned from them?” Tom asked. He dipped a baby carrot in the dressing and, cupping his hand beneath to catch drips, brought it to his mouth.

“Probably the tranquilizers,” I said. “Guess that will be my first question for Ritaestelle when we get back home.”