I went into the kitchen, with three cats on my heels. Isis remained in Ritaestelle’s lap. I should have known it was futile to stand between Kara and a story.
“You are discerning, Miss Kara. Just like your stepmother. But Desmond is simply a friend these days. Years ago, it might have been a different story. We might have married, had children, but he was a bit of a philanderer.” Ritaestelle’s voice quavered a little. “He returned only two months ago.”
I wondered if Desmond was the reason she’d never married. Had he been the love of her life? Had she turned Ed away for Desmond?
As I sliced cheddar on a cheese board, I heard Kara say, “But you want to go on vacation with this
philanderer
?”
“Why not?” she said. “He’s without adequate funds—same as he was back in the day—so he needs a friend like me to take him around the world. And I am foolish enough to enjoy his company, even knowing his character is not completely stellar.”
Kara laughed. “You seem to know exactly what you want.”
“I suppose that’s true to a point. But why are all my relatives still living with me? Because
that
is not truly what I want. Obligation gets in the way of want too much, I fear.”
I added a row of crackers to the cheese board and carried it out to the living room. I set the dish on the coffee table in front of Ritaestelle. I gave both her and Kara napkins thinking that this conversation was getting interesting, and maybe Kara’s questions weren’t all simply because she wanted a story. Maybe she did want to get to know Ritaestelle better.
But the doorbell interrupted any further questions. I saw Lydia Monk through the peephole and stifled a groan. Not her again. At least Tom wasn’t here this time.
I opened the door and said, “Hi, Lydia. The police have all left, so—”
She pushed by me and came inside. “I didn’t see his car. Where is he?” Her burnt orange T-shirt had beading and pearls around the V-neck. She wore white capris and strappy wedge-style sandals. Lots of cleavage showing today, so she must have dressed expecting to find Tom here.
“Who are you talking about?” Playing innocent with her was about the only way to deal with her delusions.
“Never mind. I heard that woman is staying with you. What’s with that?” she said.
“I offered to help Ritaestelle out until she feels better,” I said.
“I came to talk to her.” Lydia strode past me into the living room. But Kara drew her attention first, and she pointed at her. “You. Out of here. I need to talk to the, um . . .
witness
without you hanging around.”
Kara didn’t move. “This isn’t a police station, and you’re not a cop, so why do I—”
“I’m hired by the county to investigate suspicious deaths, and you know that as well as anyone,” Lydia said. “Leave.” She turned to me. “And if you could busy yourself elsewhere, please?”
Please?
Wow.
Before I could respond, Ritaestelle said, “There is nothing I can tell you that these kind women do not already know. If you want to interrogate me, you will do it with them present.”
Lydia rested a fist on her hip. “Really? You’re telling me how to do my job?”
I said, “I have quilt orders to work on. I can go in the other room.”
“You will not,” Kara said. “This is your house, and this, this—”
“Please go ahead with your questions,” Ritaestelle said to Lydia. “I do not want to use up too much precious time in what I assume is your very busy day.”
Lydia smiled. “At least someone understands. I suppose we can do this your way.” Lydia opened the patent leather purse slung over her left shoulder. She removed a small notebook. She sat across from Ritaestelle and laid her bag in her lap to rest her notebook on top. “I hear you’ve been in trouble in your little hometown down the road before any of this happened. Tell me about that.”
Ritaestelle seemed surprised that this was the first question.
Before she could say anything, Kara said, “What does that have to do with the murder? Do you have something that connects those two things?”
“Am I talking to you?” Lydia said.
I was standing behind Lydia, not knowing exactly what to do with myself. Sit? Go away? Run away? Or pick a cat up off the couch, where they’d all gathered? The last option seemed excellent, but I felt the need to protect Ritaestelle from Lydia’s blunt approach first. I said, “Lydia, this woman just got out of the hospital, and—”
“I know. That’s why I couldn’t question her before.” Lydia smiled at Ritaestelle and said, “Tell me about your troubles in Woodcrest.”
“But—” I started.
Ritaestelle held up one hand. “Thank you, Jillian. I most certainly do appreciate your concern.” She returned Lydia’s stare. “You may talk to Chief Nancy Shelton about certain accusations directed at me. She has all the details.”
Kara, whose expression showed keen interest in this subject, said, “This prior history goes to motive, Lydia?”
“That’s Assistant Coroner Monk to you,” Lydia said. “And it’s none of your business. Now, Miss Longworth, tell me why your personal assistant, Evie Preston, came
here
of all places? Or did you two come together?”
“I had no idea she was following me,” Ritaestelle said.
“So she followed you and not the other way around?” Lydia was scribbling in her notebook as she said this.
“Why would Evie come here if she wasn’t following Ritaestelle?” I asked.
“Because,” Lydia said, “you, Jillian, had unfinished business with the victim. I know you went to see Miss Preston and spoke with her.”
“But I went to see Miss Longworth, not Evie.” What in the heck was Lydia getting at?
Lydia twisted in my direction. “That’s what your story is today, but for some weird reason, you’re harboring a suspect. Did you and Evie Preston get into it the other day?”
Kara said, “You think Jillian had something to do with the murder?”
Lydia glared at Kara. “I’m asking the questions here.”
Ritaestelle said, “I understand your desire to do your job, Assistant Coroner Monk. My, that is a mouthful. Anyway, I believe I have asked and answered every question more than once prior to now. Surely you can consult with your fellow law enforcement professionals. I am very tired and I do not believe I could offer you any coherent answers at this time.”
Lydia leaned forward. “Are you aware that I have to get documents ready and issue a death certificate?”
“Oh my.” Ritaestelle lifted a hand to her lips. “I had not considered that. Of course you do. I want to help, but you seem so . . . angry with these kind women for some reason. May I assure you that they have done nothing wrong.”
I walked around Lydia’s chair and over to the couch. I sat next to Merlot, who lifted his head and croaked a meow before resuming his nap. Guess he was getting used to the crazy lady coming to call.
But I could see that Lydia had gotten to Ritaestelle. She now looked exhausted—probably because no one ever gets to sleep in the hospital and no one can take very much of Lydia without getting tired.
Lydia said, “I am aware you have an upstanding reputation, Miss Longworth, but I need answers. You say Miss Preston followed you here. Why would she do that?”
“I have no earthly idea,” Ritaestelle said. “That seems to be the biggest question—that and who followed
her
following me? It is all very confounding. My fear is that Evie had something to do with the events of the past few months, that perhaps she was in cahoots with someone at my home to make me look foolish.”
“Like who?” Lydia asked.
Kara looked at Ritaestelle with interest. Lydia seemed to be on point for once, and both Kara and I wanted to hear the answer.
“I do not know that either, but someone in my house was drugging me. Evie could have been part of that. Or she could have seen me leave and followed to protect me. Do you not agree that is what needs to be sorted out?”
“Oh, I do. Did you hit that young woman with something? Did her tailing you make you that mad?” Lydia said. Though she’d at least been polite to Ritaestelle up until now, that seemed to be over.
“I—I tried to help her as best I could. Why, if not for those voices I heard, and the cats escaping, poor Evie might have lain on that dock all night,” Ritaestelle said.
“What voices?” Kara said.
Lydia offered Kara a withering glance before saying, “What voices? The ones in your head?”
“No. Outside. I was
not
hallucinating, despite what people may think,” Ritaestelle said. “I do believe I heard an argument. That part is hazy, I am sorry to say.”
“Convenient.” Lydia looked at her watch. “My time is up here. I have an appointment with Miss Preston’s mother. There will be an autopsy, which she is resisting. But we have no choice.”
“Will you tell Evie’s mother that I send my sincere condolences?” Ritaestelle said.
“Do I look like a mail carrier? That’s
not
my job.” Lydia rose and waved me off when I started to accompany her to the foyer.
The slam of the door that came with her departure sent Merlot running for cover.
Nineteen
A
fter Lydia’s not unexpectedly dramatic departure, Kara, Ritaestelle and I remained still and silent for several seconds.
Finally Ritaestelle said, “Might I use your telephone?”
I pulled my cell from my pocket and held it out.
Ritaestelle shook her head. “I am quite uncomfortable with cellular telephones. Do you have a real one?”
“Real one.” That was an interesting way to put it.
“I’ll get the landline.” Kara rose and went into the kitchen.
“I almost feel like I should apologize for Lydia. I see that she’s upset you,” I said. “But I have to admit, I’m not fond of her myself.”
“She is quite blunt, but that is not what I would call a bad thing, in this case. I should have already called Evie’s mother. In that tapestry bag that my cousin carried inside you’ll find a small address book. Would you mind fetching that for me?”
A minute later, Ritaestelle was speaking with Evie’s mother and saying how sorry she was that Evie had died so tragically.
Meanwhile, I put away the leftover cheese and crackers and Kara washed the cheese board and knife. Isis appeared at my feet after I closed the pantry door and began to mew repetitively—tiny little meows intended to inform me of something.
“Are you hungry?” I said.
Apparently not, because she trotted off toward the living room, fluffy tail high. Did she want to play? But then I tuned in to Ritaestelle’s voice.
She was pleading with Evie’s mother, saying, “Please give that coroner woman your consent, Loretta. Otherwise they will involve the county authorities and drag this thing on and on. You need to lay poor Evie to rest, and that cannot happen quickly without your help.”
I walked quietly to the edge of the dining room table that separates kitchen and living room. Isis was rubbing against Ritaestelle’s shins and still meowing. I stepped closer and saw tears streaming down Ritaestelle’s face. Even so, her voice was supportive and kind as she again encouraged Mrs. Preston to cooperate with Lydia.
I could see why Ritaestelle had been so respected in her community. She was strong but kind; she’d probably been an adviser to many. The accusations dogging her lately must have hurt her deeply, just as her nephew’s words had stung me.
Even her little goddess Isis wanted to help—or get me to help. I went to the couch and sat next to Ritaestelle, taking her free hand in mine. I squeezed it and she looked at me, gratitude evident in her eyes.
Ritaestelle’s grip relaxed and she smiled. “I believe you are doing the right thing, Loretta. I can be reached at Miss Jillian Hart’s residence, so if you will call me—oh my, I do not even know the number.” She looked my way.
But before I could give her the number, Ritaestelle said, “Oh, you have it from the caller ID? Good. Such a fine invention when our memories are beginning to dim. Please call me when the visitation times are settled. You take care, Loretta.”
Ritaestelle took the phone away from her face and looked at it in confusion. I released her hand, took the receiver and ended the call.
“Thank you, my dear Jillian. And thank you for your kindness.”
Isis stared up at her mistress. Ritaestelle reached down and picked her up. “You were quite the noisy one while I was trying to speak.” She looked at me. “I would very much enjoy a nap about this time. Is that possible?”
“Certainly,” I said.
I helped her to her feet and led her down the hall to the guest room, grabbing her overnight bag on the way. Isis stayed with her on the bed as I closed the bedroom door.
Back in the kitchen, Kara was rummaging through my freezer. “Do you have anything for supper? Or should I pick something up?”
“There’s a chicken in the fridge. But I have no idea what I should do with it. My brain has quit on me,” I said.
“You do look tired,” Kara said. “And a little sad. Is something bothering you?”
Was I that transparent? Because my brain hadn’t really quit. It was simply filled once again with Farley’s ridiculous accusations. “I’ll be fine once this murderer is caught. Plus I am a little worried because I’m so behind on Christmas orders.”
“It’s only the end of July,” Kara said.
“Custom cat quilt orders have been pouring in—especially after your article about the cats we rescued from that professor was syndicated,” I said. “And there are the hundreds of e-mails from people who think I can solve their pet troubles.”
Kara smiled. “Which you can’t. Let me worry about dinner, and you take some time to yourself.”
“I don’t want to bother you with—”
“Please. Let someone take care of you for a change.” Kara extended her arm toward the foyer. “Go. Quilt. Nap. Soak in the tub. Do whatever you need to feel better.”