The Cat, the Lady and the Liar (33 page)

I’d forgotten to ask Ritaestelle about the pills, and now I wished I had. She might have a clue as to who did order them. Could have been Evie for all we knew.

“Prints,” Tom said. “Good old Candace printed everyone, I hear.”

“Yeah, but Candace can’t remember where she put the print cards,” Mike said. “She can’t remember much of anything, and it’s driving her crazy.”

“They weren’t in her evidence kit?” I asked. The night of the murder I’d seen her put Ritaestelle’s card in there after she’d taken her fingerprints.

“No, we looked,” Mike said. “But I haven’t had a chance to check her vehicle. She might have stuck them in the glove compartment. You didn’t happen to see an envelope when you got her notes?”

I should have known he was aware we took the notes. It’s not like Mercy officers don’t share information. But I still felt like I’d done something wrong. “Candace told us to get them once I reminded her—and I did have to remind her—that Tom was hired to help with the investigation.”

Mike said, “I’ve got no problem with you working for Miss Longworth. Any other PI? Maybe. Not you.” He slapped Tom on the back and smiled. Mike and Tom went back a long way, and I was relieved Mike wasn’t angry about our involvement.

As they continued to talk, I thought about those fingerprints. When there was a break in the conversation, I said, “Could one of the family members have been worried about those prints and knocked Candace out to steal those cards?”

Mike rubbed his chin with tented fingers. “You may be on to something, but if one of them took the cards, he or she had to know we could print them again.” He nodded in the direction of the Longworths. “And we can’t rule out that one of them, or maybe Farley, told Candy something incriminating and that someone decided she had to go down. But whatever that information was, it’s now erased forever by that blow to her skull. I talked to the doc, and he says she probably won’t ever remember much detail from that day.”

“At least she’s okay,” I said softly. I was uncomfortable talking about the case with Ritaestelle’s family only six feet away. Was the killer in the room, or was Farley, or even Desmond, the culprit?
Desmond.
The ladies’ man. What if he’d made a move on Evie and she threatened to tell Ritaestelle?

Tom pulled me from my thoughts, saying, “Jillian, did you hear me?”

“Sorry. Lost in thought,” I said.

“Mike and I want to check Candace’s car one more time for those print cards,” he said. “Will you be okay here?”

I could read the worry on his face. I’d had a little meltdown on that kneeling bench, and he knew it. “Sure,” I said. “Kara was supposed to be here—gosh, where is she?—and she’ll probably follow us home.”

“I’m glad to play security detail again,” Shelton said.

“Thanks, but—Oh, there she is,” I said.

And Liam Brennan was with her.

“What’s he doing here?” Shelton said.

“Could be he is gathering information about the family—and Evie’s family, too. Were they . . . you know . . . eliminated as suspects?” I asked.

“Rock-solid alibis.” Shelton watched Tom and Mike, who had paused to say hello to Kara before they left. “I checked up on Evie’s family and told Mike, but he hasn’t been sharing everything he knew.”

“What do you mean?” I said as Brennan went toward the family and Kara walked over to join Shelton and me. She’d caught admiring looks from several police officers. Her short-sleeved brown linen dress showed off her figure, and with her dark hair clipped back and tumbling down her back, I swore she could have done a photo shoot for
Vanity Fair
right at that moment.

Shelton cleared her throat. “We don’t need to get into that right now.” She smiled at Kara. “Good evening, Miss Hart.”

Kara nodded at her and rubbed circles on my back, saying, “You okay? You look pale.”

“I’m fine. Funerals are—well, you know,” I said.

She nodded solemnly. “Oh, I know all right.” She looked at Shelton. “I haven’t met Evie Preston’s family, but I’d like to do a human interest story for the paper. What can you tell me about them?”

Shelton, who’d been uncharacteristically pleasant until now, reverted to her normal cranky self in a flash. “Those people are from my town, and I don’t want you bothering them. They’re grieving.”

“But—” Kara started.

“Would you hush?” Shelton said. “The poor girl’s body is right over there.” She tossed her head in the direction of the casket. The twisting motion strained her navy jacket—did she ever wear anything else?—and a button popped off.

I bent and picked it up. The button looked similar to the one Syrah had been playing with today. As I handed it to her, I said, “Did you lose a button like this before?”

She flushed. “I’ve gained a few pounds in the last month. I suppose I could have lost one at your place.”

“I’ll steal the button back from my cat and return it. I was a textile arts major, even did some dress designing before I fell in love with quilting. Are your suits custom-made by—”

“Can you
please
give me insight into the family?” Kara said impatiently.

Shelton turned to Kara, looking equally impatient. “Like I said, you’ll upset those people. I can’t have that.”

“Do you even
want
to solve Evie’s murder?” Kara said. But at least she did whisper.

“That’s a ridiculous question,” Shelton said. Tiny beads of sweat dotted her upper lip. It was warm in the room, and I was sure wearing that suit made it that much warmer.

“Please,” I said. “This gathering is for Evie.” I looked at Kara. “Can you wait until after the visitation has ended to approach the family?”

“I suppose.” She glared at Shelton. “But for now, I think I’ll introduce myself.” She walked over to them.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Shelton said. “But we’re not used to your stepdaughter’s aggressive, big-city type of reporting here.”

“A human interest story is aggressive?” I said.

She raked a hand through her tight gray curls. “Maybe not, but did you see her headline about Deputy Carson? ‘Officer Attacked’? That seemed like someone was shouting at us. We aren’t fearmongers in these parts.”

“I wouldn’t think that a genteel approach to murder and assault would be effective in helping the police convey information to the community or to generate tips,” I said.

“I see you’ve been brainwashed by your stepdaughter,” she said. “But I suppose that’s part of trying to be a mother.”

Trying?
Maybe there was a grain of truth to that—I was trying—but why did she have to bite back at me? My guess? Nancy Shelton, no matter how hard she tried, couldn’t hide the fact that she was bitter. Did she even have a family, or did the Woodcrest Police fill that void for her?

I caught Ritaestelle’s eye, and she looked almost pleading now, unlike before. I should have been paying closer attention to what was going on over there. “If you’ll excuse me, Ritaestelle looks like she’s had enough. She might want to go home.”

“You know her that well, huh? Have you asked her if she might want to go to her real home?” Shelton said.

“Ritaestelle was drugged,” I said. “What’s to stop whoever did it from doing it again?”

“I have been her friend for years. I will protect her,” she said.

Guess this mingling of people from Mercy and people from Woodcrest had her feeling territorial. “You’re right,” I said. “Why don’t we ask her?” But I knew what Ritaestelle would say.

We walked over to the circle of women surrounding Ritaestelle.

“Why, Mrs. Hart,” Augusta said. “Glad you could take time to say hello to us.” She nodded at Shelton. “Hello, Nancy.”

Justine said, “We’ve been trying to convince our Ritaestelle to return home. We miss her and Isis.”

Her breath smelled so strongly of alcohol, I was wondering if poor Ritaestelle might be getting intoxicated being so close to her.

“Yes. You need to come home, something I was saying to Mrs. Hart moments ago,” Shelton said. “What do you say, Ritaestelle? We’ll let the Mercy police do their job and bring this killer to justice while I watch over you.”

Muriel cleared her throat. “I don’t think it’s a good idea at all.” She focused on the linoleum floor, her hands gripping her small black handbag tightly.

“Why is
that
, Muriel?” Shelton said sharply.

“Because I have this feeling in the pit of my stomach that it’s not safe—not yet,” Muriel said. “I mean, look what happened to that police officer. Why don’t you take care of
us
, Nancy? We could use some looking after.”

“You’re afraid?” Shelton said. “What are you afraid of?”

“Indeed, what are you afraid of, Muriel?” Ritaestelle said. She sounded very curious, and I felt the same way.

She smiled at her cousin. “It’s a feeling, is all.”

“Intuition is important,” Ritaestelle said. “I’m taking your advice, Muriel. If Jillian will have me, I would like to remain with her for a few more days. I have the utmost faith that Jillian and Mr. Stewart will get to the bottom of this.” Ritaestelle smiled up at me.

Shelton wasn’t smiling. “You don’t trust me?”

“Of course I do,” Ritaestelle said. “But you have always wanted to do things your way, when sometimes, you need a little help. You are working with all the officers, are you not?”

“Yes,” she said. “I have the same information they do. But who just helped you fend off Desmond?”

“You did. And that reminded me how close you are to all of us. Even to Desmond at one time. I believe one needs a little distance to see things clearly.” Ritaestelle made a gesture that encompassed all the women. “We are all so close to the problem—that problem being who is perpetrating these crimes—that perhaps we cannot see the forest for the trees.”

Oh boy. The Nancy Shelton I’d come to know in the last week would surely bristle at that assessment.

But she surprised me by smiling at Ritaestelle. “You’re right. It’s hard for me to let go and allow other people do what I consider to be my job. If you’re more comfortable at Mrs. Hart’s house, then I will follow you there and make sure you arrive safely.”

Justine, Muriel and Augusta all murmured their agreement. But did any of these women truly agree? Or was it simply in their best interest to go along with the woman who held the purse strings? How deep did the jealousy run? Because it existed. I’d felt it earlier today. I’d been feeling it all along, but on a subconscious level. Seeing them all here together, with everyone being so kind and polite, seeing Ritaestelle exert her will in her soft-spoken yet insistent way—well, I saw how life must have been in the Longworth house. Probably for a very long time. The jealousy might be what Ritaestelle feared. Those undercurrents of ill will would pull her down if she went back there. She was smart enough to know it, too.

“Are you ready to head back to my house?” I asked Ritaestelle.

She started to rise, and everyone wanted to be the one to help her up. But Muriel got to her first. She said, “Before you go, Ritaestelle, I want to tell you how sorry I am.”

“Sorry for what?” Ritaestelle said.

Muriel seemed flustered. “For everything. For me taking advantage of you. For—”

Shelton said, “She’ll be back home soon enough, and you can sit down together. But Ritaestelle looks too tired to chat right now.” Shelton looked at me. “You ready?”

I glanced over and saw that Kara and Brennan were still talking to the Prestons. Kara would get her story, no matter what Nancy Shelton said or did.

“Let me say good-bye to Kara,” I said.

After I did and she told me she would call me tomorrow, we left. Muriel, Justine and Augusta had already gone by the time we went out the door. I told Shelton there was no need to follow us, that we’d be fine, but she insisted. Being on the sidelines of this investigation was getting to her, and I couldn’t blame her.

The umbrellas had been a good idea, because rain had started to fall. Nancy Shelton kept a firm grip on Ritaestelle’s elbow, while I managed to keep us dry during the walk to the car.

Once Ritaestelle and I were driving home, I decided to ask her about the tranquilizers. When I told her about the discovery, she seemed dumbfounded.

“Someone could have ordered drugs with my name on the bottle? Prescription drugs?” she said.

“If they knew enough about you, I think so. The police may be able to see which computer was used to place the order. It’s all just more gaslighting,” I said.

“Who could be that vindictive?” She shook her head. “I truly do not understand this.”

“I believe that Evie found out, and that’s why she was murdered,” I said. “She did have access to all the computers.”

“Our Evie was quite knowledgeable about the computers, of that much I am certain,” she said. “Seems a computer can be used to do great harm even though it can also be used to make life easier. She did learn about Farley’s problems through monitoring his computer—at my request.”

Ah. I’d been right about that. “Could Farley be angry enough with Evie to kill her?” I said.

“I believe that Farley is a coward at heart,” Ritaestelle said. “He is far different from his father. I can see him involved in petty crimes, yes. He was already in debt—or would have been had I not been foolish enough to take care of what he owed. But a serious crime like murder? He is not brave enough to kill someone.”

“I tend to agree with you,” I said, thinking about him as Tom had described him—as a bully.

We fell silent, and I pulled into my driveway ten minutes later. Nancy Shelton pulled up behind me seconds later and got out of her car.

We walked to the front door together, Shelton behind us.

“Thank you so much, Nancy,” Ritaestelle said. “You have been most helpful.”

She said, “Jillian has a button that might belong to me. I’d like to retrieve it.”

“Sure,” I said. “Might take me a minute to find it.”