We talked a while longer, but I realized why Tom had brought these particular players together today. He wanted happiness for his mother, he wanted Ritaestelle to hear an unpleasant truth, but most of all, he wanted Ed to be at peace. Ritaestelle had hurt him once, but that was over. He’d found love again, a love with Karen that I knew would last. Yup, I had a new insight into Tom, one I liked very much.
Twenty-three
W
e left fifteen minutes later and returned to my house for lunch. Ritaestelle said little during the drive, and she didn’t talk during our meal of salad and sandwiches. Once Tom left to begin his case file and set up interviews with Farley, his mother and others, Ritaestelle asked if I’d join her outside.
She seemed to be walking better, but I did take her elbow once we were out on the deck and helped her settle into the wicker rocker. The warm breeze began playing with her silver hair. I remembered that red Velcro roller in her bangs when she came to my door what seemed like a century ago. Her hair had gone flat and wispy in the last couple of days, but that seemed to be the last thing on her mind. She rocked and stared out at the water, seemingly lost in thought.
I sat next to her in the lawn chair. I usually sat at the glass patio table behind us in one of the wrought-iron armchairs. I’d read or stitch and listen to the water lapping and the birds singing. But for now I wanted to be close to my new friend.
After about five minutes of silence, I mustered enough courage to ask Ritaestelle about Desmond Holloway. Since I had the feeling the meeting with him was what had brought her outside to think, she might need to talk about him—get that bad taste out of her mouth.
“From what I understood today, you were willing to forgive Desmond’s other indiscretions, but not when it came to Augusta. Tell me about that,” I said.
Ritaestelle’s rocking tempo picked up when I posed this question.
“I thought he was being completely honest,” she said. “I believed him when he told me he had revealed everything about all his lady friends. That was the condition I’d set for me to allow him back into my life—that he tell the truth. Now I know that not only did he lie by omission, but Augusta did, too. I feel like a fool.”
“You knew about your friend Nancy, though?” I said.
“That was aeons ago. She cannot stand the man now. She, too, realized that he was not to be trusted. But unlike me, she gave up on him, while I welcomed him back with open arms. I suppose that her being a police officer helped her see him for what he was. She warned me when he returned to Woodcrest that he was a deceiver, but did I listen?”
I could picture Nancy Shelton giving him a
big
piece of her mind when she found out he was a cheater. She might have even broken a few of his fingers. “Are you finished with Desmond now?”
“Most definitely. My relationship with Augusta is what concerns me. I certainly need to discuss
her
betrayal—though I would never toss her out the door. She is family and a most devoted soul, despite what might have gone on with her and Desmond.” Ritaestelle’s rocking slowed.
“Um, I may be out of line, but why are all these people living with you?” I asked.
Ritaestelle looked over at me. “You are not out of line. I have asked myself the same question, especially in the last few days. I am what you might call a
soft touch
when it comes to them. Whatever would they do without me?”
“They might have to fend for themselves,” I said. “The question is, would that be a bad thing?”
I didn’t get an answer because Candace came around the side of the house and said, “Hey there.”
I stood, and after she climbed the deck steps, she nodded at Ritaestelle and said, “Afternoon, Miss Longworth.”
“You look quite tired, Deputy Carson,” she said. “Perhaps it’s the heat? Seems quite warm to be wearing that dark green uniform.”
“You get used to it,” Candace said. “I have a few questions. I’ve just come from the initial interviews with your family and staff. Going back for the search of your house. It may sound like more of the same stuff, but I’ve found that after a few days, certain things someone witnessed become clearer.”
“Please ask whatever you want. And may I take this moment to say that I am sincerely sorry I have caused so many problems,” Ritaestelle said.
Candace dragged a chair over from the patio table and set it between Ritaetelle and myself, with her back to the lake so she could see us both at once. “Before I start with the questions, you should know the autopsy is complete and Evie has been released to her family.”
“Bless her heart,” Ritaestelle said. “Bless her poor mother’s heart, too.”
“What was the cause of death?” I said.
“We don’t have the
official
word, but the blow to head’s what killed her. Probably something round and irregular, the doctor said. Like a rock. Miss Longworth, I’m hoping you’ve recovered your memory enough to recall more details about what you had in your hand when Jillian found you out on her dock.”
Ritaestelle closed her eyes. “I have indeed given this some thought, Deputy Carson. Events do seem clearer now. I remember that before poor Evie tumbled into the water, I tried to catch her. That’s when my knee hit an object.” She lifted up her cotton pant leg and revealed a purple bruise.
I winced.
“It’s nothing, dear,” Ritaestelle said. “Not until precious Chablis joined me on the dock and I nearly tripped over whatever it was did I pick the rock up. I swooped the kitty up at the same time, very afraid she would end up in the lake as well. I was so frightened, I suppose my mind went blank.”
“Did the rock feel wet or sticky?” Candace said.
“Since my hands were already sticky from what I later learned was Evie’s blood, I cannot be sure.” Ritaestelle squeezed her eyes shut. “What a horrible way for that girl to die.”
“Sure was. There’s something else I wanted to go over with you again. You told me you were drawn to Jillian’s back door by voices. The other night that was about all you could recall. Have you remembered anything else about what you heard? Knowing if they were male or female might help us a lot,” Candace said.
“That coroner person asked me about the voices, and I had no definitive answer. If you could give me a few seconds to concentrate on exactly why I went to the back door that night, I might recall.” Ritaestelle rubbed her chin with an index finger and focused on the lake.
This line of questioning sounded like Candace might be beginning to buy Ritaestelle’s story. I wondered if something had happened at the Longworth Estate to sway her toward a family member as a better suspect. Now was not the time to ask Candace any questions, however.
Candace patiently waited, and finally Ritaestelle said, “I heard one voice that I am certain was a woman. That could have been Evie, but as for the other person, I cannot say. My hearing is not what it used to be.”
“Was the woman shouting? Did she sound angry?” Candace said.
Ritaestelle stopped rocking and her spine stiffened. “Why, she
did
shout. What I heard was a long, loud
no
.”
“That’s good. The word
no
. Anything else?” Candace said.
“I do believe what followed was not words. More like a primal cry.” She stared at Candace. “That is when I rose from the sofa. Yes. I knew something was very wrong. Why didn’t I remember this before?”
“Probably because of what you encountered on that dock,” Candace said. “Shocked the heck out of you. But you couldn’t tell if that cry was male or female?”
Ritaestelle shook her head no.
“How long do you think it took you to get to the back door once you heard the voices?” Candace asked.
“Oh my. I could not move very fast, but one of the cats—Syrah, I think—had been sitting at the window, and he leaped like a leopard in the direction of the back door as soon as he saw me get up.”
“See?” I said. “Didn’t I tell you that my cats would have been paying attention to what was happening out there? Did I tell you that Merlot was focused on that window before I went to rescue Isis from the closet?”
“You didn’t,” Candace said. “But that’s okay.” She turned back to Ritaestelle. “Can you guess how long it took you to get to the back door? A minute? Five minutes?”
“A minute is a long time, Deputy Carson, but that would be my best estimate. Today I do believe I could make the trip in thirty seconds.”
“When you opened the door, what did you hear?” Candace asked.
“I heard the sound of Miss Jillian’s cats whooshing down those steps.” She pointed in the direction of the deck stairs.
“Nothing else? No more voices, no sounds that would indicate another person was lurking around?”
“I am afraid I was so focused on the cats and so upset that I had allowed them out into the night that I was only concentrating on getting them back inside the house.” She glanced my way. “I am very grateful nothing terrible happened to your friends. Two of them came right back on their own when I called out—” Ritaestelle raised fingers to her lips. “Oh my. I begged your kitties to come back. I forgot all about that. And two of them did return.”
“They were waiting at the back door, Candace. She’s telling the truth,” I said.
“Her version fits with what I learned when I canvassed your neighborhood. I needed to verify, that’s all,” Candace said.
“My neighborhood?” I said. “But we all live so far apart.”
“Voices carry over the lake at night. You know Mr. Voigt?” she said.
“Yes. He has this big old fishing boat,” I said. “But we just wave at each other and that’s about all.”
“The night of the murder, he was out on his deck having a smoke,” Candace said. “He heard the same thing that Ritaestelle did. The word
no
and an odd cry—he called it a wail. But he also confirms he heard what he said was a high-pitched voice coming from the direction of your house, Jillian. Someone calling for the cats.”
“Why didn’t he phone 911?” I said.
“Said he knows you’ve got cats that you care a lot about. Said the whole thing only lasted a few seconds and he decided it had to do with them.”
He knew about my cats, and yet I wondered if he even knew my last name.
“The questions you are asking have me wondering if you still believe I killed Evie,” Ritaestelle said.
“I wondered the night of the murder, and maybe I tried to intimidate you into confessing,” Candace said. “But in my training, I remember the words of an experienced officer. He told me that the only innocent person at a crime scene is the victim. That’s what I was thinking about when I arrived on the scene.”
“Sounds like your instructor was a wise man,” Ritaestelle said.
“He was. I always follow the evidence,” she said. “I’ve uncovered some support for your statement. I checked the GPS system in your car, and you came directly here. Plus I have corroboration that the attack on the dock apparently occurred before you even opened the door. Your voice is high-pitched and Mr. Voigt heard someone with that tone calling for the cats. Circumstantial evidence and the amount of time needed to commit the crime seem to rule you out.”
“Is Ritaestelle even strong enough to . . .” I swallowed before I went on. “To do what was done to Evie Preston?”
“I doubt it, but adrenaline is a powerful thing. Let me ask you this, Miss Longworth. Who do you think wanted Evie Preston dead?”
“I—I . . . I have no earthly idea. Evie was a confident young woman. She handled my affairs competently, dealt with the philanthropic requests that came in an assured and businesslike manner.”
“Did your family like her?” Candace asked.
“I would suspect not. I told Evie how much money my family should be allotted per month, and she either gave them a check or used the computer to transfer money to their accounts. Do you think that could have caused enough rancor that one of them killed her?”
Candace sighed heavily and fixed a blond strand of hair behind her ear. “People kill for all kinds of stupid reasons—and you ask me, money is one of those. Right now I need to get on with the business of figuring out what Miss Preston knew, what secret she may have held, that led to her death. I would appreciate your continued cooperation—even if my investigation leads to someone you care about.”
“Most likely the person who drugged me?” Ritaestelle said.
“Yes, ma’am. Your servant, Mr. Robertson, seems to know quite a bit about the folks living in your house. But he seemed reticent to talk about them. Maybe you can encourage him to cooperate.” Candace glanced at her watch. “My break is up, and I need to get back to your house.”
Ritaestelle smiled. “Do tell George I miss him, but that I am being well cared for and that he can speak freely to you.”
“I’ll do that. He sure seems protective of you,” Candace said.
“No such attitude came from my relatives, I assume.” Ritaestelle’s lips tightened, and she resumed her rocking.
“I can’t tell you what they had to say right now, but I told you about the neighbor because Kara will be printing what he said tomorrow,” Candace said. “Casting public doubt on you as a suspect might make the killer nervous. Maybe they’ll make a mistake, do something stupid.” She stood and started for the steps but turned before she reached them. “I forgot one question. Who had access to your car?”
“I always hang my keys on a hook by the back door that leads to the garages,” she said. “I have done so for years. Everyone in the household had access. Why are you asking?”
“Because if you didn’t put those items in your car, someone else did. Seems as if it could have been just about anyone.” Candace’s stony cop face was gone for an instant. I could tell she was deflated.
“Have you ever heard of gaslighting, Deputy Carson?” Ritaestelle said.
“Gaslighting?” Candace sounded puzzled. “Are you talking about arson? And what would that have to do with this murder?”