The Cat, the Lady and the Liar (4 page)

My husband, John, who died of a heart attack two years ago, had been the love of my life, and I still missed him so much. But I cared about Tom and was beginning to feel comfortable with our daily talks on the phone and weekends spent at the movies or out to dinner.

This call, however, wasn’t just to chat. See, Tom’s mother, Karen,
was
a significant other to the very Ed Duffy I needed to talk to. I speed-dialed Tom’s cell phone.

“Hey, Jilly,” he said when he answered.

“Hi, there. I have a question.”

“You want to marry me? Wow. But a proposal over the phone? Not how I dreamed this would happen,” he said.

I laughed. “Me either. Actually, my question has to do with our friendly hoarder, Ed. Do you know anything about his relationship with a wealthy woman named Ritaestelle Longworth?”

He hesitated for a few seconds, then said, “That old lady from Woodcrest who lives in the big house? Ed
knows
her?”

“Guess that answers my question,” I said.

“You don’t expect to ask me about her and Ed and not tell me why. What’s going on?”

I explained about my assignment to find out if Isis should be returned home and how I’d screwed things up this morning.

“You’re way too hard on yourself. You had a setback, that’s all. Want me to pick you up and we’ll head to Ed’s shop? See what we can pry out of him?” Tom said.

“Really? You’ll help me with this?” I said.

“Sure. Talking with Ed at the shop is best because he’s more likely to open up if my mom’s not around. Could be he just collected junk from the Longworth basement once, but if Candace knew something was up between them, I’m betting there’s more to learn.”

“What time will you be here?” I said.

“Had lunch? ’Cause I haven’t.”

“Lunch will ready in five minutes,” I said.

 

After we’d finished chicken-salad sandwiches, fruit and the iced lattes Tom had brought from Belle’s Beans, we headed to the other side of town in Tom’s work van. He had a consultation with a woman who wanted a security system installed, so after we talked to Ed, he planned to drop me off at home and head straight to her house.

Once we arrived at the shop, Tom held my hand as we maneuvered our way through the birdbaths, bicycles, lawn furniture, tires and other numerous items lying in the front yard of Ed’s Swap Shop. A small bell tinkled when we entered, and Tom immediately called out Ed’s name.

“Be right with ya,” Ed called from one of the back rooms.

I spotted a washstand in a corner, and since I am a sucker for antiques, I made my away around a trunk of dolls and a basket full of old VCR tapes—all children’s tapes as far as I could tell. Times sure have changed in a hurry. How long had the VCR lasted? A decade? Fifteen years?

Tom was drawn to a table filled with tools, while I admired the washstand. We were both examining our favorite items when Ed appeared about two minutes later.

“Well, hey there. If it ain’t my two favorite people—after your mother, that is, Tom.” Ed wore his usual train conductor-type overalls, and his gray beard fell below his chin and was more scraggly than it had been when I’d last seen him.

He and Tom shook hands, both smiling broadly, and then Ed offered his favorite phrase. “What can I do ya? I saw you eyein’ those tools. Nice, huh?”

“They are, but if I buy another tool from you, I might have to open Tom’s Used Tool Shop. And that would be major competition for you.”

“Oh, you got nothin’ on me. Just try it and we’ll see what happens.” Ed laughed and looked at me. “Miss Jillian. I don’t see enough of you.”

I smiled. “Your shop is too tempting. I love that washstand, but I don’t know where I’d put it.”

“You love it? Then it’s yours,” he said. “Free, of course.”

“Wait a minute,” Tom said. “I pay for everything I get here.”

“Well, you ain’t pretty.” Ed shared his wonderful broad grin, the charming one he often surprised me with.

“Thanks, Ed,” I said. “But I need something from you that money can’t buy.”

“Uh-oh. You gettin’ yourself into trouble again, Miss Jillian?” Ed said.

“Me? No,” I said. “I’m helping Shawn with a little problem, and I heard you might have some info that could be useful. This concerns Ritaestelle Longworth.”

Ed pursed his lips and looked at the floor. The silence that ensued made me want to look at the floor myself. How could simple body language create tension so quickly?

“You know her, right?” Tom said.

When Ed looked up and faced Tom, his eyes had gone stone-cold. “Yeah. What of it?”

“I—I tried to visit her.” My stomach felt tight with apprehension. Ed was always affable and kind, but the look in his eyes was anything but. “They wouldn’t let me talk to her. Her staff, I mean. Problem is, I sensed something was wrong with her.”

“That’s assumin’ something was ever right with the woman,” Ed said.

“What does that mean?” Tom asked.

Ed went behind the long counter, knelt down and came up holding a rifle.

I reached for Tom’s hand, and he gripped my frigid fingers. But I let out the breath I’d been withholding when Ed placed the gun on the counter and started taking the rifle apart.

“Old guy brought this in this mornin’, Tom. You need yourself a nice little deer rifle?” Ed’s even tone had returned.

“You’re changing the subject. I thought you liked Jillian and would want to help her out,” Tom said.

He continued with his task and took several seconds before saying, “I like her just fine. But all’s I got is advice.” He leveled a stare at me. “Stay out of that town. Nothin’ but trouble there.”

Tom’s direct questions didn’t seem to be working too well, so maybe I could get Ed to talk with a gentler approach. “You seem upset, and I’m sorry if I’ve brought that on.”

“You asked for my help, and that advice is all I got. Trouble’s trouble, and that’s what you’ll find around every corner in Woodcrest,” he said. “The Longworths were never a happy bunch, and I expect nothin’s changed.”

“I was so impressed by the grounds and the house. I take it you’ve been there?” I said.

“Been there. Yup.” He had the rifle apart and was examining the barrel.

Tom said, “So what do—”

I squeezed his hand hard and interrupted with, “The house looks old, but it seems to be in fine shape. Ever collect anything from the place?”

Ed sighed. “You ain’t gonna quit, are you, Miss Jillian?”

“No,” I said. “I want to help a cat who needs a safe home—and you know how I am when it comes to cats.”

“Then I think we should sit down and have some tea. But that don’t mean I know anything that’s gonna help you.” He walked from behind the counter and into the hallway that led to the back of the house, gesturing for us to follow.

The tiny kitchen was as tidy and organized as Karen and Ed’s cute little home, in stark contrast to the last time I’d seen this section of the shop. Just a few months ago the room had been overflowing with old microwaves, small appliances and kitchen utensils. But now there was even space for a little round table and two chairs in the far corner. This makeover had to have been Karen’s doing.

The refrigerator was ancient—avocado green does give away an appliance’s age—but I knew that Ed could fix just about anything and that it had probably been a project. Ed brought a bentwood chair from another room, and Tom set it so that he could sit on the chair and still face the entrance to the kitchen.

Soon we were all sitting around the table, iced tea in front of us.

“Some things a cop never lets go of, even after he’s supposed to be done with the job,” Tom said. “I don’t like anyone sneaking up on me.”

“You and your mother do fall a little short in the trust department.” No smile. Ed’s usual good humor had definitely not returned.

“What can you tell me about Miss Longworth?” I said.

“First off,” Ed said, “you need to fill me in on Shawn’s problem. Does this have to do with Ritaestelle’s cats?”

I raised my eyebrows in surprise. “She has more than one?”

“Did way back when. You gonna tell me what’s what?” he said.

“Sure.” I explained for the third time today about my visit to the Longworth estate.

Ed shook his head, his lips twisted into one of those “I knew it” puckers. “I always told her she had too many folks hoverin’ around. Did she listen? No. That’s one hardheaded female.”

“Is there something wrong with her . . . well . . . up here?” I tapped my temple.

Ed threw back his head and laughed, surprising me so much that I nearly fell off my rather unstable chair. The man could change moods quicker than my cats could trap a moth.

He said, “When I knew her, there wasn’t much wrong with her except her
I
disease.”

“She has something wrong with her eyes?” Tom asked.

“No, Tom.” Ed poked his chest with his index finger. “
I
disease. As in
I want things to go like this
and
I am sure you’ll listen since I am the one in charge.
”

“Oh,” I said. “Money can do that to you, I guess.”

“Don’t get me wrong. She’s a fine, upstandin’ lady. Bighearted, too. But I’m not comfortable around all that silver and polished wood.” He swigged his tea and then set the glass down hard. “What else you wanna know about her?”

“Have you seen her recently?” I said. “I mean, she might have dementia or something, and maybe her cat would be better off in a new home.”

“She calls me up regular every Christmas.” Ed blinked several times, and his next words seemed forced. “Always says, ‘How you doing, Ed? I miss you, Ed.’ And that’s what happened this past year. Nothin’ wrong that I could tell.”

I don’t know what made me ask the next question. Just intuition, I suppose. “Were you in love with her?”

A flush rose from Ed’s neck up to his face, producing two red circles on his cheeks right above his beard. “Fell head over heels for that woman, I did.” He let out a
humph
. “Me and plenty of others.”

E
d, still red-faced with embarrassment, turned to Tom. “But your mother’s the only one for me now.”

Tom held his hands out, palms facing Ed. “Hey. We all have stuff in our past. Some of it’s good, some of it’s bad and most of it’s forgotten.”

Ed nodded in agreement. “But Karen doesn’t need to hear about this. See, I’ve never mentioned Rita. I always called her plain Rita. Made a very complicated woman seem simpler, I always said.”

“I can safely say Ritaestelle has problems,” I said. “Good example—you mentioned she loved her cats. And yet Shawn found her Isis wandering outside.”

“That’s pretty darn puzzlin’. And something else bothers me about what you told me. Rita always answered the door herself, so her not bein’ right there to see why you came is strange. She wanted to know everything. Never had hired help screenin’ folks at the door even though she could afford to. George was always there behind, mind you. But I mean, the kitchen in that house probably has five rooms and ten folks runnin’ around cleaning the chicken for dinner. Yup, the Rita I knew would greet a guest herself.”

Despite his love for Tom’s mother, the concern in Ed’s voice told me that Ritaestelle’s predicament bothered him.

“Got any suggestions as to how I can reach her?” I said. “Even if she is beginning to suffer from Alzheimer’s or is perhaps on a medication that makes her confused—”

“Why do you keep sayin’ she’s losin’ it? Six months ago she was fine.” I heard a tinge of anger in Ed’s tone.

“Because she said she thought she knew who I was, I guess. Plus that wild look in her eyes,” I said.
Just a feeling,
I added to myself
.
Maybe Ed was right and I was the one a little off about this.

“If there’s anything wrong with Rita, the town surely knows,” he said. “Sit around at one of them fancy-schmancy outdoor cafés on Broad Street. Or go to that park in the center of town. Strike up a conversation. You’ll find out plenty.”

“I would, but the chief of police pulled me over on the way out of Woodcrest.” I recounted my interaction with Chief Shelton.

“Nancy Shelton is still bein’ a sourpuss, huh?” Ed said.

“You know her, too?” I said.

He sighed heavily and rested both hands on the table. “Here’s the deal. I’m
from
Woodcrest. Wrong side of the tracks, but I was born there. We, meaning me, Rita, Nancy, Rita’s cousins and a bunch of others, all went to the same school. We all graduated within two or three years of each other. Rita went right through every grade with me, even though her parents kept tryin’ to send her to a place for rich kids. She wanted to be with her friends, and she always got her way.”

I said, “When did you move to Mercy?” Wrong question, I knew immediately.

Ed stared down at the floor, two fingers rubbing circles on the table. “Why do you need to know about me? I got nothin’ to do with that place or that woman anymore.”

His slumped shoulders and his downcast gaze made him seem so much older. What was distressing Ed so much? Whatever it was, I felt awful for making him feel so uncomfortable.

I leaned toward him and gently said, “I don’t want to invade your privacy, Ed. This is about Ritaestelle, not you. But I—I think we need her story. Something is wrong in that house. I felt it. Here.” I tapped my abdomen with my fist.

“Maybe so, but I’m about wore out with all this talkin’,” he said. “I got things to do.” His tight jaw and curt tone told me he was shutting down.

Tom saw this, too, because he stood abruptly. “We understand, don’t we, Jilly?”

“Certainly.” I reached across and placed my hand over Ed’s. “I’m sorry if I upset you.” The contented Ed I knew had disappeared before my eyes. This sadness and anger I’d stirred up made me feel guilty, but I couldn’t help but be curious, too. What had happened between Ed and Ritaestelle? Bad breakup? Unrequited love?