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.”