Will shook his head in frustration, but he did agree to give her a lift back to Kittery Harbor, where Sunny dropped off the camera with Ken Howell, who immediately had one of his interns working to download the photos. “That I can trust them to do,” he muttered to Sunny. “They still have a lot to learn before I can let them actually take the pictures.”
“All I’ve got are shots from the press statement,” she said apologetically. “When Caleb Kingsbury took me around the compound, it was on the condition that I didn’t take any pictures.”
Ken shrugged philosophically. “Not surprising. That’s pretty much what always happens. The only pictures that come out of there nowadays are official photos. Even the stuff on Facebook looks professionally staged and vetted. Anything else to report?”
“I got a lot of old family stories—interesting, but I don’t think there’s any way to tie them in with the statement by the wedding planner. Oh, and one piece of hard news, if you can really call it that: Carson de Kruk is already in the compound. Cale pointed him and the bride-to-be out to me as we passed by a pool party.”
“Cale, eh?” Ken cocked his head. “How was Mister Kingsbury?”
“Very nice,” Sunny replied. “But whether it was politician nice or pickup-artist nice, I couldn’t tell.” She grinned. “Or maybe he had nothing better to do, and helping me out of an embarrassing situation appealed to him. I spotted someone in the crowd, my former editor.” She paused for a second. “We were an item, once. Seeing him sort of threw me off.”
Trust Ken to be all business at such a revelation. “You don’t usually see an editor out in the field, unless it’s for a small operation like mine,” he said. “Why do you think a New York paper like the Standard would send him all the way up here?”
“I don’t know, and I’m sorry, Ken, but I don’t want to find out,” Sunny told him. “If I talk to anyone who’s still on the paper, it’s sure to get back to Randall, and I’m in no mood to deal with him.”
Outwardly, Ken accepted that, but Sunny could sense the wheels turning in his head. “I wonder where he’s staying,” the editor said.
“Well, I can assure you he didn’t get a bed and breakfast reservation through the MAX site,” Sunny replied. “In the old days, especially for an editor, the Standard would have sprung for the best hotel or motel nearby. But working on a tighter budget, I don’t know how that affects the old expense account.” She headed for the door but then stopped and glanced over her shoulder. “And let me repeat, I don’t care.”
Sunny returned to the MAX office to find everything going smoothly. No smoke was pouring from the back of the computer, Nancy sat at the keyboard posting information to one of the databases. “Ollie tried to hang around until you came back, but he got a call from the rehab center. I heard Elsa’s voice on the line, so he didn’t put up a fight.” Nancy leaned forward eagerly. “So how’d it go? Give me all the details, I’m living vicariously through you.”
“The press conference wasn’t very exciting,” Sunny told her. “They had the wedding planner telling the newspeople how to behave. Not exactly riveting stuff—especially since any reporter worth his or her salt would happily break any of those rules for a good story. But,” she added as Nancy’s face fell, “Caleb Kingsbury did take me on a personal tour of the compound.”
Nancy obviously recognized the name—and judging by her expression, she hadn’t heard good things about its owner. “Isn’t he kind of a skeevy guy?”
Sunny had to laugh. “That’s something you learn in the journalism business, Nancy. It’s the skeevy guys who usually give you the best stories.”
Nancy looked unconvinced. “Did you see anyone else?”
“I saw Priscilla Kingsbury and Carson de Kruk, but at a distance,” Sunny said.
Nancy leaned forward, all eagerness again. “What did they look like? Is Carson as good-looking in person as he seems in the papers?” Nancy asked. “He doesn’t look at all like his dad.”
“No, Carson was lucky enough to get his mother’s genes,” Sunny agreed, though she wasn’t sure which one of Augustus de Kruk’s ex-wives was Carson’s mother. His father had gone through a string of spouses, mostly blond, all beautiful. Which had certainly helped to balance out the genetic books, since Augustus himself looked like a bald eagle suffering from some kind of digestive upset.
“So . . . what are they like?”
“You mean, are the rich really different, the way people say?” Sunny shrugged. “I’ve met a couple of rich people, and they certainly have concerns and a view of the world I can scarcely guess about. The house there was probably bigger than this whole block, and I’ve never had servants jumping to take care of me.”
“Neither have I,” Nancy sighed.
“On the other hand, the pool partly looked like a pool party. Nobody seemed to be wearing a solid gold bathing suit. I bet there were expensive designers involved, but I couldn’t really tell that from a distance. It was just people drinking and dancing. So I’d say not all that different, really.”
Not that I’m likely to find out for sure, Sunny thought. Neither MAX nor a journalism job would put a place like Neal’s Neck in my future. Not unless I married someone like Augustus de Kruk. Sunny shuddered a little. Or maybe Cale Kingsbury. Wonder what it would be like to live on a yacht?
They finished out the day’s work, and Sunny headed home, where Shadow met her at the door and gave her a brief once-over. But Sunny didn’t hear the usual background noise of the TV as she walked down the hall to the arched entrance for the living room. “Dad? You home?” she called.
Mike sat stiffly on the couch, his arms crossed and a stern expression on his face. “I called Ken Howell, trying to see if there was some way to get extra coverage about Will since he’ll be tied up in Wilawiport. Imagine my surprise when I heard where you’d been. What was he thinking, letting you go off on your own with someone like Caleb Kingsbury?”
Sunny had faced this kind of inquisition before, whenever she got involved with guys whom Mike considered inappropriate boyfriends. But the last time this had happened had to be during her freshman year in college.
She fought down the urge to laugh. That would only make things worse. “Well, Dad, I didn’t go out sailing with him,” she said. “And since the place was crawling with press and security people, I figured he’d probably control himself.”
“I’m sure that poor girl who drowned didn’t think anything bad was going to happen to her, either.” Mike harrumphed, but Sunny could see in his eyes that he’d begun to realize how ridiculous this conversation was.
She gave him a smile. “I wouldn’t worry, Dad. He didn’t ask for a date.”
“Yeah. Well. You know how these rich people can be.” Mike unbent a little. “And rich and famous, that can be a really nasty combination.”
“I know, Dad. I’ll tell you all about it over supper.” Sunny headed for the kitchen with Shadow at her heels. Mike already had the table set, so Sunny just had to get the cold dishes out under Shadow’s supervision. It was lucky that they still had leftover salad stuff for supper. A bottle of flavored seltzer, and they were all set.
Mike enjoyed the story of her jaunt to Neal’s Neck. He’d heard the stories about the rum-running and the attempt to shoot the offending wasp but was interested in the details that Sunny gave. Maybe too interested, when Sunny mentioned Randall MacDermott.
“I never met that Randall fella, did I?” Mike said when she finished. “He was one of your New York beaus.”
“Like I had so many of them.” Sunny tried to dismiss the subject.
“And you say he’s up around here somewhere?” Mike went on innocently.
“Dad, he’s ancient history now. A mistake I made.” Sunny put her fork down and gave Mike a look. “One I don’t want to revisit.”
“Of course not,” Mike hastily agreed with her. “Did you tell Will ab
out him?”
“Dad!” Her tone of voice was enough to bring Shadow over, rising to put his forefeet up on the chair seat to see what had upset her.
They finished the meal in silence and went to the living room to watch TV. Sunny sat on the floor, distracting herself by playing with Shadow. As he crawled over her lap, he often stopped to sniff at the side of her leg—the left side, which had faced Caleb Kingsbury as they’d buzzed around the family compound in the golf cart.
Don’t tell me he keeps a captivating cat aboard that yacht of his, Sunny thought as she gave Shadow a good scratch between the ears. I don’t think you’ll be heading over to Neal’s Neck for any play dates, kiddo.
*
Shadow closed his eyes. Playing with Sunny was always fun. But the best part of all was being able to lie in her lap, boneless, his paws splayed out, his belly up and unprotected. For most of his life and in most of the world, that would be suicide. He knew he could do it here, though, because he was safe with Sunny. She was gentle and would never let anything bad happen to him. He could utterly relax around her.
And, of course, he might also get a tummy rub.
As he stretched out, his paws just kneading the air, Shadow let his head fall back on Sunny’s left thigh. Then he turned round, sniffing. There was that fragrance again, very faint. He could just detect it . . . a combination of several scents that mixed together into something wonderful to inhale.
It wasn’t like what had happened when he came across Portia’s scent. That had just about driven him crazy. And it wasn’t like his response to Sunny’s natural scent. That made him want to be close to her, enjoy her warmth and her breathing, the feel of her hands caressing him. No, this was a made smell, like some of the things Sunny sometimes put on. Frankly, Shadow didn’t like most of those. Why mess up a perfectly good scent with some odd, made-up smell that usually made Shadow want to sneeze? But this one was surprising, a good smell he’d like to investigate.
He shifted around in Sunny’s lap, thinking. This was another one of those weird two-leg things. They were never content to let things be. They had to make things to go fast, to make hot air cold and cold air hot. Of course, they did do some pretty amazing things with food. In his travels Shadow had sometimes had to hunt for himself, and he knew how difficult that could be. But Sunny often went out and a little while later would come back with all kinds of food. When he was a kit, Shadow thought the two-legs had to be the greatest hunters ever.
Now, of course, he knew about the big houses where humans went for food. When he was on the street, he’d sometimes gone behind those places and found food for himself—some of it going bad, some of it running and squeaking when he came along.
Shadow shook that memory away. Those had definitely not been good times. Why should he even think of them, when he was having a wonderful time with Sunny?
She leaned over him, whispering, and laid a hand on his belly fur. He brought both forepaws down to trap it in place, wriggling with delight. The faint trace of scent from her leg only heightened his pleasure.
He closed his eyes, trying to memorize the combination. Whenever she came back from whatever strange two-leg places she visited, he’d check for this scent again. . . .
*
Sunny found herself yawning before the detective show her dad liked was underway. She wasn’t even paying attention when they brought out the big plot twist before the ads for the halfway point. It was hard enough just to keep her eyes open.
“I guess I did too much today,” she said, yawning and stretching. Shadow jumped out of her lap, ready for some other game. But Sunny just wished her dad a good evening and padded her way up the stairs and to her room.
By the time she had her pajamas on, Shadow had come upstairs and joined her. She’d gambled that the warm weather wouldn’t hold up after the sun went down, so she’d opened the window before sitting down to dinner. Good bet. The temperature in the room was just right. With a sheet and light blanket, she’d be fine.
She’d just turned off the light and arranged herself comfortably when a small head butted her just above the elbow. Shadow was demanding that she open the circle of her arms and let him in. Sunny obliged, and they lay together in the dimness. She closed her eyes and listened to the sounds of their breathing, hers growing longer and longer until she was asleep. She dreamed that Shadow was howling in her ear: “Get up! Get up! The phone!”
Sunny opened her eyes. No sign of Shadow, but the phone was bleating away. She fumbled for it in the blue green light from her clock radio and finally got the handset to her ear. “H’lo?”
“Sunny? Ken Howell here.”
Does he ever sleep? Sunny wondered blearily, trying to make out what time it was. Two a.m. Wonderful.
“Sorry to call so late, but—Look, I just got a tip that something happened out on Neal’s Neck. I’m heading out there, and frankly I could use a photographer.”
“What happened?” Sunny’s reporter side was instantly awake and coherent.
“I’m not sure. Somebody spotted lights on the shore. Not party lights, searchlights, up on top of the cliff. That’s never happened before. There may be an accident or some other kind of trouble.”
Sunny found herself sitting up. “I’ll be there—”
“Hello? Hello? What’s wrong?” Mike’s voice came over the line, sounding old and frightened. He always equated late-night calls with bad news.
“It’s Ken Howell, Mike,” Ken said. “Sorry to wake you, but I need to borrow Sunny’s services.”
“She’s got work in the morning,” Mike protested. “Of all the damn fool—”
“Dad, I’m going to go,” Sunny told him. “Ken, I’ll meet you at the paper in twenty minutes.” Yes, she might be stumbling around like a zombie tomorrow—or rather, later this morning. But her taste of the reporting life the previous afternoon had been like a long-withheld dose of a forbidden drug. She had to have another fix.
Sunny started getting dressed under the disapproving eye of Shadow, who’d appeared in the doorway. He didn’t like changes in schedule, especially when those changes involved people getting up and going places in the middle of the night.
“Sorry, fella,” Sunny told the cat. “I should be home before sunup. And if not, Dad will feed you.”
She drove to downtown Kittery Harbor, where the town still had its original crooked cobblestone streets cramped close to the harbor. Ken Howell ran the Courier from an ancient structure that had probably started off life as a waterfront storehouse. Now it was home to a virtual museum of printing presses from more than 150 years of putting out the paper. Plus, of course, the equipment to produce today’s editions.
Sunny suspected that there was also a bed hidden somewhere on the premises. Although he supposedly owned a house, Ken seemed to live at the Courier offices.
He greeted her at the door, carrying the camera case. “Ready to go?”
“Are you driving, or am I?” Sunny asked.
“Neither.” Ken led the way onto a dock where a man waved to them from beside a cabin cruiser. As she got closer, Sunny recognized him as Ike Elkins, an occasional fishing buddy of her dad’s. Ike had cleverly figured out a way to subsidize his hobby by offering coastline tours, a service he advertised on the MAX website. If Sunny had any more doubts about how they were getting up to Wilawiport, Ike offered the clincher by handing her and Ken life jackets. “Get those on, and we’re set to go.”
Sunny buckled herself into the vest and clambered aboard, taking the camera case from Ken. Then he donned the safety gear and joined her on the deck. Ike boarded as well and led the way to the bridge, indicating a couple of comfortable-looking built-in chairs. “Have a seat. And do me a favor: stay there. It’s going to be interesting enough heading up the coast in the dark without any distractions.”
With that, he turned off the cabin light and dimmed the displays on the
instruments. Sailing in darkness required excellent night vision for the person steering, so—lights out. Sunny had gone on fishing expeditions with her dad before the crack of dawn, so she understood. From her seat, she saw that Ike had more than the average amount of high-tech sailing equipment; besides the GPS display by the wheel, she also saw what looked like a radar screen.
Ike returned from casting off the lines that held them to the pier and followed her eyes. “Yeah, sometimes I like to take the old girl out at night. When I do, I try to make as certain as possible that we’ll come back.”
Sunny couldn’t fault that. No sense in becoming a statistic.
Ike started up the boat, and off they went. Sunny listened to the throbbing of the engine and the occasional burst of radio chatter as they moved away from the lights of town into seeming emptiness. She was thankful the sea was relatively calm, because they were sailing blind. The usual landmarks and points of reference were gone. They might as well have been sailing on another planet.
Cruising up the rocky shores of Maine was a heck of a lot less scenic in pitch darkness, and a little unnerving, too. What if one of those rocks turned up in front of them?
Ike certainly worked hard to avoid that scenario. Besides his high-tech gadgets, he sometimes consulted a chart, using a flashlight with a red lens. “Doesn’t affect the night vision,” he explained when Sunny asked about the red light.
Ike stood behind the wheel, glancing at the GPS and checking the radar screen, but also constantly turning his head, scanning conditions not just ahead of them, but to the sides and even behind. Sunny had no idea what, if anything, he was seeing out there; the only things she could see were bright stars up above—lots of them—if she craned her neck.
Ken sat in a very stiff pose, leaning forward as if he were propelling the boat onward by sheer force of will. In the dimness, Sunny could see his expression grow more and more frustrated. “Can’t we go faster?” he finally asked Ike.
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