Hiss and Tell

by Claire Donally

  Except it wasn’t. That thing was by the door.

  Finally, the Old One got up and started down the hall. Shadow followed him, hoping he would pick up the bag. Oh, he’d miss the Old One a little. In spite of their differences, they’d managed to get along all right. But Shadow could live without him.

  The Old One did not pick it up.

  Shadow turned to Sunny. This was very, very bad.

  *

  Sunny was getting annoyed. In the time between Mike’s departure and the Kingsbury car’s arrival, Shadow had turned into the Incredible Clinging Cat. If he got any more claws into her new top, she’d have to tell people it was eyelet lace.

  She had thought she’d feel pretty bad about saying good-bye, even if it was only for a week or so, but Shadow had gotten almost frantic, pushing himself into her petting hands, trying to hook onto her again.

  Maybe I’d better wait for the car outside, Sunny decided.

  She headed down the hall—and into the Battle of the Bag. Shadow had knocked it down and draped himself over it. Trying to get his not-inconsiderable weight off it wasn’t easy, especially when he dug his claws into the fabric, refusing to let go. Every time she got one paw loose, he’d hook in the other.

  In the end, she was hot and sweaty, holding him out in one hand at arm’s length by the scruff of his neck, the bag held in her other.

  The toot of a horn came from outside.

  “This is not the good-bye I had in mind,” Sunny told the cat, puffing a little. “But I guess it’s the best I can manage.”

  She hefted Shadow down the hall in the direction of the kitchen, opened the front door, and quickly slammed it behind her. Even through the solid door, she could hear his howling wail from inside.

  Sunny hurried toward the black town car that had pulled into her driveway. A thickset man in a dark Windbreaker and a baseball cap sat behind the wheel. Probably one of Lee Trehearne’s security guys.

  He stared at her for a moment, then averted his eyes. Yeah, I know I look like I just ran the hundred-yard dash to get out here, but he’s not supposed to notice things like that with a client. She shook her head, straightened her clothes, and continued toward the car.

  The driver got out to open the door and take her bag. He was staring again, but this time behind her.

  Sunny turned. They’d recently installed a new front door. This one had a decorative mail slot. Now the brass flap that covered the slot was pushed out, and a gray-furred paw lashed frantically around in the opening to the accompaniment of horrible, mournful noises.

  Sunny shrugged at the driver as she took her seat, not sure whether to laugh or cry.

  8

  It took most of the half-hour ride to Neal’s Neck for Sunny to calm down after that scene with Shadow, requiring plenty of deep breathing and a lot of taking in of the beautiful, serene scenery.

  Concentrate, Sunny urged herself. You can’t arrive looking like a wrung-out dishrag. Priscilla is depending on you. And so is Will.

  She had control of herself by the time the town car arrived at the roadblock at the entrance to the compound and parked just inside. As she waited for the security guy to get her bag, Sunny checked out the state troopers. Each wore a badge over the left breast pocket of his uniform, a name tag over the right, which made it slightly easier as Sunny tried to spot the name of Will’s pal, Hank Riker.

  “We were assigned together up near the Canadian border and were pretty tight,” Will had told her. “If you need help, he’ll probably come through for friendship’s sake. But if it’s anything serious, Hank’s a trooper first. He’ll go to Wainwright. Hell, he’s the one who called Wainwright here in the first place.” Even so, Riker may be the only halfway friendly face in this place, Sunny thought as she scanned another name tag. She realized the owner was giving her a sort of weird look of his own.

  That irreverent alter ego in the back of her head quickly responded. Well, would I like some stranger looking at my chest?

  “Sorry, Trooper Smithwick,” she said taking in the printed name. “Just trying to get myself acclimated.”

  Before Sunny could embarrass herself any further, Priscilla Kingsbury came walking up, wearing a bathing suit under a terrycloth wrap. “No problems getting up here?”

  “Just a few getting out the door,” Sunny said without elaborating. The driver brought over her bag. Sunny gave it a quick check to make sure Shadow hadn’t torn the side open with his claws, then arranged the strap over her shoulder. “As you suggested, I brought a few things.”

  From the look Cillie was giving her, apparently she should have brought a lot more.

  “I can always go home and get something else if I need it.” Sunny pasted a synthetic smile on her face. “Maybe I should have asked. Do you dress for dinner?”

  “The Neals did when they lived in the big house,” Priscilla’s smile was more genuine—and a little wicked. “But that was because Great-Grandfather Neal liked to watch people sweat. It’s a lot more free and easy nowadays. After all, this is supposed to be a summer place, where people can relax.”

  Still, Priscilla didn’t look very relaxed as she led the way to the house on the right-hand side of the street, the same one Sunny had seen Eliza Stoughton coming out of two days earlier.

  “We girls—and Yardley’s husband Thomas—have been bunking in here.” She pushed the door open, catching Sunny’s glance. “Nothing much gets locked around here, unless you want privacy,” Cillie said. “The perk of having all this security around. Anyway, this is the ground floor.” The house was larger than Sunny’s but built along the same lines. A center hall with a stairway leading upward. Living room on the right, and a smaller parlor on the left. The furnishings were clean and serviceable, but on the plain side of luxurious. The living room held a lot of Early American furniture, but Sunny didn’t think any of it was antique. Just old.

  This was one of the houses that the Kingsburys had bought basically as cover, a means to shelter their inner compound. Sunny suspected that they’d purchased it furnished as is, and suddenly found herself wondering where the previous occupant had gone—and if they’d done so willingly. Oh well, she thought, at least the Kingsburys probably paid over market value for it.

  Priscilla led the way through the living room to a dining room with a good-sized table surrounded by bentwood chairs, each with its own little tufted seat cushion. Then she turned, headed for a pair of swinging double doors, and revealed the kitchen, with an enormous old-fashioned gas range, a refrigerator probably as old as Sunny, and a huge, ancient sink.

  Priscilla watched Sunny take it all in. “Yankee thrift,” she said, confirming Sunny’s impressions. “A lot of this stuff came with the house when the Senator bought it.”

  Sunny nodded. “Good enough for a summer vacation home.” She knew the drill. That was part of the Kittery Harbor Way, too.

  “If you’re looking for marble step-down bathtubs with whirlpool attachments, try my Cousin Tommy’s place in Palm Beach.” Priscilla laughed. “Or one of Augustus’s palaces. When you’re invited out here, you’re expected to ‘rough it.’” She went through the kitchen out into the center hallway and back to the stairs. “Mainly that room is being used as wedding central. Another is being used by Tommy and Yardley.” Priscilla paused for a moment. “I had the spare room set up for you. Didn’t think you’d want to sleep where Eliza had.”

  “Um, no. Thanks,” Sunny said.

  Her hostess led the way up the stairs, then shot another quizzical look at Sunny. “Do I need to tell you ‘off the record’ all the time?”

  “Certainly for stuff you want to keep private,” Sunny replied. “I don’t think the sleeping arrangements need to be publicized.”

  Cillie nodded. “So let’s get you settled, and then I’ll introduce you to people.”

  Sunny stashed her bag beside a pile of white towels on a c
omfortable enough looking bed with a chenille spread. Nothing ostentatious, and nothing very personal.

  “You may want to change into a bathing suit.” Priscilla opened her terrycloth wrap to reveal a bikini. “We’ve been hanging around at the pool.” She made a helpless sort of shrugging motion, just as she’d done when she’d mentioned being outvoted. “I can’t say I’m wild about it.”

  It might not make a good impression after someone died under suspicious circumstances, Sunny thought. And, of course, that’s where Eliza got into all the fights the other day.

  “Problem is, there aren’t that many places to go in the compound. My grandparents are in the big house, and nobody disturbs the Senator. My brothers and their wives took over the tennis court. We’d either be sitting in here getting on one another’s nerves, or out on the lawn somewhere, doing the same.”

  Sunny nodded. The seaside view with the rocks below would bring up unpleasant associations, too. Aloud, she said, “Okay. Just give me a minute.”

  She quickly changed into the navy blue one-piece she’d brought, snagging a towel and wrapping it around her hips. Then she rejoined Cillie, and they went downstairs and out the door. It was a weird sort of déjà vu for Sunny, walking along the path to the pool, especially when they passed a security guard and she glanced back over her shoulder and saw him looking after them. But he was wearing sunglasses, so Sunny couldn’t figure which of them he was checking out.

  Before they even reached the tennis court, Sunny heard a series of rapid-fire noises: Thwock! Thwock! Thwock!

  Then, as she got closer, she saw two guys who looked to be in their mid-thirties, complete physical opposites. One was short, compact, and agile, racing all over the court to make shots. His opponent was tall and rangy, all arms and legs in his tennis whites, galumphing around—but still arriving in time to drill shots back. From the looks on their faces, the men were conducting a war rather than playing a game. Cillie smothered a laugh as they came closer. “Now you’ve really learned something about my family. Tennis is our religion, and the court is our altar of sacrifice.”

  Almost exactly what Cale told me, Sunny thought. “And what are you offering up?” she asked. “Sweat?”

  “Not to mention a little blood,” Priscilla told her. “The tall one is my older brother Lem. The shrimp is Tom. He and I both take after the Neal side of the family.”

  “Nothing wrong with being petite,” Sunny said. “At least for women. Short guys like them, tall guys like them, and designers love them—or so says my dad’s friend Mrs. Martinson.” She readjusted the towel around her hips. “Me, I wouldn’t know.”

  “Oh, come on, you’ve got a great figure,” Priscilla protested.

  “And a job that tends to put more on it,” Sunny replied gloomily. “Sometimes I wish I could just fit into a little black dress and be elegant. Or maybe be a tall blond drink of water in an ice blue gown.”

  “Lem married one of those.” Priscilla nodded beyond the court to where a small group of people sat on lawn chairs arranged under the shade of colorful umbrellas. A tall, Nordic-looking woman took a sip of iced tea from a long glass, her face expressionless under a large pair of sunglasses. “Deborah’s a perfect political wife—or a born press manager. Whenever she opens her mouth, the perfect phrase emerges.”

  Priscilla waved to the onlookers, and one of them, an energetic-looking brunette, waved back. “Tom’s wife, Genevieve, is livelier, but she shoots from the hip.”

  “So she’ll give me better quotes,” Sunny quipped, then stopped at the look of chagrin on Cillie’s face. “Look, I’m supposed to be doing a color piece on your family getting ready for a wedding, not a political hatchet job. For the rest, well, we’ll have to talk about that.”

  A white-haired woman wearing a broad-brimmed straw hat suddenly burst into laughter at something that had happened on the court. The man beside her leaned forward in his chair, scowling.

  “That’s Grandmother Kingsbury,” Priscilla said. “And the Senator, of course. He’s always the referee for these bloodbaths. What do they say on that TV show? All of his judgments are final.”

  “They look pretty busy with the game.” Sunny turned again to watch Priscilla’s brothers sweating on the court. “Maybe you can introduce me later. Right now I’d like to meet your friends.” AKA the people who argued with Eliza Stoughton, she added silently.

  The atmosphere around the pool was much more subdued today compared to what Sunny had seen on her tour with Caleb. The music wasn’t as loud as it had been, and the people seemed a bit quieter, too. Carson de Kruk was the first to notice them and came over immediately, greeting Cillie with a kiss, and then shaking hands with Sunny.

  With his blond hair and slim figure, he was the picture of a conventionally handsome young man. When the nuptials had been announced, Mrs. Martinson had said Carson de Kruk was perfectly cast—he already looked like the figure of the groom on a wedding cake.

  Close up, however, Sunny noticed the thinning of the hair at his temples and the dark patches under his eyes. “Thank you for agreeing to do this,” Carson said in a low voice as he shook hands. “The situation has been so awful, with those people outside swarming to get at us.”

  Sunny responded with a sympathetic smile, wondering what exactly Priscilla had told her prospective husband—or the others—about what she was really doing there. Was he only in on the embedded reporter idea? Or did he know that Priscilla also hoped that Sunny could shed some light on what had happened to Eliza?

  Something to ask Cillie—when I get her alone again, Sunny thought. Not as though that seemed likely to happen anytime soon. As soon as they realized Priscilla was there, the rest of the wedding party clustered around her. When Cillie introduced Sunny as a local reporter who was going to spend some time with them, Sunny watched for the reactions. No one seemed overjoyed. They all seemed, unconsciously or not, to move a little closer to one another.

  No matter what’s going on between them, they want to present a united front to the outsider. When she considered it, Sunny couldn’t really blame them.

  Carson’s best man, Beau Bellingham, looked as if he’d just been roused from a deep sleep, and his reaction was about as polite as might be expected from a hibernating bear. In fact, with his thickening middle and tousled, shaggy hair, he had a bit of a bearlike quality that was only strengthened when he blinked, nodded, and headed back to the shade of a beach umbrella.

  “Beau’s always on call at the hospital,” Carson said, trying to smooth over his friend’s brusque response. “This is his first chance for some solid rest in years, really. Not to mention his first visit in these parts.”

  The Neals, Tommy and Yardley, were more polite but still vaguely dismissive, in the same way that Sunny had seen rich people treat servants. They followed the proper forms, but seemed to look right through her.

  Only Carson’s other groomsman, Peter Van Twissel, met Sunny’s eyes as they shook hands, and he greeted her with a skeptical smile. “I hope they didn’t tempt you into this job with a promise of fun-filled days.” He gestured around the pool. “This is about as close as it gets to a resort around here.”

  “I’m a local girl,” Sunny told him. “A pool beats most of the swimming around here.” With that, she removed the towel she was wearing and slipped into the water, letting out her breath in a big puff at the shock of the cool water.

  But despite the water’s low temperature, she had told the truth. Compared to the local lakes and the ocean, even in summertime, the pool’s water was sun warmed and a lot more comfortable. She swam a few laps just to give her muscles a stretch, keeping a covert eye on the wedding party. Beau had apparently gone back to sleep, sprawled on a scatter of pillows and towels. He’d pulled a green cotton surgical shirt over his baggy surfer-style swim trunks. Carson and Priscilla moved to the far side of the pool, their heads together in conversation.

  T
ommy and Yardley Neal were in the same pose as the betrotheds, but they sat by the entry gate of the pool, out of effective earshot from anyone. Peter took his ease in a long beach chair, slathering lotion all over himself in preparation to take some sun. With the dark glasses he had on, Sunny couldn’t tell whether his eyes were following her or not.

  She continued swimming until her arms began to feel pleasantly tired, and she figured she should have settled into the background a bit. Then she pulled herself out of the pool, toweled off, and draped the terrycloth around her neck like a stole. The afternoon sun felt pleasantly warm after her dip.

  Sunny took a seat in the deck chair next to Peter. “Could I steal some of your sunblock?” she asked. “I didn’t think to bring any with me.”

  He reached down and passed over the bottle. “Hope you’re not disappointed it’s not some hand-compounded rich man’s potion,” he said. “I picked it up at Target before all the excitement hit.”

  “Target, huh?” Sunny looked him over. Peter seemed an odd friend for Carson. He was tall, skinny, and naturally pale, with wispy hair that couldn’t make up its mind to be brown or blond. Not a frat-boy type like Carson or Beau. Sunny noticed that Peter’s bony fingers had dozens, maybe hundreds, of tiny scars.

  He gave her a self-deprecating smile. “Unlike some people in this compound, I’ve been known to patronize discount stores,” he said. “I may be hanging out with the de Kruks, but it’s more because of my potential rather than what I’m worth right now. You see, my dad is in computers—special orders—and I’ve been messing in them since I was a kid, working my fingers to the bone coding on the keyboard when I wasn’t burning them with solder or acid or some other nonsense. Now Carson and his dad are bankrolling me, hoping I’ll be the next Steve Jobs or Bill Gates.” He gave a very boyish grin. “Or both rolled together. Augustus made his fortune from construction projects, honest-to-Pete bricks and mortar. Carson is betting on information being the next frontier for his family to conquer.”

  “And you’re going to help?” Sunny asked.