Hiss and Tell

by Claire Donally

  More like bathed in it, Sunny’s cranky side suggested.

  “It’s an interesting scent,” she said aloud.

  “It’s sandalwood, and a bunch of other spices. I’ve worn it for years, ever since a lady friend bought it for me at a little place in Paris. My father gives me grief about it. To him all a gentleman needs is a discreet dab of bay rum.”

  “Well, times change,” Sunny said.

  He started the car, and soon they were passing the troopers and the roadblock. Some people suddenly darted at them from across the street, and Sunny saw the cameras a second too late. She noticed that Cale had arranged one hand to cover the bottom half of his face.

  Great, she thought. They probably got me with my mouth hanging open.

  “Sorry, should have warned you,” he apologized. “I keep forgetting you’re not used to this, being from the other side.”

  “You make it sound like the dark side,” she said.

  “I guess it’s all in the way you see it,” Cale replied. “How is it going, by the way? Cillie seems to like you.”

  “And that’s even before I suggested a nice round of beer pong.”

  Cale refused to be deflected. “How about the others?” he asked. “I saw Tommy Neal giving you the ‘I’m too important to notice you’ routine yesterday. Is he acting a bit more human today? Is Beau?”

  “I’m still wondering if I’ll ever get to see Beau fully awake,” Sunny replied.

  “He strikes me as a nice kid. So does Carson.”

  Sunny nodded. “He and Priscilla seem to get along well.”

  “Yeah, that’s a pleasant dividend when they’re trapped in something more like a business merger than an engagement.” Caleb frowned.

  Sunny glanced at him.

  “Not for attribution,” he said.

  She nodded, but pushed. “You’re suggesting . . .”

  “I’m suggesting that Augustus de Kruk finally realized he’s carrying too much baggage to ever be president.” Cale shook his head. “I think he finally got the point at one of those political dinners. He wasn’t up on the dais to be roasted, but it seemed like every speaker sent a zinger his way. For a guy who spends a lot of time on television, he was lousy at acting as though it was all in good fun. Carson, on the other hand, came off looking pretty good on Augustus’s reality shows. Not just a pretty face, either—he gave the impression of being a capable executive.”

  “So you think Augustus has decided to set things up for Carson, politically?” Sunny asked.

  “He’s not going to have the boy run for office next Tuesday, but yeah, I suspect Augustus went looking for a little political oomph to add to Carson’s image. And as it turned out, we Kingsburys had a girl who was the right age.” Cale turned to her, his face dead serious. “My father is no spring chicken anymore, and he’s determined to have his blood in the White House before he goes. He’d rather it was one of her brothers, but he’s old-fashioned enough not to even seriously consider Cillie for the starring role. He’ll settle for First Lady. So yeah, it’s not a shotgun wedding, but Cillie and Carson were strongly encouraged.”

  “Then I suppose it’s a good thing they like one another.” Sunny sighed. “Was it this way in Camelot?”

  “You mean the Kennedys and the Bouviers?” Cale asked. “I’ve heard stories—”

  Sunny waved that off. “No, no, I meant Arthur and Guinevere. Although maybe all that dynastic stuff would have seemed a lot more natural, way back when.”

  They made polite chitchat for the rest of the drive to Sunny’s house. She apologized for taking Cale out of his way, but he waved off her concerns. “I want to do my shopping as far away from Wilawiport as possible,” he said as he held the door for Sunny. “How long do you think you need?”

  “Could I have an hour?” Sunny asked. “I’d like to visit with my dad.”

  *

  Shadow knew how to wait, if he had to. He’d done it before, hunkered down in front of mouse holes, waiting for the prey to emerge. But it had been a while since he’d had to do that. And this wait seemed to stretch on for a long, long time.

  He skimped on sleep, which was a very bad thing for a healthy cat. Shadow knew that, when he found himself nodding off in his water bowl. Bad, bad, bad.

  The Old One tried to be nice to him, feeding him and talking to him. But it wasn’t the same as having Sunny around. And when the Old One settled himself on the long, soft chair, it just about drove Shadow crazy. He began to consider one of the things that made light on the table beside the sleeping two-legs. A little determined pushing, and it would fall to make a wonderful crash, sure to wake the Old One. If Shadow couldn’t sleep, why should this human get to?

  Finally, Shadow was so tired, he decided to try for a light doze. He scrambled up onto the pillows away from the snoring Old One, then stretched to climb onto the very top of the couch, beside the window. The sun was coming in and it was very comfortable, but Shadow didn’t care about that. He wanted to see and hear what was going on in the front of the house, and this was the best place to do that. He draped himself along the top of the couch and peered out the window with eyes that grew heavier and heavier until finally his head slid down.

  Just a short nap, he told himself, a little doze.

  But when his eyes opened, the sun had moved quite a distance in the sky. Shadow blinked. What had wakened him? It wasn’t the Old One, who made his usual noises. No, it was the rumble of an engine. Shaking himself awake, Shadow saw a go-fast thing come up the driveway and stop. A strange two-legs got out and opened a door. Then Sunny came out!

  Shadow gave a stifled mew of excitement and dashed for the door. He heard the rattle of keys, and when the door opened, he raced around Sunny in a dance of welcome. She’d come back! She’d come home!

  But even in the middle of his greeting, he caught that spicy, strange scent he’d found on Sunny before. And it was much stronger. Shadow faltered. What was going on here? Everything seemed all right. Sunny and the Old One sat down and talked. But Shadow moved restlessly around, marking Sunny’s shins and ankles. Couldn’t the Old One smell the strange scent? Especially the hint of male beneath it?

  Maybe not, Shadow thought. With all the stinks the Old One gives off, maybe he can’t smell anything anymore.

  After a while, Sunny looked at the thing on her wrist. That was always a bad sign. When humans did that, they often jumped up and started running around, ignoring cats.

  Sure enough, Sunny got up. Shadow followed, determined not to let her out of his sight. But when she climbed the stairs and got to her room, she closed the door in his face!

  Shadow raised a paw to claw at the wood, but he knew that wouldn’t do much. Instead, he went across the hall and hid inside the room of tiles, barely letting one eye peek around the door frame. It was cool in there—cold, really—but he kept his post.

  It was worth it! After a while, Sunny came out, and Shadow all but sprang across the hall, getting into the room before Sunny closed the door. He stretched up to look over the top of her bed—and his worst suspicions were confirmed. She had piles of clothing up there, not fresh from the wash, but with dead smells from sitting in a closet. He had to get very close to get any scents at all. What did she want with these old things? Was she going to get rid of them?

  He heard Sunny’s footsteps in the hall and darted under the bed, peering out as she came into the room. Worse and worse. She came in with another one of those big things for carrying clothes and put it up on the bed, then began putting things in it. Shadow stayed hidden until she turned away to the closet. Then he made his move.

  She’s not leaving without me this time, he thought.

  11

  Sunny lugged the soft-sided suitcase down to the front hall. It was a bit unwieldy on the stairway, a little heavier than she’d expected. She hadn’t packed all that much, really—she’d jus
t chosen the large case because she didn’t want the outfits to get crushed. Out of the clothes she’d arranged on the bed, she’d finally picked a pair of suits, one with pants, one with a skirt, both dressy without being too sedate. Then she went back to the closet and took out a party dress, its coral color a bit bolder. It worked well with Sunny’s hair and her tan, but didn’t show off too much. Along with the necessary accessories and the things she had up at Neal’s Neck already, Sunny hoped those outfits would take her through the next few days.

  As she reached the foot of the stairs, she held the bag high, alert for Shadow. We are not going to have another game of detach the cat this time, buddy.

  But Shadow was nowhere to be seen.

  Still holding the bag awkwardly to avoid a sneak attack, Sunny went into the living room, where Mike sat on the couch.

  “Shadow in here?” she asked.

  Her dad shook his head. “I haven’t seen him since he took off up the stairs after you.”

  “I had to keep him out of my room while I was packing.” Now she felt guilty about it. “He went a little crazy with the bag I took yesterday.”

  Mike shrugged. “Well, he didn’t turn up here.”

  Maybe he’s sulking, Sunny thought as she went down the hall to the kitchen. Often when Shadow got in a mood, he’d scowl down at the world from a perch up on the top of Mount Refrigerator.

  But Shadow wasn’t there, either.

  Now Sunny found herself torn. She didn’t want a scene like the one they’d gone through the last time she’d left. But she didn’t want to go without saying good-bye to Shadow, either. She was debating whether to check out a few more of his hideouts when the doorbell rang. That took the decision out of her hands. She came down the hall to see Mike at the door, speaking with Cale Kingsbury. Usually her dad would be more animated when talking with anyone with a connection to local politics, but Mike was politely silent as Cale chatted.

  Polite—or maybe a bit standoffish? Sunny suddenly wondered. Years may have passed since the scandal that brought Cale Kingsbury down, but that didn’t mean it had been forgotten hereabouts. One of the more potentially negative aspects of the Kittery Harbor Way.

  Either Cale didn’t notice or he’d gotten used to that reaction. Or both. He greeted Sunny and took her bag, said good-bye to Mike, and then escorted her back to the car. Cale deposited the case in the back of the station wagon beside his load of contraband (hidden from view under an old picnic blanket) and then held the door for Sunny. As he slid into his seat, his face had a cat-who-ate-the-canary expression. “This is gonna be fun tonight.”

  “You know, it started out as a joke, but now it’s taken on a life of its own,” Sunny said. “Sounds as though you’re looking forward to this game more than Cillie and Carson are. I thought you were just the facilitator.”

  “And you’re the instigator,” Cale reminded her. “But I think it’s the right thing. The kids need to cut loose, and this is a fairly benign way to do that. Besides, I figure buying the beer buys me an invitation, too.” His grin was infectious, and mischief danced in his eyes. “I got this Belgian ale, very high-octane. It’s gonna be a blast, and I intend to be there as soon as I can ditch the grown-ups.”

  He sounded so much like one of Sunny’s college boyfriends, she had to laugh.

  They discussed the finer points of beer pong for most of the ride up to Wilawiport, with several disagreements over things like defensive deflections and penalties.

  “That’s why you’ve got to download a set of rules from someplace,” Cale said. “Then they’ll be there in black and white. People will be stuck with them.”

  “All right, all right,” Sunny capitulated. “I’ll take care of it after I get up in my room.”

  The town car rolled past the roadblock, with no paparazzi jumping out of the bushes. Sunny felt a little disappointed. She’d been prepared this time, putting on large sunglasses and a baseball cap with a long peak.

  They came to a stop outside the girls’ guesthouse. As Sunny got out and Cale got her bag, she asked, “Where will you hide the supplies? I don’t think you can just slip them into a refrigerator.”

  “I’ve got ice and a couple of those Styrofoam chests.” He kept his voice down, glancing over toward the roadblock. “We’re a little too close to the outside world to go unloading things here.”

  Shaking her head, Sunny took her bag and lugged it up to her room. She’d barely deposited her burden on the faded quilt bedspread when she heard a knock on the door. It was Priscilla.

  I suspect that Trehearne’s not the only one using the security guards to find out who’s where, Sunny thought. Cillie just about confirmed that with her first words. “I heard you were back, and I wanted to catch you. It’s Beau’s turn to do the lunch run, bringing sandwiches and stuff from the kitchen of the big house. If you just sort of bumped into him over there, you could spend some time alone with him.”

  Great, Sunny thought. Sounds like I’m being set up with a potential murderer.

  Priscilla quickly convinced her otherwise, though, her expression darkening as she spoke. “I haven’t forgotten why you’re really here—so I talked to him a little bit.” She waved her hands. “Not telling him about why you’re here, just saying that he couldn’t lie around ignoring you. This will give the two of you a chance to talk. From the way you asked about him at breakfast, I’d have to be pretty dense not to realize that you’re interested in Beau, and I don’t mean romantically. I shouldn’t be surprised, after the way he and Eliza got into it the afternoon before—” She broke off her words.

  Sunny nodded. “Do you know what the two of them were fighting about?”

  Priscilla shook her head. “We’re supposed to be too well-bred to eavesdrop—and of course, there was music playing. By the time it got loud enough for me to notice, they’d sort of gotten to the generic insult stage. He called her a social-climbing bitch, she said he was just a general bastard. That sort of thing.”

  Sunny frowned. So it sounded loud, but not exactly personal. Neither Beau nor Eliza seemed to be throwing actual dirt in each other’s faces. Well, that social-climbing comment was a bit sharp, but it’s kind of hard to imagine a spat like that leading to murder, she thought.

  Still, Beau was Will’s prime candidate, with at least a possible check by his name when it came to opportunity. She ought to take a shot.

  “Okay, just let me unpack,” Sunny said. It wasn’t so much about hanging up her things as it was making sure those suits got a proper airing. She’d already twitted Cale about him smelling like mothballs; no way was she going to sit down with the de Kruks in a cloud of eau de cedar.

  Cillie bit her lip. “I don’t think there’s time. I stalled him as long as I could, waiting for you, but Beau was starting for the kitchen when I headed up here.”

  “Then I’d better catch him.” Sunny followed Priscilla outside, thinking, Another plan shot to hell.

  She managed to catch up with Beau on his way back down the path between the big house and the pool. He was carrying a big cardboard carton easily enough, but just as Sunny came up, a breeze sent a couple of bags of chips airborne. Sunny darted to pick them up. “Let me give you a hand.”

  “Oh, thanks,” he said, “Sunny.”

  There was a barely perceptible pause before he used her name. Had he been trying to remember it, or debating whether to use it?

  “Put that thing down for a minute, and let’s see what I can help carry,” Sunny suggested.

  Beau dropped to one knee, setting the carton down on the graveled walk. The breeze plucked at the Hawaiian shirt he wore over another green scrub shirt—or maybe the same one Sunny had seen him in yesterday.

  “Maybe I shouldn’t have asked for the chips,” Beau said. “They had to put them on top, otherwise they’d get crushed. But I figured we’d better have some munchies around for later.” He gave Sunny a cl
oser look as he knelt with the carton. “Did you really suggest beer pong?”

  “Guilty as charged,” Sunny replied.

  “What, are you trying to get us all drunk so we’ll talk about stuff we shouldn’t?” He broke off, running a hand across his eyes and then down his face. “Sorry, that didn’t come out very well. Carson and Cillie told me you’re a reporter, doing stories about the wedding planning and stuff. But after the whole mess with Eliza . . .”

  Take the opening, Sunny decided. “How did you meet her? I understand she was in Priscilla’s crowd.”

  “She is—was,” Beau corrected himself. “We hooked up when Carson and Cillie began getting serious. One of those big de Kruk mob scenes. How many parties have you attended where they’ve got a stage manager shepherding you in front of the cameras right on schedule to make the evening news? But we hung out and then dated a bit when my schedule allowed. Frankly, I think she was on the rebound. She’d been engaged, but it all blew up. She didn’t like to talk about it.”

  He blinked, as if dealing with an unpleasant memory. “But Eliza was really on my case to be my plus-one when I got the invite to this get-together. I thought it was kind of pushy, but Carson and Cillie were cool. To tell the truth, I was really looking forward to taking a break up here. Carson said it would be nice and quiet.”

  “But it didn’t turn out that way?”

  Beau’s face tightened. “So now it’s about that stupid fight? Does everybody know about that? Will I see my face on Eagle Eye while they play detective and wonder if I’m ‘involved’ in Eliza’s murder?”

  “I can’t promise what Eagle Eye will do,” Sunny said. “As you pointed out, I am a reporter, but there is such a thing as off the record. If you say that up front, reporters can’t quote you. Not all reporters follow that as strictly as they should nowadays, but those are supposed to be the rules.”

  “Why would you even tell me that?” Beau frowned.