Hiss and Tell

by Claire Donally

  “Because I think you’re going to need a crash course in dealing with reporters.” Sunny gave it to him straight.

  Beau paused for a moment. “You mean they think . . . ? Sure they do. That detective guy seemed like just a schlubby-looking older guy at first, but he’s like some of the surgeons in the hospital. Put a scalpel in their hands—”

  He stopped again. “Does that detective think I killed Eliza?”

  “I can’t reveal my sources,” Sunny told him.

  Beau turned round to sit on the grass, his head in his hands. “This is like a nightmare. I came here to chill out.” He looked up at her. “You don’t know what a pressure cooker a medical residency can be. Becoming a doctor is sort of like joining the biggest fraternity there is, but getting there, they don’t just put you through hell week, it’s more like hell years. I’ve put in a hundred and twenty hours a week sometimes.”

  Sunny nodded. Carson had said something along the same lines.

  “So I come up here, Carson’s told me how quiet and secluded the place is, and all I really want to do is sleep. I mean, I know I’m supposed to stand up for Carson on the wedding day, and I’ll do whatever they want of me. But my whole plan for coming up here was to veg out. With Eliza pestering me, I was kinda down to my last nerve, and the minute we got here, Eliza started getting on it.”

  “Why do you think that was?”

  He looked down for a moment, then up at her again. “I couldn’t say, but she was in a foul mood even on the way up here. Carson had one of his dad’s private planes fly us up from New York—Carson, Peter, me, and Eliza. I thought she’d be delighted at such a sweet setup. Instead, she was rude to the cabin steward and drank a lot. All I wanted to do was sleep. We were going to be in the air for about an hour and a half, and I intended to get some rest.”

  “And?” Sunny asked.

  “It seemed to drive her crazy that I wasn’t paying attention to her. Eliza insisted on talking to me, even when I was dozing off. She kept it up when we got to the compound. And when we were around the pool, she even got worse. She kicked me to wake me up, and I told her to knock it off. Instead, she jumped down my throat.”

  Beau took a long, deep breath. “Maybe I could have handled it better if I hadn’t been so burnt out. But when she began screaming at me, I started shouting back.” His shoulders slumped. “It’s not as though I was the only one—just the one who got it the worst. Eliza also got into it with Carson and Tommy Neal, too. I thought I was pretty tightly wound up when I joined up with Carson to come here, but now I’m wondering if maybe Eliza was worse.” If Eliza was being blackmailed, Sunny thought, remembering Randall’s theory, that might’ve made her a little touchy.

  Beau stood up. “So that’s the story. I liked Eliza—not an undying love thing, but she was cool, and pretty, and we had some good times.” He looked down at his hands. “It’s not like I had any reason to want to murder Eliza. Guess it sounds kind of corny, but the whole reason I wanted to become a doctor was to help people, not to kill them.”

  “Well, you can’t help it if the police suspect you,” Sunny said, feeling a sudden surge of sympathy for the big guy. “I suppose they’ve been pretty careful with you, since you’re on a big shot’s home turf. They’d get a lot tougher if they had some strong evidence linking you to the crime. Don’t get yourself in trouble with them by telling them lies. And if they do start questioning you seriously, remember you’re allowed to get a lawyer. And stay quiet until one gets there.”

  Beau Bellingham bent down to get the carton of food. “I didn’t think I’d be saying this, but thanks, Sunny.”

  Don’t mention it, Sunny sourly thought as she collected the bags of chips. I do this for all the murder suspects I bump into.

  *

  Shadow absentmindedly licked one paw. One of his claws had broken in his struggle to escape from Sunny’s bag. After being squashed, carried, and then left in a cold, dark place, he had wormed his way to the top of the bag. It had one of those open-close things the two-legs used, a little piece of metal on a long track. He’d dealt with them before.

  But he’d never had to open one from the inside. Just getting hold of the little piece had been a struggle, and moving it had resulted in the painful break. Annoying, but not too bad. There wasn’t any blood.

  He’d gotten the bag a little bit open, but then he’d been interrupted by sudden light, getting picked up, carried . . . and squashed down again.

  He’d landed heavily on a bouncy surface—a bed—and heard Sunny’s voice. But by the time he’d gotten a paw out and opened the bag enough to squirm out, Sunny was gone.

  Searching this new house had not been good. Everything was old and dusty, and even the air smelled dead. Even worse, he hadn’t found Sunny.

  So Shadow found a way out and began exploring outside. There were fewer houses around here than at Sunny’s place—or was that Sunny’s old place? Was this Sunny’s new place? There was plenty of grass and some bushes, quite a few interesting smells that had distracted his search. But he only caught a few brief whiffs to show that Sunny had been in various places.

  Then Shadow’s stomach began telling him it was time to eat. He’d walked a long way to some of the other houses nearby, hoping to find one of those bags that humans filled with old food. It might not be the best tasting, but it would fill him up.

  The problem was, the two-legs around here locked those bags up in strong containers. He began to lose hope as he approached the back of yet another house to see a human female standing behind a glass door. When she saw Shadow, the two-legs knelt down to peer out at him.

  Shadow stretched up, resting his forepaws against the glass to get a better look. Suddenly he watched a flurry of motion as another cat, a She by the size of her, appeared, flinging out her paws and raking at the glass with her claws.

  This stupid She wants to scare me away, Shadow thought. He’d seen this before, cats who were very brave so long as there was a door or window between them. He could understand not wanting to share a special two-legs with some wanderer. Sometimes Sunny had annoyed him by feeding some passing freeloader. But no self-respecting cat should threaten what she—or he—couldn’t do. Claws were real . . . and so was blood.

  Sure enough, when the human opened the door, the brave warrior-She disappeared. But happily the two-legs brought out a paper plate with some food on it. Shadow took a bite. It was unfamiliar, and rather rich. His stomach would probably make noises later. But he ate, taking small bites.

  And as soon as the door had shut, those white paws and claws appeared again. He didn’t even bother to pretend-fight. As soon as he had enough, Shadow trotted along. It looked as though he’d be stuck around here for a while. He still had to find a safe place to rest.

  *

  As the day progressed, Sunny found herself looking forward to the clandestine beer pong tournament. If someone had told her a week ago that she’d be spending the day lounging beside the private pool in a million-dollar compound, she’d have had a hard time believing it. She’d have given this someone an even harder time if they’d suggested that such an R&R setting would get on her nerves.

  The fact of the matter, though, was that she felt restless. She swam, she sat in the sun for a while, she chatted with the wedding party, she had something to drink—something non-alcoholic, she didn’t want to get a head start on the evening’s competition. Carson, Priscilla, and the others were perfectly nice—even though Beau was still mainly catching up on his sleep. But there were odd silences, sudden stilted moments that showed no one was really comfortable.

  Then it was time to change for dinner. Sunny returned to her room to discover her travel bag still lying on the bed. She’d been so distracted, she’d forgotten to come back and hang everything up.

  “Wonderful,” she muttered. “Everything is probably all creased now.” Would she be able to get hold of an iron?<
br />
  But when she opened the bag, she not only found creases, but cat hair all over everything.

  I guess keeping him out only worked so far, she thought, and this is the way Shadow punished me. That crazy cat! Now I’ve got to find one of those sticky roller gizmos before I can iron anything.

  She hung up the garments, keeping them far away from her other clothes, then dressed for dinner and put on her company manners, and went to deal with the “grown-ups,” as Cale called them.

  Dinner was another tedious affair. Conversation seemed to die around the Senator, except for topics like politics. Mrs. Kingsbury tried a couple of times to talk about the upcoming wedding, but even Fiona Ormond couldn’t keep the talk going. Sunny was a little surprised to learn that either Cillie’s grandmother was computer-literate or had somebody on staff who was, because she complimented Sunny on her blog post about the wedding gifts.

  At last the meal ended, and people began to drift away. Sunny went back to her room to collect the beer pong rules she’d printed out earlier. When she emerged, she encountered Priscilla, her eyes sparkling and conspiratorial.

  “Everybody’s looking forward to this,” she said in a hushed voice, as if her grandfather could hear her from hundreds of yards away. Downstairs, they met the Neals, who looked livelier than Sunny had seen them thus far. Tommy even said hello and chatted a bit as they walked over to the pool.

  The sun was going down, and there were long shadows. But only a couple of lights were on, mainly in the area around the cabana, where Carson, Beau, and Peter were manhandling a decrepit-looking old Ping-Pong table out onto the deck surrounding the pool.

  “That was down in the basement of the big house,” Cillie said. “I don’t know how Uncle Cale managed to smuggle it out here.”

  Tommy joined the guys in setting up the table. “This will make the game simpler,” he said. “It’s the regulation size.”

  Sunny held up the rules. “Okay, I assume you all know the basic idea of the game. Each side fills a certain number of cups one-third of the way with beer. Teams take alternate turns tossing or bouncing a Ping-Pong ball into their opponents’ cups.”

  Sunny stopped. “We’ve got the table. Have we got a ball?”

  Peter Van Twissel held up a crisp new package of Ping-Pong balls and a sleeve of plastic cups. “It looks as though Cale took care of everything.”

  “Good.” Sunny resumed reading. “Each member of a team gets one shot. Whether a toss or a bounce, the shooter’s elbow must remain below the level of the table. If a ball lands in a team’s cup, one of the team members must drink that cup. If the ball lands in that cup again, the game is over, and the losing team must consume all of the cups remaining on the table. So, if the enemy’s ball lands in a cup, it’s a good idea to drink it right away, rather than risk a double hit. You can toss or you can bounce the ball toward your opponents’ cups. But if the ball is bounced, the opponents can try to deflect it away.”

  “That’s not the way we played it at school,” Carson objected.

  “It’s the way we played it,” Cillie replied.

  “And this is why I was advised to download something.” Sunny waved the paper in her hand. “In case of arguments, these are the rules we’ll go by.” She went back to reading. “Twice in the course of a game, a team may rerack its cups. There’s a diagram showing how they can be arranged. If a ball circles the rim of a cup, the defending team can try to flick it away. Of course, if you spill the cup, it counts for the other side. If one team clears all the opposing team’s cups, the opposing team still has a turn. Each member of the team is allowed to keep shooting, until he or she misses. When all the team members have missed, and there are still cups on the table, they have to share the beer in those cups.”

  She looked around. “So now we consider the question of teams. We’ve got an odd number of people—”

  “Count me out,” Beau Bellingham said. “I’m not up for a night of drinking.”

  “Well, Cillie and I will be a team,” Carson said.

  “And Yardley and I will be one,” Tommy Neal announced.

  Peter looked at Sunny. “I guess that leaves you and me.”

  Sunny shrugged. “Next question—how many cups?”

  They decided on six, which would make for a quicker game. Carson and Tommy went into the cabana, emerging with a heavy cooler. Peter had already unwrapped the package of plastic cups. The guys opened a couple bottles of beer and began pouring.

  “They should be in a triangle,” Sunny called, “with the wide end flush with the end of the table.”

  “So who goes first?” Cillie asked.

  “One member of each team come to this end.” Sunny opened the package of Ping-Pong balls. Cillie, Tommy, and Peter joined her. She gave each of them a ball. “Now, without looking at the cups, toss your ball toward them.” Priscilla and Tommy both managed to get a ball into a cup. Peter missed altogether.

  “So, Peter and I will play whoever wins this game.” Sunny said as Carson retrieved the balls. “Cillie, you and Tommy toss to see which team goes first.”

  This time, Priscilla missed while Tommy hit, so the game proper began. It was a close-fought battle, but in the end, the Neals eliminated all of Carson and Cillie’s cups while two of theirs remained. The de Kruk-Kingsbury alliance drained the cups, and while the field of battle was being restored, Beau stood up. “Sorry, guys,” he said. “It’s been fun, but I think I’d rather sack out.” He gave Peter Van Twissel a tap on the arm. “Good luck, bro. You, too, Sunny.”

  They didn’t have much, though. The game quickly developed into a slaughter. Sunny managed to clear three of the Neals’ cups, but Peter missed every shot. “I’ll drink the extra one,” he said, his voice gallant but a little slurred. The Belgian ale was already hitting him pretty hard.

  Priscilla and Carson pulled off a victory in the next round, and proceeded to roll over Sunny and Peter in the next. This time, Peter managed to land one of his tosses not in the cup, but in the pool.

  Tommy and Yardley Neal fought their way back to victory in the next go-round and made mincemeat of Sunny and Peter. This time, he attempted to block a bouncing ball and managed to spill two of their cups down the front of his pants. As he stood blinking down at the spreading stain on his khakis, Cale Kingsbury came strolling around the pool. “That doesn’t look good, Van Twissel.”

  Peter jerked his eyes up to Cale’s, an ugly expression on his face. “I don’t need you to point out the obvious.”

  Apparently, all that beer he’s taken on has made for a real Jekyll and Hyde transformation, Sunny thought as she took in the scene. Drunk, humiliated, angry—and now he’s found a focus.

  Cale tried to smooth things over. “I just thought that maybe you’d want to take a break. I could pinch-hit—”

  “Don’t talk down to me, old man!” Peter’s bony, capable hands clenched into a pair of dangerous-looking fists as he took a furious step forward. “I don’t—I don’t—” He suddenly stopped, his hands loosening to clutch at his stomach. “I don’t feel so good.”

  “I think what you need is a chance to lie down,” Cale said.

  At least he didn’t say, “sleep it off,” Sunny thought. Otherwise, he might have set Peter off again.

  “I’ll help him back.” Carson put a supporting arm around Peter, whose face had gone from brick red to off green in mere moments.

  “Yeah,” Priscilla said. “I think you’d better hurry.”

  Carson guided Peter in a quick, if wobbly, walk. After they were through the gate Cale glanced around the remaining members of the party.

  “So what do you say?” he asked. “Should I pinch-hit for Peter?”

  By now, everybody had drunk enough beer to be in an agreeable mood, although Sunny warned Cale that he was probably boarding a sinking ship. She had him read the rules, which had gotten a bit smeary thanks to s
pilled beer, but he was able to understand enough. He took his position beside Sunny as Tommy Neal attempted to bounce another ball at their two remaining cups. Cale’s hand darted out to flick the ball away.

  Then it was their turn. Sunny and Cale both successfully landed their shots, reducing the Neals’ cups from five to three.

  “That’s the closest score you’ve had in a while,” Carson said when he finally returned through the gate.

  “How is Peter?” Sunny asked.

  Carson shrugged. “I put him in bed with a large bucket—just in case. But he passed out before he got sick.”

  “Are we playing doctor or beer pong?” Tommy demanded, turning them back to the game. He and Yardley tried to make a comeback. Tommy managed to land a toss, reducing Sunny and Cale to a single cup. Then Yardley tried to bounce the ball at the lone survivor.

  “De-fense! De-fense!” Carson and Cillie chanted, and Cale came through, flicking the ball away.

  Now it was Sunny and Cale’s turn. He tossed his ball unerringly into one of the Neals’ remaining cups. Course, it’s easier for him, Sunny thought. He’s sober.

  She went to toss her ball, and her foot slipped on spilled beer. Her shot looped high, hit, and flipped up, catching an astonished Tommy in the forehead . . . and dropped into the cup.

  “We won! We won!” Sunny jumped up and down, waving her arms in triumph.

  “But we won the most games.” Yardley tried for dignity, but she was swaying a little as she spoke.

  “I’m just glad we won one.” Sunny stopped jumping. She was beginning to feel the beer, too.

  “I think it’s time we called it a night, before one of us falls into the pool.” Priscilla bit her lip, belatedly realizing her comment was a little too close to what happened to Eliza. Nobody else said anything, but Sunny could feel that cloud of constraint setting in again.

  She looked at her watch. It was getting late. Will would be getting off soon. She should share what Beau had told her about his fight with Eliza.

  They dragged the damning evidence into the cabana, cleaned up what they could, and headed down the path to the guesthouses. Cale waved a silent good-bye as he set off in the opposite direction to the mansion.