Hiss and Tell

by Claire Donally

  “The question is, how would Beau even know about the knife?” Sunny argued. “It’s his first visit to Neal’s Neck.”

  “It is hard to explain. He’d have had to pump Priscilla or somebody else in the family pretty thoroughly to get this information. On the other hand, the drinks were flowing pretty freely the day before Eliza got killed. Priscilla or one of the others may have mentioned something in passing. Did Beau spend much time with Caleb Kingsbury? He’d probably be a font of information about the quirks of the property—and the folks who lived here.”

  “Not that I saw,” Sunny said.

  “The use of Lem’s knife does suggest someone familiar with the house and property. What about your friend Caleb?”

  “I think everything bad in his life has already been spread out for media inspection,” Sunny replied. “Since Sheriff Nesbit died, I’ve had to reconsider Randall’s theory. Maybe we’re looking for a person with a secret so dirty, they’re killing to keep even the suggestion of blackmail away from their name. That sounds like somebody with a very public profile.”

  “Like a governor, maybe,” Will suggested. “Governor Lem and his lovely wife have been bunking in his father’s old room. Lem—the young Lem—boy, this is getting confusing. Anyway, the Lem who’s still alive—did say he knew Nesbit in that blog post you put out today.”

  “You read that?” Sunny said in surprise.

  “Of course. I wanted to see how you were doing.” Then Will shrugged, his face twisting in annoyance. “And thanks to Ingersoll, you’re practically my only source for information out of Neal’s Neck these days. But forget about that.” He quickly shook his head. “We’ve got to use your position as an inside person to learn more. Ask about family history, without going into specifics about things like Lem Senior’s fishing. And the property itself—any oddball things there? Did Caleb or Priscilla ever sneak out of the compound? Could they have mentioned how they managed to pull that off to someone else?”

  “Oh sure,” Sunny said glumly. “That sounds easy enough to slip into a casual conversation.”

  She and Will spent a few more minutes searching the shrubbery for Shadow, then Sunny told him she’d better head back. She walked past the roadblock, skirting the trooper, and into the guesthouse. As Sunny opened the door to her room, she half expected to find Shadow curled up on her bed, but there was no sign of him.

  Just as well, I suppose, she thought as she got ready for bed, but she had an uneasy feeling that she’d be paying for her current relief in other ways soon enough.

  *

  By the next morning, there were other things to talk about. All of the guests were awakened at the crack of dawn by Priscilla’s brothers, who requested them to come to the big house. Once there, the whole family sat together watching one of the Sunday morning news shows. The comedy highlight for the day was the video footage of the Keystone Kops chase scene across the lawn yesterday. Augustus de Kruk stayed in the dining room for the whole scene. Apparently, he couldn’t even bear to see a cat on television.

  Deborah Kingsbury, Lem Junior’s wife, winced while watching the attempt to trap Shadow with the net. “I’d seen that thing hanging around for years in our room. And when I suggested it might actually be useful—” She rolled her eyes in annoyance. “Your people just about tore the closet apart and made an enormous mess,” she complained to Lee Trehearne, who sat through the whole thing looking like a volcano on the verge of erupting.

  The scene ended with Shadow scampering off. Sunny thought he looked pretty good on TV. Unfortunately, Lee Trehearne looked even bigger and more red-faced than in real life when he next appeared on screen, explaining that he and his people had been trying to retrieve a guest’s pet.

  It fell to the Senator to ask everyone to go along with the harmless deception.

  “Fine,” Beau Bellingham said. “But whose cat is it supposed to be?”

  “I’ll volunteer,” Sunny spoke up quickly. “I’m local, so it’s not impossible that the cat could have come along with me. And since I’m media, I’ll be able to handle any questions.”

  Lee Trehearne looked as if he’d accidentally swallowed a razor blade, but he didn’t say anything. Priscilla and Carson thanked her warmly, the Senator less so. Even the Emperor Augustus unbent enough to express his appreciation when he rejoined them.

  “Thanks,” Sunny told him. “Maybe you could do something in return and let me quote a few nice words from you about the area here. I know it’s not like the sort of resort that you’re used to visiting, but maybe you could say something about the fresh air and talk about how much you enjoyed the unspoiled scenery while flying in, and so forth.”

  The Emperor Augustus wasn’t thrilled, but he suggested that she work something up and he’d look it over. That was enough of a win for Sunny. It would tickle Ken Howell and offer Ollie Barnstable a nice plug for the area that they could also co-opt for use on the MAX website.

  Sunny was working on a draft of the statement to show de Kruk when her cell phone rang. When she answered, she heard Ken Howell’s voice. “Well, the boys in Levett have made their move, and it’s a doozy. I just came out of the press conference.”

  “About what?” Sunny asked.

  “About who’s going to go on the ballot in place of Frank Nesbit,” Ken replied. “Don’t you know what’s going on?”

  “To be honest, I’m a bit isolated up here,” Sunny told him. “So who’s the September surprise? What did they do? Name a party stalwart?”

  “Even worse,” Ken said gloomily. “They named Lenore Nesbit—the old ‘vote for the widow’ trick. And it seems to be working. Nobody had the gall to ask her any hard questions, not even me. I think Will is up against it.”

  Considering that Ken was one of the founding members of the breakaway Kittery Harbor faction with Mike, this sounded pessimistic indeed. “How does my dad feel?” Sunny asked.

  “I’m trying to figure out how to break it to him,” Ken responded. “I mean what with his heart and all.”

  “Oh, he can stand a little bad news,” Sunny told him. At least Shadow isn’t around for him to try to kick, she thought. “I just hope the furniture can take it.”

  The rest of the day Sunny spent watching and listening. She decided to have lunch with the older crowd and see how they were dealing with the situation. It was another buffet setup, but outdoors on a fieldstoned terrace behind the house. Tom and Lem Kingsbury appeared with damp hair and shiny faces, apparently having taken quick showers after a morning’s workout on the tennis court.

  Sunny paid special attention to Lem Junior, who’d risen on her personal suspects list. He’d certainly known about his father’s tackle box, a handy source for a sharp knife. He had easy access, since he was staying in the room where the thing was stored. And for a governor with presidential aspirations, a bit of blackmail was easy to imagine turning into something to kill over.

  On the other hand, Lem didn’t seem to be under any strain. He ate a hearty lunch and chatted amiably with the members of his family. He even joked a bit with Augustus de Kruk, who told him that if he put as much effort into politics as he did into tennis, he’d have been president already.

  Lem took it good-naturedly. “I guess that’s the problem with this family. Politics is our sideline. Tennis is the business. If you’re up for a game, maybe Cale can be persuaded. He’s not as bloodthirsty as Tom or I.”

  “It’s been a while since I even held a tennis racquet,” Cale told Augustus. “I’m not sure what kind of a game I’d give you.”

  Maybe he should challenge the Emperor to beer pong, Sunny’s irreverent side suggested.

  “We’ll see,” Augustus said. “Maybe later in the afternoon.”

  Deborah Kingsbury put a fond hand on her husband’s shoulder. “Anything to interrupt the unending marathon between you and Tom.”

  She looked as cool and unruffled a
s ever–if she’d been helping her husband hide two murders, she certainly wasn’t showing any strain. Although she was the one who drew attention to Lem Senior’s fishing tackle, Sunny thought. Did she do that innocently because she didn’t know about the knife? Or was it a more devious maneuver, ensuring a lot of fresh fingerprints would appear on the tackle so that her husband’s wouldn’t be so obvious?

  Sunny took a sip of chilled white wine. Deborah even complained about what a mess the security people made. So if Lem’s prints appeared somewhere they shouldn’t, he’d have a perfect explanation—they’re the result of him trying to tidy things up in a room where they’ve always slept.

  “Some more wine?” Cale gestured with the bottle, scattering Sunny’s thoughts.

  “No, thanks,” she replied. The problem was, all these politicians and their families had plenty of experience in not letting their true feelings show. Even with her reporter’s instincts, Sunny was having a hard time getting a read on them.

  So either I need a little more white wine, or they need a lot of it, she thought with a wry smile.

  Since neither possibility was likely to happen, Sunny decided to return to Priscilla and her friends after lunch. She did, however, make Cale promise to send word if he actually was going to meet Augustus de Kruk on the tennis court. Cillie Kingsbury laughed when she heard about it. “That would be worth seeing,” she teased Carson. “Your dad, working up a sweat?”

  “Oh, he doesn’t mind getting worked up,” the younger de Kruk told them. “Usually for money, but Dad would be okay going for a little glory, too.”

  Genevieve Kingsbury, Tom’s wife, appeared sometime later with the news that battle would indeed be joined. The brunette looked a little envious of the young people lounging around the pool. They weren’t all that much younger than she was, and with her lively eyes, Genevieve didn’t seem the type to spend all day being a spectator.

  Priscilla and Carson headed off to go and watch the game, and of course so did Sunny. Tommy Neal also decided to join the viewing party, while Peter, Beau, and Yardley stayed put.

  As they walked over to the tennis court with Genevieve, Sunny said, “I’m still looking for some background to set the stage in my blog. The big house is so beautiful. Are there any interesting stories about it I could share? I heard about your great-grandfather trying to shoot the wasp, but that may be a bit too colorful.”

  Cillie laughed. “I guess the problem is that all the good stories are Neal stories, not Kingsbury ones. Like the widow’s walk.” She pointed in the direction of the big house. “You can’t really see it unless you’re flying overhead, but Great-Grandfather Neal added a platform on top of the house. It’s got a great view out to sea, the highest point on Neal’s Neck. He’d have somebody up there with a lantern, signaling the rumrunners when it was safe to deliver. It was a big deal to get up there,” she added. “You had to work a catch on a secret door. Tom showed me when I was ten years old.”

  “He showed me, too, the first time I visited here.” Genevieve’s voice was tart. “It sounded very mysterious and exciting, but what it came down to was a ten-by-ten deck, and the wind off the water was freezing.”

  “Maybe you should tell Sunny about the copse,” Priscilla said with a naughty look.

  “The cops?” Sunny repeated. “You mean the security people? The troopers?”

  “No, C-O-P-S-E,” Cillie spelled it out. “It’s a little thicket of trees out by the point, probably the wildest spot you’ll find around here.” She gestured at the manicured lawns around them. “There used to be a gazebo in the middle, but it lost most of its roof the year I was born. So now it’s a romantic ruin, a bower—”

  “Inspiration point,” Tommy Neal put in. “Every teenager’s dream: quiet, secluded, and yeah, I guess romantic. Just remember to bring a thick blanket along. That old wood can get splintery.”

  “Very practical,” Priscilla scolded him. She waggled her eyebrows at Sunny. “It may not be the grotto at the Playboy mansion, but in our family, it has . . . history.”

  “History that Sunny won’t be sharing on her blog, I hope.” Genevieve tried to sound like the adult here, but Sunny noticed a faint blush on her cheeks.

  Looks as if Genevieve visited the copse at some point, too, Sunny thought.

  “That’s the wrong kind of romantic past I’m looking for,” she assured them. “I’m doing the blog for a family paper, not Eagle Eye.”

  They arrived at the tennis court, and conversation switched to the upcoming match.

  “Dad might surprise you,” Carson said to the group. “He plays a darned good game of tennis. The competitive streak in him, you know.”

  “But Uncle Cale is younger,” Cillie said to Carson. “And he’s in pretty good shape.”

  “We’ll see.”

  Augustus de Kruk arrived in a set of tennis whites, prompting Sunny to wonder what other wardrobe items he traveled with—white tie and tails? A scuba outfit? And while he wasn’t as svelte as Lem or Tom, his legs, exposed in shorts, were muscular. So were his arms.

  Cale looked a little uncomfortable in what looked like borrowed whites from one of his nephews. They were a little tight, especially at the waist, but his legs were tanned and brawny, and his arms were ropey with muscles.

  He must get a lot of exercise hauling the sails on his boat, Sunny thought.

  They squared off, and Augustus asked, “Shall we spin the racquet to see who serves first?”

  “Since you’re the guest,” Cale replied, “I’ll let you make the choice.”

  Augustus chose to serve, and they were off. The Emperor had a strong serve, and Cale’s response to his shots was always just a hair too late. His returns were rushed, not going where he aimed them; it was clear to Sunny that he just wasn’t quite in the game. He’d battle back a little, but then Augustus would quickly regain the upper hand.

  Sunny maintained the silent decorum that tennis required, even though she was more used to rowdy softball games where raucous comments from the sidelines were the norm rather than the exception. Several times she was tempted to holler at Cale to get the lead out . . . and then she noticed something. Cale wasn’t even breathing hard.

  She leaned over to whisper in Priscilla’s ear. “Is your uncle throwing this game?” Cillie turned from the action on the court to give Sunny a knowing look, whispering, “Augustus has made a couple of nominal donations to the foundation, but Uncle Cale wants to hit him up for something more substantial.”

  Sunny smiled. What better way to loosen the purse strings than to lose gracefully?

  In the end, Augustus enjoyed a handsome victory, not too easily won, and accepted the congratulations of the bystanders with a satisfied smile.

  Old Cale might not be fighting for reelection, but he’s as much a politician as anyone in the family, Sunny told herself. Looks like a case of once a Kingsbury, always a Kingsbury.

  Sunny, Cillie, Carson, and Tommy headed back to the pool and some late afternoon sun. The evening meal offered the usual buffet plus a rehash of the tennis game between Cale and Augustus. Sunny was glad to have a little time to herself afterward. Scarcely getting out of the property for days was beginning to feel a bit too claustrophobic for her taste. Sunny left the compound for a good reason, searching for Shadow. But, even though she worried about what kind of predicaments he might get himself into, she found herself enjoying fresh air without the need to wear a mask of decorum. She just about pounced on her cell phone when a text message came in from Will:

  DUG UP A LITTLE, WANT 2 DISCUSS. WILL CALL.

  By the time Will called, Sunny had circled around to the block where they usually met, arriving well ahead of him. She spent the time looking around in the bushes but found no sign of her trouble-causing kitty. As Will pulled up, she waved and quickly climbed in, asking, “What did you find?”

  “I did some checking up on Lee Treh
earne,” Will said. “He served in the army—Iraq—and when his enlistment was up, worked for a private security firm there. Not to say there weren’t good men in those companies—”

  “But they have a reputation for acting like cowboys,” Sunny finished. “And a lot of money disappeared from the supposed nation building after the war. Was there any hint of something Trehearne could be blackmailed over?”

  “Not that I found,” Will began, but that was as far as he got before a white sheriff’s department cruiser screeched around the corner in front of them, and a similar vehicle pulled in behind, effectively boxing them in. Captain Ingersoll got out of the rear car, stalking over to Will’s pickup and gesturing that the window come down.

  “Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear, Constable Price.” Ingersoll’s hoarse voice grated out the words. “When I said you were relieved of your duties here, I meant that you were no longer connected with this case. So you had no reason to go searching into the military records of the chief of security at Neal’s Neck, much less turn up here. Perhaps the sheriff was willing to turn a blind eye to these little personal projects of yours”—he glared at Sunny as if this were all her fault—“but the new administration will not tolerate failure to obey orders. So let me put this in words you can understand, Price. You are off the Stoughton case. You are off the Nesbit case. I do not want you interfering in the ongoing investigation. I don’t even want to see you on the streets of Wilawiport. You get that now? I hope like hell you do. I’m told you’re a good officer. Don’t make me fire you.”

  16

  Shadow crouched in the underbrush, feeling his disappointment turn to anger. For a moment, he’d let his hopes rise again. Maybe this time, Sunny was going home with her He.