“I tell you again, it bad business to kill the Dr. Rigsdale,” Dani insisted.
“Maybe you decided to make an example of him,” Jane suggested, “because he made trouble for you.”
“Listen.” As Dani’s tone got less friendly, his English got worse. “You don’t kill nobody if they aren’t telling you where the money is first.”
“How much money was it?” Sunny asked.
Dani named a six-figure sum. Jane gasped. It was the same amount that Martin had been trying to get from her—the amount that had earned him a glass of wine in the face.
“Oh, Martin,” she muttered.
“It’s a lot of money,” Dani somberly agreed. “And it isn’t only mine. Sooner or later, the people in Montreal, they start to ask questions. I need to find that money. You want to find who kills your Dr. Rigsdale. Maybe we help each other, eh?”
“Maybe.” Sunny was willing to go along with Dani if it meant getting out of there. But other than discovering this Ukrainian connection, she hadn’t found out anything useful yet.
“Because I think whoever kills the doctor, that person stole my money,” Dani said. “And I got to get it back.”
He looked intently at Jane.
Oh, God, he knows about the foundation, Sunny thought.
“Your husband that used to be, he talked about you,” Dani said. “How when he finished with you, then all of a sudden you have money.”
“It’s not my money,” Jane tried to explain.
“But would you use it to save a life?”
Jane looked stricken.
Would it have made a difference if Martin had explained about getting in over his head with the Ukrainians instead of trying to charm the money out of her? Sunny wondered. And then, Wait a minute. Why would he need that much from Jane? He still had the money he stole from them.
Or did he?
Dani shrugged and spread his hands. “Because if we don’t find our money, we got to get it from somewhere.”
He gestured to Olek. “So now we let you go. But we be in touch, eh?”
Olek opened the door to the alley, politely holding it as Sunny and Jane made their way out. As they got into Jane’s BMW, Dani stepped past them into his SUV. He pulled it away so it no longer blocked their path. Then he got out and made a sweeping gesture with his arm.
Jane took the hint. She started her car, backed it onto the street, and drove off. When they were about ten blocks and two turns away, she pulled to the side of the street. “I’ve got to stop for a minute,” she said. “My hands are shaking too much to drive.”
Sunny knew what she meant. She was shivering, and it had nothing to do with the cold outside.
Jane slowly sank forward until her forehead rested on the wheel. “Oh, Martin,” she moaned, “what have you gotten me into?”
“The first question is, do we tell anybody?” Sunny said. “Our new friend Dani was trying to be nice, but he’s obviously a mobster.”
“And that Olek . . .” Jane just shuddered. “Following him was not one of your better ideas, Sunny.”
“My enthusiasm got the better of my common sense,” Sunny confessed. “It’s the kind of mistake a real rookie reporter would have made.” She shrugged uncomfortably. “Maybe being such rank amateurs is what saved us. I don’t think they’d have been so pleasant and forgiving if Will had been along.”
On the other hand, she thought, Will would have stopped us. But she didn’t actually say that.
“Maybe.” Jane sounded doubtful, not to mention worried. “But they’re expecting us to help them—or give them a big chunk of money.”
“Well, we definitely have to find out more about them,” Sunny said. “I can ask Ken Howell at the Crier to see if his buddies on the other local newspapers have heard anything about new loan sharks in town. And maybe, if I’m careful, I can ask Will—”
“You can’t!” Jane sat bolt upright, staring at her in panic. Then, a little more quietly, “I don’t think they’d like you passing along what they said.”
“I can talk about finding cigarettes, and give the names as something I overheard.” Sunny tried to calm her down. “Then we’ll see what Will can find out.”
She raised a hand to stave off any more protests from Jane. “When Sheriff Nesbit ordered Will to cooperate, he gave him a direct order. Will has to answer any question that Trumbull wants to ask him. As far as I know, Trumbull hasn’t asked anything about Ukrainian gangsters. We’re just trying to find out about Martin’s finances.”
Jane gave her a long, odd look. “The longer I hang around with you, the more I’m willing to bet that you have a very perverted view of the truth,” she finally said.
Sunny could only shrug. “You probably wouldn’t lose money that way. Sadly, there’s one thing that always comes with a reporter’s job: you get to hear a lot of lies.”
When they got back across the bridge into Kittery Harbor, Sunny got on the phone. “Hey, Dad? Sorry I’m running a little later than I expected. Have you eaten yet?”
“Kind of hard, when the cupboard is just about bare,” Mike replied. “I’ve been looking at one of those little cans you feed your friend, wondering if I put in a little chopped onion and mustard, maybe it would taste like tuna salad.”
Sunny laughed. “Trust me, Dad, it would take a lot more than a few condiments to make cat food taste like tuna salad.” She dug out her wallet. “What do you say to a pizza? Maybe half mushroom and half broccoli.”
“You know,” Mike said, “when I was younger, there used to be this stuff called pepperoni . . .”
“Yeah, and I used to have a dad who had a healthy heart,” Sunny shot back. “Be happy I didn’t suggest pineapple chunks.”
She looked in her wallet and scowled. Then she glanced over at Jane. “Would you mind some company? A pie is a little much for two people. Jane, would you like to join us?”
“What?” Mike said into the phone.
“Are you sure—” Jane began.
“Fine, it’s all set up. See you in about half an hour, Dad.” Sunny ended the call and gave Jane a big smile. “There’s just one thing. You’ll have to pay the freight on the pizza. I don’t have enough money with me.” Jane laughed, and readily agreed.
About twenty minutes later, Jane turned onto Wild Goose Drive. Sunny sat in the passenger’s seat, the cardboard pizza box in her lap, feeling the heat of the pie on her thighs, smelling the sauce, the cheese, and yes, the pepperoni on a couple of slices. She had to swallow deeply, or she’d have started to drool. How long ago was that sandwich she’d eaten at her desk?
Jane parked, and Sunny got out, carefully balancing the pie so that the cheese didn’t shift, and walked to the door. Since she was only carrying a sack with their free liter bottle of soda, Jane got there ahead of her and rang the bell.
“Figured it would save you doing contortions to get the key,” she said.
Mike’s voice sounded on the other side of the door. “Coming, coming.” He swung the door open and smiled at Jane. “Welcome, dear.” Then he turned to Sunny. “Let’s get the guest of honor into the kitchen.”
“And by that he means the pizza,” Sunny explained.
Shadow came up, drawn by all the commotion in the doorway. His eyes went wide and his ears perked up when he saw Jane. He came trotting over immediately. But about a foot from their shins, he stopped, wrinkling his nose. Then he stalked away ahead of them.
Must be the smell of Ukrainian mobster on us, Sunny thought. Well, the good news is that if any of them comes ringing the bell, I’ll have Shadow sniff under the door and warn me.
The three of them ate in the kitchen, Mike doing his best to play the genial host while shooting sidewise glances at Jane and then at Sunny.
He’s been rooting for me to kick her butt when it comes to Will, she realized, and he can’t understand why I’ve invited her home. But in between her dad’s nervous glances, Sunny was shooting him “knock it off” looks. The three of us must look like a nervou
s tic convention. The wry thought made Sunny chuckle, earning her another laser-glare of death from her dad.
“This must be a very serious time for you,” Mike said to Jane, emphasizing the word “serious” with an exasperated look at Sunny. “Is there going to be a funeral?”
“That’s an interesting question,” Jane said, sipping at her glass of diet soda as if she wished it were something much stronger. “The chief medical examiner hasn’t yet released Martin’s body. And when I got in touch with them, I found out that someone else had already been making inquiries.”
“Who?” Sunny and Mike said together.
“Dawn Featherstone.” Jane shook her head. “It seems she wanted to save him from my clutches. As if I would want Martin back.”
“Well, this sounds kind of awkward,” Sunny said.
“No, we found a way to resolve it,” Jane told her. “Martin always wanted to be cremated.”
Might give him a taste of what he’s in for, the irreverent voice in Sunny’s head suggested.
“So when all that is taken care of, Dawn will organize a memorial service, and I’ll pay for it.”
Mike looked scandalized. Cremation was definitely not the Kittery Harbor way. “No funeral? No family?”
“Martin’s parents both passed away before I even knew him,” Jane explained. “My dad is no longer with us either, and my mother is in Arizona. She says the heat makes up for all the Maine winters she lived through. Also, although she’s never said it . . . she never liked Martin. Guess Mom is a better judge of character than I am. And neither of us have any siblings. So I figured I’d let Dawn make whatever arrangements she wants in Portsmouth. That was where Martin went off to have his new life. Let him stay there.”
“Uh-huh,” Mike said, looking a bit thoughtful—and relieved.
So it won’t be Kittery Harbor business after all, Sunny thought. Well, Martin was a stranger in town. It shouldn’t be that big a deal.
After that, the conversation settled down a bit. Mike and Jane talked a little politics. Before the Leisters moved away, Jane’s father had been an alderman. No mention was made of the police investigation . . . or of Will Price.
“Well, that really hit the spot,” Jane said as she dug into the last of the broccoli wedges. “I don’t like the reheated taste of pizza by the slice. And getting a whole pie for one person, that’s just wasteful.”
Mike nodded with approval. That was good Kittery Harbor thinking.
“You could always freeze it,” Sunny offered. Back in her New York days, the freezer section of her refrigerator often held relics of several pizza binges.
Mike and Jane both shook their heads. “It never tastes the same.”
When they were done, Jane helped with the dishes and thanked Mike for a pleasant evening. Beaming contentedly, he headed off to the living room to catch up with his shows.
Jane took Sunny by the arm. “Oh my goodness,” she said. “Your car is still downtown. I think it’s only fair that I give you a lift to pick it up.”
They said good night to Mike, pulled on their coats, and went out into the chilly night to Jane’s BMW. As she drove, she said, “Thanks, Sunny. That was worth the price of the pizza. After our little adventure, I needed to be around normal people.”
“And here I stuck you with my dad,” Sunny joked.
Jane laughed. “Oh, it took him a little while to settle down, but then he was a lot of fun.” She glanced over at Sunny. “You’re lucky to have him around.”
“He’s lucky to be around.” Sunny took a deep breath. “At least when he got the chest pains, he had the good sense to call for help immediately instead of trying to tough it out.” She shook her head. “Even so, he was awfully sick—awfully weak.”
“I think you did the right thing, coming up to take care of him.” Jane was silent for a moment as she negotiated a hill. “Oh, I know it screwed up your job. But it’s good that the two of you are together. My dad was gone too quickly. I barely got to Arizona in time to say good-bye.”
“I didn’t know that,” Sunny said.
“Well, who would I tell?” Jane burst out. “That’s why I say it’s good to have your dad underfoot. Someone you can shoot the breeze with, someone with roots around here. Look, I know you and I have had kind of a rocky start. But the two of us—and Will—we have a different perspective from the folks who’ve spent their lives here and only know how the world looks from Kittery Harbor. Like it or not, we’re sort of outsiders in our own hometown. I appreciate that you looked out for me tonight.”
“Well, I had to, after those guys just about kidnapped us,” Sunny said modestly.
“Yeah, I just about ruined a good pair of pants when you all but accused Dani of murder.” Jane laughed, but her voice was a bit shaky again. “I know how to handle animals so they won’t bite me. But that—you’ve got guts, Sunny.”
“More like reporter’s instincts,” Sunny said. And a whole lot of luck, she added silently.
By then, they had reached the silent strip of New Store shop fronts, all of them dark by this time of night. Jane pulled up behind Sunny’s Wrangler and waited until she was in the driver’s seat, then waved good-bye and took off. Alone.
Sunny drove back toward home, her ornery dad, and even ornerier cat.
Which reminds me, she thought. Got to remember to take a shower tonight. I want to wash off whatever is repulsing Shadow.
*
It was nice to enjoy a lazy Saturday morning. Sunny was able to sleep late—well, late-ish. She awoke to find Shadow with his forefeet on her pillow, standing nose to nose with her.
“All right, all right, I’ll take care of the food situation,” she muttered, wrestling her way out of the covers. “Sheesh.”
With nothing pressing, Sunny was able to enjoy a leisurely breakfast, listen to some oddball radio shows, chat with her dad, and make a list for an afternoon food-shopping expedition.
She planned to call Will, but waited till after one o’clock. Will’s tour on the swing shift ended this morning, and she wanted to give him some time to sleep before pestering him. She timed it right. He was yawning as he spoke to her on the phone, but conscious.
“Have you had breakfast yet?” she asked. “What do you say to swinging by the waffle house?”
The restaurant was a sort of tourist trap aimed at the outlet-land shoppers, but they made waffles all day, and the maple syrup was real.
“Sounds good,” Will said. “Shall I swing by to pick you up, or do you want to meet me there?”
“Meet, I think,” she replied. “I’ve got to go shopping afterward.”
They set a time that would allow them both to wash up and get dressed. Sunny whistled as she drove until she was about halfway to the restaurant. Then she began to plot what she was going to tell Will.
*
He sat staring at her, a plate piled with waffles sitting disregarded in front of him. “A cigarette?” he said. “Really?”
“It’s what I found,” she told him.
“I guess I haven’t read your monograph on the subject, Sherlock.” He gave her a skeptical look as he finally tucked into his meal.
“I didn’t need to fool with cigarette ashes, there was a name on the side—in foreign letters,” she told him. “But I recognized the type. It’s called a papirosa. I saw people smoking them in a café in Brooklyn that a friend took me to—Russian mafia types.”
Will choked so badly, maple syrup practically came out his nose. Sunny gave him her napkin to help clean up. “You’re saying Martin Rigsdale was involved with Russian gangsters?”
She shook her head, remembering her promise to Jane about soft-pedaling the Ukrainian connection. “I’m saying that I found a store in Portsmouth that sells the same brand, and I found a guy who buys them by the carton.” The next part was going to be the tricky one. “I overheard the guy talking on his cell phone. It seems his name is Olek, and he was talking to someone called Dani.”
“You just happened to b
e eavesdropping on a guy in the Russian mob?” Will sighed and then gave her a stern look. “I don’t suppose you thought for a moment that might possibly be dangerous?”
Well, I did, just a little too late, Sunny had to admit. But she kept those words to herself. Instead, she asked, “Have you heard about any guys like that in Portsmouth?”
“Not while I was on the force there, no,” Will replied. “When I was way up north with the troopers, though, we dealt with some biker gangs with organized crime connections.”
“Can you ask any of your friends about those guys?”
He frowned. “It’s not going to be easy. They were willing to pass on a little information to help out when the crime was on this side of the river. But this is a murder in their melon patch. People have to know that Trumbull is questioning me. It’s like I’m radioactive—contact with me may be fatal to their careers.”
Will sat silent for a moment, thinking. “But if they’re in Portsmouth, these guys may be active on this side of the river, too. Maybe if I put it that way . . .” He looked down at his rapidly cooling stack of waffles. “Boy, Sunny, you really know how to ruin a guy’s breakfast.”
12
“Hey, I’m sorry,” Sunny said to Will. “Does this mean you’re going to talk to Trumbull?”
“How can I?” Will stabbed his fork into the pile of waffles on his plate. “It’s a pretty thin connection to begin with, and you’ve fooled around with the evidence. Trumbull might even think you planted that cigarette to distract attention from Jane.”
“I wouldn’t do that!” Sunny protested.
“I’m trying to see this from Trumbull’s viewpoint,” Will replied. “He’s already asked me if, based on my experience, you were likely to interfere in his investigation.”
“My dad asked me the same question,” Sunny admitted.
“I wonder why.” Will took a sip of coffee.
“I’ll tell you what I told him,” Sunny growled. “The Portsmouth cops have their best detective on the job. Why should I get involved?”
“Why do I think I hear a ‘but’ coming up here?” Will said wearily.
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