Cat Nap

by Claire Donally

  “Nothing like that,” Sunny assured him. “I’ve, uh, got a friend who was thinking of borrowing some money. I thought with you being more business savvy, you could help me explain things—”

  “Don’t get involved with a shark,” Ollie interrupted. “You start off borrowing to buy buttons and end up losing your shirt. The way they compute the interest, you never get to pay off the principal that you borrowed in the first place.” He chuckled sourly. “It’s as bad as credit cards—except they don’t have people who come to your house and threaten to beat you up.”

  “Do they really do that?” Sunny asked.

  “Yes.” Ollie tried to sound patient. “That’s the big difference between them and your neighborhood bank.”

  “Do they kill people?” Sunny pressed.

  That got a moment of silence out of Ollie. “Jeez, Sunny, how much are you figuring to borrow?”

  “It’s not for me—really,” Sunny insisted. “I just thought you must know more about this kind of financial stuff than anyone else I know.”

  “If you think I hang out with loan sharks, that’s not much of a compliment,” Ollie complained. “I know some guys who got in bed with the sharks. Almost all of them ended up regretting it. These were guys who owned businesses, but because of what they owed, the sharks became their partners—and often, their bosses.” He harrumphed into the phone. “That said, it’s bad business to kill the golden goose. The problem is, not all the guys who go into the loan-sharking line are businessmen. Some of them—I guess you’d call them sadists. But they’re more likely to kidnap someone to get a little leverage when they put the squeeze on someone.”

  “And . . . killing?” Sunny pressed.

  “I guess it’s been known to happen,” Ollie said. “Usually when they really don’t expect to get their money back, and an example has to be made.”

  “Thanks, Ollie. That’s what I thought.”

  “Yeah. Make sure your ‘friend’ hears that. Oh, and I’m definitely counting the petty cash when I come in.” Ollie cut the connection, and Sunny went back to work, such as it was.

  The phone rang yet again. This time it was an excited-sounding Jane Rigsdale.

  “Two things,” she said. “First, I’m really sorry to hear about Shadow. Several of the people who came in mentioned that he’d taken off on you.”

  “What can I say?” Sunny replied. “I’m sorry, too.”

  “You know he’s a bit of a wanderer,” Jane pointed out. “He didn’t stay all the time with Ada Spruance.”

  “Yeah,” Sunny recalled. “That’s the first thing she told me about him.”

  “I was going to warn you when springtime came a little closer that he might develop a case of wanderlust,” Jane said. “I just didn’t think it was likely to happen when the weather was this cold.”

  “He was kind of angry with us—with me,” Sunny confessed. “A neighbor had brought over a puppy, and he didn’t like it.”

  Jane made a sort of noncommittal noise. “Maybe he felt threatened.”

  “Jane, it was a puppy. He wasn’t in fear for his life. If it had caught up with him, it would have probably licked him.”

  “I don’t think Shadow would have allowed that,” Jane said wryly. “But I wasn’t talking about a physical threat. Judging from the way he gets along with people, I’d say Shadow has had a lot of homes in his life. Some, like Ada’s, he might have left on his own, but others, it’s more likely that he was kicked out. He might have seen the puppy as taking over his place.”

  For a moment, Sunny couldn’t talk because of the lump in her throat. “Now I feel horrible. Mrs. M.—Helena Martinson—was only bringing the puppy around because she’d just adopted him. I never thought that Shadow might see it that way.”

  Jane tried to offer some hope. “He might turn back up after a couple of nights in the cold. Also, it’s mighty slim pickings out there, eating-wise. Shadow is a practical little critter. If you see him, you can convince him it was all a mistake.” She got a little more professional. “And if need be, I can help with some suggestions on helping the two animals get along. Pet psychology isn’t my specialty, but I’ve done a little bit of it.”

  “If he appears on my doorstep, you’ll be the first to know,” Sunny assured her. “What’s the second thing you had to tell me?”

  “I think I may have found out who Martin’s dark lady is.” Jane’s voice was back to full excitement now. “Martin has a sub in right now at his practice—like most medical practices, we arrange with other vets to substitute for us when we’re not available.”

  “I see,” Sunny said. “Martin is definitely unavailable these days.”

  “And in some cases, his substitute has ended up overbooked,” Jane picked up the story. “So he asked if I would take one of Martin’s cases. I should have gotten suspicious when the lady in question tried to cancel. I had to shame her into bringing her dog in, and when she did, I found myself examining a perfectly healthy animal who was booked for monthly appointments. And when I took a look at Martin’s notes, I found a whole lot of fancy language that boiled down to observation and administering the occasional supplement—dog vitamins. This is a nice animal—a purebred—but he’s not a show dog. There’s no need to be so obsessive about the dog’s health.”

  “So either Martin was cheating this woman . . .” Sunny began.

  “Or cheating with her,” Jane finished in a stage whisper. “This would cause a stink if it got out. The woman is Christine Venables.”

  “Why does that name sound familiar?” Sunny asked.

  “Because you have a dad who’s interested in local politics,” Jane told her. “State Representative Ralph Venables? This is his wife.”

  “Oh, wonderful,” Sunny said. “It’s not messy enough, we have to add a political scandal.”

  “Also, Tobe managed to track down the waitress you bumped into, and they’ve talked some more.”

  “Tell him to skip the grilled cheese,” Sunny advised.

  “He’s going to try and get a picture of Christine Venables and run it past this woman.” Jane sounded a lot less eager now. “I’d rather not use it—I know what it’s like to have a marriage blow up in my face. But it’s sort of an insurance policy if Trumbull really comes after me.”

  “I’m glad it’s not a decision I’d have to make,” Sunny honestly said. “So, if you’ve been chatting with Tobe, any more news on his availability?”

  “Unmarried,” Jane reported briefly. “He made partner because they wanted his skills.”

  “Just be careful,” Sunny joked. “Lawyers are trained in persuasion.”

  *

  Sunny finished the day’s work and sat for a long moment in front of her computer, thinking. Then she called Helena Martinson. “Are you all set for milk and stuff?”

  “You really shouldn’t bother,” Mrs. Martinson replied.

  “I’m three stores away from a market,” Sunny pointed out. “How much of a bother is that?”

  “Well, I suppose I could do with a quart of the one percent milk,” Mrs. M. said.

  “Fine,” Sunny told her. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

  She turned off her computer, got her parka, locked up the office, and headed over to Judson’s.

  When she arrived at her neighbor’s house, Mrs. Martinson had coffee perking away. “I thought we might find a use for some of that milk,” she said with a smile. But when she took the sack, Sunny could see that she limped her way into the kitchen. And she had trouble negotiating the baby gate she had set up in the doorway, beyond which Toby the pup yipped in excitement to see a visitor in the house.

  “Let me help with that.” Sunny hurried after her hostess.

  “It’s not as bad as it looks,” Mrs. Martinson insisted. “I’ve got a bruise on my knee, and it slows me down walking.”

  “Well, you should take it easy while it heals properly,” Sunny told her, taking the tray with the cups, saucers, milk pitcher, and sugar bowl. “Let’s sit down
and enjoy this properly.”

  They settled in the living room with Toby whining after them.

  “So what would you like to talk about, dear?” Mrs. M. asked with a guileless smile.

  “Oh, you’re good,” Sunny said, laughing. She took a sip of coffee. “What can you tell me about the Venables family?”

  “Well, obviously, Ralph Venables is a state representative. He’s married to Christine, and they have a daughter, Kristi, who’s a year or two out of college. She’d been working in Boston, but lost her job and is home now.” Helena frowned, trying to bring up details. “They’re fairly well off. Ralph came from money and was involved in a real estate business, but got out before the bottom fell out of that. As far as I know, he hasn’t invested in anything foolish. Ralph got reelected last November and is starting his second two-year term. Christine’s people came from farther north, respectable but not rich. She actually helped to set up the 99 Elmet Ladies and would have liked to be more involved. But it might look too much like politics.”

  “And that’s what anybody who searched the newspapers would find,” Sunny said with a smile. “But what’s the dirt?”

  “We-e-ell,” Mrs. Martinson drew out the word, “they have a beautiful house over in Piney Brook, but I hear Ralph has been spending most of his time up in Augusta.”

  Sunny nodded. “You think that’s more than the press of government business?”

  “He wasn’t so diligent in his first term.” Mrs. M. took a sip of her coffee. “He may be trying to earn some brownie points—what do the politicians call it? Carrying the can?” She pursed her lips. “But he hasn’t really been home in months. And when he does come down, he rarely stays overnight.”

  “I bow to your years of experience,” Sunny told the older woman. “What does that say to you?”

  “A possible separation, but they’re trying to keep it quiet,” was Helena Martinson’s verdict. “They may have held it together for the election, but now they’re easing into a divorce. There have been some rumors. I’ve heard them, but so far it’s been all talk.”

  She aimed bright eyes at Sunny. “But maybe not anymore, I suspect.”

  “‘Suspect’ is a good word,” Sunny replied. “This, as they used to say when I was working, is definitely not for publication.” She briefly told the story of Martin Rigsdale’s two ladies. “The blonde is pretty obviously Dawn Featherstone, but the dark lady could be Christine Venables.”

  “Very Shakespearean,” Mrs. Martinson said. “I just hope it doesn’t turn out to be one of those revenge tragedies.”

  “If they’re heading for a divorce anyway, is there any reason to get all dramatic about it?” Sunny asked.

  “One word: ‘politics.’ Two people might dissolve a marriage with a minimum of fuss and bother. But the threat of political scandal could complicate things considerably. It could hurt Ralph’s electability for the office he holds or keep him from getting any higher up the ladder.”

  “Possible motive,” Sunny admitted. “But enough to kill for?”

  “It does seem a little cold-blooded,” Mrs. Martinson agreed. “But consider this. It’s one thing to decide that a marriage is over, to come to that rational conclusion. Even so, it’s something else to discover that your wife is sleeping with another man. That could lead to a hasty reaction.”

  “And a bigger scandal to keep quiet,” Sunny finished. “And, of course, if there’s a divorce settlement to be made, any kind of scandal hurts Christine.”

  Mrs. Martinson nodded. “As you say, motive. Strong enough to kill over? I can’t tell. But I can say this—Martin Rigsdale had a lot to answer for.”

  Sunny fell uncharacteristically quiet for a few moments. She’d been involved with a guy who’d been getting divorced, living apart, just waiting for the final papers.

  And then Randall hadn’t gotten divorced at all.

  Maybe this is just hitting a little too close to home for me, Sunny decided. I’m seeing too many sides to this one.

  “As you said when we started, this story is definitely not for publication.” Mrs. Martinson sat very straight in her armchair, her cooling cup of coffee held between both hands. “But I wonder if there are more pieces to put together. Let me see what I can find.”

  *

  Shadow regarded the sandwich suspiciously. In his experience, food did not usually appear in the middle of a road, especially a sandwich that didn’t even have a bite in it. He tried to remember anything like this. Sometimes humans threw papers from their go-fast things, and sometimes there was food in there. But that was usually in warmer times. This time of year the two-legs didn’t leave windows open. He remembered once seeing a car with a sack of food left on the roof. The car had moved, the sack had fallen, and Shadow had investigated. But there was nothing in there that a self-respecting cat would eat. Here, though . . .

  He could smell the rare roast beef even before he came around the curve in the road. Shadow looked around. A car sat still on the side of the road not too far away. But nothing moved in the failing light. He peered at the sandwich again, and his stomach rumbled.

  Shadow had walked very far since he left the space under the deck. He hadn’t had as much luck as he’d hoped in finding food. In fact, he’d had none. He was tired, and cold, and very empty. Soon he’d have to find a safe place where he could sleep. It would be good to do that with a full belly.

  He looked both ways along the empty road again and, crouched low, approached the sandwich. One of the pieces of bread had fallen away, leaving the meat out in the open.

  I was lucky to find this before some other animal did, he finally thought, tearing a morsel free with his teeth. Oh, it was good to have food.

  And then, all of a sudden, things were very, very bad. Something swooped down on him, and he suddenly found himself trapped in folds of fur. What kind of creature was this? It apparently could fly, but it had fur. And it stank! Shadow had seen Biscuit Eaters who liked to roll in dead things. But whatever this animal had rolled in was worse than dead. It made Shadow a little light-headed to breathe this reek.

  Still, he tried to fight, kicking, unsheathing his claws. But he couldn’t land a good blow or draw blood in the stifling folds.

  And then it got worse. He felt himself pulled from the ground, as if some gigantic bird was taking him away. Shadow couldn’t help himself. He yowled in terror.

  And then he found himself falling, landing with a thud partially softened by the fur around him. Then came a sharp slamming sound. Shadow continued to fight against the furry folds enveloping him, finally getting free. This was no animal! Or rather, it might have been once, but now it was a dead thing. He had the horrible suspicion that it was now a human coat. And now that he was out of its folds, he could sense that he was in a fairly small space crowded with other things. He felt metal, and what seemed like a rug. Very faintly, he saw an outline of light. But no matter how hard he clawed at it, he couldn’t make the outline bigger.

  Then the whole space began to move, and Shadow knew where he was. It was the back part of a go-fast thing—the part for holding things!

  He’d investigated a few of them in his travels, but he’d always been careful not to get caught inside. There had been interesting smells and odd things that could be played with, but he’d always stayed outside.

  Just my luck, to be trapped in a place that smells so bad. In the close confines of the trunk, the stink from the furry coat drowned out almost everything else.

  This was very bad, indeed. He had to get out! Shadow scratched, and cried, and hurled himself at the metal walls around him until he lay panting on the floor, sick and hurting. His claws went for that faint outline of light, growing fainter now. They scraped uselessly at metal.

  He tried to get to his feet, but his legs wouldn’t cooperate. Shadow flopped down, his head spinning, that dreadful scent clogging his nostrils. He gagged, and what little he had eaten came back up again. Twisting around, he managed not to choke. But the darkness inside
this space seemed to grow darker yet.

  So dark, he couldn’t even think . . .

  17

  When Sunny got home, she found her father sitting at the kitchen table, having nuked himself a bowl of frozen soup. “Sorry to be getting home a little late,” she said. “I picked up a quart of milk for Mrs. Martinson, and we got to talking.”

  She got herself out another pouch of soup and began heating it up. “How was your day?”

  “It feels a little odd around here without Shadow, I have to admit,” he said. “The only thing odder was some of the phone calls I got. I wish you hadn’t mentioned a reward, Sunny. A bunch of the calls I got were people checking to see whether the information they had was worth enough to leave. And most of the information that people gave for free—well, that’s about what it’s worth. We’ve got about ten thousand people living in this town, and from the sound of it, there are about five thousand gray or striped cats around here. I tried to mark where people saw these cats on a map, and it was all over the place, from the Piscataqua River to Piney Brook, up to Sturgeon Springs and Saxon.”

  He smiled at her, trying to sound positive. “I guess the good news is that the word has certainly gone out far and wide. People are being very generous with their information. I just hope we’ll be able to figure out what’s useful. One nut actually claimed she saw a cat being stolen off the street. I figure by tomorrow, we’ll be hearing about the saucer people either dropping cats off or taking them away.”

  “Poor Dad.” Sunny reached across the table and took his hand. “This must be such a waste of your time.”

  He shrugged. “In between, I got out of the house. Went to some of the stores up in outlet-land where I take walks and persuaded them to put up posters there.” Mike gave her a lopsided kind of grin. “If we don’t ask, we don’t find out anything, do we?”

  “I guess not,” Sunny said. “And thanks, Dad.” She got up to make some sandwiches to go with the soup. They still had lots of turkey in the fridge.