When they’d finished supper, they went to the living room. Sunny found it a bit odd to be sitting in an armchair again instead of on the floor, playing with Shadow. She also found that paying full attention to a lot of the shows did not improve them.
The phone rang, and Sunny picked it up, bracing herself for either a demand for a reward or some new crazy theory about Shadow’s disappearance.
Instead, it was Mrs. Martinson. “Did you know that there’s a memorial for Martin Rigsdale tomorrow evening? One of my friends from Portsmouth called with the news.”
“I knew there was going to be a memorial,” Sunny said. “It was supposed to depend on when the chief medical examiner released the body.”
She could almost feel her neighbor’s shudder over the phone. “Not that I’m going,” Mrs. M. hastily put in. “But don’t you feel it’s odd that Jane Rigsdale is doing this on the other side of the river?”
“Jane isn’t,” Sunny explained. “She’s paying for it, but letting Dawn Featherstone make the arrangements. As she always kept reminding me, Martin was her ex-husband. He went off to Portsmouth to start a new chapter in his life.”
“A final chapter, as it turns out,” Helena Martinson added disapprovingly.
“Well, it’s a chapter he didn’t share with Jane, and I guess she doesn’t feel the need to take part in any farewell.”
“It still seems strange,” Mrs. M. repeated.
When she ended the call, Sunny punched in Jane’s number and asked about the memorial.
“That’s right,” Jane confirmed. “The ME released Martin’s remains late today, cremation tomorrow, and the memorial starting at seven o’clock.”
“That seems a bit rushed,” Sunny said.
“Yeah, well, look at it from Dawn’s point of view.” Jane’s tone became considerably more sour. “Tuesdays are when I have evening hours, so she can be sure I won’t turn up like an unwelcome guest. Not that I have any intention of showing my face.”
“Okay,” Sunny said. “Just wanted to make sure.”
“Any luck on the Shadow front?” Jane asked.
“No news,” Sunny reported. “A lot of tips that point in all directions, but nothing solid.”
“Keep your chin up,” Jane said. “Shadow is a survivor. I’m betting he’ll find his way home.”
“I hope so,” Sunny sighed. She hung up and turned to Mike. “Mrs. Martinson called to tell us that the memorial for Martin Rigsdale is tomorrow.”
“I guess that means an early supper,” Mike said.
“What?”
“We have to pay our respects,” her father said.
“Martin Rigsdale was not what you’d call a respectable person,” Sunny argued. “And he certainly didn’t give me much respect. The one time we met, he hit on me.”
Mike looked uncomfortable, but determined. Obviously, this was the Kittery Harbor Way. But he did unbend enough to say, “Your mother always had a good explanation about going to wakes and memorials. She used to say it’s not for the guest of honor—wherever they are, they could probably care less. It’s for the living people. That’s why we’re paying respects.”
*
Shadow woke up to find himself in a strange room. It was pretty much empty, except for things that a cat might like—or use. He found an enclosed bed, like a cave, but with comfortable padding. Just outside the opening for that stood a scratching post. Toys were scattered across the carpeting. Against the wall he found bowls for food and water, but nothing in them.
The only human furniture in the room was a single chair. One wall had shelves built in from the floor to the ceiling, like the setup in Sunny’s room where she kept her books. But here, the shelves were bare.
All in all it had the makings of a Good Place, except that Shadow couldn’t get out the door. And then there was the smell. It wasn’t as overpowering as when Shadow had been trapped in the trunk, just about wrapped in a coat saturated with the powerfully unpleasant scent.
Here, in a bigger room, the smell was more diffuse. But it clung in the nose like a nagging undertone. Now he recognized it—not dog and dead things, but the scent of that weird Old One who came to screech at Gentle Hands.
The One Who Reeks has been in here, Shadow thought. She’s sat in that chair often enough to mark it with her scent.
He prowled around the rest of the room, trying to see what else his nose might tell him. Nothing much.
In the area around the bowls, he detected traces of another cat—a female—and the scent of sickness.
But he didn’t smell the she in the sumptuous bed. In fact, that had store smells, like the bed that Sunny had brought home for him.
Shadow stood very still for a moment, not wanting to mewl. He missed Sunny. He missed having his bed next to hers. He missed being able to climb into bed with her. Why did she let that Biscuit Eater come into the house? Why couldn’t she be happy with him?
He pushed the miserable feelings away with anger, leaping onto the chair that stank of the One Who Reeks. Give him a scratching post, would she? He’d show her what claws were for!
Shadow didn’t ignore the smell that tore at his nose. Instead, he used it to fuel his fury, clawing at the upholstery until the stuffing showed. He dropped to the floor, panting from the exertion.
He didn’t know how much later the door opened. For a moment, the One Who Reeks stood frozen in the doorway with bowls of food and water in her hands, staring. Then she began screeching.
Shadow leaped for freedom, but the door slammed shut.
He hissed in disgust.
And she took the food with her.
*
Sunny made an effort to get into work a little early on Tuesday. After all, she intended to leave right on the dot that evening. She tended her computer and took care of all the usual jobs. It had been a while since she’d reconciled the petty cash, but she did that right before lunch. Ollie might have been twitting her about needing the services of a loan shark, but she wanted to make sure the office finances were in good order—just in case he really did check.
She was in luck—income, outgo, and cash in hand all balanced out perfectly.
One less thing to worry about, she thought.
As quitting time came around, she stepped into the bathroom and checked her reflection. Sunny had abandoned her usual business casual dress code for the day. She’d gotten out a dark gray suit—something she used to save for serious interviews back in her reporting days. With a muted silver blouse, it looked good without being too flashy. In fact, she looked good. The only problem was that her hair was getting a bit out of control again. Sunny did what she could, closed up the office, and headed home.
She found Mike in the living room, watching the news in what he called his “wedding and funeral suit.”
“Looking good, Dad,” she complimented him.
With a crisp white shirt and a sober tie, Mike could have been a model in a shopping circular. He hooked a thumb in the waistband of his trousers. “It does fit better,” he admitted. “Last time I wore this outfit, I felt a bit squeezed in. Figured when it was my turn to be front and center in the casket, they’d have to slit the suit up the back to make it look like it fit me.”
“Dad!” Sunny stared at him. She didn’t know what got into her father when he had to deal with funerals.
“It’s true,” Mike insisted. “I had a friend who used to work at Saxon Funerals. That was one of the tricks they used if the guest of honor turned out to be a little too fat for his good suit.”
He shrugged. “It’s not as if people are going to see.”
They had a simple supper and set off for Portsmouth. The funeral chapel was pretty close to Martin’s office, a white brick structure with a large parking lot.
“Looks like a good-sized crowd,” Mike said, glancing around. “I guess Martin was fairly well liked.”
Sunny parked her Wrangler toward the edge of the lot. She’d put on a black wool coat that had seemed warm enough in New Y
ork but failed to deal with the chilly wind whipping among the cars. Mike jammed his hands in the pockets of his heavy trench coat, muttering, “I’ll be glad to get inside.”
Martin’s memorial took up the whole ground floor. Instead of the traditional casket, easels featured a collage of pictures—Martin playing golf, Martin looking convivial at parties, Martin accepting awards, even a few shots of Martin with some four-legged patients.
A few of the pictures included Dawn Featherstone. None of them included Jane.
While Sunny perused the photo montage, Mike unabashedly studied the crowd. “I know a few folks here,” he murmured.
Sunny felt a presence at her elbow and turned to see Dawn Featherstone glaring at her.
“What are you doing here?” the young woman asked, her usually soft features taut with stress. She looked as if she’d lost some weight over the past week. Dawn was dressed all in black. On a closer look, though, the pants she was wearing didn’t quite match the shade of her jacket. Her blouse was buttoned all the way up to the neck. Two strong spots of color showed on her cheeks.
“I’m not here looking for trouble,” Sunny told Dawn quietly. “I only knew Martin briefly, but my dad felt we should pay our respects.”
Dawn gracelessly shook hands with Mike, her expression suspicious.
“Dad mentioned seeing several acquaintances in the crowd,” Sunny went on. “I’ll just stand in the back while he says hello. And then we’ll be gone.”
True to her word, Sunny found a quiet corner and stood looking on while Mike worked the room like a seasoned politician, shaking hands and speaking with people, being introduced and chatting some more.
I bet Martin would be pleased with the turnout, Sunny thought, watching the visitors. Pretty well-dressed crowd, too.
A lot of the men had designer suits. The women had winter tans and real jewelry. For a moment, Sunny felt a little sorry for Dawn. She was trying to be a good hostess, greeting people, talking about the photos. Most of the people were treating her like the maître d’ at a restaurant. No, they’d be more considerate of a maître d’—he had the power to stick them at a bad table. Dawn, with her mismatched suit and strained manners, was going to a lot of trouble . . . for damned little in the way of appreciation.
As Mike worked his way toward her, Sunny amused herself by searching for brunettes in the crowd. Had Christine Venables shown up for this sad occasion?
Mike finally rejoined Sunny. She leaned toward his ear. “If you’ve had enough, I’m ready to go. No need to overstay a pretty brittle welcome.”
“Okay,” he said. They turned to look for Dawn—and found her shaking hands with a woman who had a few glints of silver in her glossy dark hair. The woman was very serious and polite, compared to the perfunctory way a lot of the guests treated Dawn. But the girl’s face had gone dead white, and her polite smile had become more of a grimace.
“Let’s wait a minute,” Mike said. “Let her finish talking with Christine Venables.”
Sunny nearly burst out at her dad’s innocent identification. She hadn’t shared with him what Mrs. Martinson had told her. As they approached, Sunny could see Dawn nodding jerkily to something Christine said. The older woman nodded back and then moved off. Sunny stepped up. “We’ll be going now. Thanks for your consideration.”
Dawn was still obviously changing mental gears. She stared at Sunny blankly for a moment, then remembered who she was. For a second aggression flickered through her eyes, but then Sunny’s words sank in. “You’re welcome,” Dawn finally said. “Excuse me—there are some more people—”
Mike offered his condolences, and then they escaped to reclaim their coats.
“Okay,” Sunny said. “We rushed to get here, got crushed in with a lot of snooty people, caught some attitude from Dawn, and now we’re outside freezing in our good clothes. Was it worth it?”
“You were decent to that girl when a lot of other people weren’t,” Mike replied. “That’s paying respect.”
They’d just gotten to Sunny’s Wrangler when her cell phone began bleeping. With a practiced movement, Sunny answered it and put it to her ear to hear Will’s voice. He sounded worse than anyone at the funeral had.
“I tried you at home and wound up getting the machine,” he said. “Look—I got a call from one of my old Portsmouth friends. Trumbull and Fitch got Jane out of her office and brought her down to the station again.” His voice got more strained. “I can’t go down there. It’s a lot to ask, but could you—”
“Actually, we’re pretty close by,” Sunny told him. “Tonight was the memorial for Martin Rigsdale, and Dad felt we should go.” She glanced over at Mike. “Would you mind a trip to the police station?”
“As long as I’m not in custody, okay,” Mike replied, a twinkle in his eyes.
“Okay. We’re heading there now,” Sunny said to Will.
They got in the Wrangler and headed for the municipal complex.
“I don’t know how long this may take,” she warned Mike.
“It’s not as though I have anything pressing tomorrow morning,” he said. “You’ll have to worry about getting to work.”
As it turned out, neither of them needed to worry.
Sunny brought her Jeep up to the porch outside the station entrance just in time to see Tobe Phillips and Jane emerge from the building, laughing and smiling.
Behind them, she could see a glowering Detective Mark Trumbull standing at the glass panel.
Sunny shook her head. He’s just not seeing things he likes through that door.
18
Sunny opened the door of her SUV and got out. “Are you guys all right?” She honestly wondered if Jane and Tobe might not have been drinking, they were so giddy.
“We’re fine.” Jane got her laughter under control, but she still smiled at Sunny. “They came in towards the end of office hours, Fitch and one of the sheriff’s men. Rita was kind of hysterical—” Jane glanced at Tobe. “Or was that me? Anyway, Rita knew to call Tobe, and he was here waiting for me. Damn good thing, too, because without him I’d probably have said something stupid and be sitting in a cell by now.”
She lowered her voice, leaning toward Sunny. “I have to thank Will for suggesting Tobe. He was really great in there.”
Then Tobe took up the story. “I think they honestly expected to close the case tonight.” He wasn’t loud, but his face shone like a member of the winning team being interviewed in the locker room after the big game.
“They weren’t at all prepared when I brought up the connection between Martin and Christine Venables, and I think the political side of it really knocked them for a loop. They’ll have to do a bit of homework before they even start thinking of questioning Jane again. Thanks, Sunny.”
Mike opened his window and leaned out. “I guess I should say congratulations,” he said. “You don’t usually see people coming out of a police station looking so jolly. What had you laughing like that?”
“Hi, Mr. Coolidge.” Jane took a moment to introduce Tobe. “It’s nothing, really. I was just so sure when they took me in here that I wouldn’t be coming out. And then, as we were walking away, I began to tremble. I guess Tobe must have realized it. He took my arm and mentioned something silly from school.” A giggle escaped her at the memory. “It’s something I probably hadn’t thought about in twenty years. Next thing I know, I’m laughing, and so is he.”
“I guess that’s a good thing to get your spirits up,” Sunny said. “But did you realize that Detective Trumbull was on the other side of that glass door watching you?”
Hearing that sobered Jane up pretty quickly. She shot a glance at the door, but the space was empty now.
“Maybe that wasn’t such a good thing,” she said quietly. “I wouldn’t want him to think we were laughing at him.”
Tobe got a bit more serious, too. “Well, I don’t think it’s a good idea to go back inside and try to tell him,” He sent a considering gaze over Sunny and her dad. “I’m pretty impr
essed that you two showed up so quickly. Did Rita call you also?”
“Oh, Kittery Harbor has the fastest gossip service on the whole East Coast,” Sunny assured him, without giving her source. “That’s lucky. Also it’s lucky that we happened to be nearby. If we’d been a little longer hearing about Jane, you’d have gotten her out before we even arrived here.”
Jane, in the meantime, had finally taken in the way they were dressed. “You were at the memorial.”
“Briefly,” Sunny said. “Dad thought that making an appearance was the right thing to do. We were just on the way out when we got the call.”
“What memorial?” Tobe asked.
Jane explained about allowing Dawn to run a service for Martin.
“You didn’t do her any favor with that,” Sunny told her. “Martin’s snooty clients, or associates—I don’t know if you’d really call them friends—were treating her like one of the servants.”
“I didn’t twist her arm,” Jane said. “She wanted to do it.”
“Looks to me as if she was regretting that.” Sunny gave Jane a sidewise look. “Especially when Christine Venables showed up. A little bit of tension in the air.”
“Really?” Tobe spoke up. “Christine Venables is at this memorial?”
Jane shot him a look. “Before you ask, I don’t want to go there, even if I am on this side of the river.”
Tobe shook his head. “The thought never crossed my mind. I think you should go home.”
“We could give you a lift,” Mike offered.
At the same time, Tobe said, “I’ve got my car here.”
Jane had the grace to look embarrassed. “I don’t want to put you out.”
“It’s no problem, really.” Tobe smiled.
“And I suppose you guys have legal things to discuss,” Sunny added, thinking, Sheesh, it’s like high school all over again. All the guys want to go with Jane.
Tobe led Jane off to his Lexus, and Sunny got back behind the wheel of her Jeep. “Okay, Dad,” she said, pulling on her seat belt. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
“Are you going to call Will and let him know how things turned out?” Mike asked.
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