Cat Nap

by Claire Donally

  “Fine, fine,” Will almost snarled. “So the money is still in play. What are we going to do about these guys?”

  Now it was Tobe’s turn to go poker-faced—not easy, with vegetables covering half of it. “I think I’m going to play the attorney-client privilege card.” He gave Will a hard look with his good eye. “As you said, these guys are gangsters. Can you guarantee Jane and Sunny’s safety if you go after them?”

  Will stood for a moment with his mouth open, then closed it with a snap. “All right,” he said, obviously hating every word. “We’ll keep it quiet for now. I hope you’re right. Otherwise, I can lose my job.”

  Hey, I could lose my life, Sunny almost said, but then thought better of it. But one look in Will’s eyes showed he was thinking the same thing.

  “I’m sorry, Will,” Jane said. “We really didn’t know what to do.”

  Will took a deep breath and then let it out forcibly through his nose. “You’d better get to work fixing Tobe’s face,” he advised. “I think you’re going to have a shiner, but let’s try to minimize the damage as much as possible.”

  Jane carefully examined the cut, cleaning the broken skin. Then she covered it with a layer of ointment and topped it with a little bandage. “Try icing it as much as possible,” she advised, “just don’t rest anything cold on the eye itself. And if you feel sick or dizzy, go see a doctor. A people doctor,” she added with a strained smile.

  “The other thing—you want to pick someplace where you fell, unless you want to say you walked into a door.” Will’s eyes were keen as he looked at Tobe. “Did anybody see this happen?”

  Tobe shook his head. “It was a quiet street, and Jane bundled me into her car pretty quickly.”

  “That’s good,” Will said. “Just decide on your story and stick to it. Now I have to get Sunny home. Then I’ll come back and drive you to Portsmouth.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” Tobe said. “I can call a cab.”

  “Sure you can,” Will told him, “if you want a witness and a record. Do you have a house or an apartment where people will see you?”

  “Nope, I just closed on a house.” Tobe shifted the improvised ice pack again. “So that’s lucky.”

  “Yeah.” Will looked from Sunny back to the front door. “We’d better get going.”

  The air outside was getting cold again, but it was even frostier inside Will’s pickup. They drove in silence for a while, until Sunny finally cracked. “I didn’t want to tell you unless I had to,” she said. “I was trying to keep you from falling into this nonsense.”

  “Uh-huh.” Will’s voice was toneless “I figured I’d better get you alone in case there were any other surprises you had for me. Stuff that Jane’s lawyer shouldn’t hear.”

  “No, that’s it, I promise,” Sunny assured him. “And from the way you’re acting, you can see I did it for your own good.”

  He made a wordless noise, then glanced over at her. “Well, I guess this trumps taking you out and then—what was the word?—‘whining’ over an old girlfriend.”

  Sunny jerked up straight in her seat. “You’re keeping score now?”

  Will gave her a rueful smile. “Apparently, it’s the closest I can come to keeping track of you.”

  They arrived at Sunny’s house, and she gave him an impulsive kiss on the cheek. “I really am sorry.”

  Will looked at her for a long moment. “I wish you could expand on that.” Sunny wasn’t sure whether he meant the apology or the kiss. Then he went to open the door. “Got to ferry Tobe home.”

  Sunny laughed. “There’s a ride where I’d like to be a fly on the wall. Don’t give him a shiner on the other eye.”

  Will waited till Sunny was in the doorway. She waved good-bye and came into an empty downstairs. As he always did when Sunny went out, Mike had gone up early, leaving the living room lights on. Lately, though, when she’d come home from a date, Sunny had found a reception committee. Shadow had always greeted her.

  Can’t think of that now, she thought. Got to get some sleep.

  *

  The next morning, Sunny groaned as she got out of bed. She’d hit the hay early enough, but her mind had kept racing around in circles. And then she’d had weird dreams, where Olek got in a fight with Shadow, and Shadow had knocked him down.

  When Sunny came down the stairs, she found that Mike had made breakfast—a good thing. But he obviously hoped to hear something about last night. Sighing, Sunny gave him the whole story.

  Mike stared. “You know, I’ve lived here all my life, and I never met people like you’re talking about.”

  “Well, you were away a lot.” Sunny dropped the flip reply when she saw the look on her dad’s face. Yeah, thanks to his job Mike hadn’t been around for a lot of things . . . like the accident that took his wife’s life. “I mean, you’ve been lucky, Dad. These are people you wouldn’t want to run into. Besides, they’re Portsmouth people.”

  The appeal to local pride won out. “Portsmouth,” Mike said in dismissive tones, as if that explained everything.

  Sunny arrived at the office and settled into the usual Friday routine, where crowds of shoppers and couples called in with last-minute checks or disasters en route, and Sunny did her best to help them.

  In a way, it was a comforting routine. Sunny was just sort of puttering mindlessly along when the office door opened and Dani Shostak came in. She sat, gawking, as he came up to her desk.

  “The police, they start now to ask questions about the Dr. Rigsdale’s money,” he said. “Very soon now, I have to go somewhere like Montreal. I’d like to have my money back before I go there. Much less trouble.”

  He tilted his head a little, his long, thin face contemplating Sunny. “You think whoever it was killed the doctor, they took the money? I keep on thinking it might still be in his house or office, but Olek says no. For a fellow with his size, he is very good at getting into places.”

  “I’d say Olek is good at a lot of things,” Sunny said. “I just wonder if he went a little farther than he intended, asking Martin about the money.”

  “Olek?” Dani shook his head. “One of the things he’s best at is hitting people. Look at that young fellow last night. Olek hits him just enough so it looks like maybe he falls down instead of getting punched. He is professional. He would be very hurt to hear you say these things.”

  “I’m afraid I’ll have to hurt your feelings more,” Sunny told him. “I find myself wondering if Martin stole from you, you got your money back and killed him, and now you’re trying to double your money by going to Martin’s ex-wife.”

  “That’s a smart idea,” Dani said. “I wonder if you get it from your cop boyfriend.”

  Sunny forced herself to keep looking into Dani’s eyes, and not show her surprise that he knew about Will. She’d been out with Will often enough; anyone could have spotted them together. It was just a little unsettling that she had missed either the big Ukrainian or his skinny boss.

  I guess there are things they’re good at.

  “Well, I suppose these are things you must wonder. Some people I have done business with, they might do bad things like that. Me, I think that just makes trouble. I think maybe you believe me.”

  He spread his hands, a man trying to make a point in a language that wasn’t his own. Then his face got a little chilly, his manner more direct. “But I got to have that much money. Or I end up in trouble.”

  Dani nodded emphatically and went to the door, to discover Mrs. Martinson standing right outside. Dani opened the door and ushered her in with a little bow.

  “Thank you,” Mrs. M. said.

  She got another bow from Dani, and then he was on his way.

  Sunny shook her head. You’ve got to appreciate a gangster with manners.

  “So what brings you to this neck of the woods?” Sunny asked. “Are you picking up something at Judson’s?”

  Helena Martinson shook her head. “I promised you I’d do some more quiet asking around about
Christine Venables. Well, I heard something, very much in confidence. A friend of mine had been shopping in some of the Portsmouth art galleries a few weeks ago. She stopped off to have a cup of coffee in a little place in the artsy area. Anyway, she had just finished and was heading for the door when she noticed Christine in a quiet corner.”

  “She hadn’t seen her before?” Sunny asked.

  “That’s the thing that first struck my friend. She’d been sitting with her back to Christine, but Christine should have noticed her.” Helena cocked her head. “Let’s just say my friend is hard to miss. Christine could have stopped by to say hello—if she’d wanted to.”

  Sunny nodded. “So maybe something was up.”

  “My friend didn’t think about it at the time. She was almost to the door. Why should she go plowing back through this place to get to Christine?” The older woman leaned forward confidentially. “Actually, she was going to. But then her cell phone rang, so she stepped outside to answer it. That should have been the end of the story.”

  From the lift in Mrs. Martinson’s voice, Sunny knew to add, “Except . . .”

  “My friend crossed the street, walking back to her car. And who does she see opposite her, going into the café, but Martin Rigsdale?”

  Sunny frowned in thought. “Did your friend mention the name of this café?”

  Mrs. M. pursed her lips. “From the neighborhood, it had to be something to do with painting . . . or wells.”

  “Wells?” Sunny echoed blankly.

  “Café Artisan,” Helena Martinson suddenly said. “Whenever I hear the name, I think of artesian wells.”

  “As long as it helps you remember,” Sunny told her, chuckling.

  But her neighbor didn’t join in. Instead, Helena looked troubled. “There’s something else I should mention. Another friend of mine was up in the outlets last week. She mentioned seeing Carolyn Dowdey at that pet care place with a cat bed and a bag of food.”

  “Well, we know it wasn’t a sale that brought her in,” Sunny said. “Maybe she’s getting an early start on preparing for that replacement cat she discussed with Jane.”

  “Sunny, that pet adoption class isn’t for another month.” Mrs. Martinson’s voice was troubled as she spoke. “You know that Carolyn isn’t exactly what you’d call retiring. Whenever she got a cat, she quoted chapter and verse from this book on how to get the animals to trust you. It was all about setting aside an empty room where the cat was supposed to get acclimated, providing a bed where the cat could be private, and sitting in the room while they ate.”

  The longer she talked, the blunter Helena became. “This all happened since Shadow got out and went missing.”

  Sunny blinked. “You think she’s trying to forcibly adopt my cat?”

  “Carolyn got something else,” Mrs. Martinson went on, “one of those wooly pet sweaters.”

  This revelation almost got a laugh from Sunny. Shadow was about as likely to wear one of those frou-frou outfits as her dad was to don a ballet tutu. “I don’t think—” she began.

  But her neighbor wasn’t finished. “And she asked how it would look on a gray-striped cat.”

  22

  Long after Mrs. Martinson left the office, Sunny sat at her desk, getting nothing done. Her mind kept skittering between the two facts that Mrs. M. had dropped on her.

  Maybe I should be glad to hear that Shadow is all right, that he’s not freezing out in the woods somewhere. But that thought didn’t give her comfort. The image of Shadow locked in a room somewhere kept rising up in her mind’s eye. And the idea that he’d be kept there until he started acting like a well-behaved pet . . . Shadow had been part of Sunny’s life for months now. She knew him well enough to be sure that he’d never go along with such a plan. He’d try to escape, no matter how dangerous the route. Or by the time this plan was done, he wouldn’t be Shadow anymore.

  With her elbows on the desk, Sunny leaned her forehead into her hands. Her head seemed to be pounding with more thoughts than it could hold.

  Besides worrying about Shadow, Sunny’s brain wouldn’t let go of the other story her neighbor had told, about Christine Venables and her secret rendezvous with Martin Rigsdale. Somehow, that had to be useful. Throw it in the pot with motive and an unreliable alibi, and what kind of stew did that make?

  The evening shadows came, and so did a few calls from clients with last-minute glitches. Sunny took care of the problems, almost glad for the distraction. But by the time she closed up the office, she felt a strange peace. She’d come to a decision. This plan might end up with her flat on her face, but it was the only way she could test her suspicions. She’d have to try the frontal assault.

  So, when she locked up the office, Sunny set off for scenic Piney Brook, as she had always found it described in her tourist information. The area was beautiful, really, even on a chilly Friday evening. The houses out here were mansions in all but name, not merely big like some of the monstrosities going up on the edge of town, but well built and well designed. Like the families who’d lived here for generations, these houses were solid—they belonged.

  You could probably lump three homes like mine into one of these, she thought, pulling up at the address she’d gotten from her computer. And you’d probably still have some room left over.

  She got out of the car and walked to the front door. It was a Friday evening, date night, so there was a good chance Kristi wasn’t in. As for the rest . . . Sunny banked everything on the idea that Christine Venables would follow the Kittery Harbor Way, rich folks edition. She’d have cleaning staff, but not actual servants.

  Sunny’s bet turned out right. She rang the doorbell, and Christine herself answered the door. The woman was dressed in a subdued gray sweater and a darker pair of wool pants. She took in Sunny’s parka and jeans and said, “I’m afraid that if you’re collecting for something—”

  Sunny interrupted her right there. “I’m not here asking for favors, I’m here to do one for you.”

  That shut Christine up. Standing close to her, Sunny could see that although a little gray had crept into Christine’s shoulder-length dark hair, she didn’t hide it with dye. Her patrician features still held up well. Maybe a few fine lines had set themselves in around the edges of her large brown eyes. But in general, her picture would go well in any politician’s election literature, working in a soup kitchen or helping kids at school.

  But instead of the practiced do-gooder campaign expression, Christine looked wide-eyed and wary. “What sort of favor?”

  “I’m going to read the minds of the cops who visited you the other day,” Sunny told her. “They probably told you that they were checking all the folks who brought patients to Martin Rigsdale. That wasn’t really true, although I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t be asking around. In your situation, I don’t think you’d want to be discussing visits from the police.”

  That was a shot in the dark, but Sunny had the satisfaction of seeing it hit home. Instead of slamming the door on her, Christine muttered, “Come in.”

  She led the way into a front parlor with a big fieldstone fireplace and furniture that was older than Sunny—the sort of stuff built to last for generations. “Where’s Kristi?” Sunny asked, making Christine stumble slightly as she went to sit in an overstuffed armchair.

  “She’s out,” the dark-haired woman replied stiffly.

  “And your husband is in Augusta, helping to run the state,” Sunny went on. “Spending a lot of time up there these days. Ah, well, it gives us a chance for a private discussion. I suppose you know that some tongues are wagging about a separation.”

  That looked to have given Christine a few added gray hairs. “But that’s not really what I’m here to talk about. I’m sure you’re more interested in what the police know—and what they might suspect. They know you’d been having coffee with Martin Rigsdale at a diner near his office. You’ve been identified there.”

  True enough. Between Sunny and Tobe, Mark Trumbull had that fact. Now to
mix in a little theory. “They suspect that Kristi’s alibi for you isn’t as rock solid as it seems. How would Kristi handle her medical expenses without you? For that matter, where would she live? Those are just crass, dollars-and-cents reasons why she might stretch the truth in your favor. There might be more high-minded motives, like avoiding scandal—”

  “Stop!” Christine begged.

  “But we haven’t even gotten to the Café Artisan and how you almost got caught there.” After all the buildup, Sunny tried her best shot—and immediately felt terrible as tears began trickling down Christine’s cheeks.

  “Do you want the money now?” she asked in a choked voice. “I thought I was supposed to deliver it tonight.”

  “What?” Sunny asked in shock.

  “What do you mean, ‘What?’” Christine fought to blink her tears away, her eyes getting a bit sharper.

  “You let the cat out of the bag,” Sunny said. “You’re being blackmailed?”

  Christine trembled between fear and anger. “Who are you?”

  “Someone who’s trying to find out who killed Martin Rigsdale,” Sunny told her bluntly. “A friend of mine is being accused, and I’d like to clear her. So what are you paying to hide, the affair or Martin’s murder?”

  A little belatedly, Sunny began looking around to make sure Christine had no weapons close at hand. Looks as if my reporter’s instincts are outrunning my instincts for self-preservation, she thought ruefully.

  But it appeared that she’d gotten a good read on her subject. Christine deflated in her seat. “The affair, of course. Why would I kill Martin? We were in love.” She paused for a second. “At least, I thought we were.”

  “A lot of women come to that conclusion, sooner or later,” Sunny said a little grimly. “Usually it happens when they discover they aren’t the only woman in a man’s life.”