“The only fish Zach sells comes in cans,” Will said. “I thought they’d buried the hatchet—except for the parking space thing.”
Sunny laughed. Like a lot of New England towns, Kittery Harbor had a sort of unwritten law when it came to snowstorms. He who clears snow for a parking space has exclusive use of said space for twenty-four hours. If the shoveler moves his car, he can stake a claim to the space with a marker.
The beginning of winter had been pretty mild, but when the first big storm came, Zach had cleared a space in front of his store for himself. Neil, who didn’t come from this part of the woods, pulled into Zach’s spot after removing the milk crate Zach had left as a marker.
Zach got his revenge though, thanks to a buddy working in municipal street clearing. Several front-loaders full of snow had created a small mountain where Neil’s car had usurped the space. When things had been explained to him, Neil turned out to be a pretty good sport, hiring a bunch of local kids to clear the whole block.
“I don’t think Neil will go the extra mile if we have another big storm,” Sunny said.
“What do you mean?” Will sat up straight in his chair.
“I think the store is in trouble,” Sunny told him. “You know that spot has been a revolving door. I’ve noticed that Neil doesn’t offer the variety of fish he used to have. And I notice because I shop there occasionally to pick up something for Dad’s supper. Unlike some people, we can’t live on burgers all the time.”
“Can’t help it that I’m not wild about fish,” Will said. “And I didn’t have a burger last night. I had a steak.” He smiled at his joke, but Sunny wasn’t buying it. Again, she’d caught something off in his response, something that made her reporter’s antenna tingle. Okay, maybe she was an ex-reporter, but she still got the tingle.
“Well, this isn’t helping us get a better picture of whoever came after our furry friend here,” Will said, changing the subject again. “I’ll check with Zach and see if I can find out anything else and ask the other store owners if they saw something out of the usual.” He shrugged. “But if you want to keep the little guy safe, you should probably keep him at home.”
“Yeah—like I can tell him that.” Sunny rolled her eyes. “You know he does what he wants. And these days he wants a taste of fresh flounder more than crunchy tuna treats.” She watched as Shadow sat on his haunches, his head swiveling back and forth between them. “Maybe this was enough of a scare that he’ll avoid trouble for a while.”
As she spoke, Shadow uncurled his tail from around his paws and strolled over to Will, extending his neck in a silent demand for a head scratch.
“I wouldn’t bet on it,” Will said.
From the glance Shadow shot from over his shoulder, he was thinking the same thing.
*
Shadow leaned against the two-leg’s fingers scratching his head. Sunny’s He wasn’t as good at it as Sunny, but Shadow was willing to try different things. Besides, how was the He to learn if he didn’t practice? Shadow kept his head in place until he’d had enough. Then he drew back, stretched, and sat again, watching the humans talk.
From the tone, he figured they were winding down, and he was right. Sunny’s He rose to his feet and rested a hand on the big piece of furniture Sunny sat behind, bringing his face to her cheek.
Shadow had seen many humans do that during his travels, but he still wasn’t sure what was going on. Was the He sniffing her or licking her? Anyway, it was quickly done, and the human male walked to the door and outside. The blast of chilly air reminded Shadow of what had happened out there.
Too bad Sunny’s He wasn’t around when that Smoky One tried to get me, he thought. Shadow had seen the He hit a bad two-legs who’d tried to hurt Sunny, and even knock him down. That would have been good, even better than the Big One shouting and scaring the Smoky One away.
Shadow couldn’t help unsheathing his claws at the thought. He wanted the Smoky One to suffer for grabbing him and scaring him like that. A snorting hiss escaped from his throat at the thought of being held helpless. He’d keep a wary eye—and nose—out for that one with the stink of smoke all around him. Shadow jerked as he detected movement above and behind him, but it was only Sunny reaching down to pet him. He’d have to remember, though, that was how the Smoky One had gotten him, being sneaky.
That definitely was not a good thing.
*
Shadow sat in front of Sunny’s desk, staring out the door after Will, his tail twitching. That should have been the tip-off. When Sunny went to pet him, Shadow spooked, flying up and off as if he were on springs—high tension springs.
Guess I should be glad he didn’t scratch me, Sunny thought ruefully. This little episode must have shaken him up more than he wants to let on.
A second later, Shadow was back, rubbing against her shins with a contrite purr. Sunny dropped to one knee, opening her arms. Shadow leaped aboard, his purr getting louder as he snuggled close.
“I know, I know,” she told him. “At least it can’t get any worse.”
The phone rang.
“Sunny?” Whenever Sunny heard that tone in her father’s voice, she braced for bad news. It was the same voice she’d heard when he’d told her about his heart attack—although it had been a lot weaker then.
She repressed a sigh. “What’s up, Dad?”
“Do you think you can get off work a little early today?” Mike Coolidge asked. “Helena has a bit of a situation, and I’m hoping you can help.”
Helena Martinson was the lady in Mike’s life, and in Sunny’s opinion the best thing that had happened to him after recovering from that cardiac scare.
“Got to finish up a little job here.” Sunny shot a guilty glance at her computer screen, with the web software only halfway rolled back. “But after that I can make my escape. By the way, Shadow turned up. I’ll drop him off at home.”
“Good, good.” Mike sounded distracted.
“Aren’t you going to tell me what Mrs. M. needs?”
“Oh, right.” Mike paused for a second. “Helena got a call from Florida.”
Sunny grinned. “Is she going down to escape this weather?”
“No, it was a call from Abby. She managed to find a flight today and just took off. She expects to land in Portsmouth in about two and a half hours.”
“Oh, Abby! Right!” Sunny had altogether forgotten about Helena’s daughter’s upcoming visit, maybe because the journey from California to Portsmouth had begun to resemble Homer’s Odyssey. Since Abby had taken off two days ago, the polar vortex had sent a sucker punch into America’s midsection, cutting the nation in two between the east and west coasts with violent storms. Abby had been stranded in Texas. As the storms blew eastward, they cut travel between north and south, further complicating Abby’s attempts to get to New England.
Now she was apparently on the final leg. Sunny looked out the window at the dying sunset, making the connection. “Helena wants to meet her, but she doesn’t like to drive in the dark anymore.”
“Would you mind?” Mike asked.
“Of course not. Just let me finish a little brain surgery on this computer, and I’ll be heading out.”
Actually, restoring the system to its previous state wasn’t quite as finicky as brain surgery, but it took Sunny a little while. Shadow took up residence on her lap and occasionally tried to “help” with a paw on the keyboard. At last, she finished and set the cat back on the floor. Shadow made a protesting sound at being left, staring up at Sunny as she collected her parka. Then she scooped him up again, killed the lights, and left, locking the door. Sunny carefully deposited Shadow inside her Wrangler, parked at the curb half a block from the office.
“Now stay there,” she told him as he sat on the passenger-side seat. “We don’t need any more excitement from you today.” Sunny got behind the wheel, started the SUV, and off they went.
“Let’s get you inside and fed,” Sunny said to Shadow. “Looks as though Mrs. M. wants to get her show on the road as soon as possible.”
Shadow led the way, tail high, obviously feeling more confident in familiar surroundings. At least he has the good sense to choose a nice, warm house over fooling around out in the dark and cold, Sunny thought as she unlocked the door. As soon as they stepped into the front hall, Sunny heard her father call, “We’re in here.”
Sunny turned to the arched entrance way that led to the living room. Shadow, nosy as ever, scampered ahead. Helena and Mike sat companionably on the couch, the picture of a nice older couple. Sunny’s father was on the tall side, with an unruly mass of white curls growing out of his Christmas haircut, his startling blue eyes staring fondly at the lady next to him. Helena Martinson was petite and lovely, dressed in a pants suit that contrasted with Mike’s flannel shirt and jeans.
In the old days, people wore suits when they went flying, Sunny thought with a smile. Mrs. M. wears one to visit the airport.
“I hope I’m not imposing,” Mrs. Martinson began, then broke off. “What’s the matter, Shadow?”
The cat stopped his advance, peering suspiciously around the furniture.
“I think he’s looking for Toby,” Sunny said diplomatically. Since their neighbor had adopted the blond lab pup, he often accompanied her on visits. Toby seemed to grow exponentially, developing into a high-spirited, galumphing presence, convinced that Shadow was his best friend. Shadow, however, made a habit of disappearing whenever he found Toby in the house.
“Toby is home.” Mrs. M. leaned down to pet Shadow. “Saving up his energy for when he meets Abby.”
“Well, he hasn’t grown enough that he could knock her down,” Mike said.
Sunny decided to ignore that remark, even if it was true. “Let me get this guy fed, and then we can go.” She opened a can of the better cat food, figuring Shadow had been through enough today, and refilled the water bowl. “Okay, little buddy?”
Shadow kept his attention on the food, daintily lapping it up.
Sunny returned to the living room, where Helena Martinson already stood, holding out a set of car keys. Mike helped her into her coat, then she bent to retrieve a shopping bag. “I brought something along for Abby to wear,” she said. “She hasn’t been up in these parts in a while.”
“You saw her in Boston—right? It was the end of this past summer,” Mike said.
“During summer,” Helena emphasized. “And it was just a couple of days while she interviewed around for jobs. We scarcely had any time together.” She allowed herself a hopeful smile. “Maybe one of them panned out, and she’ll be working closer to home.”
Sunny didn’t know how to answer that, so she stepped ahead to open the door. Mrs. Martinson didn’t often talk about her daughter on the other side of the country. Sunny had still been in high school when Abby quit college and headed for California, determined to conquer the movie scene. From what Sunny had managed to glean, Abby had given up on acting and had been working for a law firm.
“We’ll find out soon enough.” Helena gave Mike a peck on the cheek and stepped through the doorway. Sunny took the package from her and offered an arm.
“I’m not feeble, you know,” Mrs. M. told her as they stepped down to the drive.
Sunny couldn’t see that discussion going anyplace pleasant, so she stepped around to open the passenger door on the Buick, stowing the bag on the back seat. By the time she got around her side of the car, Helena was already buckled in.
“Off we go,” Sunny said, inserting the key in the ignition. Beside her, Mrs. M. twisted around, waving. Sunny turned to see her father outlined against the light in the doorway, his arm raised.
And down at his feet, drawn by the action, was a four-legged figure.
Hope he doesn’t make a dash for it when Dad closes the door, Sunny thought.
Conversation went in fits and starts as Sunny merged onto the interstate, heading for downtown Kittery Harbor. “Abby and I talk every week,” Mrs. M. said, as if she were afraid Sunny might get the impression that physical distance meant a distant relationship. “Still, I was surprised when she told me she was coming.”
“I’m sure it will be good to see her.” Sunny followed the traffic toward the bridge over the Piscataqua River. Kittery Harbor, on this side, was Maine. Across the water was Portsmouth, and New Hampshire. She wondered why Abby had scheduled this visit for the dead of winter, rather than, say, the holidays.
When Sunny was a kid, Christmas had always been an anxious time. Not because of worry over presents, but because it was her father’s busy season. Mike Coolidge delivered road salt all over the Northeast, and a snowy December could mean that he’d be on the road. Then Sunny’s mom had died in a holiday ice storm right at the end of Sunny’s college term. It added up to a season a bit thin on Christmas cheer.
But this past December had been a surprisingly warm celebration, a sort of adopted family dinner. Sunny splurged on a ham, with roasted potatoes, green beans, and her mother’s secret recipe for onions and raisins. Will cooked the appetizers at his place, scallops basted with maple syrup and teriyaki sauce, wrapped in bacon. The food police had definitely been off for Christmas. Mrs. M. had, of course, provided her famous coffee cake for dessert. Ben Semple, a police colleague of Will’s, had surprised everyone by creating mulled wine in the kitchen, and his girlfriend, Robin Lory, supplemented dessert with cupcakes from the bakery where she worked.
It had been a special day with presents and laughter, not to mention good food. Sunny thought that they might have the beginning of a wonderful tradition. Now she found herself wondering if everything was about to change.
Mrs. Martinson checked her watch as they rolled across the bridge.
“How are we doing?” Sunny asked. “The traffic hasn’t been too bad.”
“No, it hasn’t,” Helena agreed, but she still looked anxious.
“Why don’t you use your phone and check the arrival time,” Sunny suggested.
The plane was on time, and so were they.
Sunny continued on the interstate until she reached the airport exit, turned, and made her way along gradually smaller streets to the terminal. Her irrepressible side couldn’t help remembering that just beyond the runways stretched a golf course. It’s not everywhere you can fit in a few holes before taking off, she thought.
She dropped Mrs. M. at the terminal entrance and parked at the short-term lot nearby. Picking up the shopping bag, she set off across the street, still making good time.
The whole area—airport, country club, and a lot of other structures—had formerly been Pease Air Force Base, and still served as an exit and entry point for military flights. As a veteran, Mike Coolidge sometimes came here to greet the troops as they returned home.
“It didn’t happen for me when I came back from ’Nam,” he explained. “But I want every guy and gal to know that we appreciate their service.” He’d talked Sunny into accompanying him a few times, so she knew her way around the terminal.
Sunny quickly spotted Helena Martinson over by the arrivals section and joined her. “They’re taxiing up to the Jetway,” Mrs. M. reported. “We just made it. Did you—” She spotted the bag dangling from Sunny’s hand. “Oh, good.”
Of course, there was a wait, but at last passengers began to file past the barrier toward them.
Helena suddenly straightened up, raising a hand. “Abby!”
Sunny stared at the woman approaching. With her winter tan and honey-blond hair, Abby Marti
nson was hard to miss. Her years in California hadn’t left her unrecognizable. Quite the opposite, in fact. Abby had grown into the spitting image of her mother as Sunny remembered her while growing up, when Helena Martinson was the hottest mom in the neighborhood.
Only when Abby got closer did Sunny see beyond the knockout looks and notice the effects of two days of cross-country travel, the puffy skin around bloodshot eyes, the tension in her shoulders even as she hugged her mother.
“Do you need to go to the luggage carousel?” Helena asked.
Abby shook her head. “Nope. Everything’s here.” She hefted the wheeled carry-on bag she’d been trailing behind her.
“What about your coat?” Mrs. M. looked at the waist-length quilted jacket her daughter was wearing. Sunny remembered having one like it when she was working in New York. It had turned out woefully inadequate when she returned for a Kittery Harbor winter.
“It’s lucky we brought something,” Helena said, reaching for the bag Sunny held. Catching Abby’s glance, she said, “Oh, I’m sorry. I suppose I should introduce you—reintroduce you, I mean. Abby, this is Sunny Coolidge. She drove down with me.”
“Coolidge?” Abby said.
“Yes, she’s my friend Mike Coolidge’s daughter. Sunny, I’m sure you remember Abby.”
“Sure,” Sunny said, extending a hand. “Welcome back to Kittery Harbor, Abby.”
“Of course. Sunny,” Abby said, taking a moment to place her. “You’ve got to forgive me, Sunny. It’s been—well, more years than I like to think.” She shook hands. “Good to meet you again.”
Once again, Sunny’s reportorial instincts gave a little twinge, detecting something not quite right.
Somehow, I don’t think Abby is as glad as she sounds, Sunny thought. Either that, or my antenna needs serious adjusting.
3
Maybe I can’t get a read on Abby because she’s an actress, Sunny told herself. Certainly she felt at a disadvantage. Standing beside the two Martinson women, petite, slim, and shapely, Sunny felt hulking and over-upholstered.
Catch as Cat Can Page 2