Catch as Cat Can

by Claire Donally

  Helena drew a parka out of the shopping bag. “I thought you might need this. Looks like it should still fit.”

  The coat was a deep, almost indigo blue. And however many years old it might be, it was still beautiful.

  Why can’t I get coats like that? Sunny thought with a rueful look at the mustard-colored parka she was wearing. An unfortunate incident with a nail sticking out of a fence had killed her winter coat, forcing her to look for a replacement when the outlet stores had mainly cleared out their winter stuff. Mustard was the color beggars had to take when they couldn’t be choosers. It was warm at least.

  “Mom, I’m not a kid anymore,” Abigail said, as Helena held out the coat to her.

  “You’ll thank me when you get outside.”

  “We’re just walking to the car, and then to the house.” Abby shrugged out of her jacket and pulled on the parka. It looked great on her, of course.

  They pushed their way through the terminal doors to get outside. When Abby shuddered, she wasn’t acting. “You think you remember how the weather was, until it hits you in the face.”

  Sunny smiled, remembering her own rude reintroduction to wintertime in Maine.

  “So you think, maybe, I was right to bring the coat?” Helena said as they crossed the airport road to the parking lot.

  “Actually,” Abby replied, “I was wondering if you were sure you didn’t want to move to some place like California.”

  “Abby, this is where I’ve lived my life—and you’ve lived half of yours.” From Helena’s tone of voice, this wasn’t her first go-round on this particular conversation.

  Sunny led the way to Mrs. M.’s Buick. She unlocked the doors and opened the trunk to deposit Abby’s carry-on bag.

  Helena and Abby took the rear seat. That didn’t surprise Sunny. When Mrs. M. rode with Mike, they often sat in the back together when Sunny drove. She kept her eyes on the road, giving her dad and his lady friend some privacy. But she couldn’t keep her ears turned off as they moved to join the traffic out of the airport.

  “When did you stop driving your own car, Mom?” Abby asked.

  “I didn’t stop driving.” A little more testiness crept into Helena’s voice. “But I think it’s safer to let Sunny do the driving when it gets dark out.”

  “I could have—”

  “Which would be safer, the old woman driving, or the young woman who’s spent most of the last two days getting here from California?” Mrs. Martinson cut in. “I can see you look dead on your feet.”

  Abby sucked so much air in, Sunny braced herself for an explosion. Instead, the younger Martinson released it all on a long sigh. “I don’t think that’s fair, considering I had to go by way of Hoppenskip Airlines to find a route that ended up at this airport. I left home for a one A.M. red-eye flight to Texas, transferred to another plane to Florida, and then had to catch a ride between airports to hook up with the flight up here. It should have been a day in the air, but thanks to that storm I spent the night with a choice between a chair or the floor in the Texas airport lounge. I’m sorry I got here late, after dark, and in such a crabby mood.”

  “At least you’re here now,” Helena said. “We’ll get you home, into a shower, and then to bed.”

  They engaged in small talk as Sunny headed for the interstate.

  “I took my national paralegal certification exam,” Abby reported. “Managed to pull a ninety—now I have a credential I can use all over the country.”

  “Would that help with the people who interviewed you in August?” Helena asked.

  “Well, it makes me a better candidate if I try again,” Abby said.

  Conversation petered out as they headed north. In fact, Sunny suspected that Abby had dozed off before they had gotten to the bridge.

  She drove carefully—it would be a heck of a thing to put a ding in the Buick after Mrs. M. had made such a point of how much safer it was having Sunny behind the wheel.

  Traffic lightened up as they proceeded through downtown Kittery Harbor and headed for the northern suburbs of town. Sunny smoothly pulled the Buick into the driveway of the Martinson place.

  Abby blinked awake, glancing around in confusion for a moment until she saw her mother.

  “We’re home, honey,” Helena said. “Let’s get you in for a nice, quiet night.”

  Even as she spoke, they could hear Toby’s joyous welcoming barks coming through the windows of the house and car.

  Mrs. M. sighed. “After we get you introduced to Toby.”

  Sunny went to get the bag from the trunk as Helena and Abby exited the car. She brought the carry-on to the front door as Mrs. Martinson opened the lock and ushered Abby inside. Helena paused for a moment as she took the piece of luggage. “I know your father thought we might get together tonight, but I think Abby is a little too tired. Maybe tomorrow? I’ll give him a call when we’ve sorted ourselves out in the morning.”

  “Sure. Get some rest yourself.” Sunny called a good night to Abby, getting a sleepy reply, and turned to head home.

  As she walked the couple of blocks to Wild Goose Drive, the wind seemed to swerve around, sending a frigid blast right into her face.

  Welcome home, Abby, Sunny thought, ducking her head and wishing she could find a hat that could cover her mop of curls.

  Was this the homecoming Abby expected? Sunny wondered. She seemed really surprised that her mom had me driving. But maybe that’s a good thing—a wake-up call. I always thought that Dad would go on going on until the heart attack showed me otherwise. Better that Abby gets a line on how her mom is doing while Helena is still well.

  Then Sunny remembered Abby asking her mother if she wouldn’t be better off getting away from Maine winters and moving someplace like California.

  Don’t know how Dad would like that, she thought.

  Sunny arrived home to find her father and Shadow both ensconced in the living room, watching TV. At least Mike was watching. Shadow lay flopped in an odd pose on a chair cushion, half asleep. Sunny came in with a sandwich, putting down a glass of seltzer to tickle Shadow’s paw. “You and Abby both, pal.”

  Shadow twisted around to get his feet under him, eyes wide as he watched Sunny take a bite of turkey and cheese. She ran a hand through his thick fur. “Mrs. M. apologizes, but Abby was pretty much knocked out with her cross-country marathon.”

  Mike nodded. “Should have figured that. I had the same thing you’re eating, with a little soup. I could reheat some, if you like.”

  Sunny shook her head. “Helena says she’ll call tomorrow after they get sorted out.”

  “So how is Abby doing?” Mike asked.

  “Besides being dead on her feet? I don’t know. As gorgeous as ever. I have to admit, there was a part of me that hoped she’d put on thirty pounds and would have a secretarial spread. But I don’t know if that applies to paralegals.”

  Mike pulled himself a little straighter on the couch cushions. “She was such a beautiful girl. I don’t know why she didn’t do better in Hollywood.”

  “It’s hard to throw a rock in Hollywood without hitting a beautiful girl,” Sunny told him. “It’s a case of talent and luck against a whole lot of competition. Fact is, I had a better chance of making the New York Times than she had of becoming a movie star.” She tried to pass it off with a laugh, but there was some truth in what she said. She’d managed to land a job in the cutthroat New York journalism market, even if it was with the New York Standard and not the more prestigious Times.

  Still, she thought, if I’d caught a couple of breaks, a few big stories with my byline on them . . .

  Shadow ducked his head so she could scratch him between the ears, and Sunny obliged him, silently laughing at herself. I wonder if Abby has the same sort of daydreams.

  She scooped Shadow up in her arms and sat in the chair, giving him a good petting and letting the TV far
e just wash over her. The cat seemed no worse for wear after his adventure earlier in the day.

  “I’ll just have to keep a more careful eye out, so you can’t go off mooching fishy handouts,” she told Shadow.

  “Don’t know why he bothers,” Mike grumbled from the couch. “He gets enough handouts around here.”

  Sunny stuck with the television until she saw the weather forecast on the late news—what a great surprise. It was going to be cold and windy tomorrow, too. Then she deposited Shadow on the floor, said good night to her father, and headed upstairs to her bedroom.

  Shadow followed her, taking big leaps up the stairs.

  “I thought you’d be tired after wandering around downtown today,” Sunny told him. “But no, you look full of energy.”

  After a quick detour to the bathroom to wash her face, Sunny arrived in her room to find Shadow sitting at the foot of the bed, waiting for her to turn down the blanket and quilt. “Just wait a second,” she said, changing into a pair of flannel pajamas. It was a little chilly upstairs, but that was the way she liked it. She got under the covers, Shadow wiggling in beside her to bundle in nice and tight. He even gave her hand a little lick as she settled her arms around him.

  “Yeah, yeah,” she gave him a drowsy chuckle. “I know you’re going to sneak off to patrol the house as soon as you think I’ve dropped off.”

  She didn’t feel him leave, though. She was soon fast asleep.

  *

  The next morning, Sunny rose, showered and dressed on her own, coming downstairs to find Shadow sitting expectantly beside his feed and water bowls.

  “Bottomless pit,” Mike said from his station in front of the stove, stirring a pot of oatmeal. Sunny set out some fresh food for the cat and then got herself a cup of coffee. “So what’s the specialty of the house today?” she asked.

  “I tossed a handful of dried cranberries in the pot before the water boiled,” Mike said, “and sprinkled in some cinnamon when the oats went in. When it’s done, I’ve got some applesauce and walnut pieces waiting to go on top.” He cocked an eye at her. “If the food police approve.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Sunny told him. Holiday feasting had been fun, but she was glad it was in the rear-view mirror. “Nice and healthy.”

  She put a little milk in her coffee. “How do you think Mrs. M. would deal with the food police?”

  “You thinking of making her life miserable as well as mine?” Mike took the question in good humor. “Helena thinks her coffee cake is one of the major food groups.”

  “I wasn’t thinking of me,” Sunny said. “But what about Abby?”

  “Why would she—?” Mike broke off, groping for words.

  I think you’re trying to find a polite way of saying “go poking her nose in her mother’s business,” Sunny thought.

  “She hasn’t been home with her mom in a while,” she said aloud. “Some things could come as a shock—like me driving for Helena when it’s too dark out.”

  “I don’t think—” Mike stopped again. “I guess it’s less of a shock than getting called home to find someone in a hospital bed with an oxygen thingy under his nose.”

  Idea planted. Good time to change the subject, Sunny thought. “Are you going for your walk today?” Part of Mike’s recuperation involved a daily three-mile hike, not easy to accomplish in the teeth of a polar vortex.

  “I’m going to do it indoors, up in outlet-land,” Mike replied as he dished out the oatmeal. “That’s why I need a good, solid breakfast, so I won’t be tempted by all the junk food giveaways.”

  Sunny ate her breakfast, then knelt to say good-bye to Shadow. “You stay around here and try not to get into trouble,” she said as the cat stared up at her. Glancing at her dad, she added, “Can you make sure he doesn’t sneak out?”

  “He doesn’t sneak out because of me,” Mike responded. “But I’ll keep an eye out. Promise.”

  Sunny kissed him, got her mustard-colored coat, and headed for her Wrangler and the ride into town.

  The good news was that she made decent time and even found a spot near the MAX office. The bad news was that the lights in the office were on. Sunny glanced around the block and spotted Oliver Barnstable’s Land Rover across the street. So much for deconstructing the shopping cart software, she told herself. I’m not going to try doing that with the boss looking over my shoulder.

  She came inside, calling, “Morning, Ollie” as she walked through the door.

  He looked up from the papers spread across the desk to the clock on the wall. There were still a couple of minutes until the official start of the business day. “Hi, Sunny.”

  Truth be told, the boss had mellowed considerably from the days when Sunny had started out in her job and secretly called him Ollie the Barnacle. He’d been heavier, redder-faced, and often ill-tempered, whether from a hangover or sheer orneriness. The ornery side still showed up every once in a while, but Ollie had gotten a lot better, thanks, strangely enough, to a broken leg. Going through physical therapy in a rehab setting had separated Ollie from a lot of bad habits, and his relationship with an attractive occupational therapist had kept him more or less on the straight and narrow.

  Sunny began the usual office chores, starting the coffee machine, booting up the computer, checking emails, and responding to requests for information or reservations. They worked together in silence until Ollie asked, “Did you notice whether Neil Garret’s place was open?”

  “The gate was down over the door when I came in,” Sunny replied after a moment’s thought.

  Ollie nodded. “Is he usually this late to open on a weekday?”

  “Sometimes.”

  Ollie nodded again. “I ask because he’s also late with the rent this month—unless he gave it to you yesterday.”

  Sunny didn’t want to get into this, but she also didn’t want to find herself in the middle. “The fish place was closed yesterday—all day as far as I could tell. Maybe Neil was sick—”

  She was interrupted by the metallic clang of a metal door gate being rolled up.

  “Sounds as though Neil has turned up.” Ollie rose from behind his desk. “I think I’ll go over and invite him in for a cup of coffee.”

  When he came back with Neil Garret, the fish store owner didn’t look sick. A little tired, maybe. His eyes were bloodshot, and he stifled a yawn as he came in. In a wool flannel shirt and heavy jeans, he looked like about eighty percent of Kittery Harbor’s male population—the folks who didn’t wear ties to work. “Hi, Sunny,” he said.

  Sunny moved over to the coffeemaker. “Milk and one sugar, right?” She was just as glad to put a little distance between them. Neil had a distinct whiff of fish around him today. She filled a cup, glad that Ollie had sprung for a fresh carton of milk, and passed it to Neil, who took a seat opposite Ollie’s desk.

  “Running late today?” Ollie asked, sticking his nose in his own cup of coffee.

  “Early, actually,” Neil replied. “I caught the fishing boats as they were coming in, took a couple of captains out to breakfast. I’ve found it pays to keep up the connections.” He took an appreciative sip of coffee. “Much better than the sludge you get at that diner by the waterfront.”

  “Just checking to make sure you’re all right,” Ollie said. “There’s a little question of rent.”

  Neil made a face as if the coffee had suddenly turned rancid. “I know,” he said a little shamefacedly. “Had to straighten out a couple of accounts. You’ll see the whole sum by the end of the week.”

  “Good to know.” Ollie’s voice was offhand, but his eyes told a different story. Give me my money, and don’t waste it on a bunch of floating losers.

  When Neil first opened the store, he often met the fishing boats as they came in. Sunny would see him walking past her window with a pair of fish wrapped in newspaper under each arm. “I pay a little more than they
’d get in the market at Portsmouth, but you can’t get it any fresher.”

  Sunny wondered if that’s where the smell came from . . . or if Neil had come empty-handed from his meeting this morning.

  She got distracted when she saw Will walk past the window with a strange woman—a big gal, with shiny dark hair falling to her shoulders and a parka hanging open over a heavy Norwegian sweater. The clothing might be casual, but the woman had the same moves as Will, an easy sense of authority that suggested she was some sort of cop. She caught Will by the arm, nodding through the window. A second later, they came into the office.

  “Sunny, Ollie, Neil,” Will greeted them, “this is Val Overton.”

  Val gave Sunny a smile full of gleaming teeth. “Nice to meet you. Will’s told me a lot about you.”

  Sunny gave Will a grin. “Are you bringing in professional help for my poor, traumatized cat?” She turned to Val. “I thought I’d met all the animal control and humane officers roundabouts working with Jane Rigsdale and her adopt-a-pet program, but you’re a new face.”

  That got a hearty laugh from the other woman. “Good guess. Lord knows I’ve dealt with a lot of animals, but they all walked on two legs.” She whipped out a leather case bearing a star rather than a badge. “U.S. Marshal.”

  “Whoa,” Sunny said, impressed. “We don’t see many of those in these parts.”

  God, she thought, I’m beginning to sound like an old Western movie.

  Val didn’t seem to notice. “I’m just a glorified government process server.”

  Ollie shot Will the look of a man betrayed. What with the navy yard across the river and all the local pies he has fingers in, Ollie might be afraid of someone dropping federal paper on him, Sunny thought.

  But Val Overton didn’t present an envelope. “The sheriff’s office lent me Will here as local liaison. As we were walking past, he mentioned what happened to your cat yesterday. I figured he might as well stop in and check if there’s anything new.”

  “After bringing out such big guns for such a small-town matter, I’m sorry that I don’t have anything to report,” Sunny said. “The victim ate heartily last night and this morning and seemed to sleep just fine. I was only kidding about him being traumatized.”