Клэр Донелли - Catch As Cat Can

“I’ll tell you one thing that won’t go on—my walk,” Mike said. “I figure the less traffic out and around today, the better. Besides, missing two days won’t be such a big deal.”

Sunny just nodded, grateful she didn’t face an argument over Mike’s usual schedule. They prepared breakfast and ate it, listening to the news reports. “Doesn’t sound too bad,” Mike had to admit. “Go on upstairs. I’ll take care of the dishes.”

He didn’t need to repeat the offer. Sunny mounted the stairs, took a shower, and got dressed. She went to the front hall to get her coat and then went back to the kitchen. Dad had returned to the table, listening to the radio. Shadow sat on his haunches, watching her.

Sunny leaned down and gave her father a peck on the cheek. “Okay, I’m off. Wish me luck.”

“Good luck,” Mike said. “And if it’s worse out there than the newsmen are making it out to be, just turn around and come home.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Sunny went to open the storm door, surprised to see Shadow accompanying her. Usually when he was comfortable inside, he avoided the cold air. The cat stood in the doorway and put a single experimental paw on the ground outside.

He remembers the ice from yesterday, Sunny thought. “It’s all gone now,” she told Shadow. In a lower voice, she continued, “And I’ve got the aching back to prove it.”

Shadow gave one of her shins a head-butt and retreated back to the warmth. Sunny stepped out and closed the door. She moved carefully in case any part of her clearing job had refrozen but had no problem getting to her Wrangler. Then the fun started. There was a lot of ice on the streets, and Sunny kept her Jeep in two-wheel drive. Most people had the idea that SUVs were built to conquer all weather conditions, but the Wrangler’s four-wheel drive could cause more problems, especially on curves.

Sunny drove slowly, giving other drivers a lot of room. That was the other misconception some folks had about SUVs. They could go anywhere, but on ice, the problem wasn’t going—it was stopping. Luckily, the long incline down to town was clear, and the sun had begun to shine, causing a little more melt. Sunny drove down to the New Stores, found a parking space, and had more skids on the sidewalk than she’d had on the street. The guys from Judson’s Market had cleared a single lane all the way down the block, with a lot more work done in front of their store. Sunny unlocked her office door and headed to the back of the office to the sack of ice melt. Using an extra coffee cup, she scooped and sprinkled along the front of the store until she had an island of damp but non-slippery pavement.

She couldn’t help noticing that Kittery Harbor Fish remained shuttered with just the little lane that the Judson’s guys had deiced. Was Neil Garret still stuck out in Sturgeon Springs, or was he in custody somewhere?

“Would be nice if Will could have let me know,” Sunny muttered as she came inside. But she forgot about that as she got the daily routine started. She’d been working a couple of hours on e-mail inquiries when the phone rang. It was Will.

“I was thinking of you,” Sunny began, but Will cut her off. “I’ve got a kind of weird favor to ask, and I need a quick answer,” he said. “I’ve got Deke Sweeney on the other line. He says he knows I want to talk with him, but he doesn’t want to do it at the sheriff’s office. If I can come up with someplace private, he can come in right now. I thought of your office, if Ollie isn’t camped out there.”

“He’s not, and . . . sure,” Sunny replied, thinking, This way I get a front-row seat.

Will had managed to change and shave since the previous night, but he looked hollow-eyed and tired when he arrived at the MAX office. He was in businesslike mode, so no kiss as he came in the door. “Thanks for this,” he said, taking off his coat and sinking into a chair. “Apparently Sweeney thinks that hanging around with the police is bad for his image or something. He wouldn’t even go for meeting in a restaurant. Too public.”

“And this isn’t?” Sunny nodded toward the plate glass window fronting most of the space.

“I think it will be a pretty slow business day,” Will said. “Not many people coming by to gawk in the windows.”

“You mean people won’t be beating a path to the fish store?” Sunny asked. “I see it’s still closed.”

“Yeah, I guess they haven’t finished chopping their way through the felled trees to clear the road to Sturgeon Springs.” Will didn’t look happy. “Garret was stuck in his house and apparently didn’t make any kind of a move. Even the wheels of his car were iced in place.”

“That’s a pretty impressive alibi,” Sunny said.

“Yeah, unless we can find a cab record that says different, or if Scotty beamed him into town and back, it’s pretty hard to imagine Garret killing Charlie Vane.” Will glanced at his watch. “When Sweeney called, he said he was in downtown Portsmouth. So, depending on how things are moving on the bridge, he should be here fairly soon.”

Traffic must have been moving pretty well, because shortly afterward a tall man in a parka and a knit cap came down the block, glancing at a scrap of paper in his hand. He opened the office door, stepped in, and said, “I’m Sweeney. I think you’re expecting me?”

Will stepped forward. “I’m Will Price, and this is Sunny Coolidge.”

“Oh, yeah. I’ve read some of your stuff,” Sweeney said, removing his cap.

So he probably knows Will and I are a team, Sunny thought.

Sweeney shrugged out of the parka, revealing a rumpled brown suit and a wool knit tie. To Sunny’s eyes, the shark of the fish market looked more like a snapping turtle. Sweeney was a raw-boned kind of man, with knobby cheeks, a hard, determined chin, and a bald head. His remaining hair was cropped so short, it looked like grayish stubble above his ears. His eyebrows, however, were wild and bushy with stray white hairs sticking out. His lips curved in a sort of default smile, giving Sunny the impression that he was a rough but cheerful type until she looked him in the eyes. They were the most shark-like things about him, having as much color and feeling as a pair of brook pebbles.

“A couple of friends on the Portsmouth force said you were asking after me,” Sweeney said, taking a seat in front of Sunny’s desk. “Of course, with this storm, any formal request you might have made has gotten shifted to the bottom of the pile.” The corners of his mouth moved upward maybe another millimeter. “So I decided to take the bull by the horns. For a person in my position, getting visits from policemen just looks bad. And visiting police stations looks even worse. People might get the wrong idea.”

“And what exactly is your position, Mr. Sweeney?” Sunny asked.

Sweeney’s smile went up another millimeter. “Why, I’m the manager of the Portsmouth Fish Market, Ms. Coolidge. I’m responsible for everything running smoothly and honestly.”

“And publicly dealing with the police would cause a problem with that?” Will inquired skeptically.

“The market is a rough-and-tumble kind of place,” Sweeney explained. “Certain elements might interpret the presence of the police as a sign of weakness.”

“That you might be arrested, you mean?” Will asked.

The smile disappeared from Sweeney’s lips. “That I can’t keep order in my own house,” he said. “I can . . . and I do.”

“I’ve heard stories that the fish market was kind of a wild and wooly place, until you came in and . . . imposed order,” Will said easily. “Though for a while, that looked like a difficult job. I understand one of the fish merchants made a complaint about you threatening him with a gun.”