Клэр Донелли - Hiss And Tell

Shadow never understood that. Between cats, a hiss, maybe a cuff or a show of claws, would settle the question of who was boss. But the two-legs would go in for loud noises and sad noises, wet faces and throwing things. It could get on a peaceful cat’s nerves.

Then, all too often, one of the humans would leave. And the next thing that happened was that Shadow would find himself back on the street.

He really, really didn’t want that to happen here. Sunny lived with the Old One, but Shadow thought she might end up mating with the He that kept coming around. Shadow had his problems with that one, but he didn’t seem too bad for a human male.

And he didn’t wear made smells.

But Shadow had detected another smell on Sunny. Maybe it was nothing, but it made him nervous, just like Sunny coming home to sleep while the sun was out made him nervous.

He skulked around on her bed, his tail lashing to show his displeasure. Usually he’d at least consider snuggling with Sunny, to enjoy an occasional drowsy pet from her. But she was fast asleep already, her mouth open and making that odd skrawwwk noise that humans sometimes made when they slept.

No, Shadow wouldn’t nap with her.

She’d probably turn over on me right when I got comfortable, he thought.

*

Sunny woke upfeeling a bit more human, if not fully rested. The shadows were growing long in her room, so it must be almost evening. She must have zonked off for three or four hours. Sighing, she stretched, sitting up in bed. Her blinking eyes caught a flash of movement down at the bottom of her ajar bedroom door. A small, gray striped face peered suspiciously in at her, then disappeared.

“What’s the matter, fella? Did Dad forget to feed you?” Sunny got up and went to the door, but the hall was empty. Shadow had already darted off somewhere after letting his displeasure be known.

Heaving a deeper sigh, Sunny went to get her bathrobe and then headed for the shower. She wasn’t about to give Shadow another show.

After a long session under the rushing warm water, Sunny felt cleaner on the outside but definitely empty on the inside. She put on shorts and a T-shirt and headed downstairs. Mike was already at the table, arranging rolls and cold cuts. “It’s all ‘food police’ approved,” he told her. “Low fat, low sodium, low taste.”

“It’s not that bad,” she protested, and Mike shrugged.

Sunny noticed that her father had put out a bowl of salad. He’d also cored and sliced several McIntosh apples. “Figure we could do like you see in restaurants, and use them on the sandwiches with a little mayonnaise, or whatever they call that healthy stuff in that jar you bought.” He smiled. “I figured you must be up when the mange-ball came down and got something to eat.” Mike nodded at Shadow, who was crunching away at his dry food, apparently unaware of their presence until Sunny went over to pet him. Somehow he managed to avoid her hands while still keeping his head in the food dish.

Sunny gave up and returned to her father, who laughed. “He’s miffed with you for creating a stir when he’s the only one who’s supposed to be up and patrolling the house.”

“How did you feel about the stir?” Sunny asked.

Mike’s smile slipped a little. “It worried me, not knowing what you were going off to do. After reading the Courier , though, I don’t think I’d have felt any better if I had known what you were letting yourself in for.” He sighed. “At least Ike Elkins was about the safest guy you could have picked for a midnight boat ride.”

“I’ll give you the whole story while we eat,” Sunny promised. “If you don’t think it’ll ruin your appetite.”

“Just try,” Mike said stoutly, plunking a bottle of seltzer water on the table.

They made healthy inroads into the food, though Mike shook his head in dismay at Sunny’s description of spotting Eliza Stoughton. “She sounds like just a kid.”

“Definitely younger than I am,” Sunny said.

“And you saw her when you were there before?”

“Parading through the compound in her purple bikini and dancing by the pool as if she didn’t have a care in the world.” Sunny frowned, snagging a slice of apple and chewing on it. If Randall’s story was right, Eliza had had a lot of cares. Enough, maybe, to prove fatal.

Mike rose from the table and began setting up the coffeemaker, something he never did after supper.

“Are we expecting company?” Sunny asked. If it turned out to be Mrs. Martinson, there was a good chance of scoring a piece of her famous coffee cake.

“Will Price said he’d drop by,” Mike replied. “I spoke with him on the phone while you were in the shower.” He seemed very interested in his coffee preparations. “I’m afraid it’s going to be tiresome politics. You may find yourself dropping off again.”

“We’ll see.” After helping her dad with the dishes, Sunny zipped around the living room, piling up the newspapers and collecting some of Shadow’s cat toys from the floor.

Will arrived late and still in uniform, the expression on his face warning of a foul mood. “Well, even though I was short on sleep, I liaised brilliantly with the other crime busters out on Neal’s Neck,” he announced. “Kept traffic moving smoothly in spite of all the news trucks stopping in front of the compound to do remote shots. Not to mention all the idiots rubbernecking to see the crime scene.” He shook his head sourly. “At least all the evening newscasts are done for the time being. I’ll probably have to get back there for the ten and eleven o’clock broadcasts.”

“It’s going no better with the people out there?” Mike said.

“Trehearne considers me persona non grata ,” Will replied. “He doesn’t even want to let me past the troopers’ roadblock. Says I’ll pass along everything I see to the Courier .”

“We kept your name out of the story,” Sunny said defensively. “Mainly, we discussed things we’d seen while we were there ourselves, either for the press conference . . . or later.”

“You did mention the arguments Eliza got into,” Will pointed out. “I was the one who told you that.”

“We kept it vague, only mentioning that there were reports of arguments, not going into specifics, and not naming a source.” She remembered how heated her discussion with Ken had gotten over how they should treat some of the stuff that Will had mentioned on the ride back to Kittery Harbor. Ken had wanted to go whole hog, but Sunny had wanted to soft-pedal Will’s revelations, arguing that they’d ruin him as a source. Journalistic sugarcoating. She hadn’t wanted the story to blow back on Will, but from the look of him, her attempts at concealment hadn’t worked.

Will shrugged. “Trehearne’s still blaming me.” He looked over to Mike. “So, how much hay has Nesbit been making, while I was away on glorified traffic duty?”

“It’s more of a whispering campaign,” Mike reported. “Frank’s not coming out and actually saying anything, but after the big show of turning the responsibility to you, a lot of his online supporters are suggesting you weren’t up to the job, letting a murder happen on your watch.”

“What a crock!” Will burst out, following up with some choice epithets about the Internet, then apologized to Sunny.

“You won’t get an argument from me,” she said. “I probably say the same thing about ten times a day.”

“Considering the scope of my authority there, the only way anyone could hold me responsible for someone getting killed would be if they got run over by an out-of-control dump truck.” He finally sat down, and Sunny gave him a cup of coffee. “So what does the rest of the kitchen cabinet say?” he asked Mike.