Клэр Донелли - Hiss And Tell

“From what I hear, the kids didn’t turn out too happily,” Will added.

“The eldest, Nate, came out of West Point as a newly minted second lieutenant, and his dad sent him off to Vietnam to become a war hero. Apparently the Senator forgot that people could become casualties, which is what happened to Nate. Lem, the second son, was campaigning for the old man’s seat and got killed in an accident up in the mountains.” Mike paused for a moment. “You know, that’s why the term ‘landslide’ became a taboo political term among the Kingsburys.” He went on, “The Senator’s grandsons haven’t done too shabbily, though. Lem Junior is a governor down south, and his kid brother Tom is one of the youngest governors in the country out west. You can’t exactly call the Kingsburys kingmakers, though. Even with both of their states together, the best they can deliver is seven electoral votes.”

“And Lem Junior got pretty well trounced in the last round of presidential primaries,” Sunny recalled. “He was out before South Carolina.”

Mrs. M. spoke up. “Nate, Lem, Caleb . . . putting the names all together like that, it begins to sound like the cast from Hee Haw .”

That got a shrug out of Mike. “The Senator was very big on early American names. It’s not uncommon in these parts. Although maybe not in such volume.”

“And he seemed to do well enough as Thomas Kingsbury,” Helena Martinson added.

“Thomas Neal Kingsbury,” Mike corrected. “His Neal relations were the really rich ones. They’ve got an old family mansion up in Wilawiport, on Neal’s Neck, their private peninsula.”

“If the house is up in Wilawiport, the Neals probably were robber barons,” Mrs. M. said. “You had to make your money before 1929 to build an estate up there.” She confided to Sunny, “Just like the Piney Brook people look down their noses at what they call the ‘new money’ putting up McMansions in the new developments, the Wilawiport crowd looks down on the Piney Brook mansion set because they made their money around World War II.”

“As I said, out of my league.” Mike turned back to Will. “We’ve got a sheriff’s primary to win. Are you all set for your next speech?”

“The 99 Elmet Ladies.” Will glanced at Helena. “At least I can depend on one friendly face in attendance tomorrow evening.” Mrs. Martinson was a leading light in that county-wide civic group.

“I’ll be there, too,” Sunny loyally promised, wondering where she could find a sufficiently conservative outfit on short notice. Maybe something with a bustle.

“Not every face will be friendly, though,” Mrs. M. warned. “Lenore Nesbit is a founding member.”

“The sheriff’s wife?” Sunny thought hard, but she couldn’t remember ever meeting the woman. “Do you think she’ll be a problem?” She tried to lighten the mood. “From your tone of voice, I’d be expecting the Wicked Witch of the West.”

“Oh, no, Lenore is quite charming,” Mrs. Martinson said mildly. “So charming, you’ll hardly feel the knife as it goes in.”

2

Sunny didn’t knowhow to answer that, so she was glad when the doorbell rang and gave her an excuse to escape. It was Rafe Warner, delivering Shadow home.

“He was pretty much a gentleman,” Rafe reported as he put down the cat carrier, “except for a little roughhousing with Portia.” He grinned. “She egged him on.”

An imperious “Meow” came from the grilled front of the carrier. Shadow didn’t mind being transported in the carrier . . . but he didn’t like being cooped up in his own house. Sunny undid the latch and the big gray tomcat stepped out, immediately twining his way around her bare ankles. He paid special attention to her shoes, making Sunny wonder if she’d stepped into some trace of Ben’s last fishing expedition.

Rafe’s grin grew wider as he watched. “That Shadow is a smooth one. Moving from one girlfriend to another.”

“I’m just glad you’re okay with having Shadow over to visit Portia.” Sunny bent and picked up Shadow, then waved good-bye to Rafe as he headed back to his car.

Shadow wormed his way out of her arms and onto her shoulders, draping himself around her neck like a large and internally warmed fur collar. Sunny wore him like that back into the living room, but he quickly abandoned her once she sat down, climbing to the top of the chair, then jumping down to the floor and investigating the other people in the room.

Mike and Mrs. Martinson got a fairly cursory examination, although Shadow made a sort of sneezing noise around Mrs. M. Probably catching a whiff of Toby, Sunny thought.

Shadow was more circumspect as he approached Will. While it didn’t reach the level of cold war, there was definitely a respectful antagonism between the two. Will and Shadow were both pretty stubborn and didn’t find much to agree on—except, maybe, for Sunny. And Will had yet to forgive Shadow for the time that the cat had literally crashed a romantic moment, falling from the roof of the house just as he was making a move. Even so, Shadow was enough of a snoop that he couldn’t help checking Will out for any interesting smells—especially Will’s Top-Siders.

“Whatcha catching there, little guy?” Will asked with a smile. “A whiff of fish head or fish guts? I keep telling Ben he’s got to clean the decks more often.”

“Of course, that’s why any man buys a boat,” Mrs. Martinson said in a tart voice. “The chance to do marine housekeeping.”

Sunny remembered that as a kid, she’d often seen Mrs. M.’s late husband coming home from fishing expeditions. He’d had a boat, too. Whenever Mr. Martinson enjoyed a good catch, he’d share it with the neighborhood. Nice, but Sunny remembered her mother’s delight at getting stuck with the job of gutting and scaling a fresh fish dinner.

Whatever it was Shadow had been smelling, he finally finished his rounds, walked back in front of Sunny, sat back on his hindquarters, and stared up at her.

“I know that look,” Mike said, “and I never go to sleep if I see it in the furball’s eyes.” He deepened his voice. “Feeeeed meeeeee.”

Sunny rose. “Well, we’ll see if he wants dry food or something to drink.”

“Speaking of feeding . . .” Mrs. M. got up from her chair, too. “I’d better get home to see what damage Toby has done to my backyard.”

“I should be heading home, too.” Will joined Helena as she went for the door.

After they said their good-byes, Sunny headed down the hall to the kitchen, with Shadow leading the way and Mike trailing after.

“Do you think it was something we said?” Mike asked as Sunny laid out some food for the cat. Mike stepped over to where Shadow leaned into his bowl, delicately crunching away on dry food. “Or was it something the furball did?”

*

Shadow was justas glad to see the visitors leave. He’d put in a hard day, chasing and playing with Portia, the calico cat with the irresistible scent. Now he was ready for a nice nap. Besides, you never knew what two-legs would get up to when you put them in large groups. Sometimes they’d sit around talking loudly, setting little things on fire to breathe the smoke, turn on the picture box or the box that made noise, drink that stuff that made them act silly . . . and then they’d forget that there was someone to watch out for on the floor. Shadow had lived in houses like that, and it could get dangerous.

Luckily, Sunny and the Old One weren’t that way. They didn’t make the picture box too loud, Sunny liked to play, and the Old One left Shadow alone for the most part. Even their visitors weren’t too bad. The She who visited with the Old One wasn’t grabby, and she knew the good places to scratch. If it weren’t for the fact that she smelled so much of dog, Shadow wouldn’t mind having her around.