Клэр Донелли - Last Licks

Desperate to boost the friendly audience count, Sunny went into the living room. “I tried asking Jane to O’Dowd’s, but she has a date for tomorrow. Do you think any of your friends might want to come?”

“I don’t think Zach Judson’s been in that dump since he was your age,” Mike said. “And Ken Howell swore years ago never to mention O’Dowd’s in the Courier . Every time he’d mention a fight or a drug bust there, it only advertised the place to other lowlives. So he stays away. If he actually saw something there, he’d feel he’d have to write about it.”

He gave her a sly smile. “I did talk to one person while you were off phumphing around in the kitchen, and he agreed to come.”

“Really? Who?” Sunny asked.

“Will Price.” Mike raised his hands to cut her off. “Before you start in, he didn’t mention that you’d called him. Besides, he’d be a good man to have at our table.”

Sunny gave him an unwilling nod. Quite a number of the creepy types in O’Dowd’s knew that Will was a cop. If he showed up out of uniform, they’d probably behave themselves, thinking he was there undercover. “I was, um, waiting,” she said, realizing how lame that sounded.

“You mean you weren’t going to call him because you didn’t want Will to know you were going to see another fellow—even if you were only watching him make music.” Mike sighed, looking more dadlike than he usually did. “Maybe you don’t talk much about it, but I know it bothers you that Will hasn’t been a bit more serious.”

“I haven’t asked for anything more.” Sunny winced at the defensive tone that crept into her voice. “I’m just glad there’s someone around to go out with every once in a while.”

Mike nodded. “Look at it this way. He agreed to go out with you when you’re going to watch this new guy in town play guitar. That’s got to mean something.”

“Right,” Sunny said. “Because all us girls just love a guitarist.”

She decided it was time to find a new conversation topic. “Have you heard anything about Alfred Scatterwell?”

“I asked among my friends,” Mike replied. “Seems he’s not very political . . . not much of anything really. All he seems to do is sit in his house, counting his money and waiting to inherit the rest. Helena suggested you stop over tomorrow morning. She might have something more for you.”

“Okay, thanks.” Sunny sat and watched the news with her dad, at least until the weather report.

“Looks like that storm cleared the air.” Mike tuned off the air conditioner and opened the window. They heard the sound of a breeze, but no rain.

“Good,” Sunny said. She watched a little more TV with her dad, then excused herself to go upstairs and call Will.

“So,” he said when he answered, “I understand we’re going to watch Luke Daconto perform. That seems awfully chummy, considering he’s a possible suspect.”

“You never know, he might decide to confess onstage as an encore,” Sunny responded, thinking, Thanks a lot, Dad .

“Speaking of which, how was your day of interviews? Did you learn anything from Elsa Hogue?”

“Well, she doesn’t like Alfred Scatterwell,” Sunny said.

“You don’t have to like someone to take their money.”

“But would you trust them if you thought they had a cruel streak?” Sunny asked. “That’s how Elsa described him. Either cruel or very self-absorbed.”

Will made a noncommittal noise over the phone. “Anything else?”

“She got a warning about Reese and his demands for paperwork, just like Luke. And, in fact, it came from the same person. Even though the therapists are independent contractors, the union warned them—specifically, Rafe Warner.”

“What do you think?” Will asked. “Workers of the world, unite?”

Sunny hesitated for a moment. “There’s something I didn’t check with Luke. According to Elsa, she went to the nurses’ station to bum some caffeine and found Luke there doing the same thing.”

“That puts them both pretty close to the ever-popular Room 114.” Will’s voice got quiet. “But only Elsa Hogue admitted it.”

“How about you? Did those lists that Rafe gave you lead to anything?”

“Only to getting my friends pretty ticked off at me,” Will admitted. “It was a lot of stuff for them to be checking out. They could have gotten caught.”

He sighed. “No one seems to have a criminal record, and they haven’t been buying any new cars or boats.”

“Huh?” Sunny said, then, “Oh. Spending their ill-gotten gains.”

“Right. However, my friend in Boston did find a car service that had a Maine run. The driver was supposed to pick up a passenger on a flight from Hartsdale Airport down in Atlanta, arriving around half-past twelve. But the flight was delayed by almost an hour and a half.”

“Factor in another hour and change for the trip up to Bridgewater, given the traffic . . . that would tie in with Gavrik’s arrival.”

“That’s the good news,” Will said. “Unfortunately, it also gives the doctor an alibi, assuming Ollie’s right about the killer being in the room with Scatterwell. Gavrik would have been on the plane.”

“I still wouldn’t mind asking her what she was doing out of town,” Sunny said. “Or even better, you can ask. Something’s going on there.”

They agreed to tackle Gavrik the next day—and to have another chat with Rafe about the good doctor.

“Then after Daconto is flushed with success from his O’Dowd’s debut, we can ask him about his bad memory on the night that Scatterwell died.” Will laughed.

“You don’t have to sound so happy about it,” Sunny snapped.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean it to sound that way,” Will apologized. “All I want is for something to let us get a fingernail into this case.”

They chatted a moment more, then Sunny said good-bye, hung up the phone, and went back downstairs.

“I think I’m going to hit the hay,” she told her dad.

She climbed the stairs, glancing back to find Shadow at her heels. “No AC tonight,” she told him. “I really hope we’re back to normal.” Sunny opened the window, closed the blinds, and changed into shortie pajamas. As she was taking off her watch, she saw the gauze pad.

“Let’s give it a try,” she muttered, going through the stuff from her pockets. There was the miniature bottle. She undid the top and poured a small dollop onto the scratches.

“Well, it feels better.” She peered at the scratches, holding her hand under the bedside light. Was it her imagination, or did they not look so pink? She could only hope so.

But she wasn’t the only one who wanted to inspect the wounds. Shadow successfully dodged the left hand trying to keep him away, bringing his nose to her right. He made a sad noise at the sight of the scratches, sniffed at them three times, then pulled back and sneezed with a vigorous shake.

“Whatever it’s made with, the stuff is potent.” Sunny laughed and hopped into bed. Shadow followed, snuggling under the sheet and a thin blanket.

Soon enough, they were both asleep.

11

The next morning,Sunny sat at the kitchen table, enjoying a cup of coffee, while Mike prepared to head off to the old school and his daily three-mile trek. She’d awakened to find a clear sky outside her window and a cool breeze drifting in. Except for the smell of damp earth, no trace remained of last night’s storm—and even better, the heat and humidity of the last two days were gone as well. The weatherman on the radio said as much.

I guess he looked out his window, too, Sunny couldn’t help thinking.

“Sure you don’t want to come along?” Mike asked.