Клер Донелли - The Big Kitty

“And how did you feel then?”

Will shrugged. “Mostly, I felt afraid that I was going to throw up in front of the other guys,” he confessed.

That shocked a laugh out of her.

“It didn’t turn out to be all that dramatic in the final analysis. The shooter emptied his gun and forgot to bring more bullets. So I guess I didn’t have a full-fledged case of PTSD—post-traumatic stress disorder,” he said when he saw the question in her eyes.

“At least it wasn’t PMS,” Sunny joked weakly.

His left hand came over, giving a bracing rub to loosen the white-knuckled grip she’d maintained on his right. “So, come on, relax. As murder attempts go, this was pretty much a half-assed affair. With the trajectory the bullet took, it ended up killing your steering column and your windshield instead.”

“So—what?” Sunny asked, trying to follow his line of reasoning. “This was meant as a warning?”

He looked at her face for a moment before answering. “I don’t know,” he finally admitted. “Peeking in through the window, I couldn’t get a good view of the device, but it looked as if it had twisted around on its wires. Maybe the force of the bullet going off dislodged the base and made the shot fly wild.” Will shrugged. “I’d give whoever designed the dingus top grades for conception, but a failing mark for execution.”

Sunny fought to hold still as an involuntary shudder ran through her. “Don’t use that word.”

“Come on, Sunny, don’t take it so hard. In a weird way, this whole crazy incident actually justifies us looking into the Spruance case.”

“So it’s a case now, instead of an accident?” Sunny said.

Will Price nodded. “Looks to me like someone’s sure going to pretty extreme lengths to stop you from asking questions about Ada.”

“But who even knows—” She stopped, remembering the nasty comments earlier in the day from Ollie the Barnacle.

“Probably half the county.” Will flexed his right hand as Sunny finally released it. “Hell, even Nesbit knew. He was just about to call you on it before he realized there were witnesses all around.”

Sunny nodded. “Ken Howell was behind me.”

“So he had to content himself with that crack about publicity stunts.” Will leaned back in his seat. “So, are you feeling better enough for us to go on?”

When Sunny nodded, he started the car.

“The only person I talked with who might have gotten suspicious was Veronica Yarborough,” Sunny said as they passed a stand of maples, their shadows turning the evening dimness into solid black for a moment.

“Ah, yes, I can see the evil homeowners’ association president sneaking off to her secret lair and getting out her floral chintz soldering gun so she could assemble an infernal device to do you in.” Will laughed.

“And, of course, we spoke to Gordie Spruance,” Sunny continued, deciding to ignore his mockery. “Did you hear anything about him from your friends in Portsmouth?”

He shook his head. “It’s not just a simple case of peeking into a couple of files. They need to ask around among the guys on the squad and find out what hasn’t gone down on paper.”

“Is it worth looking into the other people Gordie told us about?”

Will shrugged. “Considering the way folks gossip around here, we pretty much have to expect that any of our suspects could have heard that you were asking around about Ada. So that’s a possible motive. Wouldn’t hurt to check on means, see if they have any guns registered. Then if the lab identifies the type of bullet in that booby trap, we can try for a match.”

“Aha, the MOM theory—motive, opportunity, and means,” Sunny said. “I’ve seen that turn up so many times on TV shows, I almost didn’t expect to hear that from a real, live cop.”

“If it actually happens in real life, can it still be a cliché?” Will asked with a grin. “Motive, opportunity, and means are actually part of the job. If you wanted to, you could cobble up a case against almost anybody. Take your boss, for instance. Gordie had some nasty things to say about Barnstable.”

“Gordie and about half the town,” Sunny scoffed.

“Yeah, but let’s look at him through the eyes of an overzealous TV investigator,” Will said. “Why was he hanging around Ada Spruance? I think we can dismiss a romantic motive.”

“Ada herself told me he was trying to help with her financial troubles,” Sunny said slowly.

“So he’s taking up charity work?”

She shook her head. “Ollie Barnstable doesn’t have a charitable bone in his body—well, maybe one. He did give me a job, after all.”

“So why was he hanging around Ada?” Will pressed.

“It has to be the house,” Sunny decided. “He offered Ada money for it, and after she died, Gordie said he cut back to half of what he’d offered before.”

“So he’s being a businessman. Or …” Will drew out the word, coming up with a new inspiration. “Maybe he’s got money troubles. So he’s working on the cheap, hoping to get the house at a rock-bottom price and then flip it. Or even better, he heard about the lottery ticket and hoped to get his hands on it.”

“However short he may be on personality, Ollie has lots of money,” Sunny said, shaking her head. “Not to mention fingers in more pies around here than we could count.”

“Maybe that’s it, though,” Will suggested. “He’s overextended and short of cash. Even after taxes, six to eight million would give him a lot of liquidity.”

“Fine, fine, I’ll give you motive,” Sunny admitted, laughing. “How about opportunity?”

Will shrugged behind the wheel. “Barnstable doesn’t keep regular office hours, does he? I bet he comes and goes as he pleases.”

Sunny considered Ollie the Barnacle’s occasional office visits. “True,” she granted.

“So how would he usually spend Saturday morning?”

“I’m not that close with the guy,” Sunny protested, but then she shrugged. “Probably he’d be adorning his bed. He always talks about Saturdays as his ‘me’ time.”

“In other words his schedule could be open for anything, up to and including murder.” Will brought his voice down into the bass register to make the last words sound as threatening as possible.

Sunny laughed again. “You’re making me afraid to go in to work tomorrow,” she kidded. “I can hardly wait to see what you’re going to do with means.”

“That’s the easiest,” Will told her. “Ollie’s a pretty big guy—”

“Mainly fat,” Sunny put in.

But Will shook his head. “Most people don’t realize that you need a fair amount of muscle to move that fat,” he said, “so don’t rule him out on that account.”

He paused for a second. “I’ll rephrase the comment. He’s a pretty solid guy. If he tried to block Ada from running out of the pantry and she just bounced off him, the force could have been enough to send her through that door.”

“No way!” Sunny laughed. They spent the rest of the ride arguing about the physics of murder.

When they reached Wild Goose Drive, Will coasted to a stop in front of Sunny’s house. “Figured I’d try a discreet approach,” he explained. “Some people get kind of upset seeing family members come home in a police car.”

Sunny agreed. “Dad doesn’t need a spike in his blood pressure right now.”

“So what’s your plan?”

Sunny patted the cash box in her lap. “First, I’m going to lock this away. We got a big advance from a client today. For the rest of the evening”—she pulled out the envelope full of printouts from her pocket—“I’m going to read through the Crier articles about Ada’s local feuds again.” She grimaced. “And I guess I’ll have to figure out some sort of way to get in to work.”