Клер Донелли - The Big Kitty

“Doesn’t your dad have a car?” Will asked.

“His truck’s been sitting in the garage since his heart attack. Dad’s been afraid to drive, even though the doctor says he’s okay,” Sunny said. “I don’t even know if the battery has held a charge after all this time.”

“Even if he was worried about using it, you’d think he’d let you take it out every once in a while just to keep it going.” Will paused for a moment, then added slyly, “On second thought, remembering how your driver’s-side door looked …”

“Wow, thanks for the compliment, that makes me feel a whole lot better.” But Sunny found herself smiling as she stepped out of the car.

She turned to wave, but Will Price was already on the radio, telling Dispatch that he was back on patrol.

Yeah, romance is in the air. I guess he’ll be calling for a date real soon, Sunny’s inner voice predicted sarcastically. The first time I’ve hung out with a guy in I don’t know how long, and I freak out and then spend most of the ride arguing with him.

Of course, she reminded herself, this was business. They’d joined forces—or been joined by her dad and a bunch of would-be local politicos—to solve Ada Spruance’s mysterious death. It wasn’t supposed to be a social occasion.

Still, she couldn’t help thinking, it was nice when he held my hand.

The police cruiser pulled away, and Sunny headed up the walk to her front door. She barely got it open before a gray streak, almost impossible to see in the dim hallway, rocketed out of the kitchen and came straight at her.

“What the—?” Sunny burst out.

*

Shadow watched thestrange car pull up, but a familiar figure got out. He gave himself some running room and raced for the door before he even thought about it. But just as he was about to fling himself around her ankles, he leaped back.

Sunny didn’t carry any new smells. All he breathed in was the same old scents from the place where she spent her days.

So why, under all that, should he catch a whiff of the poisonous reek that came off the Stinky One?

8

“Shadow, you startledme!” Sunny said.

But as quickly as the cat had started running, he stopped, seemingly in midair, almost as if he’d hit an invisible force field around her legs.

Shadow gave one sniff and then turned around, stalking majestically off, tail high, apparently with important business to attend to in the living room.

Am I supposed to interpret that greeting as a good or a bad thing? Sunny wondered. If Shadow’s going to stay around here, maybe I should invest in a book on cat psychology.

She stuck her head in the living room to say hi. Her dad nodded vaguely, watching the news.

And another book on the psychology of invalid fathers, she thought, heading down to the kitchen to start on supper.

As they sat down to eat, Sunny asked Mike about borrowing his truck the next day. A forkful of baked salmon halted on its way to his mouth. “What do you need the pickup for?”

Sunny gave him the edited version—heavily edited. “There was a little trouble when I left work. It looked as if somebody may have gotten into the car. The police are checking it out—”

“Why couldn’t whoever it was have done you a favor and stolen the damned thing?” Mike interrupted. “You ought to get a new car, something better suited for conditions up here.”

Okay, so he wasn’t asking embarrassing questions about what exactly had happened to the Mustang, but this wasn’t a great conversational alternative. “You’re probably right, Dad, but right now I’d rather concentrate on getting a ride for work tomorrow. So is it okay for me to use the pickup?”

Mike shrugged. “The spare keys are in the kitchen drawer.” He frowned. “But that truck hasn’t been started since before I went into the hospital,” he warned. “The battery may be kaput.”

Sunny nodded. “So maybe I ought to check it out.”

They finished dinner, then Sunny washed the plates while Mike dried. Afterward, he rummaged in the junk drawer until he came up with the spare keys. “Here you go. Good luck.”

Sunny went into the garage. Mike’s pickup was a dark maroon—he wasn’t into flashy colors like red. Sunny climbed into the cab and settled herself behind the steering wheel. Inserting the key in the ignition, she twisted, ready to give it a little gas.

But all she got was a dry click instead of a deep rumble from the engine. She tried it again, hoping the engine might still turn over.

Nothing.

Exactly what I was afraid of, Sunny thought, shooting an exasperated look at the hood as if that might change the engine’s mind. Sunny sighed. She knew her dad had a trickle charger somewhere; he always said it was a good investment, given the cold Maine winters.

But if the battery is that far gone, it may not charge up even if I leave it overnight.

She had a second problem, too. How was she going to find the stupid thing when the garage was filled with the belongings she’d cleaned out of her New York apartment? Piles of cardboard boxes loomed wherever she looked.

Then she caught a hint of movement in the dimness.

Perfect, she thought, that’s all I need—a raccoon taking up residence among everything I own.

The intruder sailed gracefully to the top of a pile that looked like a step pyramid, and Sunny realized it wasn’t a raccoon, it was Shadow.

I guess a cat would think this was a great jungle gym, she had to admit.

Shadow set his forepaws on the topmost box, bracing his back legs on the box beneath, and pushed.

At least he tried to.

“Good luck with that.” Sunny jeered at him from inside the truck. “Those are boxes of books. Each one probably weighs twice as much as you do.”

That didn’t stop Shadow. He tried a shove, giving Sunny an impromptu physics demonstration. His action had an equal, opposite—and unfortunate—reaction. Shadow’s back feet skidded out from under him, and he tumbled to the floor. Sunny rose up in her seat to see him twist in midair to land on all four feet. With a flick of his tail, he set off at a stately walk, as if to say, “Excellent, precisely as I planned.”

Sunny laughed. “You got just what you deserved, smart-ass.”

Hearing her, Shadow paused, glancing up. Then he launched himself in a smooth leap for the top of a long, thin box leaning against the wall. It should have put him on eye level with her. Unfortunately, his weight landing on top caused the bottom of the angled box to start sliding out. Shadow danced desperately to keep from falling again.

Sunny laughed at his antics, then abruptly stopped, recognizing the box. It held art prints from her former living room. She’d spent a fortune to have them framed professionally under glass. A fall wouldn’t do them any good.

Yanking the door handle, Sunny barreled out of the truck and dashed for the box, managing to catch it with her foot before it fell flat.

Shadow watched with interest as she brought the box upright again; he sat perched with all four feet on the seat of the mountain bike hidden behind the box.

Sunny pulled the artwork box away. “I’d forgotten this was even here,” she said, spotting the bike.

Shadow found it interesting. He dropped down to the floor, sniffed the wheels, and sneezed from the dust that furred up the spokes.

Back in the ancient days, B.C.—Before Car—Sunny used to bike over to the New Stores and her job at Barnstable’s Sweet Shoppe.

“No reason I couldn’t do it again,” she said.

*

The next morning,Sunny found herself laboring up an incline that had somehow grown ridiculously steeper since her cycling days. Her calf muscles protested as she kept on pedaling. Just a little farther, she thought.