Клер Донелли - The Big Kitty

“Now, that would be good news,” Sunny said.

“There’s one more thing.” Will sounded more tentative now. “I’ll be switching to the day shift come Monday, which means I’ll actually have both days of this weekend off.”

Sunny had stopped passing along Will’s conversation to her dad, sensing this was going to be more personal.

It was.

“Look, um, would you like to have dinner on Saturday to discuss the case—or whatever?”

“Sure,” Sunny said aloud.

Especially whatever, she added with a silent smile.

17

Saturday started offdull, which perfectly matched the way Sunny felt as she sat in the MAX office, trying to get her keyboard into focus. Well, if Ollie Barnstable came by to check on her today, he’d find her working very early, if not so bright.

I’ve just got to make it to noon, she thought sleepily. Her first visitor of the day appeared even less well rested than Sunny felt. Ken Howell walked in with a thin pile of papers, looking heavy-eyed and moving like a much older man.

“Got a collector’s edition here,” he announced, his voice raspy. “First time the Crier ’s put out an extra—God, since Will Price’s father went off the road.”

He held up the top paper so Sunny could see the headline: HIT, RUN, AND FIRE.

“I tapped some people as soon as Nesbit left that press conference, and we worked all night.” He stifled a yawn. “I’m getting too old for this nonsense. Anyway, it’s four sheets—figured if you wanted, you could wrap it around the edition that just came out.”

He paused for a second. “Hope you don’t mind losing the front page.”

Sunny shook her head. “Really, Ken, it’s all right with me.”

“Good, good.” Ken left the pile of papers on her desk. “If you want to do it, fine. I really am done. Instead of sleeping yesterday, I pulled myself out of bed for Nesbit’s media circus. That plus an all-nighter—” A mighty yawn escaped, and he looked embarrassed. “Pardon me. Just do me a favor, Sunny. If you’re going to get involved in something else exciting, could you hold off until, say, Tuesday?”

With a rueful smile, Sunny promised she’d do her best as Ken shuffled out of the office, looking dead on his feet.

She picked up one of the extra editions and read through it. Stories recounted the events at the Redbrick Tavern, the press briefing, and the fire out at the farmhouse in Sturgeon Springs where Gordie Spruance had been staying. Pictures showed the crashed SUV and what looked like a mug shot of Gordie. Ken had also gotten somebody out to the scene of the fire to take some action shots there. Sidebars explained the use of dangerous solvents to create crystal meth and the fire dangers, including the possible explosive results of using ether.

Sunny noticed that she was quoted in the hit-and-run story—snippets from the press conference.

Thank God he didn’t go for an exclusive interview, she thought. That would’ve probably been enough to get me fired. She sighed. Much as I hate to admit it, Ollie does have a point. I’m supposed to be boosting local tourism. I can’t imagine this is going to do the industry much good.

She wondered when Hurricane Ollie would come roaring into the office. On the other hand, he’s got the fire—and the meth lab—on his property to occupy his mind. She sighed. Here’s hoping.

Finishing the articles, Sunny had to hand it to Ken Howell. Not only was the extra edition a very competent piece of news gathering, but he hadn’t editorialized on the situation. Just a bald recounting of the facts made Sheriff Nesbit look bad enough.

Sunny’s second visitor of the day looked about as groggy and sleep deprived as Ken had.

“Will!” Sunny said, taking in his rumpled uniform. “Are you still working?”

“I’m going home to get some rest right now,” he promised. “Your dad told me you were here, so I thought I’d stop by on my way and tell you how things shook out from last night’s happy hoopla.”

He dropped into a chair. “First, Sheriff Nesbit finally got in touch with the Portsmouth drug squad to ask about Ron Shays.”

“Did they get hold of him?” Sunny asked.

Will shook his head. “Nobody’s seen hide nor hair of him for a few days now.”

“That could be good,” she said cautiously. “If he saw that his deal was going down the toilet, maybe he just got out of the area.”

“Leaving his henchmen behind to clean up any loose ends?” Will added. “As it turns out, that’s the line Nesbit’s taking. His theory is that the hit-and-run was actually aimed at Gordie, not you, as revenge for screwing up the deal. Not only does this theory blame outsiders for all the trouble, but it ties up the case in a neat knot. Justice triumphs in the end—the bad guys have fled town.”

The two seconds of relief that Sunny had felt quickly passed away. “It’s neat, but there are questions that theory doesn’t answer—like why Gordie was producing meth in the first place. If he was getting a lab up and running, wouldn’t that mean he was trying to make good on the deal? Why then would Shays or his henchmen try to kill him?”

Will closed his tired eyes. “Gordie was obviously cooking the stuff on a shoestring budget. Maybe he got bounced from the deal and decided to try on his own. If so, Shays might’ve considered him competition in his new territory.”

He opened his eyes, a troubled expression on his face. “This might be just the beginning of more trouble.”

“A lot of this seems to depend on Shays,” Sunny said. “Do the Portsmouth cops have any idea where he might have gone?”

“I talked to some guys outside of regular channels,” Will admitted. “As far as they can tell, Shays just picked up and left. There’s no reason other than the glitch in his supposed deal here. Things are quiet between the dealers.”

He shrugged. “Well, as quiet as you can expect between a bunch of drug-addled, paranoid businessmen. It’s always possible that some competitor thought this was a nice, peaceful opportunity to take out Shays, and he’s actually floating somewhere in the Piscataqua heading out to sea.”

“So what you think we have here are several bumbling henchmen trying to carry out plans their late boss came up with while trying to get some sort of business going on their own?”

Will gave her a lopsided grin. “And not doing a great job of any of it. With that scenario, it’s possible that Gordie was actually working with them. They not only accidentally knock him off, they let their meth lab blow up.”

“I like that one,” Sunny said. “Not only is it entertaining, but it means that around about now the bad guys should be getting discouraged enough to head out of town.”

She breathed a long, drawn-out sigh. “The problem is, the real situation could be any of these, or something we haven’t even thought of. Don’t start,” she said, raising her hands at Will’s thoughtful expression. “You’re overtired as it is. Coming up with more off-the-wall theories isn’t going to help you sleep.”

“Okay.” He dragged himself to his feet. “Home. Sleep.” His expression brightened. “And dinner later tonight?”

“Dinner tonight,” Sunny agreed. “Do you know where you’d like to go?”

“Not the Captain’s Table or the Redbrick—I think that might be a little too soon for you. And for them, actually. What do you think of someplace out of town? I’ve got a place in mind,” Will said, “but I’ll have to see if I can get a table on short notice.”

“Well, call me during the day if you’re successful,” Sunny told him. “If not, Lord knows I’ve got a list with lots of places.” Sometimes it seemed as if half her job at MAX involved recommending restaurants for visitors. “Some of them even give me coupons.”