Клер Донелли - The Big Kitty

Mike put down the Crier. “Talked with Sal DiGillio today,” he reported. “He went down to the impound lot and had a look at the cars.”

“Cars?” Sunny echoed.

“Yours and that Jeep Wrangler that wound up in front of the house,” her dad explained. “He says the Mustang is shot.”

“Tell me about it.” Sunny sighed.

“No, he says that between the steering column and the windshield, it’s not worth trying to fix the car.” Mike spread his hands. “You know Sal’s honest, and he tries to keep from gouging people. When you racked up the door, he kept it cheap for you.”

And loud, Sunny silently added.

“But this is going to be parts and labor. You may even have to go to an auto glass place to get the new windshield put in.”

Sunny winced, imagining a stream of dollar bills flying out the window. Shadow leaned up and put a paw on her arm.

“You can drive my truck, of course,” Mike said quickly. “But you should consider getting a car for yourself.”

Sunny nodded, wondering, With what money? She’d made a decent salary in New York, but it had been an expensive town. And even though she’d lived frugally since coming home, shipping all her stuff up here had put a serious dent in her finances—a dent that her pay from Ollie Barnstable did little to fill.

“Sal also told me a bit about that Wrangler,” Mike went on. “Says it’s a good machine, but it hasn’t been taken care of for months.” His voice dropped. “Used to belong to the Winslow boy.”

Sunny glanced up. Stevie Winslow had been a local high school kid, looking forward to a great senior year, when a boating accident tragically ended his life. It had happened this past summer, and Sunny had followed the sad story along with everyone else.

“The Winslows sent the Jeep to Sal to fix it up and sell it.” Mike’s voice took on a coaxing quality. “I could talk to him—”

“You think it’s a good idea to buy a car that almost killed us?” Sunny interrupted, staring at her father. “Doesn’t that seem like bad karma or something?”

Mike shrugged again. “If we could get it cheap,” he said, sounding like the quintessential Yankee trader. “Better suited for the area than what you had.”

When Sunny declined to talk any more about it, her dad returned to reading the Crier , rattling the pages. Apparently he had something else on his mind. He finally put the paper down and made a noncommittal noise.

“So, you’re going out with Will tonight.”

“If there’s something you’d especially like to have to eat while I’m gone, we’d better go shopping for it.” She paused, still looking up at him. “It’s just dinner, Dad.”

Mike harrumphed. “Well, your mother and I just had dinner once upon a time—back in the Stone Age—and look what happened.”

He looked as if he were going to add something else, when he got cut off by a howl of sirens in the distance.

“Oh, God, what’s happened now?” Mike said, sitting very straight on the couch.

As if in answer, the phone rang. He fumbled the receiver off the cradle with nervous hands. “Hello! What? Oh, Will. Yeah, I understand. I’ll tell her. So long.”

Mike hung up, then turned to Sunny. “Will said he’s sorry to be so brief, but he’s dashing out the door because of a call on the police band radio. He figured we’d hear the sirens and wanted to let us know what’s going on. Seems somebody got spotted trying to break into Ada Spruance’s house.”

18

Sunny shot toher feet, startling Shadow into jumping away. “We’ve got to go over there and check it out,” she said.

Mike glared at her. “You don’t have to do anything of the sort!”

She stared at him wordlessly, finally realizing how tightly wound this whole situation had him.

When he spoke again, his voice was a bit calmer. “The only reason someone would go into the Spruance place is to look for that damned lottery ticket—the one you think got two people killed already.”

He raised a hand, cutting Sunny off before she could speak. “The people involved in that also tried to kill you four times—and me once. You don’t want to be out on the street when guys like that are around.”

This isn’t my job anymore, Sunny told herself as her dad’s words sank in. I’m not going to break the big story.

She forced herself to sit down, and they flipped through the channels on the TV, searching for some sort of local coverage. But it was much too soon, and they couldn’t find any mention of an attempted trespass, a police chase, or anything even remotely criminal sounding.

Sunny sat down on the couch beside her dad, taking his hand.

“Gonna fight me for the remote?” he asked.

“Nope—just glad we have one sensible person in this house,” she said.

That got a smile out of him.

They watched the countywide news channel, but again, no luck.

Then the doorbell rang.

Mike’s hand tightened under hers, but Sunny got up.

“I’m dialing up 911,” Mike called, making sure his voice was loud enough to carry outside. “Anything funny happens, the call goes right to them.”

Sunny looked through the glass panel and saw a nervous-looking Ben Semple. “Don’t have your dad call anything in,” he begged. “I’m not supposed to be here.”

“Hang up, Dad,” she called over her shoulder. Then she opened the door for Ben. “Why—Sunny began, but he was talking already.

“Will asked me to stop by and tell you what happened. One of the other constables was driving by, keeping an eye on the Spruance place, and he saw someone sneaking up the driveway. Dispatch sent everyone screaming over there, and the noise spooked whoever was inside. Although our guy was covering the front, one person can’t surround a house. The intruder took off through the backyards. We’re searching, but I don’t have much hope.”

“And Will?” Sunny asked.

Semple shrugged. “He turned up, and the sheriff is keeping him on the scene. Since he’s been in there before, maybe he’d notice if anything has been disturbed. The perp didn’t have much time inside, so we don’t think he found anything. But if we knew where he’d been, it would be easier to look for evidence.”

“Other than not catching him, though, nothing bad happened?” Sunny felt a little silly, but she wanted it spelled out.

“Everything is fine,” Semple assured her. His lapel radio squawked. “I gotta get back to my car.”

He dashed down the walk. Sunny went to close the door.

“All clear,” she called. “No more excitement.”

Then she saw another visitor approaching—Helena Martinson.

Sunny reopened the door. “Hi,” she said, “coming to see my father?”

“No, dear,” Mrs. Martinson said in a determined voice. “I’m taking you for a haircut. I’ve already made you the appointment. It’s long overdue, especially since I understand you have a date tonight.”

Sunny shot a look at her father, who pretended to be absorbed in the weather report. She tried to decline Mrs. Martinson’s overeager gesture gracefully, but the neighbor lady put her foot down. “This is the first time you’ve gone out since you came up here. And, frankly, my dear, you have to do something about your hair.”

Sunny raised her hands in mock surrender. “All right,” she said meekly. “I know. Thank you, I guess.”

Looking relieved that warfare had been averted, Mike shut off the TV and got up from the couch. “While you’re gone, I’m gonna take a page out of the cat’s book and have a nap.”

The salon was in an upscale enclave outside of town—and from the outside it looked pretty busy. Sunny wondered how much social extortion Mrs. Martinson had used to shoehorn Sunny into the schedule. Did the stylist know what she was in for?