Клер Донелли - The Big Kitty

All I need is for Ollie to come strolling in on his way to lunch. Sunny hesitated with the key, then thrust it into the lock. To hell with it.

She found the file she was looking for just a couple of dividers ahead of the “Investment Opportunities” folder she’d collected to deliver to him a few days ago. This one was headed “Bills,” and it was stuffed with pieces of paper. The latest ones all seemed to be in shades of red with some version of “past due” on them. Even the Land Rover that Ollie was so ridiculously proud about—the dealership hadn’t gotten a lease payment for months.

If this keeps up, he’s going to be asking if he can borrow my old mountain bike, Sunny thought as she slammed the drawer shut and locked the cabinet again.

She went back to her desk feeling curiously light-headed. When Gordie had bad-mouthed Ollie, she’d just taken it in a sort of business-as-usual way. She’d even laughed when Will had outlined a motive, opportunity, and means case against her boss.

But if Ollie was up against it financially, then he had a real motive to get money out of Ada somehow. What had Will said? Big money—big motive? If he were desperate enough to pressure Ada into selling her house—or even to go snooping around in there, trying to find that blasted ticket …

Yeah, he could have sent the birdlike little woman flying.

So—motive and means, Sunny thought. Then she realized she might have a perfect witness: Mrs. Martinson. Her dad’s lady friend must have been up early, baking that damned coffee cake for him. Helena Martinson’s house was on the same block as Ada’s, just across the street and a bit farther down.

Sunny dug out the local directory and got the number. Luckily Mrs. Martinson was home, answering on the second ring. “Hello, dear, I’ve been hearing a lot about you on the radio. Are you really going over to Ada’s tonight?”

“I am,” Sunny told her. “But I just thought of something else. You were probably up the Saturday morning when Ada died.”

The older woman sighed. “I’m up most mornings,” she admitted, then paused. “You mean was I across the street when this terrible thing happened? I never even thought of it that way.”

“We don’t know when it happened,” Sunny said quickly, not wanting to upset her neighbor any further. “I was just wondering if you might have seen anything out of the ordinary.” Given Mrs. Martinson’s weakness for gossip, Sunny was sure the woman would keep a close eye on her own block.

Probably has a periscope in her kitchen to maintain surveillance, she thought.

“If I saw anything suspicious, the police would have already heard about it,” Mrs. Martinson said. “But there was nothing, not even a car.”

Sunny suddenly realized how tight her shoulders had gotten. But just as she relaxed them, her neighbor went on. “Except for that Barnstable fellow, driving around the neighborhood in that ridiculous safari truck of his. He was always looking for houses with realty signs, or where an owner had passed away, or where the house was getting run-down because the elderly owner was a little overwhelmed.”

She paused for a second. “Like Ada.”

“Ollie made an offer on the house,” Sunny admitted.

“Did he, now?” Helena Martinson said tonelessly.

Somehow, Sunny managed to thank Mrs. Martinson and hang up the phone before her neighbor put any more of that picture together. She found herself gnawing one of her knuckles—a bad habit she thought she’d gotten rid of years ago—as she mulled this new information over.

Ollie was at least near Ada’s house the morning she died, and he’d never mentioned the fact. Though, of course, they didn’t have an actual time of death. Ada could have gone down those stairs the night before.

The phone rang, and Sunny almost jumped out of her seat. Maybe it was Mrs. Martinson, calling back to say it was all a mistake …

Instead it was Sunny’s dad, sounding reassuringly normal. “You were on the noon news,” he said, “looking very pretty behind your desk.” He made an annoyed sound over the phone. “I should have recorded it.”

While Sunny appreciated his compliments, the important thing was that the story was building some momentum.

“Your feline friend and I just ate,” Mike went on. “I hope you don’t mind that I didn’t invite him up to the table.” He took a sip of something. “Iced tea. Very refreshing. Have you had lunch yet? Where are you going to eat?”

For a brief, yearning second, Sunny thought of the bench by the wharf. All of a sudden the walls of the office seemed to be pressing in on her.

But with my luck, I’ll end up dodging a sniper, or the Loch Ness Monster will attack, she thought sourly.

“I brought a sandwich, and I’ll probably end up eating it at my desk,” she told her dad. “There still may be newspeople coming by.”

“In that case, make sure you clean up the crumbs,” Mike said.

But the next person to stop by the office didn’t bring a camera—just a large chip on her shoulder. Jane Rigsdale had a stormy look on her face as she rattled the door that Sunny had been keeping locked.

Sighing, Sunny went to open up. What now? she wondered.

Jane’s heels made an abrupt rat-a-tat noise as she stalked across the wooden floor. “You know, I asked about as nicely as I could whether Will was seeing anybody.” Her voice came out a little loud and her face was pink. “So when Donna Stavely comes down from Saxon to have me look at her Pomeranian, think how surprised I was when she mentioned seeing Will having a romantic dinner up at Avezzani’s on Saturday night with you.”

Sunny blinked. “I don’t even know … who the heck is Donna Stavely?”

“She used to be Donna Allnut—and she certainly recognized you and Will.”

The worst gossip in high school, Sunny thought. This whole county is really too small to live in.

“So you don’t deny it?” Jane pressed, really getting into Sunny’s face.

Sunny forgot her resolution to be nicer to Jane the next time they met. “What is there to deny?” she snapped. “We went on a date. Big deal. When you did that whole cutesy-wootsy ‘Oh, is he seeing anyone?’ routine, I honestly didn’t know. I still don’t. Will could be dating someone else or have a harem on the side. I just met the guy. We’ve been working together, trying to dig up the truth about what happened to Ada Spruance. And lately, he’s been trying to keep me from getting killed.”

Well, at least that stopped the flow of high-school-level complaints. Jane stared as if Sunny had just gone out of her mind.

“If you read the Crier , you’d know that somebody messed around with my car and outside my house,” Sunny said. “And that car accident where Gordie Spruance got killed? That was an attempted hit-and-run on me. And that double murder that’s all over the news?” She explained that story’s background, which Sheriff Nesbit was keeping quiet for the moment.

“So in the middle of all this, Will asked me out to dinner to talk over the case, and I said yes. As you’ve noticed, he’s a nice guy, and I’m a big girl. So what now? If you want to kill me, you’ll have to get in line.”

Jane changed her tune a bit after that, not so much accusing Sunny of stealing her once and future boyfriend as blaming Sunny for ruining what could have been a beautiful friendship.

Sunny might have asked how strong this newfound bond might be if one friend came to jump down the other’s throat because she went out with the one presentable man both of them knew. But she was distracted, having spotted a big red toolbox that lay apparently unattended on the sidewalk.