Donally, Claire - Cat Nap (A SUNNY & SHADOW MYSTERY)

“What kind of relationship did the Rigsdales have?” He watched Sunny closely.

She took a moment to decide on an answer. “I only saw them together once.” Honest, but not too revealing. Considering the way this guy had looked at Jane, Sunny wasn’t about to tell him about Jane throwing her wine in Martin’s face.

Although they’ll probably find out about all that if they ask around, she thought glumly. Upwards of a hundred people saw that performance, and the gossip was sure to get around.

“You only saw the Rigsdales together once?” Fitch pressed, his face full of disbelief. “And yet you’re close enough to Mrs. Rigsdale that she asked you to give her a lift to her husband’s office?”

“I’ve only been back in Kittery Harbor for about a year,” Sunny told him. “Jane and Martin had split up by the time I came home.”

“So what are you saying?” Fitch said. “You knew Mrs. Rigsdale, but not while she was married?”

Sunny sighed. “Pretty much. Jane and I went to school together years ago. But I left town after college, and just came home to take care of my dad when he got sick. It’s not as if there’s a wide network of expatriates back in town, Detective. Jane and I just sort of wound up back in touch when I took my cat to the vet and was surprised to find her. I’d only known her by her maiden name—Leister.”

Fitch looked disappointed but kept probing. “Do you know what the Rigsdales were going to talk about this evening?”

Sunny took a deep breath. “I think it was about money,” she said. “From what I understand, Martin Rigsdale had problems in that direction.”

“And where did you get that impression?” Fitch asked.

His annoying manner pushed Sunny into a sharper answer than she’d intended. “From Martin himself. He approached me, suggesting that if I persuaded Jane to ‘loosen the purse strings,’ as he put it, we could have some fun with the proceeds.”

Detective Fitch reared back a little, silenced for once.

“I’ll admit that I don’t know Jane Rigsdale all that well. From when we were kids, I know she’s smart. From the way she treats Shadow—my cat—I know she’s kind and conscientious. I only met Martin Rigsdale once. But he impressed me as the sort of man who could very easily create all kinds of reasons to get himself killed.”

Slowly, Fitch nodded. “Okay, I look forward to reading your statement, Ms. Coolidge. I’m sure you’ll do a wonderful job.”

“Excuse me?” Sunny said.

“Well, you are a newspaper reporter, aren’t you?” the detective replied. “Even though we live on the other side of a state border, we still get the news from Maine. Somebody gave me a copy of the Harbor Crier because they thought I’d be interested in the Spruance case. The piece you wrote was very interesting—very professional. Do you cover a lot of murders?”

Sunny gave Fitch a suspicious look as she took a pen and pad from the detective. Was this part of the interrogation?

“I was a general assignment reporter in New York City,” she said carefully. “That meant writing about whatever they threw at you.”

Fitch nodded eagerly. Oh, wonderful. She had a fan. He just happened to be a fan who looked like a bad-tempered ferret, and who was trying to trip her up with this statement. She’d have to get this story down very carefully indeed, because she had no doubt that Fitch was after Jane, as well.

*

When Sunny finallyemerged from her tête-à-tête with Detective Fitch, she found Jane waiting for her. Even with her hair pulled back in a casual ponytail, Jane looked elegant and slim in boots and riding breeches—and one of those Barbour coats that repelled all weather and cost a serious bundle. Sunny felt frumpy in the parka she’d gotten at the Eddie Bauer outlet during the summer when prices were cheap, but the selection was limited, to say the least.

Sunny sighed. She’d seen twinzie coats on too many thrift-minded inhabitants of Kittery Harbor. Were Jane’s fancy coat and car remnants of her high-living days with Martin? Or had she bought them with money from her more recent windfall?

Even with a reporter’s arsenal of questions, there was no polite way to edge up on that subject. Jane was facing away from her, so Sunny stepped forward and tapped her on the shoulder. Jane jumped a little at the contact.

So, no matter how calm and cool she looks on the outside, inside she’s feeling nervous, Sunny thought. Aloud, she said, “Looks like you got out pretty quickly. I guess I got the bad cop. Did you get the good one?”

Jane just shrugged. “More like the bored cop. It seemed pretty cut-and-dried. He was just doing his job, asking about how we found Martin . . .” She made a wry face. “How things were between Martin and me.” She led the way to the door and they stepped out onto the covered porch outside. While they’d been answering questions in the windowless interrogation rooms, the snow had been coming down pretty heavily—big, fluffy flakes that had already frosted the parking area with more than an inch or two of accumulation.

“Well, I hope Detective Trumbull will be nice enough to offer us a ride back to the office. My Wrangler is still there.”

“Ummmmmm . . .” Jane sat down on the bench outside the door. “I called for a lift.”

“From whom?” Sunny asked.

As if in answer, a black pickup truck pulled up at the entrance and Will Price came jumping out. An open parka revealed that he still wore his blue constable’s uniform, and his long face with its well-composed features showed concern instead of his usual detached cop’s expression. He rushed over to Jane. “Are you all right?”

The next thing Sunny knew, Jane was off the bench and in Will’s arms. “It was pretty bad.”

“Well, you’re okay now,” Will said softly, running a hand over Jane’s glorious blond hair. Then he noticed Sunny and quickly brought his hand down. “Sunny! How are you doing?”

Well, I didn’t come in and find my ex-husband dead, Sunny thought. So I guess I don’t rate the full-body hello.

“I’m not sure,” she said aloud. “The cops came, and Martin’s receptionist just about accused us of killing him. I got stuck with a nasty little cop named Fitch, and Jane talked with an older guy named Trumbull.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Jane insisted. “He just took me through what happened, did up a statement, and that was that.”

“Trumbull is the best cop in the detective division.” Will’s face went from sappy to serious. “That’s what everybody said when I was on the force here.”

“Well, that was a couple of years ago,” Jane replied. “He barely paid attention to me. I think maybe he just wants to play out the string till he retires.”

As Jane said that, Sunny spotted Trumbull beyond the station’s glass door. Sunny didn’t think he was close enough to hear Jane’s dismissive comment, but he was close enough that Sunny could see the detective clearly. His hound dog face looked saggier and sadder than ever.

But his eyes were clear, cold, and coplike as he watched Jane in Will’s arms.

5

“We’d better getgoing.” Will finally tore himself loose from Jane. “The snow is really coming down, and it’s starting to stick on the roads.”

He led them off the porch and into the open air, where fat, feathery flakes drifted down. They’d already spread a white carpet a couple of inches thick on the concrete of the parking lot and the grassy verges. There was even an inch of accumulation on the windshield of Will’s pickup, even though he’d parked just a few minutes before.

They crowded into the cab, Jane cutting Sunny off so that she sat next to Will.