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

“Is that his paw acting up?” she asked as the cat stopped on the opposite side of the table from her.

“Not from the way he’s moving around on it,” Jane replied. “And he didn’t mind when I started examining his pads.” She shot a sharp look at Sunny. “So if his foot isn’t the problem, what are you doing here?”

“All right, I confess. I came to see how you were doing.” Sunny tried to put as much sincerity as she could into her answer. “Listening to you last night, it sounded to me as if you were pretty deep into denial. So I figured I’d check whether or not this had all caught up with you.”

That took some of the starch out of Jane. Her shoulders sagged a little. “I guess it did,” she confessed. “At least enough to make me dig out a box of Martin’s old stuff.” She nodded at a cardboard carton lying open on one of the counter tops, but then broke off, staring at Shadow.

He stood poised on the edge of the exam table closest to the box, making hostile noises.

“I guess he’s catching a whiff of Martin’s cologne.” Jane sounded a little embarrassed.

“Well, it was kind of on the strong side,” Sunny said.

But that wasn’t what bothered Jane. “Shadow never liked Martin. And looking back on our partnership, I have to wonder. After all, this is a medical practice where the patients can never talk. I don’t know what Martin did with them when I wasn’t around. It’s obvious he made a pretty bad impression with Shadow.” She scowled. “Another suggestion that I picked a real winner. When we started out, he had me so that I didn’t know up from down.”

“I know that feeling.” Sunny sighed. “And then comes the letdown.”

Jane nodded, her expression not so much “How did this happen?” as “How did I get myself into this mess?” She cleared her throat. “It’s things like this that make me wonder—was I intentionally blind to his shortcomings?”

“He still had a hold on your feelings.” Sunny remembered the editor back in New York whose divorce had been coming through, coming through . . . but then, when people’s jobs were on the chopping block, he’d gotten back with his wife, and not only broke things off with Sunny, but laid her off as well. Even so, on cold, dark nights, Sunny found herself thinking about what might have been.

Jane obviously had a different idea. “I should have burnt that stuff.” She directed a venomous glance at the cardboard container. “But I can’t now, because that might look like if I was trying to destroy evidence.”

She turned back to Sunny, her expression showing the same sort of strain that Will’s had when he visited Sunny’s office—and for the same reason. “Has Detective Trumbull been in touch with you?”

Sunny shook her head.

“Well, he called three times today, asking for a few little details. Like, was it true that I’d thrown a glass of wine in Martin’s face at the Redbrick?” Jane scowled at the memory. “He’s like that old detective on TV, the one who was always leaving and asking one more question.”

“Columbo?” Sunny said.

Jane nodded. “I used to watch that show when I was a kid, thinking it was pretty funny. Let me tell you, though, it’s not so funny when it happens to you in real life. More like death by a thousand cuts.”

She went silent, and for a second they watched Shadow move restlessly between them.

“I guess he’s picking up my bad vibes.” Jane extended a hand to the cat. “Sorry, Shadow. Nothing for you to worry about.”

Shadow nuzzled Jane’s fingers and then came over to rub against Sunny.

“That’s good,” Jane said. “You’re the person he should go to for comfort.”

Sunny drew her hand from between his ears and down his back. Shadow immediately thrust his head at her for a second helping. Then he went back to Jane, getting a laugh out of her.

“Hey, greedy,” she said, rubbing his chin with a finger. “I guess that’s the best you can do for me—unless you have an in with the Portsmouth police.”

Her hand and voice stopped dead, and she looked over at Sunny. “I didn’t mean—”

“I know.” Sunny’s brain raced, trying to figure out what to say. Had Will talked with Jane? It hadn’t seemed so when he came into the office. She decided to play dumb. “If Trumbull found out about what happened in the Redbrick, he probably knows that you and Will have been going out. And if he decides to ask a bunch of official questions . . .”

Jane nodded in comprehension. “That could get sticky, considering how Will and the sheriff get along.”

“So I guess you’ll have to grit your teeth and get through all the questions. I know that’s not much fun.” Sunny paused for a second. “Do you have a lawyer you can talk to?”

That brought a spark from Jane. “What do I need a lawyer for? I didn’t do anything!”

“When you’re in an interrogation room—” Sunny began, when a woman appeared in the exam room entrance to interrupt her.

“Mrs. Dowdey!” Jane’s receptionist Rita Greene’s voice came down the hallway, sounding upset. “You can’t just go walking back there—Dr. Rigsdale is with a patient!”

The woman in the doorway paid no attention, entering and marching straight up to Jane. “The animal shelter told me that my application to adopt a cat had been turned down—and that you’re responsible!”

She had a large, round face, with the features sort of squeezed together in the middle. Add in the wispy fringe of hair that was supposed to look sophisticated but just looked wrong, and the overwhelming impression was of a Persian cat—in this case, a very annoyed Persian cat. Incipient jowls quivered with indignation. Sunny figured the lady—which was definitely what this woman would consider herself—was about her father’s age or a tad older. She dressed stylishly, maybe too stylishly. The dress under her opened fur coat would have been more in tune for somebody twenty years younger—the royal blue color a little too striking, the skirt too short, and the waist too high.

But what really struck Sunny, aside from the woman’s angry-cat expression, was the smell that seemed to emanate from her. It reminded Sunny of the time she’d gone exploring in her grandmother’s dresser drawer, found an ancient bottle of perfume stuck in the back, opened it, and—phew!

From the rest of the package, I don’t think she’d put on stale perfume, Sunny thought. Well, her face looks hot enough to cook something on. Maybe it’s frying off whatever she’s wearing.

Jane, on the other hand, had hidden her upset behind a cool, almost cold, demeanor. “I simply asked them to refer you to me, Mrs. Dowdey,” she said. “You’ve had two cats with health problems—”

“I give my cats the best of everything!” Mrs. Dowdey’s voice got a bit strident. “The best beds, the best toys, the best food—”

“And too much of it,” Jane interrupted crisply. “In my years at this practice, you had one cat die from renal complications, and the other become very ill—”

“Mrs. Purrley died, too,” Mrs. Dowdey’s voice switched to an accusing tone. “Your husband was absolutely no help at all.”

Now Jane’s voice got a bit loud. “He’s not—” She clamped her lips together and took a deep breath.

Yikes, Sunny thought. Talk about sticking your foot in something!

But when Jane spoke again, her voice was mild. “I’m sorry to hear about Mrs. Purrley. Since I haven’t seen her in more than a year, I certainly can’t comment on whatever treatment Martin may have undertaken.”

“I had to have her put to sleep.” Tears appeared in Mrs. Dowdey’s eyes. “It’s so lonely in the house now.”