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

“We’re trying to set up a class on how to keep a pet healthy,” Jane began.

“As if you people care about that.” Mrs. Dowdey huffed. “Sick animals are your bread and butter.”

Jane’s lips compressed again, but once more she managed to keep anger out of her voice. “I think healthy animals are what we all want. If you take the class, I’d be willing to revisit the question of adoption.”

“You would?” Mrs. Dowdey sounded surprised but hopeful. “This isn’t because you’re angry that I went with the other Dr. Rigsdale?”

“Of course not. We’ll let you know when the class starts.” Jane tried to sound nice, but she clearly wanted this conversation to end. “Rita, will you see Mrs. Dowdey out? Make sure you have her number so we can get in touch with her.” Jane turned back to Shadow, who had retreated to the far edge of the table, his nose wrinkling. From now on, Mrs. Dowdey would be Rita’s problem.

But Mrs. Dowdey apparently had to have the last word. “Thank you, Doctor. I may have been a bit hasty.” She seemed to notice Sunny and Shadow for the first time. “That’s a very handsome animal.”

“Thanks,” said Sunny, struggling to keep her annoyance out of her voice.

Mrs. Dowdey finally allowed Rita to conduct her down the hallway and back to the reception area. After a brief exchange, the voices muffled by distance, the front door closed.

Jane gave Sunny a wry grimace. “So now you’ve gotten to see behind the scenes in the exciting world of veterinary medicine. Does it make you feel as if you made the wrong choice way back at career day?”

Sunny grinned. “In the newspaper business, people who don’t agree with what you write do it in the letters to the editor, not face-to-face.”

Jane sighed. “Carolyn Dowdey means well. The problem is, she really didn’t know how to take care of her cats. She figured as long as they got the best of everything, they would be fine. And that there was no such thing as ‘too much of a good thing.’ That’s not always true, even if you can afford it.”

Her expression darkened. “And because she could afford it, I’ll bet Martin went for the most expensive treatments he could come up with, even if it meant keeping that poor animal hanging on in agony.”

There it is, always coming back to Martin, Sunny thought. He still sticks to Jane like a bad smell—even worse than Mrs. Dowdey’s perfume.

She reached out to touch Jane’s arm, and Shadow came over to press his head against her, too.

“Take care of yourself,” Sunny said.

Jane smiled down at Shadow, combing her fingers through his gray fur. “And you take care of this little guy. I’d say he’s pretty well recovered, but keep giving him the oil massage for a few more days.” She looked at Sunny. “And if there’s any problem—any problem at all—you let me know.”

Sunny got Shadow’s carrying case. “You’ve got it, Jane,” she promised. “After all, we returnees have to stick together.”

*

Usually, Shadow regrettedleaving Gentle Hands—she was always so nice to him. But as Sunny opened the box, he just about jumped in there, eager to get away. He burrowed into the fur that wasn’t real, inhaling deeply to breathe in the scents trapped in the fibers. Anything to block that awful stench in the air outside.

The loud older human might have gone, but the stink that had surrounded her still hung in the air.

However long Shadow stayed around the two-legs, he’d never understand some of the things they did, especially their attitude when it came to smells. Most of the time, they didn’t seem to smell things at all. Oh, sometimes he’d see them sniff the air around cooking food. And if his litter box got too full or his stomach rumbled and a little ripe air escaped, the humans would make sounds of annoyance.

But those things they rode in to go fast, they let out smoke that was a lot riper—it was enough to make a cat gag. And some of the two-legs actually got things that they set on fire so they could breathe in the smoke and breathe it out. He’d seen them do it, and he certainly couldn’t fathom why anyone would want to. Sometimes they’d even blow smoke at him, which he didn’t like. And the odor of the stuff would cling to their hands and faces—not very nice at all. Sometimes he encountered humans with an unwashed, dirty, musky smell. It might not be the nicest scent, but at least it was natural. Better than that smoke.

But this was the first time he’d ever encountered a human who apparently bathed in a bad smell and then went out to spread it around.

He looked out the barred entrance as Sunny set him on the seat of her car.

I’m glad none of our Old Ones would do anything like that, he thought.

*

Sunny got homein time to give Shadow his promised paw massage and get in a little television viewing and playing with the cat.

Mike looked at her from his usual place on the couch. “You seem awfully quiet tonight.”

“I’m thinking,” Sunny told him, joking, “in case you were worried that the burning smell was coming from the TV.”

“Did you have problems with Jane?”

Sunny shook her head. “She’s the one having problems. I think the detective in charge of Martin’s case suspects her. But instead of having her mind free to deal with that, she still seems to be dealing with a lot of old crap Martin pulled. The guy’s messing her up more now that he’s dead than he managed when he was alive.”

They went to their beds shortly after that. Sunny awoke the next morning to find that a freak warm front had blown in after the arctic blast.

Mike stood looking out the kitchen window. “If we get enough sun today, we probably wouldn’t have needed McPherson to plow out the driveway,” he said. “It will all melt away.”

When she got into work, Sunny found the warm weather already changing snow to slush. While her duck boots kept the icy water at bay, it quickly soaked into the cuffs of her jeans. She spent the first hour or so sitting as close to the baseboard radiator as she could manage, trying to dry out the damp cloth.

Memo to self, she thought. Keep a spare pair of pants in the office.

At last the denim got reasonably dry, and Sunny resumed her usual office routine. She went online to find a couple of e-mails at the MAX website, but no messages on the answering machine. Drafting replies to the e-mails went quickly—she had templates to deal with all but the most off-the-wall requests. In some cases, she pulled together a few information packets. After that, well, it was pretty much downtime until the mail arrived in about an hour and a half.

“Well, if you’re going to do it, do it,” Sunny muttered to herself. She hadn’t mentioned her discovery in front of Martin Rigsdale’s office to anyone. Jane was still trying to get her head around how much trouble she was in, and Will was trying to keep himself out of Trumbull’s investigation. And of course, there was the thing that Sunny’s editors always complained about—once she got on a story, she wanted to make it hers.

Taking a deep breath, Sunny cranked up her local sources database. Dealing with tourists meant providing a surprising array of services for a wide variety of people, including folks from foreign countries . . . and smokers. A lot of those foreign visitors smoked foreign cigarettes, and Sunny had compiled a list of stores specializing in exotic brands.

Whoever had been keeping an eye on Martin Rigsdale’s place smoked some sort of Russian cigarettes. Where would he or she find the nearest supply?

She quickly narrowed in with her search. Portsmouth Tobacconists, on the edge of the downtown shopping district, and not all that far from Martin Rigsdale’s office.