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

Sunny nodded. The 99 Elmet Ladies was a service group that had sprung up as times had gotten tougher around Elmet County. Ken Howell had run several admiring stories in the Harbor Crier about their efforts to establish a food pantry and help folks made homeless. Speaking privately with Sunny, his editorial opinion had been blunter: “There’s a lot less tea and finger sandwiches and a lot more hard work than you’d expect from that crowd. Some of the more snooty groups could take a good lesson from them.”

“Some of our new friends and allies from across the river live not too far from Martin Rigsdale’s office.” Helena looked faintly embarrassed. “I’m afraid I had to use some of the grisly details you told Mike to get the conversation going.”

Yeah, gossip is often a quid pro quo proposition, Sunny thought. “What did these ladies think of Martin Rigsdale?” she asked.

“They found him very charming, of course,” Mrs. Martinson replied. “He offered advice on dealing with the local stray population and spent a lot of time getting into the local social swing. His place was near a golf course, and he did some networking there with the men. And he could always be depended upon for any event where womenfolk were around.”

“That sounds like Martin,” Sunny said.

Mike just made a face as he sipped his coffee. “What’s that old song? ‘Just a Gigolo’?”

“But there was talk about him and his receptionist.” Mrs. M.’s expression became disapproving. “I understand she’s attractive, as one of the ladies put it, ‘in a downscale sort of way.’ More to the point, she’s just a bit more than half his age.”

“What else did you find out about Dawn Featherstone?” Sunny asked.

“For one thing, she’s actually Dora Featherstone,” Helena said. “She calls herself Dawn for professional reasons.”

“What?” Mike burst out, spewing a little cloud of powdered sugar off his coffee cake. “She’s a professional receptionist?”

“She grew up in Portsmouth, again as one of my ladies put it, ‘not in one of the nicest neighborhoods.’ For a while she went to Manchester for a degree in physical education. But she dropped out of college and came back home. She worked as an aerobics instructor—”

“That would explain calling herself Dawn,” Sunny said. “How many aerobics instructors have you met named Dora?”

“As I was saying, she worked in several health clubs,” Mrs. Martinson went on. “Apparently, however, you need some sort of certification, and she wasn’t able to get it. So she just did temp work until she wound up working for Dr. Rigsdale, who hired her full-time.”

“In more ways than one,” Mike muttered, but he quickly subsided when both Sunny and Helena gave him looks.

“So, has she suddenly developed a deep interest in veterinary medicine?” Sunny asked.

Helena shook her head. “From what I hear, her dream is to open her own health club.” She paused, smiling. “For humans.”

Sunny frowned thoughtfully as she took in that information. Considering the front Martin Rigsdale put up, he might’ve looked like a good source to bankroll Dawn’s dream. Maybe this isn’t a case of a starry-eyed kid bowled over by the old Rigsdale charm. Maybe Dawn had her own agenda. Sunny’s frown got deeper. And if she found out that she was wasting her time—that Martin was broke, or if he had another woman—well, Dawn is definitely well toned. She could bop somebody on the head and make sure they stayed down. And she probably knew how to administer a shot . . .

“I hope that expression isn’t a reaction to my cake,” Mrs. Martinson said.

“Sorry,” Sunny apologized. “I’m afraid my thoughts took me away for a moment.”

“Thinking about a not very nice man,” the older woman said. “And maybe a girl to match?” She shook her head. “The problem is, the women I talked to all liked Dr. Rigsdale. He fit in with them socially. When it came to Dawn, though, they talked about her ‘trying to get her claws into him.’”

Sunny laughed. “They didn’t know him very well. He was very equal opportunity when it came to picking up women.” She told her dad and Mrs. Martinson the story she’d heard from the waitress.

“Yeah, well, maybe she’s right,” Mike said. “I remember my days out on the road. There was something about waitresses—” He shut up when he saw the looks he was getting from both Sunny and Helena.

Mrs. Martinson perched herself on the end of her seat, her petite features alight with curiosity. “So, are you intending to solve this mystery?”

Sunny repressed a shudder. “Definitely not,” she replied. That was the last thing she wanted going out on the local gossip hotline. “I’m just worried about Jane Rigsdale. It’s bad enough that she found her ex-husband dead, but now the cops are asking questions—”

She bit off the end of that sentence. “I’d appreciate it if that didn’t get out and around.”

“There’s already a lot of talk going around about Jane,” Mrs. Martinson said. “The scene in the Redbrick is public knowledge by now—probably with a lot of embroidery. I suppose the Portsmouth police know all about it.”

Sunny nodded. “But we don’t need to spread any more stories.”

Helena fluttered her hands. “You wouldn’t believe some of the things I hear. Carolyn Dowdey has been complaining that Jane overstepped her bounds in running the animal foundation. She claims that Jane is discriminating against people who took their pets to Martin instead of to her.”

“Dowdey?” Sunny repeated. “Sort of a big woman in fancy clothes that don’t suit her—face like a cat and a stinky perfume?”

“I’ve been with Carolyn while she shops for perfume,” Mrs. Martinson said. “Believe me, it’s not the kind of stuff you’d find discounted up in outlet-land. It would probably cost you a week’s salary.” She named a designer fragrance that was horrifyingly exclusive, not to mention pricey.

Sunny grimaced. “Make that two weeks’ salary.” She gave her neighbor a quizzical look. “Does that stuff really smell so awful?”

“Only after it hits Carolyn’s skin.” Helena sighed. “It’s some kind of unfortunate chemical reaction that turns the best perfumes rancid. This wasn’t the first, I’m afraid. I’ve tried to be tactful about it—several of us have—but she just doesn’t seem to listen.”

“Yeah, I kind of noticed that about her,” Sunny said. “She barged into Jane’s office last night, complaining that Jane was holding up a cat adoption on her.”

“Was she?” Mrs. Martinson asked.

“Sort of, but not because she was upset about Martin. Jane wants this Dowdey woman to take a class on how to take care of pets. Apparently, she’s killed two cats with kindness—overfeeding them.”

“Really?” Mrs. M. looked a little worried. “Maybe I should sign up for that class, too. Toby seems ready to eat anytime—”

Mike broke in, rolling his eyes. “And anything.”

“I think that’s pretty standard when it comes to puppies,” Sunny said. “Looks as though the two of you are going through a learning curve.”

But her neighbor was on to a different subject. “Carolyn has been through some big changes, and hasn’t handled them well. Her husband left her well off when he passed away. She’s invested heavily in altering her house and her wardrobe—neither for the better. She wants very badly to be modern.”

“Young?” Sunny interjected.

Helena gave an uncomfortable nod. “I suppose so. And even though she buys the best, it’s not always the best for her.”

“You sound sympathetic,” Sunny said.

“And you sound surprised,” Helena Martinson replied.