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

Jane really started laughing when she heard that. “And I bet he thanks God every Sunday afternoon for that.” She looked down at her food. “Okay. Sandwiches, then pretzels.”

Sunny gave her a bracing smile. Bur underneath it, she thought, I hope I haven’t just made a promise that I’m going to regret.

*

The rest oflunch passed in chewing and small talk—not at the same time. They did have manners, after all. When they finished, Jane took Sunny’s arm again. “Thanks. We should do this again.” She sighed, but then grinned, her confidence apparently back in place. “Maybe with less police involvement.”

Sunny saw her to the door and then went back to work. She had a couple of new listings to add to the local attractions database. It was a calming sort of job. Wrangling with computer code seemed so much more straightforward than dealing with people.

The phone rang, and Sunny found herself back in the human equation. Will was on the other end of the line. “Would you mind grabbing a quick coffee with me when you finish work?”

Normally, she would’ve accepted with pleasure. Now, though . . .

“Does this have anything to do with the conversation I had with Ben Semple earlier today?” Sunny asked.

“Could be,” Will replied cautiously.

Sunny threw up her hands in surrender. What was she going to do? “Okay,” she said. “How about that new little café that opened near the harbor?”

When Sunny closed up the office, she walked the short distance downtown. The cobblestone street at harborside was as quaint as ever, but almost deserted thanks to the icy wind blowing in off the water. As the only customer at Spill the Beans, Sunny got a warm welcome and her choice of tables. She chose the one in the corner under the heater and settled in to defrost. Moments later, Will came in, tall and rangy in a dark blue parka. His chiseled features looked more like ice sculpture, the tips of his ears and nose red from the cold. He unzipped his coat, showing that he was still in civilian clothes, and sat across the small table from her, blowing on his fingers.

“You can order one of those New York cappy-frappy things if you like,” he said. “I just want a nice, big cup of American coffee to wrap my hands around.”

“Or maybe you could wear gloves,” Sunny suggested.

“They’re with my uniform coat,” he told her. “So they’re waiting for me when I start my shift.”

Before Will could say anything more, the waitress arrived and took their orders—American coffee for both of them. When she left, Will leaned across the table. “Sheriff Nesbit had me come in early today for a ‘fatherly chat.’”

Since Will’s late father had been sheriff before Frank Nesbit got elected to the office, there were several layers of meaning for Sunny to unpack from that sentence. Will blamed Nesbit not only for driving his dad from office, but for the older Price’s death in an auto accident soon afterward.

Will sat silently for a moment as their coffees arrived. Sunny took a sip. “It’s pretty good, even if it doesn’t have a shot of hazelnut buffalo milk.”

Will just made a noncommittal sound, stirring his spoon in his cup.

“So what do you need to get off your chest?” Sunny prompted. “What did you and Nesbit chat about? Trumbull? Jane?”

“Both,” Will said. “I guess it got pretty loud. Ben must have overheard some of it.” He shot her an anxious glance. “What did he tell you?”

“Well, he mentioned that there might be a problem for a cop who was—‘close’ was the way he put it—with a murder suspect.” She frowned. “Does Nesbit think Jane did it?”

“He doesn’t care.” From the look on Will’s face as he sipped from his cup, he might as well have been drinking pond scum. “But he gave me a great lecture on avoiding even the appearance of impropriety.” He set the cup down a little too sharply. Coffee slopped onto the acrylic cover that protected the reclaimed wood of the table. “The big hypocrite.”

“So what’s the bottom line?” Sunny asked.

“Complete cooperation with the Portsmouth investigation,” Will said. “Nesbit ordered me to answer every question Trumbull might care to ask.” He frowned angrily at the memory. But then he deflated, adding in a low voice, “And no communication with Jane.”

Will dabbed at the puddle of coffee with the totally inadequate napkin that had accompanied his cup, and then looked up at Sunny. “She may not show it, but this whole situation has Jane pretty freaked out.”

“We talked a little about it this afternoon.” Sunny decided not to tell Will about Jane’s mini-meltdown. “If you have any advice you need to pass on to her, you can always do it through me.”

For the first time since he’d come in, Will brightened a bit. “You’re the best, Sunny. I think that’s the only decent thing I’ve heard all day.”

But his smile quickly flickered out. “I think we’re past the point of giving advice,” he said. “What Jane needs now is a lawyer.”

“Peter Lewin has worked with her at the foundation,” Sunny began, naming a local attorney, but Will shook his head.

“I’m talking about a criminal, not a civil, lawyer,” he interrupted. “Someone who can practice across the river in Portsmouth.”

He dug a crumpled business card from his shirt pocket. “This is a guy who knows his business.” Will gave her a wry smile. “Back when I was on the Portland force, he dragged me over the coals a couple of times when I had to testify in cases. He’s the youngest partner in the firm.”

“Crandall, Sherwood, and Phillips,” Sunny read the top line of the card aloud. “Well, at least it’s not Dewey, Cheatem, and Howe.”

“Tell her to get in touch with this Phillips guy.” Will shook his head unhappily. “Otherwise, it looks as if my hands are tied.”

He called the waitress over for more napkins and the bill. “I’m sorry, but I can’t drink this stuff. Not the way I’m feeling now. It’ll go right through me. And that’s not a good thing when you’re going on patrol.”

Sunny didn’t know whether to laugh or scowl as Will quickly headed out the door. So much for the myth of the tough cop, she thought. “Waste not, want not” was another Kittery Harbor mantra. Sunny reached over and poured the rest of Will’s coffee into her own mug, and ordered a whoopie pie. With her first bite, the cream filling squelched out to either side of her mouth.

The evening’s still young, she thought sarcastically. I wonder who’ll call to invite me out to supper.

When she got home, though, all she found was a note in the kitchen from Mike:

Got the machine in your office and no answer on your cell phone. Have to go to a meeting. Will eat out. I promise not to eat anything with fat, salt, or flavor.

Dad

No answer? Sunny dug out her cell phone. “Great,” she muttered. “Dead battery.”

Then she smiled down at Shadow, who was still twining his way around her shins. “Looks like it’s just me and you tonight. I just hope there are some sandwich makings in the fridge that aren’t ham and cheese.”

In the end, she wound up making a smashed fried egg sandwich, taking her plate into the living room and sitting on the floor with the cat.

*

Shadow paid noattention to the picture box, busily trying to push the plate out of Sunny’s lap so he could climb in there. He usually didn’t hang on her so much, but it wasn’t often that they had the house to themselves.

After the Old One left, Shadow hadn’t been able to settle back into his nap. Instead, he’d patrolled the empty rooms, feeling . . . lonely.