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

Will choked so badly, maple syrup practically came out his nose. Sunny gave him her napkin to help clean up. “You’re saying Martin Rigsdale was involved with Russian gangsters?”

She shook her head, remembering her promise to Jane about soft-pedaling the Ukrainian connection. “I’m saying that I found a store in Portsmouth that sells the same brand, and I found a guy who buys them by the carton.” The next part was going to be the tricky one. “I overheard the guy talking on his cell phone. It seems his name is Olek, and he was talking to someone called Dani.”

“You just happened to be eavesdropping on a guy in the Russian mob?” Will sighed and then gave her a stern look. “I don’t suppose you thought for a moment that might possibly be dangerous?”

Well, I did, just a little too late, Sunny had to admit. But she kept those words to herself. Instead, she asked, “Have you heard about any guys like that in Portsmouth?”

“Not while I was on the force there, no,” Will replied. “When I was way up north with the troopers, though, we dealt with some biker gangs with organized crime connections.”

“Can you ask any of your friends about those guys?”

He frowned. “It’s not going to be easy. They were willing to pass on a little information to help out when the crime was on this side of the river. But this is a murder in their melon patch. People have to know that Trumbull is questioning me. It’s like I’m radioactive—contact with me may be fatal to their careers.”

Will sat silent for a moment, thinking. “But if they’re in Portsmouth, these guys may be active on this side of the river, too. Maybe if I put it that way . . .” He looked down at his rapidly cooling stack of waffles. “Boy, Sunny, you really know how to ruin a guy’s breakfast.”

12

“Hey, I’m sorry,”Sunny said to Will. “Does this mean you’re going to talk to Trumbull?”

“How can I?” Will stabbed his fork into the pile of waffles on his plate. “It’s a pretty thin connection to begin with, and you’ve fooled around with the evidence. Trumbull might even think you planted that cigarette to distract attention from Jane.”

“I wouldn’t do that!” Sunny protested.

“I’m trying to see this from Trumbull’s viewpoint,” Will replied. “He’s already asked me if, based on my experience, you were likely to interfere in his investigation.”

“My dad asked me the same question,” Sunny admitted.

“I wonder why.” Will took a sip of coffee.

“I’ll tell you what I told him,” Sunny growled. “The Portsmouth cops have their best detective on the job. Why should I get involved?”

“Why do I think I hear a ‘but’ coming up here?” Will said wearily.

Sunny nodded. “It seems to me that Trumbull is concentrating all his attention on Jane. You’ve talked with the guy. Can you tell me that I’m wrong?”

Will frowned, toying with his fork. “When a detective questions anyone—a witness, a source, a suspect—he purposely doesn’t give them the full picture.”

“Yeah, but as a cop yourself, you can sort of fill in the blanks between the questions and catch the drift of the investigation. Is Trumbull going anywhere other than after Jane?”

He hesitated for a long moment. “No. I don’t think so. That’s why I thought Jane should see a lawyer.”

“Well, she did,” Sunny told him. “And it was a pretty funny meeting. Turns out that Tobe Phillips is a grammar school classmate of ours under a different name—Toby Philpotts.” She decided not to mention the young Toby’s bladder problem—or how nice-looking he’d grown up to become.

“That’s one piece of good news.” Will sighed, not buying Sunny’s attempt to change the subject. “I wish you hadn’t messed with that evidence.”

“It’s not as if I meant to.” Sunny tried to defend herself. “I stumbled onto the observation post, trying to get out of the snow. So my footprints were there before I even knew there was something to find.”

Will shook his head. “But when you did find something, you took it away with you. That’s tampering at best. At worst, it means the cops can’t use it in their case.” He pushed his plate away. “It also means they can’t use it as leverage to get any information. We don’t know when that smoker—Olek or whatever—was standing there. But if he saw anything going on at that office near the time that Rigsdale died, we won’t be finding out about it.”

Sunny wanted to reassure him that Olek hadn’t seen anything, but of course she couldn’t. Mentioning that fact would open the door to a lot of questions she just couldn’t answer.

“Look,” she said, “I really am sorry about messing up your breakfast. Why don’t I pick up the bill for it?” She had a few extra bucks in her wallet—household money, meant to pay for the food shopping.

Guess I’ll have to find a few places to economize, that’s all, she thought.

They finished their coffees, Sunny paid, and then Will said good-bye. “I think I’m gonna get some more sleep.” He stifled a yawn and climbed into his pickup, heading back into town while Sunny aimed her Wrangler deeper into outlet-land. There were a couple of supermarkets out there as well, and Sunny was working on a diminished budget.

She was pretty lucky, managing to get everything on her list or slightly less pricey alternates. The only problem, weirdly enough, was the low-sodium turkey she needed to get for her dad.

“Sorry.” The guy behind the deli counter apologized. “The low-sodium turkey was on sale, and we just had a run on it. There’s none left, not until Tuesday.” He turned around to the racks of deli meats and ran a big chunk of turkey through the meat slicer. “I’ve got this. A lot of folks like it.”

He handed Sunny a single slice on a piece of waxed paper. She chewed, swallowed, and shook her head. “Way too salty.”

“Sorry,” he said again.

“No problem,” Sunny told him, and then pushed her shopping cart to the checkout line.

But it was a problem. She had gone for all the bargains, starting at the farthest store and working her way back toward town. This should have been her last stop. She didn’t want to turn back now with a carload of all the other food she’d gotten.

Well, she thought, I could stop off at home, unload the car, and then go down to Judson’s for the turkey. It might be a bit pricier than I’d hoped, but I can swing it.

Sunny came quietly into the house. Mike was sprawled asleep on the couch with some sort of NASCAR race going on the television. From the middle of the sunny spot near the window, Shadow drowsily raised his head, slit his eyes at her for a moment, then rested back on his paws again.

“You’d think that he at least would be a little more enthusiastic, knowing I was coming home with food,” Sunny muttered as she unloaded her grocery sacks into the refrigerator.

Then she went back out. Perversely, parking downtown was much worse on the weekends than on weekdays. Even on a wintry Saturday, Sunny found herself walking for blocks to get to the strip of shops known as the New Stores.

Judson’s Market took up the equivalent of two storefronts. This was the second location for the grocery, Mike often told her. The original Judson’s had opened four generations ago in the redbrick part of town. Her dad’s friend Zack Judson had moved the market to the New Stores in search of more space and more customers. Over the years, to compete with the supermarkets springing up farther out of town, Zack had taken his operation considerably upscale. You could get exotic coffees, fancy cuts of meat, fine chocolates, and foreign cheeses. Even his cold cuts were expensive. But they were also very, very good.