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

Sunny walked in the front door to find the aisles jammed as if Zack were giving the stock away. Well, Saturdays were always busy at Judson’s. The rich folks over in Piney Brook called in their orders for delivery. The not-so-rich folks in their McMansions drove in to do their weekend shopping. And local residents still came in to get their milk and bread.

The meat and deli departments were in the rear of the store. Sunny had to wend her way through the shoppers to get back there, and then join a long line waiting for service.

This is a hell of a thing to go through for a pound of turkey, she thought, but nevertheless she stood and waited, until finally there were only three people ahead of her. And then she heard a loud, complaining voice over by the meat counter.

“I hope you have an explanation for this, Mr. Judson.”

That woman sounds familiar. Sunny turned to see Zack Judson making placating gestures to an older woman who looked like a cranky Persian cat—Carolyn Dowdey. Mrs. Dowdey was waving something in Zack’s face, a brown paper parcel—the old-fashioned packaging that Zack’s butchers used. In this case, though, the original packaging was wrapped in a clear plastic bag, and with good reason. Even ten feet away, Sunny could see that half of the brown butcher paper was soaked with blood.

“You can imagine my shock and surprise when your deliveryman arrived with this. ” Mrs. Dowdey held up the offending package again. “I was under the impression that your staff knew the proper ways to prepare cuts of beef for cooking—and didn’t just hack bloody hunks of flesh off half-cooled carcasses. When I call in my weekend order, I expect the best—not body parts that will bleed all over the other items I had asked for.”

“Mrs. Dowdey,” an increasingly desperate Zack said, his eyes just about spinning as he took in all the customers eavesdropping on this conversation. “Please accept my apologies, and let me take that from you.” He practically snatched the bloody parcel from her hands. “Of course,” he went on, “we’ll reconstitute your order and deliver it—gratis. And I’ll personally supervise the preparation of a replacement cut of meat.”

Still carrying the bloody package, he went behind the butcher counter.

With that look on his face, it might not be a good idea to go walking into a room where there’s a whole lot of cutlery lying around loose , Sunny thought.

Carolyn Dowdey stood her ground, waiting for Zack to return, a look of triumph on her face.

Yeah, yeah, Mrs. D., that irreverent part of Sunny’s brain thought. You struck a real blow for the consumer today—for the little guy.

Sunny’s lips twitched as she hid a smile. Carolyn Dowdey would probably pop a blood vessel if anyone were to suggest that she was one of the little guys.

Then their eyes met.

“Young woman,” Mrs. Dowdey said, “don’t I know you?” She frowned, squinching her facial features into an even smaller area, and then smiled as she recalled where she’d seen Sunny.

“You had the beautiful cat with the gray coat and the tiger stripes,” Carolyn Dowdey recalled. “At the vet’s office.”

Her condescending smile stiffened a bit as she likely also remembered her performance during that particular visit. “I’m not sure that young woman is the best person to be treating your cat, I’m afraid.” Mrs. Dowdey sniffed.

Sure, Sunny thought, make a fool of yourself and then throw a little mud on the person you picked a fight with.

“I’ve only had Shadow for a few months, but Dr. Rigsdale has taken excellent care of him.”

Carolyn Dowdey actually unbent a little. “Shadow—that’s a good name for him.” But then she got back on her high horse. “Perhaps you were lucky enough that he didn’t have a serious illness. I had two cats go through treatment at the Kittery Harbor Animal Hospital. They had kidney ailments.” The extra flesh on her face quivered a little. “It’s the same problem that took my late husband.”

Sunny had to bite the tip of her tongue to keep from saying something stupid like “maybe it’s something in the water.”

Carolyn Dowdey didn’t notice, having built up a good head of steam by now. “It’s almost like extortion. ‘We want to do the best for your cat, but if you feel it’s too expensive . . .’”

I could just imagine good old Martin saying that, with a wonderfully concerned look on his face, Sunny thought.

“My last cat, Mrs. Purrley, went through a string of intravenous treatments, and then surgery.” Mrs. Dowdey’s face stiffened. “And all of it for nothing. I had to have her put to sleep by Dr. Rigsdale—the other one, who was in Portland.”

“The whole vet thing is a racket,” the guy in front of Sunny on the deli line burst out. “My wife took our dog all the way across the bridge to that quack in Portsmouth. Why? Because he’s so nice .” He drew out the word in disgust. “The guy was a pretty boy who played up to all the women so they’d bring him their pets and pay him a fortune. Damn vets and their phony ‘treatments.’ I told her, ‘Madge, this guy is robbing us. It’s not like we’ve got some prize-winning purebred. Chester is a mutt, and if he gets really sick, maybe we should let him die.’”

Carolyn Dowdey drew herself up, and for a second Sunny thought she was going to slug the guy with her purse. But then the deli man distracted the dog owner by asking him what he wanted, and Zack Judson appeared, carrying a nonbloody parcel. He led Mrs. Dowdey off to get the rest of her order, and peace if not quiet was restored.

Sunny ordered her turkey and waited while the deli man sliced it. As she headed with her packet to the ten-items-or-less line at the front of the store, she was deep in thought, remembering how she’d told Jane that everyone liked her.

Maybe I was a little hasty, saying that, she thought, because it looks as if a lot of people don’t like veterinarians.

*

Sunny arrived hometo find the living room empty. “Hey, Dad!” she called. “You here?”

“In the kitchen,” Mike called back.

Boy, I hope he’s not looking for the turkey, she thought as she headed for the back of the house.

If Mike was searching for turkey, he was definitely looking in the wrong places. He stood at the top of their step stool, his head in one of the top kitchen cabinets, moving cans down onto the counter.

“What’s up?” Sunny asked, quickly stashing her package in the fridge.

Mike extracted his head from the cabinet and came down to floor level. “Got a call from Helena Martinson,” he explained. “She’s trying to stir up some donations for the food pantry. They’re getting more business than they can handle. I figure there’s stuff up top and in the back that’s probably been lurking since before I got sick.”

He sighed, thinking back to those wonderful days when he could eat anything he pleased. “Some of that stuff can probably go—like these.”

Standing front and center on the counter were a couple of small canned hams. “They were on sale right before I got sick. I remember picking them up, figuring I could slice them up and nuke myself a dinner, maybe make sandwiches. Or chop one up and make hash.” Mike shrugged. “Now I figure there’s too much fat and salt in ’em for me to eat—but they might help a family make dinner.”

Sunny nodded. “And there’s probably soup and canned veggies with more salt than you need. How about I climb and you sort?” She glanced around. “Where’s Shadow?”

Mike pointed. “His usual perch—on top of the refrigerator.”

As she climbed up the steps, Sunny found herself level with Shadow, who watched these unusual proceedings with a suspicious eye.