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

The long, narrow room housed the newspaper operation and Ken’s printing business. Sunny was never sure which supported which. An ancient rolltop desk housed a fairly modern computer, which Ken used for writing and composing. Scattered around the room were generations of different printing presses. That wasn’t surprising. Howells had been printing and publishing in here since before the Civil War.

Ken had a house somewhere. Her dad had even told Sunny he’d visited there. But the newsroom was Ken’s home. If he wasn’t out distributing papers or gathering news, Sunny usually saw him in the office. Today he had a practical reason. One of the presses was clattering away, spitting out some sort of newsletter. In order to make ends meet, Ken not only printed the paper, but also took on all sorts of other printing jobs.

When he spotted her coming in, Ken gave Sunny a companionable nod and pointed at the chair beside his desk. For him, that was a warm welcome. He’d been almost hostile a year ago when Sunny had approached him about a reporter’s job. But that ice had been broken. They’d worked together on a couple of stories and developed a healthy respect for each other’s abilities. The sad fact of the matter was that a local weekly couldn’t afford to take on Sunny, or anyone else, full-time.

After a few minutes, the clattering stopped and Ken came over, wiping his hands on a rag. “What brings you down here on a Sunday?” he asked, white eyebrows rising on his long, spare-fleshed face.

“Moneylending,” Sunny replied.

Ken looked at his shoes. “I wish I could help,” he began.

“I mean professional moneylenders. Or rather, loan sharks.” Sunny quickly jumped in.

He jerked his head up, his eyes sharp. “My advice—don’t get involved there. If the Elmet Bank won’t help you, try a credit union. I think your dad—”

“It’s not for me,” she promised. “I’m just trying to get an idea of where people would turn. Are there operations that could take over whole businesses?”

“I’ve heard about that,” Ken said slowly. “But bear in mind, this is pretty much a blue-collar town. The loans are small, comparatively speaking, and so are the sharks. The big business these days involves mortgages, screwing people out of their homes, or quasi-legal deals like payday loans. Which seem to me like going after people in a bad position and trying to make things worse.”

His eyes took on a speculative gleam. “Maybe there’s something to write about there. We’ve got a lot of people around town hurting in this economy, and they’ll do really foolish things to try and stay afloat.”

He looked a little self-conscious. “To tell the truth, I nearly did it myself a couple of years ago when the bottom first fell out. I looked around for a loan to keep the paper going. Banks were no help—they were afraid to lend money. One of my horse-player friends set me up with a guy in Portsmouth. He looked straight out of The Godfather —he’s passed away since.

“When I looked at what the deal would finally cost me, I realized I’d never get out from under. That was probably the idea. Most payments we get are in cash, so they could play with the books.”

“Money laundering,” Sunny said.

Ken gave her a brief nod. “And then Ollie Barnstable came along, offering to buy in. He was bad enough. I didn’t need anyone else trying to make me an offer I couldn’t refuse.”

He straightened his storklike form to its full height. “But I really considered the idea for a while, crazy as it was. That’s the problem. You’ll do crazy stuff for something you love.”

14

The picture boxmade noise—confused noise, many voices shouting while two-legs ran up and down on grass. They seemed to be fighting or running to catch something. Shadow had seen it before—many times now. Sometimes, the Old One would sit up on his couch, wave his arms, and shout, too. Shadow didn’t really understand why. It was just one of those weird human things.

Today, though, the Old One had fallen asleep. Not for the first time, Shadow wished he knew how to make the picture box shut up. From what he could see, it involved pointing a smaller box at the larger one, but every time he tried to investigate, the smaller box was moved away from him.

He tried moving to a patch on the rug behind the couch. It was a little cramped and could have been warmer, but at least the bulk of the piece of furniture blocked a lot of the noise. He was just beginning to doze when he heard a key in the lock.

Darting out from behind the couch, he ran for the door just in time to catch Sunny coming in. As he came close, he caught a confusing collection of scents. One he recognized—he definitely smelled Gentle Hands.

Why did Sunny keep going to see her without me? He paced around Sunny, sniffing more deeply. There were traces of several more animals on her—both cats and Biscuit Eaters. Shadow wrinkled his muzzle and squinted his eyes. He didn’t like that.

This could be worse than the Old One’s female friend bringing the young dog here. Shadow had lived in places where the humans brought younger animals to stay. And then, all of a sudden, Shadow didn’t have a home.

But Sunny wouldn’t do that to him.

Would she?

Sunny bent over, reaching her hand out to him. It smelled of Gentle Hands, but no other animals. That was good. Shadow rubbed his face against her fingers, to mark a little bit of his own scent there. Okay. If Sunny tried to pick him up, he’d let her.

Instead, the doorbell rang. Sunny went to answer it, letting in a blast of cold air and snowflakes and a shriek of wind that Shadow had only heard as a faint whisper before.

The female Old One stood in the doorway, with the Biscuit Eater pup straining at the leash in her hand.

Shadow hurriedly backed into the living room. What was going on here?

*

Helena Martinson lookedapologetic as she struggled to hold the golden retriever pup in check. “Forgive us for turning up like this,” she said. “We were out for a walk, and the weather turned so nasty all of a sudden.”

“Come right in,” Sunny told the older woman. If she held the door open much longer, they’d have to start shoveling the front hall.

Mrs. Martinson came in, clumps of snow dropping from her dark gray parka—not just the same cut as the one Sunny had picked up, but the same color, too. “We shouldn’t have a problem with Toby,” Mrs. M. promised. “He did his business early on our walk.” She used a piece of tissue to wipe at the puppy’s paws.

Toby stretched to his full height, his paws resting on Helena’s right thigh above her knee. He rattled the ID tags on his collar as Mrs. Martinson undid his leash. Then he dropped his paws back to the floor and gave himself a good shaking.

“I’ve been trying to get him to do that before he goes any farther into the house,” Helena explained, reaching down to pet Toby’s head. “Good boy.”

Toby gave a happy yip and wagged his tail. Then he turned and headed for the living room.

Sunny glanced around. Where had Shadow gone?

“Hey, Dad,” she called. “We have company.”

They came in to find Mike Coolidge blinking awake on the couch. “Helena!” he said in surprise and pleasure. Then he spotted the dog, and his pleasure dimmed a little. “And Toby. What a surprise.”

Sunny spotted Shadow standing off to the side of the arched entranceway. Toby saw him too, and started bumbling his way toward the cat. Either he’d forgotten the unfriendly welcome he’d gotten on his last visit, or he was willing to let bygones be bygones. As Mrs. Martinson joined Mike on the couch and Sunny took a chair, Toby kept coming after Shadow, who in turn kept retreating. Shadow obviously didn’t want to be driven out of his territory, but Toby’s dogged pursuit kept him on the run.