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

She found Mike in the living room, watching the news in what he called his “wedding and funeral suit.”

“Looking good, Dad,” she complimented him.

With a crisp white shirt and a sober tie, Mike could have been a model in a shopping circular. He hooked a thumb in the waistband of his trousers. “It does fit better,” he admitted. “Last time I wore this outfit, I felt a bit squeezed in. Figured when it was my turn to be front and center in the casket, they’d have to slit the suit up the back to make it look like it fit me.”

“Dad!” Sunny stared at him. She didn’t know what got into her father when he had to deal with funerals.

“It’s true,” Mike insisted. “I had a friend who used to work at Saxon Funerals. That was one of the tricks they used if the guest of honor turned out to be a little too fat for his good suit.”

He shrugged. “It’s not as if people are going to see.”

They had a simple supper and set off for Portsmouth. The funeral chapel was pretty close to Martin’s office, a white brick structure with a large parking lot.

“Looks like a good-sized crowd,” Mike said, glancing around. “I guess Martin was fairly well liked.”

Sunny parked her Wrangler toward the edge of the lot. She’d put on a black wool coat that had seemed warm enough in New York but failed to deal with the chilly wind whipping among the cars. Mike jammed his hands in the pockets of his heavy trench coat, muttering, “I’ll be glad to get inside.”

Martin’s memorial took up the whole ground floor. Instead of the traditional casket, easels featured a collage of pictures—Martin playing golf, Martin looking convivial at parties, Martin accepting awards, even a few shots of Martin with some four-legged patients.

A few of the pictures included Dawn Featherstone. None of them included Jane.

While Sunny perused the photo montage, Mike unabashedly studied the crowd. “I know a few folks here,” he murmured.

Sunny felt a presence at her elbow and turned to see Dawn Featherstone glaring at her.

“What are you doing here?” the young woman asked, her usually soft features taut with stress. She looked as if she’d lost some weight over the past week. Dawn was dressed all in black. On a closer look, though, the pants she was wearing didn’t quite match the shade of her jacket. Her blouse was buttoned all the way up to the neck. Two strong spots of color showed on her cheeks.

“I’m not here looking for trouble,” Sunny told Dawn quietly. “I only knew Martin briefly, but my dad felt we should pay our respects.”

Dawn gracelessly shook hands with Mike, her expression suspicious.

“Dad mentioned seeing several acquaintances in the crowd,” Sunny went on. “I’ll just stand in the back while he says hello. And then we’ll be gone.”

True to her word, Sunny found a quiet corner and stood looking on while Mike worked the room like a seasoned politician, shaking hands and speaking with people, being introduced and chatting some more.

I bet Martin would be pleased with the turnout, Sunny thought, watching the visitors. Pretty well-dressed crowd, too.

A lot of the men had designer suits. The women had winter tans and real jewelry. For a moment, Sunny felt a little sorry for Dawn. She was trying to be a good hostess, greeting people, talking about the photos. Most of the people were treating her like the maître d’ at a restaurant. No, they’d be more considerate of a maître d’—he had the power to stick them at a bad table. Dawn, with her mismatched suit and strained manners, was going to a lot of trouble . . . for damned little in the way of appreciation.

As Mike worked his way toward her, Sunny amused herself by searching for brunettes in the crowd. Had Christine Venables shown up for this sad occasion?

Mike finally rejoined Sunny. She leaned toward his ear. “If you’ve had enough, I’m ready to go. No need to overstay a pretty brittle welcome.”

“Okay,” he said. They turned to look for Dawn—and found her shaking hands with a woman who had a few glints of silver in her glossy dark hair. The woman was very serious and polite, compared to the perfunctory way a lot of the guests treated Dawn. But the girl’s face had gone dead white, and her polite smile had become more of a grimace.

“Let’s wait a minute,” Mike said. “Let her finish talking with Christine Venables.”

Sunny nearly burst out at her dad’s innocent identification. She hadn’t shared with him what Mrs. Martinson had told her. As they approached, Sunny could see Dawn nodding jerkily to something Christine said. The older woman nodded back and then moved off. Sunny stepped up. “We’ll be going now. Thanks for your consideration.”

Dawn was still obviously changing mental gears. She stared at Sunny blankly for a moment, then remembered who she was. For a second aggression flickered through her eyes, but then Sunny’s words sank in. “You’re welcome,” Dawn finally said. “Excuse me—there are some more people—”

Mike offered his condolences, and then they escaped to reclaim their coats.

“Okay,” Sunny said. “We rushed to get here, got crushed in with a lot of snooty people, caught some attitude from Dawn, and now we’re outside freezing in our good clothes. Was it worth it?”

“You were decent to that girl when a lot of other people weren’t,” Mike replied. “That’s paying respect.”

They’d just gotten to Sunny’s Wrangler when her cell phone began bleeping. With a practiced movement, Sunny answered it and put it to her ear to hear Will’s voice. He sounded worse than anyone at the funeral had.

“I tried you at home and wound up getting the machine,” he said. “Look—I got a call from one of my old Portsmouth friends. Trumbull and Fitch got Jane out of her office and brought her down to the station again.” His voice got more strained. “I can’t go down there. It’s a lot to ask, but could you—”

“Actually, we’re pretty close by,” Sunny told him. “Tonight was the memorial for Martin Rigsdale, and Dad felt we should go.” She glanced over at Mike. “Would you mind a trip to the police station?”

“As long as I’m not in custody, okay,” Mike replied, a twinkle in his eyes.

“Okay. We’re heading there now,” Sunny said to Will.

They got in the Wrangler and headed for the municipal complex.

“I don’t know how long this may take,” she warned Mike.

“It’s not as though I have anything pressing tomorrow morning,” he said. “You’ll have to worry about getting to work.”

As it turned out, neither of them needed to worry.

Sunny brought her Jeep up to the porch outside the station entrance just in time to see Tobe Phillips and Jane emerge from the building, laughing and smiling.

Behind them, she could see a glowering Detective Mark Trumbull standing at the glass panel.

Sunny shook her head. He’s just not seeing things he likes through that door.

18

Sunny opened thedoor of her SUV and got out. “Are you guys all right?” She honestly wondered if Jane and Tobe might not have been drinking, they were so giddy.

“We’re fine.” Jane got her laughter under control, but she still smiled at Sunny. “They came in towards the end of office hours, Fitch and one of the sheriff’s men. Rita was kind of hysterical—” Jane glanced at Tobe. “Or was that me? Anyway, Rita knew to call Tobe, and he was here waiting for me. Damn good thing, too, because without him I’d probably have said something stupid and be sitting in a cell by now.”

She lowered her voice, leaning toward Sunny. “I have to thank Will for suggesting Tobe. He was really great in there.”

Then Tobe took up the story. “I think they honestly expected to close the case tonight.” He wasn’t loud, but his face shone like a member of the winning team being interviewed in the locker room after the big game.