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

Of course, he thought, there are no other places in here to hide.

The female two-legs rocked almost imperceptibly in her seat, waiting for Shadow to show himself. Grimly, he kept his place, motionless, watching her. It wasn’t easy. Under the stink she gave off, he could catch the whiff of food. That was torture, to have food in his nostrils and none in his belly, but he refused to follow the temptation out into the open.

Then came other torments. His stomach might be empty but other parts of him were getting full. He had to use the litter box—and soon. Otherwise, he risked fouling this pleasant nest, the one Good Thing in this awful place.

The urge became painful, but still he held his place. He didn’t know how long the One Who Reeks sat there, trying to force him into the first move.

At last, though, she gave up. The human rose and went to the door. For a wild moment, Shadow considered leaping after her, running for the door as she opened it. But the long inactivity had sapped the strength of his muscles. He’d probably fall over his own paws—and worse, considering his overfull condition, mess himself.

So he forced himself to stay motionless while the One Who Reeks opened the door and closed it behind herself. Then, ever so carefully, he climbed out of the bed and went to the litter box. And then, when he was comfortable again, he went for a drink of water and some food.

In spite of his hunger, Shadow didn’t eat greedily. He checked the impulse, taking small bites. Then he went back to the bed. He still hated this place, but at least there was food.

*

Sunny shut thekitchen door. The morning sun was bright but treacherously misleading. Not only was the air cold, but chilly blasts of wind made it feel worse.

I only hope Shadow is someplace safely indoors, she thought. He picked a really awful time to go a-wandering.

Ice patches had reappeared in the roads, messing up traffic. But Sunny managed to get in at a reasonable hour and started work.

She’d just about cleared her desk of the day’s major tasks when Ollie Barnstable came in. He was more of a mess than usual, wearing a leather trench coat that he seemed to believe gave him a secret agent–style image. Instead, it made him look more like an overstuffed piece of furniture. He couldn’t get the thing buttoned across his widening middle, which meant he must be freezing in this weather. That, and the flight up from New York, made his always uncertain temper a little worse than usual.

He came in waving a fluorescent orange poster. “This is your cat, isn’t it?”

Sunny gave him a smile. “Don’t tell me you found him!”

Ollie glowered at her. “Don’t tell me you used office equipment to make these.”

She did her best to look innocent. “Well, Ollie, we don’t have any paper like that around here, do we?”

“Guess not.” Still looking suspicious, he loosened the belt that barely managed to keep his coat closed and dropped into the chair opposite Sunny’s desk. “Sorry about your cat. You weren’t out traipsing around looking for him during office hours, were you?” That was the important point for him.

For a second, Sunny thought about referring Ollie to Tobe Phillips to improve his cross-examination technique. But she decided no good could come of being snarky. Instead, she contented herself with a simple, “No. But a lot of folks were very helpful, putting up the notices around town.”

He nodded absently, not really paying attention. “And nothing else interesting happened while I was gone?”

“Just business as usual,” Sunny told him. “How was your trip?”

“A waste of goddamn time,” Ollie growled. “This guy kept stringing me along, keeping me in New York, because his buddy was busy scaring up investors down in Miami. Supposedly, this clown had a million-dollar idea. They’d picked up this resort down in the islands—a place that went bust—and planned to renovate it for a whole new market. I wasted nearly a week trying to figure out what it would be. Gays? Rehab junkies? Religious nuts? Sex freaks? So when this guy comes to show me his plans, it turns out to be a concierge hotel for pets! What a stupid idea! Who the hell cares that much about pets?”

He glanced down at the Day-Glo flyer in his hand, and his usually pink face turned almost a radioactive red. “Uh, not to say that people don’t care about their pets. I mean—”

Sunny decided to let him off the hook. “I know what you mean, Ollie.”

As she spoke, the office door opened. In came a very unhappy-looking Ben Semple, accompanied by Detective Fitch.

“The sheriff sent me over,” Ben said, his words and expression showing that he didn’t want Sunny thinking this was his idea. “I believe you know Detective Fitch of the Portsmouth police.”

Fitch’s thin face looked more like a ferret’s than ever—a ferret about to make a snack out of a baby mouse. But his voice was bland and official. “Ms. Coolidge, I’m asking you to accompany me down to the station. We have some additional questions to ask you about the murder of Martin Rigsdale.”

Ollie’s eyes went from the uniformed cop, to the detective, to Sunny. “Oh, yeah,” he muttered. “Business as usual.”

19

Sunny rode inDetective Fitch’s car—in the back. “Procedure,” he said.

At least he’s not doing the bit where he presses down on the top of my head while I get in, Sunny thought ruefully.

They drove through town, with Ben Semple accompanying in his patrol car until they got to the bridge. Then Ben peeled off. Sure, Sunny thought. Now I’m in Fitch’s jurisdiction.

The Portsmouth cop didn’t gloat over Sunny’s situation, or threaten, or even say much of anything. She shifted her perch on the back seat. Guess he wants me to stew in my own juices until he gets me in the interrogation room.

They arrived at the police station, and sure enough, Fitch escorted Sunny straight over to an interrogation room. She looked around at the acoustic tiles and the mirror at one end of the room. Was anybody watching behind there?

Fitch got her seated and then said, “Detective Trumbull will be with you in a minute.”

I wonder if this means I’m getting the good-cop treatment, Sunny wondered. A moment later, Mark Trumbull came in carrying a file folder. His jacket was off, and the cuffs of his shirt were rolled up. Sunny could see the holstered pistol on his belt. His usual mournful expression shifted to a slight smile. “Thank you for coming down, Ms. Coolidge.”

As if I really had a choice, Sunny thought.

Aloud she said, “It’s a little unfortunate. The day my boss comes in after being away for a week, and I’m pulled away from work.”

“Then I’ll try to make it as brief as possible.” Trumbull consulted his folder, although Sunny was pretty sure he had everything in there memorized by heart. “I understand you were the person who put Mrs. Rigsdale’s attorney on the trail of Christine Venables.”

“I wouldn’t exactly put it that way,” Sunny protested.

“How would you put it?” Trumbull asked. “You found a witness and told Mr. Phillips about her.”

“I was in Portsmouth on business.” Sunny had already decided not to mention what kind of business. “I stopped at a diner to pick up something for lunch. Martin Rigsdale’s face was on the TV, and the waitress recognized him. We talked about it. She mentioned that he frequented the place. Apparently, he tried to pick up some of the waitstaff and later brought some female company of his own.” Sunny tried to make her story as direct as possible.

“And did she identify those companions?” Trumbull had his usual sorrows-of-the-world expression, but his eyes were sharp. “Did you?”