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

“He sounds like a piece of work,” Sunny said quickly, hoping to head off the icy expression congealing on Jane’s face. “So, is there anything else I should do for Shadow’s foot?”

“Huh?” Jane blinked for a second, her vengeful train of thought obviously derailed. “Oh. No, just try the oil massage for a week. If he doesn’t show improvement, then we’ll try something more medical.”

Anger crept back into her voice. “Martin, of course, would skip to that step right away. He never saw a procedure he didn’t like. The more expensive, the better.”

“Well, thanks, Jane.” Sunny brought the carrier back onto the table. She wanted to get Shadow out and away from Jane’s too tightly clenched hands.

Good thing old Martin isn’t around right now, she thought. If Jane got hold of him in this mood, she’d probably snap his neck like a rotten twig.

3

Sunny barely gothome before the snowstorm the weather forecasters had been hyping came roaring in. She lugged the carrier to the front door of her house through stinging wind-borne snowflakes, let Shadow out in the foyer, and turned to face what looked like a wall of snow suddenly falling outside.

Looks as if I finally get to try out the four-wheel drive on my Wrangler, she thought.

Her father appeared in the arched entranceway into the living room. “So, you’re back,” he said. “You, too, hairball.”

Shadow slipped around him and disappeared into the room.

“How’s he doing?” Mike asked.

“Jane suggested a little home therapy.” Sunny slipped the hood of her coat up over the baseball cap she was wearing. “Anything you particularly want from the store, Dad? I figure I’d better get out there before it gets any worse.”

“Not a problem,” Mike told her. “I took care of it already. Went to the store, got some milk—skim, so don’t get excited—and a few other things on the grocery list.” He sounded very pleased with himself. “Including the makings for a stew. Figure that would work pretty well with the weather outside.”

Sunny agreed, and with plentiful supplies, they spent the weekend hunkered down. The storm was fierce but brief, dropping a few inches of the white stuff before blowing out to sea. Sunny and her dad didn’t mind much—except that Mike missed his heart-healthy hike. A neighbor came by with a snowblower to clear their walk and driveway, so neither Sunny nor her dad had to shovel. They had movies to watch, and more than enough ingredients to re-create Mom’s famous pressure cooker stew recipe.

And, of course, Sunny had Shadow to play with. He still wasn’t running and jumping so much. That eliminated some of their rougher games. But he definitely seemed to be getting around with less pain.

When her dad watched Shadow purring like a motorboat while Sunny did the warm oil massage on Sunday, Mike grumped, “You’re coddling that cat.”

“Well, I think warm oil beats superglue,” she replied, explaining about Jane’s treatment for torn pads. “I used to use something similar to close up paper cuts. The stuff stung like blazes.”

“Superglue on his paws . . .” Mike’s voice trailed off and his eyes got a bit dreamy, going from Shadow to the living room mantel.

“Don’t even think about it,” Sunny warned.

“That’s easy enough for you to say,” Mike said, only half joking. “You’ve never had him launch a sneak attack when you’re heading to the bathroom for a three a.m. pee. Can you blame me for wanting him to stay put sometimes?”

*

By the timeMonday morning came around, the roads had been cleared, and Sunny had no excuse to stay home from work. She sat with her dad in the kitchen, listening to more snow nonsense on the radio. The weather forecaster warned that if the latest cold front to the west and tropical low to the south cooperated, they could create really serious weather. If. Apparently, everything had to line up just right to create a perfect storm, so the voice on the radio alternated between predicting doom and being vague, offering anything from a foot of snow to a mere dusting.

“Well, that’s really helpful,” Sunny told Mike. “Maybe it will also hail with a threat of lightning, too.”

“You know what they say,” he replied with a grin. “Everybody talks about the weather, but nobody ever does anything about it.” He leaned back in his seat. “Me, I’ll get out early and get my walk done. Then I’ll take it easy back here. We’re still pretty well supplied from Saturday.”

“Yeah—wish me luck in that big, bad world outside.” Sunny put her oatmeal bowl in the sink and got her parka. After a fond good-bye to her father and Shadow, she headed out to the maroon Jeep Wrangler already positioned at the end of the driveway.

Sunny drove down to the New Stores—kind of an odd name for a strip of fifty-year-old buildings housing a variety of shops, from Judson’s Market to the offices of MAX. The development had been new when Mike was a young man, and the nickname had stuck for all these decades since.

She parked on the street, reasonably clean except for a bit of slush, headed to her office door, and unlocked the place. MAX was pretty much a one-person show unless her boss, Oliver Barnstable, turned up to holler about something. It looked as if Sunny was in luck today. She turned on the lights, shed her coat, and settled behind her desk to see if anything interesting in the way of e-mail had come in. As she scanned her computer screen, she didn’t find anything earth-shaking. One of her romantic couples had decided to extend their stay—they didn’t say whether it was because of love or snowdrifts. A few long-range planners asked for general information on spring and summer vacations, and another set of eager consumers wanted to set up an orgy of outlet mall shopping.

About an hour into her day, Sunny sat pulling together customized promo packages for some of the computerized tire kickers when the outside door swung open. She found herself looking up at the handsome guy from the Redbrick on Friday—Martin Rigsdale.

At least his face isn’t all wet now, she thought. And then, I hope my mouth isn’t hanging open.

“Ms. Sonata Coolidge.” Rigsdale smiled down at her. “May I call you Sunny?”

“You may, Mr. Rigsdale,” she replied, “or should that be Dr. Rigsdale?”

“I think Martin would be less formal.” His smile was charming. Sunny found herself wondering if he practiced it every morning in the mirror. He certainly knew he was good-looking, and he worked on the rest of the package to make himself attractive. An expensive patterned sweater showed under his waist-length wool jacket—no downscale parkas for Martin Rigsdale. His hair was sleeked back. Close up, Sunny could make out just a touch of gray at the temples. Very distinguished. She also got a whiff of his cologne—a spicy mix with sandalwood prevailing. It didn’t smell like any of the men’s fragrances she’d encountered before. He probably has it mixed up to order, she thought.

Sunny shook her head slightly. Don’t get distracted now.

“What brings you to our humble office?” she asked. “From what I hear, you’ve lived in the area for a couple of years. There aren’t all that many local attractions. You ought to know them all by now.”

“I just learned about a very eye-catching attraction—you,” Rigsdale said. “I noticed you at the tavern the other day.”

“The Redbrick?” Sunny asked in disbelief.

Martin Rigsdale nodded. “You were hard to miss. Lots of auburn hair, nice cheekbones . . . I tend to pay attention to great-looking women.”

“Even when you’re getting a glass of wine in the face?” Sunny laughed. “Usually that’s why a guy gets a glass of wine in the face.”