Cat Nap

3

Sunny barely got home 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 time Monday 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.”

“When one door closes, you can only hope that another may open.” Rigsdale’s smile grew wider. “I’m hoping for the beginning of a beautiful friendship here—and maybe some help in getting my ex-wife to see reason.”

His pale gray eyes twinkled as he gave her a cheerful shrug. “I was aware that Jane had a friend named Sunny Coolidge. If I’d known you were so attractive, I’d have introduced myself way long ago.”

He grabbed a chair and settled in across from her. “Look, Sunny. You saw how my former wife treats me. A whole lot of the trouble between us involved money, and now that she has some, Jane is just being vengeful.”

Rigsdale leaned toward Sunny. “If you could persuade her to loosen the purse strings a little—tell her it will get me out of her hair—we could have some fun with that money, you and me.”

Now if I had just met this guy, without the lowdown I got on him from Jane, could he have charmed the pants off me? Sunny looked at that confident smile beaming at her. Maybe. But knowing what I know . . .

“Sorry, Martin, but I don’t think either of those suggestions is a good idea.”

Martin Rigsdale’s smile slipped a little. “Don’t be hasty, Sunny. It could be awfully nice.” Translation: He could be awfully nice.

“I’m afraid you were a little hasty, thinking you could sweet-talk me into doing anything for you.”

The sexy smile disappeared as if it had been snapped off.

It probably was, Sunny thought.

Aloud she said, “Jane has been busting her buns to keep a lot of animals from getting killed. Why should I tell her that any of the money she’s using for that job should go into a private slush fund for you?”

Martin stared at her. “I understood that you weren’t all that tight with Jane—and that you should have gotten some of that foundation money yourself.”

“Arguable, on both counts,” Sunny replied. “But that doesn’t mean that I’d go out of my way to screw her over, especially when she’s using it to do good work.” Time to turn the knife a little. “Maybe you’re getting a bit old, Martin. Seems like that smile of yours might not have quite the same wattage anymore.”

The amorous twist to his lips was definitely gone now. “If you won’t talk to Jane for me, maybe you can warn her. We spent a couple of interesting years together, Jane and I. For richer, for poorer, sickness and health, good things and bad things. She should remember that I was around to see her make some mistakes. Stuff she might not want other people to know about, now that she’s starting this wonderful new life as Saint Jane of the Animals. Tell her that, Sunny. She may decide that my silence comes cheap, all things considered.”

Martin was up and out of the office before Sunny could muster up any sort of comeback. Frankly, she couldn’t think of anything to say—at least, not to Martin.

Sighing, Sunny picked up the phone on her desk and punched in the number of the Kittery Harbor Animal Hospital. Jane wouldn’t like hearing about this little meeting, but it didn’t sound like something a little hot oil could heal.

*

Shadow found himself waking from a pleasant nap, not because of a noise, but because of a smell. He jerked awake, sneezing, and opened his eyes to find the Old One spraying a sickeningly sweet scent into the air. What was this? Had Sunny’s father come up with a new way to drive him out of the house?

But no, the Old One headed down the hallway to the kitchen, away from the stink, making beckoning gestures.

Shadow warily trailed along behind to find his bowl almost overflowing with dry food, and on top of that, the contents of one of those cans that Sunny opened only once a week. It would have been nice, except that he’d eaten his fill just before settling down to sleep.

What was going on here? The Old One was pointing to the food, making cajoling noises, when the front doorbell sounded.

The older two-leg swung round and hurried off. Shadow turned from the food and moved silently to the kitchen doorway. He peered around, down the hall, as the Old One opened the door. Oh, now things began to make sense. There was the other Old One, the female. Shadow had seen them get together before—although they’d made it clear they didn’t like him watching.

Maybe the Old One wanted to mark the female with that strange scent. Whatever he had in mind, he obviously wanted Shadow busily eating in the kitchen and far away. Shadow quickly pulled his head back into hiding as the female came in. He didn’t need to look at them to know what was going on. From the sounds of their voices, the two went into the room with the picture box.

Settling back on his haunches, Shadow ignored the food, giving the pair of two-legs a few moments to get settled. He didn’t want either of them stepping back into the hall and finding him sneaking their way.

He heard talk, then silence. They should be sitting down by now. Shadow set off down the hallway at a rapid trot. He paused at the entrance to the room and risked a quick peek. The Old One and his female friend shared the couch. The Old One looked a little annoyed that they weren’t sitting closer. The female had a large bag settled between them.

Her voice was quick and excited as she reached into the bag, bringing out a small, wiggling form. Shadow couldn’t believe his eyes. She’d brought a Biscuit Eater—here? What was she thinking?

Shadow should have been able to detect the scent of dog as soon as the female came in with that bag. That stuff in the air must have overpowered his usually keen sense of smell.

Now the female two-leg made cheerful burbling sounds, showing off the little dog to the Old One. The fool animal was even the color of biscuits, a sort of yellowish cream. As the human female settled the little dog in her lap, she suddenly exclaimed, pointing at the doorway. Shadow ducked his head but stood his ground. It was too late to retreat now; he’d been spotted.

Still making happy noises, the female Old One put the young Biscuit Eater on the floor. The stupid creature stared around, emitting a string of excited yips. Then it, too, focused on Shadow. Stumbling over its own paws, the little dog headed for Shadow, its yipping growing even louder.

Wonderful. It sees something its own size and wants to investigate.

On the couch, the female Old One clapped her hands together, distracting Shadow’s attention. He glanced over toward her, and then saw the other Old One—his Old One—sitting tightly beside her. The human male’s face had an odd, pleading expression as his eyes went from the little dog to Shadow.

What does he expect me to do? Shadow thought. Or is he afraid of what I’ll do?

The little Biscuit Eater continued to bumble its way in Shadow’s direction, still piping with excitement. Shadow had faced off against dogs before, sometimes even fighting with them. They were quick to woof—and just as quick to run when claws came out. But this biscuit-colored dog was obviously young as well as foolish.

Was I ever as young as that? Shadow wondered, looking into the puppy’s guileless brown eyes. Maybe, but he couldn’t remember.

There was no need for claws here. Shadow arched his back and gave the Biscuit Eater an openmouthed hiss.

Whining in distress, the puppy backed away so quickly it tripped over its rear legs. The dumb dog did something else, too. Shadow recognized the sudden sharp reek even through the sweet-smelling cloud that still lingered in the air. Shadow got out of there quickly, as both Old Ones gathered around the little dog, making distressed noises. He’d heard worse when humans discovered cats not using the litter box.

*

Sunny came home at the end of the day, wanting nothing more than supper, a comfortable pair of sweats, and maybe some TV to vegetate in front of. Instead she found her father and a mortified Helena Martinson dabbing at a damp patch on the living room carpet.

“I didn’t expect that at all!” Mrs. Martinson’s face was pink as she looked up at Sunny. Mike rose to stand behind his lady friend, rolling his eyes as Helena went on. “How could he do that in the middle of the room?”

Well, the neighbor lady wasn’t talking about Mike. And the only other male in the house was Shadow. Oh, no! Could he have created that wet spot?

“I’m so sorry, Sunny.” Mrs. Martinson picked up a large bag. “I’m afraid this bad little boy made a mess on the rug.” She took out a golden retriever pup, who immediately began yipping with excitement at finding a new face in the room.

“How did Shadow react to this lovely surprise?” a worried Sunny asked her dad.

“Hissed in his face and scared the pee out of him,” Mike reported succinctly.

“I adopted this cute little guy from the animal shelter when I saw his picture in the Harbor Crier,” Helena Martinson explained. “Jane Rigsdale is doing such good work to help the animals in town.”

Her expression grew rueful. “But I guess I’ve got a bit to learn about this whole adoption thing. Come on, little fella, let’s get you home.” She returned the dog to her bag and beat a quick retreat.

Mike Coolidge let out a long-held breath. “She came over straight from the shelter, all excited. Wanted me to suggest a name for the pup.”

“Toby,” Sunny suggested with a smile.

“Why that name?” Mike asked with a suspicious expression.

“Toby Philpotts was in my grammar school class—he had the weakest bladder in school.”

Mike laughed. “With a name like Philpotts, I imagine that would be a pretty embarrassing problem.”

“It’s just a suggestion,” Sunny said, grinning at her dad. “Where’s Shadow now?”

“He headed for the back after his warm greeting to the mutt.”

Sunny took the hallway into the kitchen, and found Shadow glowering down from atop Mount Refrigerator.

“Hey,” Sunny said, extending her hand. Shadow leaned forward, rubbing the side of his face against her fingers.

“Well, now we know how you react to puppies,” she told the cat. “Maybe someday we’ll get your opinion on kittens.”

Gently brushing fingers through his fur, she smiled up at Shadow. “At least you didn’t kill him.”

She was just beginning to relax when the phone rang. Sunny turned from the refrigerator to pick up the handset. Jane’s voice burst into her ear. “After you called me this morning, I rang up Martin, determined to have it out with him. He has late office hours this evening and told me to come over then. So here I am, ready to go, and wouldn’t you know it, I’ve got a flat. I suppose I could call a cab, but any chance you could give me a lift?” Her voice slowed in embarrassment. “I wouldn’t mind a little backup when I go to see him.”

And like me, she doesn’t really have anyone else to ask, Sunny realized. Sal DiGillio probably just closed his garage, and I know Will is on duty until midnight. At this time in the evening, it should take less than a half hour to get to anywhere in Portsmouth. Jane certainly wouldn’t waste time with Martin, and then the drive back—an hour and change should do it. She put a hand over the receiver. “Hey, Dad?” she called down the hallway. “Would you mind waiting a bit for supper tonight?”

After Mike agreed, Sunny told Jane she’d be there soon and hung up. It was a brief drive to the Kittery Harbor Animal Hospital, where Jane stood pacing beside her disabled BMW. She quickly climbed aboard Sunny’s Wrangler, and they took the bridge over the Piscataqua River to Portsmouth.

As she drove across the span, Sunny glanced at Jane. “Remember all the times we’d cross this in a school bus? And when we got to the middle—”

“That was childish,” Jane complained.

“Yeah, but it was fun—and you usually led it. Come on.”

Jane sighed but nodded. Then both of them chanted, “Maaaaaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnne,” drawing out the word until they reached the sign in the middle of the bridge. Then they shouted “NewHampshire!” all in one breath as they crossed the state line.

“Childish,” Jane repeated, chuckling.

“It made you laugh, though,” Sunny pointed out. And I think you could use a laugh, she added silently.

Following Jane’s directions, Sunny cut through the downtown district and headed off to the outskirts of Pease Airport, where Martin Rigsdale had set up his office.

The practice was in an old house, large and impressive at first glance. The clapboard siding had a fresh coat of shiny white paint, and the first floor had been renovated as an office for Martin’s practice. But the upstairs gutters were old and discolored, and the roof looked a bit saggy in spots. Sunny pulled up on the street near a stand of wild-looking shrubbery, and she and Jane got out of the Jeep. Even on the ride over, the weather had gotten colder and damper.

Hopefully, those overgrown bushes will give the Wrangler some cover if it really starts to storm, Sunny thought. She took in the neighborhood. “Nice, but not many cars parked around the office. Either he doesn’t get many patients toward the end of visiting hours, or business could be a lot better.”

Jane sighed. “That’s probably why he’s after me for the foundation money.” She squared her shoulders, her face taking on that ice queen expression. “Well, he’s not getting any. I don’t care what he threatens to drag up. You can take that to the bank.”

With Jane in the lead, they headed up the walk to the entrance marked with a discreet bronze plaque: M. RIGSDALE, VETERINARY MEDICINE.

Jane jabbed a thumb at the doorbell as if she were aiming for Martin’s eye. A moment later, they were buzzed in. The reception area looked expensive—blond wood paneling and deep plush chairs—but it didn’t match the architecture outside. The receptionist was blond, too, slim but shapely, wearing a white smock that emphasized generous cleavage. She had a pretty but sulky face, with soft features and a pout that she tried to harden into a professional mask. “I’m afraid you don’t have an appointment,” she said, aiming for coolness, but it came out more snotty than anything else.

“I have personal business with Dr. Rigsdale,” Jane said, cutting through the high school mean girl attitude. To tell the truth, Sunny estimated that the receptionist wasn’t all that long out of high school. “I’m also Dr. Rigsdale. Martin asked me to come and see him this evening.”

As if Mean Girl here didn’t know that, Sunny thought. The young woman drew herself up in her seat, and Sunny spotted a name tag on her smock: Dawn.

Judging from the jealous look on Dawn’s face, here’s another one that Martin charmed the pants off.

Dawn fiddled self-importantly with the computer keyboard on the reception desk, glancing at a screen that neither Sunny nor Jane could see. “As I mentioned, there’s nothing listed—”

Jane had had enough, sidestepping Dawn’s desk and heading down the hallway. If this followed the typical layout for most medical practices, somewhere along this corridor would be an examination room, a private office, or maybe both.

“You can’t go back there!” Dawn’s professional composure cracked as badly as her voice.

“Martin!” Jane drowned out Dawn’s complaints. “Stop hiding behind this girl. You made threats to get me to come here, but that’s all you’re getting out of me. Do you hear me, Martin? Martin?”

As she shouted, Jane stomped down the hallway, opening doors. Finally she reached a brightly lit examination room. “Martin!”

Jane froze in the doorway, with Sunny at her heels. It was pretty easy to see why Martin hadn’t responded. He lay sprawled across the metal top of the exam table, very, very still.