Cat Nap

10

Sunny finally got loose from a surprisingly clingy Shadow to get hold of Jane Rigsdale on the phone. When she passed along Will’s advice about a lawyer, Jane almost instinctively resisted. “Doesn’t getting a lawyer make me look guilty?”

“Has not having a lawyer made you look more innocent to Trumbull and Fitch?” Sunny asked.

Jane didn’t have an answer for that.

“Look, Jane, you’re a smart person,” Sunny told her. “But you haven’t been at your best dealing with the police. You need someone who understands the system, and that means a lawyer. Don’t take my word for it. Will is an experienced cop. He’s been around for people being questioned, and if he thinks you should have a lawyer with you, you probably should.”

“I—I’ll think about it,” Jane finally said. “You say Will gave you a card?”

Sunny read off the name and information on the card while Jane wrote it down. Then they wished each other a good night.

Hanging up the phone, Sunny looked down at Shadow, who had sat at her feet during the conversation. “Well, that’s the best I could do,” she told the cat. “The rest is up to Jane. If she’s as smart as I think she is, she’ll call that guy soon.”

They went back to the living room to watch some television. Around nine o’clock, a car pulled up in the driveway and then drove off. Seconds later, Mike opened the door.

“Before you ask,” he said, “Zack Judson gave me a lift, and I had soup and half a sandwich for supper.”

“That all sounds pretty good,’” Sunny replied. “But what I was going to ask was why you had to go flying off on such short notice.”

Mike looked at her in surprise. “I figured you would know—or at least be able to read between the lines. The sheriff has been using this Rigsdale case to bash at Will. We had to firm up his support when some folks began wavering.”

“Politics,” Sunny said in disgust. “I should have known it.”

“That crowd up in Levett has pretty much had it their own way for years.” Mike went into his standard rant about the lousy state of local government.

“Well, Levett is the county seat,” Sunny pointed out. “Do you really think your Kittery Harbor crowd would do a better job if you got to run things?”

“Be hard to do worse,” he grumped. “Besides, somebody had to stand up to those guys.”

“But Will is the one being bashed.”

Mike made a helpless gesture. “You know I like Will.”

“Yeah,” Sunny said. “So do I.”

“Maybe not in the same way.” Her dad tried out a smile, but it fell flat. “Will went into this with his eyes open. He has his own reasons to dislike Frank Nesbit.”

“That’s true,” Sunny had to admit.

“And it’s this stupid case in Portsmouth that’s hurting him,” Mike said. “Once that’s cleaned up—”

“Just don’t expect me to whip out my trusty magnifying glass and solve everything,” Sunny warned.

Right, that mocking voice from the back of her head chimed in. Just because you dug up a couple of clues doesn’t mean you’re investigating anything. Yup. Sure.

From the look on Mike’s face, she wondered if he had a little voice in his head saying something similar. But he only shrugged. “If there’s one thing I think you’ve learned in life, it’s not to bite off more than you can chew.”

Sunny felt a little better as he turned back to put his coat away in the hall closet. Then she heard him add under his breath, “At least I hope so.”

*

After a Thursday with all sorts of visitors bringing all sorts of news, Friday was kind of a letdown. Sunny tried not to think of it that way. “Maybe what I need is just a normal business day,” she told herself. She had a bit more activity, helping out with weekend plans for eager shoppers and even more eager romantic couples. At least no snowstorms threatened.

Around three o’clock, when things seemed to be quieting down, Ollie Barnstable called. “Nothing urgent going on in the office, is there?” he asked. “I’m thinking of spending the weekend down here in New York. Guy I know thinks he can score some orchestra seats for—”

Sunny really didn’t want to hear what smash hit he was going to see, probably at bargain prices. She was saved when the other line rang.

“Can you hold for a second?” she asked. “It might be one of the shopping packages.”

She switched over to hear Jane talking a bit too fast. “I did it.”

“Did what?” Sunny said, hoping this wasn’t going to turn into a dramatic confession.

“I called that guy—the lawyer, Phillips. He’s been following the case and agreed to meet with me tomorrow. The thing is, he’s working on another big case and wants to see me around six o’clock.” Jane finally paused for a second. “I hate to ask—would you mind coming with me?”

“That didn’t work out so well the last time,” Sunny reminded her.

“But that’s part of it. You’re a witness . . . and you’d be backup. I think I kind of need that,” Jane admitted.

Sunny sighed. “Okay. We’ll make some kind of a plan. But I’ve got to get off now. I left my boss on the other line.”

She got back to Ollie, who apparently was engaged in conversation with somebody else. “Oh, Sunny. Yeah. Look, I may stretch this trip even longer. Don’t expect me back until Tuesday, maybe Wednesday. Call me if anything comes up.” He cut the connection almost before he finished the sentence.

Lucky you, thought Sunny. The rest of the day was the same old, same old. Sunny locked the door right on schedule and headed home. She even had time to take care of Shadow’s oil massage before tackling the job of cooking supper.

“I’m going to miss this,” she told the cat as she kneaded the oil around the pads on his paw. It had turned into a nice little ritual. Whenever she got out the bottle of oil, he’d come right over and present his paw. Just like the way he’d do it with Jane, she thought, looking into the cat’s odd, gold-flecked eyes. Maybe he’s starting to trust me.

“Are we having supper soon, or is the whole night going to go toward pet physical therapy?” Mike asked, coming into the kitchen. “Because there are human beings around here who are sort of hungry.”

“I’ll be starting in a minute, Dad,” Sunny told him. “And, yes,” she went on as he opened his mouth, “I’ll wash my hands first.”

They watched a couple of Mike’s favorite programs on the TV, but Sunny didn’t pay much attention, playing with Shadow. As soon as the news came on, she stood up, yawning. “I’ll hear about the weather tomorrow,” she said, heading up to her bedroom. “I want to get up a little early.”

It was just as well she turned in a bit ahead of time, because the area was covered with fog when she got up. Sunny hurried through the morning routine and crawled into work with lousy visibility. She could hear foghorns from the harbor as she unlocked the office door.

The fog didn’t lift until noontime. Sunny barely noticed. She hurried through the day, trying to accomplish any bit of work that might slow up her escape. She’d even brought a sandwich from home so she could work through her lunch hour.

When quitting time rolled around, she already had her computer off and her parka on. For once the phone didn’t ring with some last-minute disaster. Sunny killed the lights and locked the door. She saw a pair of headlights make the turn onto the street and then glide to a stop. It took a moment for her to make out Jane’s gray BMW in the darkness. Sunny walked to the curb and climbed aboard.

Jane made nervous small talk all the way across the bridge and into Portsmouth. “I know you probably think I’m silly,” she said, “but I’m going to end up talking about some pretty serious stuff with a complete stranger. It will be good to have a friendly face in the room.”

They managed to find street parking not far from the address on the business card. It turned out to be a renovated six-story brick building. According to the board in the lobby, Crandall, Sherwood, and Phillips was on the fifth floor. Luckily, part of the renovations had included installing an elevator.

The door opened onto a reception area paneled in dark mahogany instead of the blond wood in Martin Rigsdale’s office. That wasn’t the only difference. This receptionist actually smiled at them, and the place was obviously jumping, even at six o’clock. The young woman’s desk was covered with piles of paper, and behind her Sunny could see people scurrying around with still more papers in their hands.

It took a couple of minutes to get hold of Mr. Phillips, and the receptionist apologized. Finally, a tall guy came down the hall in his shirtsleeves, a conservatively patterned silk tie pulled loose at his collar, and a cup of coffee in his hand. “Please forgive me for the delay.” He gestured with the cup. “I had to refuel.”

When he got to within ten feet of them, though, Mr. Phillips stopped and stared. “Jane Leister,” he said in disbelief, “and Sunny Coolidge!”

Sunny stood looking into a semifamiliar face. Knock off a few inches of height, make the hair longer and messier, wind back the clock so the boyish face was actually a boy’s . . .

“Toby Philpotts?” She and Jane blurted out the name almost in unison. Sunny hadn’t thought of Toby Philpotts in years—well, not until she’d suggested naming Mrs. Martinson’s incontinent pup after her grammar-school classmate with the weak bladder. And here he was, all grown up.

The man in front of them didn’t quite grimace—he’d had a lawyer’s training in controlling his expressions. “It’s Phillips these days,” he said quietly. “And I prefer Tobe.”

He led them through a maze of cubicles to his office. It was a pretty modest space, although the bookcases were the same mahogany as the paneling outside. So was the desk. And he did have a door that shut and a window with a view toward the harbor. Toby Philpotts, a.k.a. Tobe Phillips, glanced at the empty desk outside his door. “My assistant is busy jockeying around the copying machine,” he explained. “We’ve got to get a filing ready by the opening of court on Monday.”

He set his cup down on the side of a fairly messy desk and gestured toward the pair of comfortable seats facing him. “I’ve been following the case on TV and in the papers, but obviously I didn’t get all the information.”

“I still can’t believe it!” Jane said. “I haven’t seen you—since when? Middle school?”

Tobe nodded. “My dad got a job on this side of the river when I was a freshman. I wound up in a new school, made new friends, found new interests.”

Got a new name, Sunny added silently. “That’s right,” she said aloud. “I remember you wanted to go into science.”

“Law ended up paying better,” Tobe said with a wry smile. “That’s one of the reasons I changed my name. I kept hearing comments about pots of cash.” His voice got drier. “Or pots of bovine scatology, as what’s-his-name used to put it.”

He cast an admiring glance Jane’s way. “But then, you’re a vet. You may encounter the real stuff out in the field.”

She shook her head. “I don’t do that much with large animals, Tobe,” she said, almost as if she were tasting the name. “Most of the BS I put up with is figurative.”

Tobe grinned at her. “And what do you do these days, Sunny?” he asked.

“I was a reporter down in New York,” she began the same old story. “Had to come back home to take care of my dad, got laid off, though, so right now I’m in the tourism business.”

“Ah,” he said, obviously filing that under “Questions to Be Asked Later.” He turned back to Jane. “So, tell me a bit about Martin Rigsdale. Did you meet him professionally?”

She nodded. “I worked with him, married him, and ended up divorcing him.” She went on to give a pretty concise explanation of the reasons for each stage in that relationship and didn’t fly off the handle when describing Martin’s shortcomings.

While Tobe Phillips quietly took all that in, Sunny spent the time checking him out, hoping she wasn’t being too obvious about it. The studious boy she remembered had grown into an attractive man. His sandy hair had been cut in a style that suited his face, rather than the too-long mess she remembered. And the years had pared away some of the youthful softness from that face. Tobe didn’t have the drop-dead gorgeousness of a Martin Rigsdale, or even the chiseled features of a Will Price. But he was a good-looking guy, thoughtful, and judging from his reactions to Jane’s story, kind.

Sunny glanced around the desk and shelves. No pictures of a wife and kids.

He asked a couple of questions to clarify some details, then said, “So you had a marriage that didn’t work out and a divorce that wasn’t too contentious.” He raised a hand—no ring, Sunny noticed—to cut off any comments from Jane. “Believe me, I’ve seen worse. So why do you think you need me?”

“Because I get the feeling that the cops think I killed Martin,” Jane replied a little more loudly than she’d intended. She sat back in her seat, looking embarrassed.

“We have a mutual friend, a former Portsmouth policeman who’s now a town constable in Kittery Harbor,” Sunny said. “When the detectives started questioning him as well as Jane, he suggested we talk to you. His name is Will Price. Apparently he encountered you in court.”

Tobe sat back, thinking for a moment—and smiling. “I remember him,” he said. “A pretty savvy cop. If he thinks you may have trouble, I’d take it seriously. So back to the real question: Why do you think the police suspect you?”

“Well, we found Martin—the body.” Jane faltered a little over those words. “His receptionist immediately started accusing me.”

“Detectives Trumbull and Fitch took our statements,” Sunny said. “When we were finished, Will came to pick us up at the station, and Trumbull saw him.”

“Mmmm-hmmm.” Phillips turned to Jane. “Were you in the habit of seeing your ex-husband?”

Jane shook her head. “It was almost a year and a half since we’d even talked. Then he asked me out to dinner—but that was only so he could ask for money.” She explained about the foundation she was running and its generous funding. “He wanted a six-figure consulting fee, and he wanted it up front! Is it any wonder I threw that drink in his face?”

That was something Jane hadn’t mentioned before, but Sunny didn’t have a chance to ask any questions. Jane went on, “Then I heard from Sunny that Martin had been to see her, and I called him. He said to come over during his evening hours.”

Tobe turned to Sunny. “What did he say to you?”

“He wanted my help in persuading Jane to give him money,” Sunny told him. “And he suggested we might spend some of it together.” Sunny rolled her eyes. “I don’t know if you’ve seen pictures of Martin, but he was a very attractive man, and he didn’t mind spreading the charm around.”

“Way too much,” Jane agreed grimly.

“Maybe even more than you know.” Sunny related her conversation with the diner waitress. “It sounds to me as if the receptionist, Dawn Featherstone, was involved with Martin. That would explain her reaction when we showed up—jealousy. And apparently he had at least one other lady friend.”

“So you’re suggesting at least two other possible suspects.”

Sunny opened her mouth, on the verge of also mentioning the Russian cigarettes, but then decided against it. All she had was a foreign cigarette filter suggesting that someone had been watching Martin. Given Martin’s habits, that watcher could have been a detective getting the goods for a suspicious spouse. A detective with weird smoking habits, but still . . .

Tobe looked at her. “Did you want to add something?”

“Only that Jane also mentioned to me that Martin had a habit of approaching some better-off clients for money.”

Tobe frowned thoughtfully. “Do you think he was spreading his charm there, too?”

Jane’s cheeks went pink. “Probably.”

The lawyer stood. “If you haven’t guessed it by now, I’m taking this case.” He outlined some of the practicalities and gave Jane some papers to sign. “If Fitch or Trumbull comes at you again, refer them to me,” he said. “I know it’s not easy, having your life stirred around like this. But you will come through it.”

“Thanks,” Jane said, taking his hand. “For the first time in a week, I feel as if I can really breathe.”

Two quick raps sounded on the door, and an anxious-looking young woman poked her head in, waving some papers.

“Now I’ve got to get back to the present emergency,” Tobe Phillips apologized. “Can you find your way out?”

They made their way to the reception area. As they did, an elevator opened and a guy came out, carrying a bulging briefcase—more papers apparently. Sunny dashed up and stopped the doors from closing. They stepped aboard.

In the elevator, Sunny said, “Well, that was a surprise.”

Jane nodded. “A nice one, for once.”

They got downstairs, outside, and into Jane’s car. Sunny pulled out her cell phone. “I just want to check the office machine. Make sure there are no last-minute calls.”

She dialed the number for the MAX office, got the answering machine, and punched in the code for messages.

“Damn,” she muttered. “One message.”

“This is, ah, Larry,” an unfamiliar voice said, obviously flustered at dealing with a machine. “From, ah, Portsmouth Tobacconists. That gentleman you asked about? He’s coming in tonight.”

“Damn, damn, damn,” Sunny groaned. Looks as if I’ll have to talk about those Russian cigarettes after all.

“There’s somewhere we have to get—and quickly,” she told Jane, giving her directions to the shop. “I’ll explain while we drive.”

In between telling Jane about the exotic cigarette and where she’d found it, Sunny punched in the number for Portsmouth Tobacconists. “Hello, Larry, this is the lady with the twenty. Thanks for calling me. Has the gentleman shown up?”

“Ah, no,” Larry said, sounding nervous.

“I’ll be there in a couple of minutes. If he comes before then, stall him.”

She hung up on Larry asking how he could do that.

They arrived at the tobacco store, and Jane looked for parking while Sunny went in, checking that the place was empty. Larry jittered behind the counter, a lot less chatty this evening.

“Has he been here yet?” Sunny asked.

Larry shook his head.

“You have nothing to worry about. I’ll be outside. When the guy comes in, you can—”

“I thought you knew him,” Larry interrupted.

“It’s just that it’s sort of dark outside,” Sunny improvised. “I’d hate to miss him.”

“At his size, I think he’d be hard to miss,” Larry said.

Sunny hurried back outside, where Jane had gotten a space across the street from the store. Not long after, it was clear that the man in question had arrived, and Sunny could see what Larry meant about him being hard to miss: This character added a football linebacker’s width to a basketball forward’s height. His head and shoulders almost brushed the top of the door frame, and a gray herringbone overcoat like a big wool tent flapped around him.

“Yow!” Jane said.

Sunny had to agree. “So much for the theory about smoking stunting your growth.” She peered through the windshield. “Okay, he was in the blue SUV that passed us and parked down the block. That means he may pull a U-turn to go back the way he came.”

“Have you done this before?” Jane asked. “Because if you have, you can drive.”

For a second, Sunny debated spinning a tale to make Jane feel better, but then decided on the truth. “This is my first time, too,” she said. “But if he makes the U-turn, give him some space before you try it. And don’t ride on his rear bumper.”

Jane stared at her. “I guess they teach you some weird things in journalism school.”

Sunny laughed. “J-school, hell. That’s from watching cop shows.”

The guy came out, a carton of smokes tucked under one massive arm. He walked down the block to the SUV and got in, making the big vehicle rock for a moment. A second later, the truck’s rear lights lit up, and it pulled out into the street, heading to the corner and making a right.

“Okay, start,” Sunny said. “He can’t see us now, but we’d better get back in sight of him.”

Jane brought the BMW to life and quickly took the corner. Their quarry was nowhere to be seen.

“Okay, take a right at the next corner,” Sunny directed. “Maybe he’s doing that instead of making the U-turn.”

They made two turns and spotted the SUV with a three-block lead on them, which Jane closed to one block. The driver ahead didn’t seem to be in much of a hurry, dawdling his way around downtown Portsmouth, seemingly taking turns at random. Jane sat white-knuckled at the wheel out of sheer frustration. She muttered curse words as cars cut her off or beeped at her to hurry up. “What the hell is this guy doing?”

“Maybe he’s got a meeting somewhere and is just killing time,” Sunny suggested.

They followed the SUV into a more industrial neighborhood. The few stores that fronted on the street had closed. “Well, this is a good place for a meeting—if you like spy movies,” Jane said.

The big guy’s SUV made a sudden turn into a narrow alleyway.

“Cut off your lights and turn in,” Sunny said. “If he keeps going, we can follow him. If we don’t see his lights, we’ll pretend we’re making a K-turn—”

“And get out of here?” Jane suggested.

“I guess so,” Sunny said. She’d hoped the guy they were following might lead her to some hangout where they’d be able to watch him discreetly, maybe even eavesdrop. As the thrill of the chase died down, Sunny’s more cautious side weighed in. This guy was a possible killer, after all. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a great idea to get too close to him. Still, if they got an idea where he stopped in this dark alley, they could come back in the daytime and get an address.

Jane made the turn, and had to jam on the brakes—the SUV was right in front of them.

And then, a second later, another SUV came pulling up behind, boxing them in.

Sunny and Jane looked at each other. Well, Dad, looks as if you were right, Sunny thought. I’ve definitely bitten off more than I can chew.