Catch As Cat Can

9

Shadow crouched in the upstairs hall, his tail lashing the air. The house was still deep in darkness, but Sunny and the Old One were both up and talking, hours before their usual time. Shadow wasn’t quite ready to call this a bad thing, but it was certainly out of the ordinary. He didn’t like when two-legs started fooling around outside their schedules. It often meant trouble. For instance with all this running around, suppose one of them forgot to feed him?

He followed them into the kitchen, keeping a suspicious eye on them as he watched them eat. At least Sunny got up and put food and water in his bowls. When they finished and ran water over their bowls and eating things, Shadow ambled over by the door. The Old One surprised him by venturing outside and getting into both of the go-fast things, making them rumble. He came back with his mouth wide open, putting a hand in front of it as he opened the door. Shadow saw humans do that sometimes when they were tired and took advantage of it, darting past unseen.

It was cold and dark, but he could see well enough. Now he had a choice to make. He wanted to go along with Sunny on this strange dark-time adventure, but her go-fast thing was very hard to get into. Still worse, she’d been on her guard these last few days, either keeping him from getting out or catching him and putting him back inside when he tried to ride along.

The Old One’s go-fast thing, on the other paw, had a big, open space in the back, very easy to jump into.

I’ll just have to hope they’re going to the same place, Shadow decided. He came to that conclusion just in time, hearing two-leg voices coming closer to the door. Shadow gathered himself and sprang up, high, over the wall of the go-fast thing and landed in the open space. The metal floor vibrated slightly under his paws. He was never sure if go-fast things were alive or not. They moved, and they made a noise sort of like purring, but they only did that when a human climbed inside them. Otherwise, they seemed to sleep a lot, even more than a cat. And they never seemed to wake up when Shadow crept up and pounced on them.

But that was something to think about for another time. The go-fast thing rocked as the Old One climbed inside, and soon they were moving. Shadow’s plan had worked out perfectly.

Except for one thing.

I should have eaten more when Sunny put out my food, he thought. They may not be going to the place where the Generous One gives out fish.

*

Kittery Harbor didn’t have a rush hour like New York, although there were times when the roads got busy with people off to early jobs in the navy shipyards in Portsmouth. But Sunny and her dad were heading into town even before that modest surge in traffic. This was more like the times when she worked the graveyard shift on the newspaper, driving off in search of a story in the dead of night. Usually, that meant something unpleasant: a car accident, a fire, a crime committed or a criminal caught.

Better not think that way, she scolded herself. You want to look like the eager young reporter hoping to sell a story on local fishing.

For the fourth time since she got in the car, she stifled a yawn. Right. Yeah. Eager. She took a deep breath, trying to get some more oxygen to her sleep-deprived brain. Maybe not as young as I’d like to think anymore.

This looked to be a long day. Sunny sincerely hoped she wouldn’t get one of Ollie Barnstable’s random supervisory visits while she was stumbling around trying to keep awake.

She followed her father’s pickup down toward the Piscataqua River, passing the touristy piers with their convenient benches for lunching, past a more upscale marina, and finally came into what was left of the working port. Once there, it was hard to miss the neon glow of the Dockside Diner’s sign, although an occasional sputter in the letters turned that into the DOCKSIDE DI E every once in a while.

The diner was a twenty-four hour operation, but cars were pretty scarce at this time of day. The only activity Sunny could see was a crew of men tying up a small boat on a nearby pier. Was that Charlie Vane and his crew?

Sunny parked beside her dad and got out of her Wrangler. Mike was already out, pounding his arms against his sides. “Oh, yeah, cold water and an onshore breeze. Now I remember why I decided not to take that fishing job.”

They headed for the diner entrance. Sunny laughed when she spotted a hand-lettered sign in the window. COME OVER TO THE DOCKSIDE . . . WE HAVE COFFEE.

Somebody in there must be a Star Wars fan, she thought.

They entered to steamy air filled with cooking smells and got a booth by the window. Mike ordered coffee and Sunny followed suit, quickly regretting the decision as a thick, chipped mug full of viscous black liquid was deposited in front of her. Mike stirred in a little sugar. “At least the spoon doesn’t stand straight up. Reminds me of what we got out of the crankcase of my friend’s Chevy when he put off changing the oil filter for too long.”

He added some milk, took a sip, and blew out his cheeks. “Guess that’s what you need to bring you back to life if you’ve been out at sea in weather like this.”

Sunny followed his example, took a sip, and shuddered. “On my worst day in the office, leaving the pot on the coffeemaker heater too long, I never got it to taste like this.” She called the waitress over and ordered an English muffin.

“Sounds like a good idea,” Mike chimed in. “I’ll have one, too.” He leaned forward as the waitress headed to the kitchen. “Although I don’t think that will manage to cut the taste.”

There speaks the experience of forty years in drive-ins and greasy spoons, Sunny thought mournfully. She didn’t have much time to complain, though, because the door banged open and a guy in an orange dayglow outfit came strutting in. His parka was open to reveal a heavy sweater and bib-style pants, making him look bulkier than he really was.

Mike rose to his feet. “Hey, Charlie.”

Charlie Vane swaggered over to shake hands. He had to be about four inches shy of Mike’s six-foot height, but he acted as though he were the bigger man. “How’s it goin’, Mike?”

“This is my daughter, Sunny.” Mike made the introduction, and Sunny found her hand encased in a rough, calloused paw. Charlie Vane had a gaunt face with thin lips and eyes as colorless as ice cubes—about as warm as them, too. All of his visible skin looked as if it had been lightly sanded by the elements, with the exception of the pale white scar that traveled up his right cheek, continuing again above his eyebrow.

Charlie quirked that brow when he realized Sunny was staring at it. “Binding wire snapped and whipped right in my face. Another inch, and I’d be wearing a patch.”

Sunny managed to find her voice. “I guess that would make you like your famous ancestor—although it would probably make navigating a boat a lot more exciting.”

Vane grinned, exposing strong, yellowish teeth. “Good, so you aren’t going to faint.” He slipped into the booth on the opposite side from Sunny and Mike. The waitress was already there with a big, battered cup of sludge for him. Charlie took a long swallow and sighed.

“The taste takes some getting used to, but at least it warms your insides.” He turned those ice-cube eyes on Sunny. “So what does your boyfriend the cop want to know?”

“I’m trying to develop a story about local fishing,” Sunny began, but Vane cut her off, waving his hand.

“Yeah, yeah, Mike told me all that. I know you write for the Courier. But I know you also team up with that Price guy to tackle cases.” He grinned. “I actually read the Courier, besides using it to wrap fish. And while you’ve got a nice line there, Ken Howell will never run a story about me. I was supposed to give him an exclusive about a screwup by the government’s supposed fishery experts. But I had a chance to get it on TV, and I went with it.”

Considering that Ken’s paper only comes out once a week, I can see why he’d take that personally, Sunny thought.

“So ask me some questions.” Vane settled back in his seat. “I don’t guarantee you’ll get answers, but at least I’m here.”

Sunny couldn’t see any advantage to sticking with her cover story. So she decided not to circle around. “I’d like to know about your business dealings with Neil Garret.”

“Whoa, very fancy. ‘Business dealings,’” Vane said. “I did what any businessman tries to do—get more money for my product. Garret was willing to fork over above the fish market price for the better quality fish right out of the ocean. I took his money, and all I can say is too bad he couldn’t buy my whole catch. But he didn’t have the storage capacity for everything I brought in, and I couldn’t supply all the different kinds of fish he needed. Not that he didn’t try. He began making the rounds of the restaurants around here, checking into what kind of seafood they wanted. He figured on setting himself up as the local middleman, offering us fishermen better payment, charging his customers a below-market price, and still making money. Pretty ambitious.”

Ambitious—I guess that would be Nick Gatto’s middle name, Sunny thought.

Vane continued, “Of course sooner or later Deke Sweeney—you know about him?” When Sunny nodded, he went on. “Sweeney did his best to punish the guys who’d done deals with Garret.”

“Including you,” Sunny put in. “That must have been annoying.”

“Yeah, but I was more annoyed with Sweeney.” Vane glanced at her. “You think I was involved in what happened at the store? I still got two eyes, honey. No way would I mistake some out-of-towner for Neil. Mind you, I don’t blame him. If some bozo tried to climb aboard my boat, he’d get exactly what was coming to him.”

“Neil denies seeing the man before discovering him in the freezer,” Sunny said. “Where were you—”

“On the night of the murder?” Vane finished for her. He leaned back in his seat, enjoying her attention. “I was in the Gulf of Maine after a quick turnover to refuel and resupply, hoping to make a decent catch of plaice. We had almost nothing to show for our last trip, so we thought we’d try our luck off Cape Elizabeth.”

“That’s more than fifty miles up the coast,” Mike said.

Vane nodded. “A bit far to try sneaking back in a rowboat. And I had two crew with me—my boy Jack, and my son-in-law, Rennie Yates.”

Both family, and dependent on him for jobs, Sunny thought. That makes for a convenient alibi.

But even if Charlie Vane had been much closer and had managed to sneak back to Kittery Harbor, that still didn’t explain how he’d somehow mistaken Phil Treibholz for Neil Garret.

Unless we take the fifty-mile alibi at face value, and figure that Vane hired himself a killer. It was just bad luck that the killer found Treibholz on the premises and did the job on the wrong person.

The problem with that theory was that contract killings, even cheap ones, cost money. And Charlie Vane didn’t look as though he could rub two nickels together.

“Look, I really don’t know much about what happened with Neil. I was out fishing, all I heard was a little gossip over the radio. From what I heard, I figured maybe Deke Sweeney sent somebody over to lean on Neil ’cause he wasn’t rolling over and playing dead, and things got out of hand. Some leg-breaker getting what he had coming. But if Neil says he never saw the guy before, that he just turned up in the store’s freezer . . .” His voice trailed off as he frowned. “I wonder what kind of game Neil is playing.”

“What kind of game are you playing, Charlie?” Mike asked. “I hear Sweeney has you cut off in Portsmouth.”

“There are other places to sell fish besides Portsmouth,” Vane replied. “My family has been fishing these waters from the days when you baited hooks, threw lines over the side, and prayed you got lucky. No way am I going to let some pen pusher who’s never stuck his nose out of an office force me out of business—or some guy who calls himself a shark because he can scare a bunch of fish merchants.”

His voice sounded as if he had this already memorized, like a politician’s stump speech.

Except I think he’d have a mug of beer in his hand, rather than a coffee cup, Sunny thought. She glanced out the window at the lightening sky and then at her watch. “I appreciate your giving us this time, Mr. Vane. But I’m afraid I’ll have to be getting on with my day job soon. You may have to talk with Will Price, or even Sheriff Nesbit.”

Charlie Vane looked as if the coffee had turned to motor oil in his mouth. He forced a swallow, and then said, “If I have to,” with an ungracious look. “We already offloaded our catch, so we’ll probably take a few days. But when we try again, we’ll be gone for a while. I’ll be heading off the Jordan Basin.”

Mike stared. “That’s almost to Nova Scotia,” he said.

Vane shrugged. “You go where the fish are.” He turned to Sunny. “So if your boyfriend wants to talk to me, he may have to do it by radio.”

Sunny almost began her response with “He’s not—” but managed to hold that in. Instead, she shrugged, said, “Fine,” and gestured to the waitress for the check. She looked at her untouched muffin and nearly full cup. Somehow during their conversation, Mike had reduced his English muffin to crumbs and had to wave off the waitress when she tried to bring him a coffee refill.

His heart may not be what it used to be, Sunny thought, but he still has a cast-iron stomach.

She settled the bill, left a tip, and headed back out into the cold.

*

Shadow stood on the front of a go-fast thing, peering in the smeary windows of the place Sunny and the Old One had gone into. From the smell, it had to be one of those places where they always made food. Shadow thought that was a good idea. He’d seen many two-legs just walk in and eat. But he knew that a furred person could get into trouble looking for food. He couldn’t count how many places like that he’d entered—and been chased from.

I don’t know why Sunny would go into one of those places now, he thought. She just ate.

He watched her take a drink and make a face. Maybe it was one of those situations like when the Old One put out food for him, and just to be polite, Shadow would have a taste.

Thinking of that reminded Shadow of the food Sunny had set out back home. Now he wished he’d had some of that before he went out. Shadow continued to watch Sunny and finally saw the reason why she was hanging around. A strange two-legs came into the place and sat down with her.

When the stranger had walked by, Shadow had noticed him because he smelled of fish—some of it not very fresh. A bare glance at the way this one moved, though, and Shadow knew he couldn’t expect to see any tidbits falling to the ground. This one was angry.

But there were no loud voices and fighting when the Angry One spoke with Sunny. That was good, although Shadow wasn’t happy to see Sunny with this two-legs. Sunny was good, but she chose some very odd humans to hang around with sometimes. Why couldn’t she visit with nice two-legs like the Generous One?

The thought of that one made Shadow’s empty stomach growl. He stretched and noticed that the sky above was growing brighter. More two-legs were moving around now.

Shadow wondered if the Generous One was already in the house where he chopped up fish. A quick surge of his muscles, and he dropped to the pavement. He set off down the street, ignoring the cold wind coming off the big water. It would be warm where he was going.

*

Sunny arrived at the MAX office early enough that she was able to stop at Judson’s Market for supplies. She wanted to get the taste of the Dockside Diner’s coffee out of her mouth, and she didn’t trust the office brew to help. So she got a cup of Judson’s plain (but flavorful) American coffee and a toasted bagel to make up for the muffin she’d missed out on.

She’d just cleared the office decks and finished her second breakfast when she heard the metal gate rattle up next door. Sighing, Sunny dropped her disposable cup in the trash. She’d let the subject of rent slide after Abby’s surprise revelation, but she knew she couldn’t allow it to drag on forever. Sooner or later, she’d get a call from Ollie on the subject. And knowing Ollie, it would be sooner—like when he realized he still hadn’t gotten cash or a check.

Sunny rose from behind her desk, walked to the door, and then scampered through the cold to Kittery Harbor Fish. Neil Garret had just installed himself behind the counter. “Oh, hi, Sunny,” he said. “What can I do for you?”

“It’s not so much what you can do for me as for Ollie,” she told him. “He wanted me to remind you about the rent. It’s—”

“Overdue, I know,” he finished for her. “Things have been—well, you know how things have been.” Neil rubbed his hands together, like a man getting down to a big job. “The good news is that I had a decent day yesterday. A lot of nosy people had healthy dinners last night. Can you let me slide until I see how today goes? You can tell Ollie that I’ll have something for him by the end of business.”

“I’ll pass that on to Ollie when he calls in and let you know.” Sunny made no promises when it came to her boss’ reactions. Although Ollie wasn’t the wild man he had been when Sunny had first started working for him, he still had his good and bad days—good and bad moods.

“Thanks, Sunny.” Neil arranged a tray full of fish filets on a fresh bed of ice and added a sign with the price. He raised his head above the counter and asked, “Is there something else?”

Sunny realized she’d been staring at him, comparing this small businessman starting off his day with the big-shot stock market mobster that Abby had described. Other than his willingness to rock the boat on the local fish business, Sunny still didn’t see any trace of that guy.

“I, uh . . .” She stumbled over her words as she realized that Neil was now staring at her in a way she recognized, the look of a man with a secret who wonders if it’s somehow gotten out.

For a second, she almost blurted out that she’d been up early to catch Charlie Vane, but she managed to head that off before the words left her mouth. Not helpful to talk about his wholesale fish coconspirator—and potential murder suspect, Sunny thought.

Her final response was less than original but had the merit of being true, as far as it went. “Sorry. I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

No need to mention why, she added inside her head.

Neil nodded in sympathy. “I know what you mean. This hasn’t been easy. I never expected—” He broke off, staring at her intently, as if looking for some sign of shared knowledge, a green light for him to speak up.

And then he was looking past her. “Don’t look now,” Neil said, “but you’re being shadowed.”

Sunny whirled around to discover a familiar furry figure resting its forepaws on Neil’s store window.

“Shadow! What are you doing out there?” She opened the door, and Shadow trotted in, tail high, its tip bent forward, cat body language for Hi! Nice to see ya!

It seemed as though he’d completely forgotten the unpleasant circumstances from the last time he’d been in front of Kittery Harbor Fish. Nor was he the least bit embarrassed that Sunny was watching his overtures to Neil.

Maybe a little bit of Nick Gatto peeked out as Neil’s attitude suddenly shifted. He laughed, coming around the counter to reach down, letting Shadow sniff his hand before gently rubbing his fingers through the fur between the cat’s ears. “This little guy must have some premium stones, coming down here to see what’s doing.”

Actually, he’s been fixed. But Sunny didn’t see any use in mentioning that.

After a brief head rub, Neil went back behind the counter. He produced a sharp knife and carefully removed a sliver from one of the filets in his counter display. Standing up again, he prepared to toss the morsel to Shadow but then paused, looking over at Sunny. “Is it all right for him to eat something like this in the morning?”

Sunny glanced over at Shadow who sat back on his haunches, his body erect, eyes locked on the bit of fish in Neil’s hand. “He can have a little bit,” she responded, shaking her head. “Just not too much.”

That smart-aleck voice in the back of her head laughed. We don’t want a rerun of the frog incident.