Hiss And Tell

14

At the first sign of trouble, Lee Trehearne had come at a run, then he halted, staring back and forth, struggling with how to resolve the situation. Augustus de Kruk kept cowering back, shouting, “Shoot it! Somebody shoot it!”

That seemed a somewhat extreme reaction to a cat that was doing nothing more aggressive than staring at him. Sunny kept her mouth shut, however. She had a strong suspicion that things wouldn’t go well for her if de Kruk discovered that the animal causing his apparent nervous breakdown was her cat. And knowing Shadow, he was just as likely to seal the deal by leaping down into her arms. Still the situation seemed surreal enough that Sunny couldn’t believe the cat was in real danger.

Trehearne tried to reach up and grab Shadow, but the height of the wall left the cat just beyond his grasp.

“How about climbing up on one of the bags?” Cale pointed to the luggage that had just been unloaded with the de Kruks.

“Yes! Please! Just get it!” Augustus didn’t sound much like an emperor. He was begging.

Looking dubious at the whole process, Trehearne lugged a large hard-sided case up to the wall and hoisted himself on top of it. As soon as he began to draw level in height, Shadow strolled casually along the top of the wall, keeping slightly more than an arm’s length away. Sunny could have told the security chief how this was going to end. Instead, she bit her lip as Trehearne stretched after the cat, who remained just tantalizingly out of reach. She could hear muttered swear words as the man reached a precarious balance at the edge of the bag. He stretched yet again, ramming an angry hand more in a punch than a grab at the cat, who responded by hissing and arching his back. That didn’t deter Trehearne, who leaned back and then suddenly lunged to catch Shadow, apparently intending to grab the cat and make a landing.

Instead, Shadow hissed and met Trehearne’s groping hand with a set of claws. With a yell of pain, Trehearne jerked his hand back, sufficiently distracted enough to blow his landing and collapse in an ungainly heap at the foot of the wall. Trehearne got himself up on his hands and knees to find the cat in almost the same pose above him, yowling cat curses down.

Staggering upright, the security chief got out his radio. His face was brick red from exertion and fury—and embarrassment over the smothered laughter from some of the onlookers. The last thing he wanted to do was call in reinforcements over a cat. But he had to admit the need for them, especially with Augustus de Kruk sobbing and shouting for cat blood.

Several black-jacketed security men arrived in response to his call. They moved with military precision to surround and subdue the intruder. One team advanced on the wall with a ladder. Another climbed onto the wall where it was lower, proceeding along the top on foot. A third force blocked the way to the house and advanced from there.

Sunny began to take the situation seriously enough to consider what kind of plea she’d have to make to keep Trehearne from wringing Shadow’s neck. But just as the forces of humanity closed in for the capture, Shadow moved like greased lightning. He jumped down onto the head of the security man on the ladder, slid down his back, and bounced off the guy steadying the ladder. In an instant he was on the ground, breaking into evasive maneuvers on the run.

The man on the ladder nearly toppled off after making a belated grab, much like Trehearne. Augustus de Kruk let out another howl as Shadow darted past, about five feet away from his expensive shoes. With the glare Lee Trehearne sent after the cat, Sunny was surprised the lawn didn’t burst into flames.

The whole welcome event dissolved into chaos. Magda, Augustus’s latest blond wife, half-supported him as he tottered toward the house. She was quickly joined by Carson and Beau, who got the elder de Kruk inside and into a chair. Beau had a hand on the older man’s chest and then checked his pulse. “Are you short of breath?” he asked in his best emergency room manner.

“He should be okay now that the cat is out of sight,” Carson said. Apparently he’d seen his father react like this before.

“Augustus has this very strong reaction to seeing cats,” Magda explained. Her accent made the “this” sound like “zis,” and “cats” became “catza.” She patted her husband on the shoulder. “Many famous people have had it: Julius Caesar, Shakespeare, Napoleon, even your President Eisenhower.”

“Ailurophobia,” Sunny muttered to herself. Having done some research on the subject, she wasn’t exactly surprised that Mrs. de Kruk had skipped over a few of the other famous historical sufferers—like Genghis Khan, Hitler, and Mussolini. She recalled a story about Napoleon being found in a room, pale and trembling, stabbing into a wall tapestry with his sword. When the guards arrived they found a kitten hiding behind it.

Obviously, his brush with Shadow had been a shattering experience for Augustus. He no longer looked like a bold bald eagle, but more like a hoot owl caught in strong daylight. His piercing eyes blinked, he shivered, and his face was covered in sweat.

The Senator simply stared, lost for words—in fact, completely at a loss as to how to deal with his guest. After all, Augustus de Kruk was a master of the universe. How did one talk to him after seeing him dissolve into gibbering, irrational terror?

Luckily, the Senator’s wife stepped into the breach. “I think after all this confusion, a little rest is called for,” she said gently. “We can show you to your room now.”

“Are you sure, Julia?” the Senator asked.

“Yes.” Her voice was definite. “I believe we can wait on supper for a little bit, until our guests are settled.”

Carson and Beau helped an almost pathetically grateful Augustus up to the guest bedroom.

Sunny took advantage of the intermission to go outside. Maybe she’d be able to spot Shadow. Maybe he’d come back. He had to have seen her.

But when she came out the door, she saw black-jacketed security guys all over the compound, searching for the renegade cat. Her heart squeezed a little. Oh, Shadow, what have you gotten yourself into this time?

Her worried thoughts were interrupted by muted laughter. Cale Kingsbury sat on a lower part of the wall, disregarding any threat to his good suit. He looked up at Sunny, his bad-boy grin threatening to split his face. “Un-be-lievable!” he chortled. “The all-powerful Emperor Augustus, brought low by a pussycat! You should have been using your camera, Sunny. A guy like de Kruk would pay through the nose to keep that meltdown off the Net. A couple of pictures, and you’d be set for life.”

Sunny gave an uneasy nod. “Frankly, I’m more worried for the cat.”

Another voice joined the conversation. “He seemed like a nice cat.” Yardley Neal came out to stand beside Sunny. “I saw him earlier today. I just thought he was a neighborhood cat wandering around. He visited over at the pool this afternoon. He didn’t like the water and the splashing, but he wasn’t at all hissy with me.”

“I bet you didn’t try to grab him,” Sunny said.

“No, but he let me pet him.” Yardley smiled. “We had kitties all the time I was growing up. Pumpernickel and Daffodil. Daffodil liked flowers. I have no idea how Pumpernickel got his name. Anyway, that cat had good manners. He didn’t stick his nose into things. I fed him some cold cuts from our sandwiches.”

Well, at least that means he ought to have plenty of energy to escape Trehearne’s Raiders, Sunny consoled herself. “I’m going to take a walk,” she said. Maybe she could find Shadow. But then what would she do? Wrap him up in her jacket and smuggle him to safety? Where would safety be?

*

Shadow ducked into the cover of a flower bed, lying low among the greenery as another pair of two-legs went by. They wore the same black as the Clumsy One who’d tried to grab him, the one he’d marked with his claws. Maybe that made them all mad at him. Certainly, they seemed to be looking for him. But they didn’t know how to hunt or stalk. Their feet made crunching noises on the little rocks in the paths, and they talked—or those boxes on their shoulders talked. A cat would have to be deaf not to know when they were coming.

The only problem was, he couldn’t go back to try and find Sunny. He’d seen her there among the other two-legs when the Howling One had started in. That had brought the Clumsy One. At first Shadow thought he was trying to play the keep-away game, where Shadow stayed just out of reach. But that last attempt would have hurt if he’d gotten hold of Shadow, and Shadow had let him know it. He hadn’t expected all this excitement, though.

What really worried him, though, was how Sunny had stayed quiet while the Clumsy One came after him. Shadow knew she’d seen him, but she didn’t come to him or even say anything. It was as if she were pretending she didn’t even know him. That hurt, and the feeling began to turn to anger.

He’d also caught traces of the made smell while he’d stood on top of the wall. Did Sunny ignore him because she was with the one who wore that scent? Shadow silently snarled, stretching his paw so the claws slid out. He’d mark that one, too. But not Sunny, of course. He’d never do that to Sunny. But he’d remember. She’ll have to do a lot before I forget how she deserted me, he promised.

Yes, he’d make her pay—as soon as he found her. But where could he do that? He headed back to that odd-smelling house where she seemed to be staying.

*

Sunny zigzagged across Neal’s Neck, looking for places where a cat might hide. She tried the pool area, since Shadow had successfully mooched a meal there. But he wasn’t in the cabana. So she strolled on, paying special attention to plantings and shrubs. Shadow always surprised her with his ability to scrunch down and blend his tiger-striped body with the stems and leaves, especially in failing light. But she didn’t find much in the way of animal—all vegetable.

She remembered her dream from earlier, seeing Shadow in her bedroom window. Or had it really been a dream at all? At the time, she’d thought Shadow was still home. Now she knew he was here.

That’s why there was cat hair on my clothes, she realized. He didn’t roll on them in a snit, he stowed away in my bag!

On a surge of hope, Sunny set off on the path back to the guesthouses. Maybe Shadow had gone back to her room.

She’d almost reached the edge of the compound when she heard shouting ahead. Sunny picked up her pace, afraid of what she’d find. Black-jacketed security men were dashing around the house where she was staying. One of them brandished an old fish-landing net, like an oversized butterfly catcher.

Sunny broke into a run. She reached the edge of the house to see Lee Trehearne and six security guys pounding after Shadow, who dodged and evaded. The man with the net tried to snag him, but Shadow wasn’t there when it landed, hitting the ground so hard that the wooden handle broke.

Shadow leaped away into the street, legs flashing.

Trehearne charged headlong after him, so focused on the cat that he almost crashed into the roadblock sawhorse when Shadow darted under it. The security chief skidded to a halt, suddenly aware of the state troopers staring at him . . . and of the photographers across the street. Shadow swerved to check on his pursuers, saw that he wasn’t being chased anymore, and slowed his pace to romp away at a trot, his tail held high.

Sunny had to hold a hand over her mouth to keep the laughter from coming out. The whole episode had looked like some sort of cartoon. But she felt a chill, too. Better be careful if you come back, Shadow, she aimed the thought at the retreating cat. Because now Trehearne might well try to shoot you.

That wasn’t the end of the incident, however. One of the troopers—Hank Riker, Sunny realized—walked over to the wrecked net, poking at it with his toe and talking with the security man who’d been carrying it. Then he spoke into the radio unit on his shoulder.

The amusing episode suddenly took on a more ominous tone, though Sunny couldn’t quite put her finger on what had changed the mood so quickly, and she didn’t feel confident enough to presume on Hank’s friendship with Will to just walk up and ask. But she got an answer about an hour later, when they’d all reassembled for dinner, and the Senator was called away to respond to unexpected guests. Sunny quickly excused herself too and left the dining room in time to see Lieutenant Ellis Wainwright heading up the stairs with a couple of troopers. Hank Riker stood at the foot of the stairway, obviously positioned to prevent anyone from following. The Senator was nowhere to be seen.

Sunny looked around, and saw they were alone. “Can you tell me what’s up?” she whispered to the trooper. “I saw you checking out the fishing net.”

“That was enough for Wainwright to get a search warrant,” Riker replied in an undertone. “We found the Nesbit murder weapon left in a storm drain. A very expensive fishing knife. Turns out Lemuel Kingsbury, the Senator’s late son, was a big fishing buff back in the day. The net was part of his old fishing tackle. So the Lieutenant figured it was worth looking into.”

“Priscilla’s dad?” Not to mention the father of Governors Lem and Tom, Sunny realized.

Riker nodded. “According to the Senator, the tackle box was still kept in his son’s old room.”

Sunny frowned.

Where Lem Junior and his wife are staying now.

A moment later, Wainwright appeared on the upstairs landing, not looking happy. “The knife is gone, but the gear’s all scattered,” she overheard him say as she stepped back out of his sight. “Whoever went to get that net must have been in a hurry. I think his are the only prints we’re likely to find.”

Sunny tried to edge even farther back, when she heard someone behind her and turned to find that she wasn’t the only eavesdropper. Thomas Neal Kingsbury, former U.S. Senator, stood scowling at her.

The Senator couldn’t call her out for doing what he himself had been attempting, especially not within earshot of the state police homicide investigator. But he obviously wasn’t happy with a reporter knowing about the latest development in the case; one that implicated his own grandson. Neither he nor Sunny enjoyed the meal after they returned to the dining room.

As the diners broke up, the Senator gestured for Sunny to join him, causing a lot of people to glance at her in surprise. That certainly didn’t untie the knot in her stomach.

For once, though, he didn’t launch into oratory. “I suppose I can’t fault your instincts,” he said. “But this has been difficult enough without having our name further splashed around.”

“I’m a guest here, sir, and I’m aware that involves obligations,” Sunny told him. “I’m not here to break any sensational stories.”

Sunny’s conciliatory manner seemed to placate the Senator. For now, at least. But just because she wasn’t putting out the news on her blog or the Courier, that didn’t mean Sunny intended to keep it all to herself. She headed off to the guesthouse and the privacy of her room, got out her cell phone, and called her father. “Hi, Dad. Just checking in.”

“With everything else that’s going on, I’ve been debating whether to call you,” Mike said. “The furball has disappeared—apparently right after you left. You know how he takes off sometimes for a few days. I didn’t want to worry you.”

“No worry,” she assured her dad. “Turns out, he followed me here—stowed away in my bag, no less. You won’t believe the trouble he’s caused.”

“Oh, I’d believe it,” Mike replied in a dry voice. His relationship with Shadow definitely had its ups and downs. “Have you gotten hold of him again? Should I drive over with the cat carrier?”

“Right now he’s still on the loose, but I’ll do my best to try and coax him.” Sunny shook her head at the mental picture of trying to get Shadow into the carrier against his will. “I don’t think we have to worry about transporting him yet. How are you doing?”

“Enjoying a cat-free house.” As Mike replied, Sunny heard a female voice speak in a scolding undertone. Mrs. Martinson?

Don’t ask, don’t tell, Sunny decided. She chatted for a moment more and then hung up. But she didn’t put the phone away, instead dialing Will Price’s number.

“Can’t really talk, I’m busy crime busting.” He must have recognized her caller ID, because he was doing a perfect Dudley Do-Right impersonation.

Sunny laughed. “And where are you pursuing this crusade?”

“They’ve got me patrolling the interstate through outlet-land,” he replied. “No demon speeders rushing to get last-minute bargains will avoid the long arm of the law.”

“Sounds wonderful,” Sunny said. “But when you finish your righteous work, maybe you can come by and talk to me. There’s been a development.”

Will dropped the voice. “You think you’ve got something?”

“I think Lieutenant Wainwright has something,” she responded, “and I think we should talk about it. There are a couple of things to consider, and I think two heads are better than one.”

“All right,” he said. “I’ll call you when I’m up there.”

Sunny closed her phone and then debated what to do. Maybe a quiet stroll through the nearby streets to see if she could get in touch with the feline avenger . . .

That thought got interrupted by an almost timid tap at her door. Sunny opened it to find Cillie Kingsbury and Carson de Kruk outside.

“Can we talk?” Cillie was almost whispering.

Sunny motioned them inside and closed the door.

“I saw that my grandfather spoke to you after supper,” Priscilla said. “I hope he wasn’t—too much. But you have to understand, this can be embarrassing.”

Murders often are, Sunny’s snarky alter ego silently wisecracked.

“It’s just that everybody knows how my father is on TV.” Carson fumbled for words. “I hear how people call him Emperor Augustus and even make fun of him. He hates being laughed at, but he can live with it. That’s just his TV image. But this thing about cats, it’s beyond his control. I don’t know if you’re a cat person . . .”

Priscilla might have found out when she visited. But Sunny remembered that she’d cleared the living room of Shadow’s toys. And Shadow had been his usual standoffish self, not putting in an appearance when company came calling.

“I know we asked you here,” Cillie rushed in, “and you are a reporter and all, but do you think you could keep that part private?”

Carson’s eyes were pleading. “Dad’s not as impervious as he seems, and if this got out, it would really crush him.”

It took Sunny a moment to switch gears, understanding what they were concerned about. But she said, “Nobody’s going to hear about that incident from me—that’s a promise.”

The couple gave a simultaneous sigh of relief.

“But,” she warned, “there are probably tons of pictures and maybe film of Lee Trehearne and his security crew chasing that cat off Neal’s Neck. Some newspeople may begin asking questions.”

She decided not to reveal what the Senator had actually discussed with her, the discovery of where the murder weapon had come from. The prospective bride and groom had enough on their minds.

And Wainwright would probably kill me for letting the cat out of the bag, Sunny thought.

When they asked her to join them downstairs in the living room, Sunny didn’t see any polite way to refuse. She was soon roped into a game of Scrabble, which Beau opted out of, dozing in an armchair. They did teams again. Peter Van Twissel performed a lot better than he had at beer pong—and a lot less belligerently.

By the time the scores were totaled up, a glance at her watch told Sunny that Will was probably on his way. While the rest of the group headed upstairs, Sunny went outside to sit on the fieldstone porch.

If this were a movie, I’d look over and find Shadow sitting on the railing, she thought. But when she turned her head, the railing was empty. Sunny shook her head. He never was a cinematic cat.

Her cell phone began bleating. Sunny opened it and put it to her ear.

“I’m here,” Will said. “A little down the road from the usual place.”

Sunny got up, walked down the steps, and past the roadblock. Instead of a blue Kittery Harbor police cruiser, there was now a white sheriff’s department vehicle parked there, with a guy in a forest green uniform behind the wheel. She walked past him and turned the corner. Will’s black pickup sat about halfway down the block.

“Let’s just sit here quietly,” he suggested, opening the passenger door for her. “So what did Wainwright find?”

“You may have heard already,” Sunny said. “They found the murder weapon in a storm drain.”

“The only thing I’ve heard was a lot of standard-issue radio chatter,” Will told her. “Ingersoll wants me as far from this case as possible.” He looked tired after his shift, but his eyes gleamed with interest. “So what was the weapon?”

“A fishing knife,” Sunny began, but she was interrupted by a thump in front of them.

Sunny let out a stifled yelp, and Will went for his gun. But this wasn’t the mad murderer who went after people sitting in their cars. They turned to find a familiar figure sitting on the front hood of the pickup. It was Shadow, regarding them with enigmatic, gold-flecked eyes.