Hiss And Tell

17

Nothing like an ailurophobic breakdown and cat barf to start things off with a bang, Sunny thought as she looked at the strained faces around the table. They had moved indoors, away from the dreaded cat, after the tasting debacle. Augustus de Kruk was reduced to weak tea and toast after this second visitation, and Fiona Ormond ate nothing, zombie-like after the catastrophic outcome of her big show. And Lee Trehearne had gone off to wash up and cool down after his latest misadventure.

Julia Kingsbury, Priscilla’s grandmother, made a valiant effort to carry on some sort of conversation, but her efforts fell flat when no one else seemed able to join in.

Sunny herself just wanted to leave, but she didn’t want to be the first to go. The food tasted like ashes in her mouth, and all she could think of was Shadow, wandering around Neal’s Neck with Trehearne ready to go full Elmer Fudd on him, shotgun and all.

I’ve got to find him. The thought kept running through her mind. I don’t know what I’m going to do when I get him, but I’ve got to find him.

Beau Bellingham’s emergency room training overcame his reticence. “Are you sure you’re okay, sir?” he asked Augustus de Kruk, who sat toying with one of the toast slices. “That was another really nasty shock for you. Maybe you should—”

“I don’t take medical advice from a kid with hair like a goddamned sheep dog,” the Emperor roared, as loudly as on any of his TV appearances. “An unclipped goddamned sheep dog.”

Carson tried to come to his best man’s defense. “Dad, he’s got a hell of a schedule—”

But Magda de Kruk obviously paid more attention to what Beau had said. “Maybe it would be better to go upstairs,” she suggested in her slight accent. “We could rest in bed.” Augustus let himself be persuaded, and that was pretty much the end of lunch. Sunny waited until the de Kruks rose from the table and headed for the stairs before she made a move toward the French doors that led to the outdoor buffet.

That’s where I last saw Shadow, she thought. Although God knows where he’s gotten to since.

“Um, Sunny?”

She turned as Beau Bellingham came over to her, running an embarrassed hand through his blond thatch.

“That’s the second time Mr. de Kruk nailed me for my hair,” Beau said. “You’re local. Can you suggest a place where I could get a decent trim?”

When she didn’t answer immediately, he only got more embarrassed. “I know I haven’t been all that sociable. I’d ask Priscilla, but she and Carson are going up with Augustus.”

“It’s not that, I’m just trying to sort out a place for you,” Sunny explained. “I’ve got a troublesome head of hair, and not everybody does a good job. It took a while for me to find a good stylist, but she’s in a women only salon and day spa.”

She thought a little more. Will went to Harbor Barbers, not too far from the MAX office. They were fine for buzz cuts and the sort of hair styles a police officer might want, but Sunny shuddered at what they might do to Beau’s mop. Where could she send him?

Finally, inspiration struck. She dug out her cell phone and pulled up the number for MAX. Nancy answered on the second ring. “Maine Adventure X-perience. How can I help you?”

“Hi, Nancy, it’s Sunny. Everything going okay?”

“We’re getting a lot of calls and e-mails about apple picking,” Nancy reported. “Otherwise, no excitement. How about you?” Her voice got more animated. “I love your blog posts—those presents were hilarious! Have you figured out whodunit? Can I help with a clue?”

Sunny quickly cut off that line of discussion. “What you can help me out with is that a fella here needs a haircut,” she said firmly. “He has to look presentable, and he’s got very thick, curly hair. Can you check our local business database and find a place nearby with good recommendations?”

Nancy muttered for a moment, and Sunny heard the clack of computer keys. “Okay. The top of the list is a place called Wilawi Cuts, on Wilawi Wharf Road. Twelve reviews, all of them positive. One guy even said it’s the only place that doesn’t make him look like a poodle.”

“A ringing endorsement if I ever heard one.” Sunny repeated the address Nancy gave her to Beau. “Wilawi Wharf Road is a major business street in town,” she told him. “I’m sure that any of the security guys here will know how to find it.”

Getting back on her phone, she thanked Nancy, was reassured again that there were no office problems that couldn’t be handled, said good-bye, and cut the connection.

Beau still stood in front of her, looking pretty impressed. “Can you do that with anything around here?”

Sunny grinned. “Anything legal.”

“I better get going,” Beau said, heading out the French doors and circling around, aiming for the path that led back to the guesthouses. Sunny took the same route, but much more slowly, stopping to check out every clump of brush or flowers for a hidden cat. That turned out to be wishful thinking, though. She didn’t find a trace of Shadow.

Then, up ahead, she heard loud orders squawking over radios and saw security guys converging at a run. Sunny’s heart squeezed into a little ball. This is it, she thought. What are they going to do with him? Turn him over to Animal Control? Will they spot the little tag with my name and number on it? In the excitement of Shadow’s earlier brushes with security, she hadn’t even thought of that before.

A second later, she sighed with relief to find it was a false alarm. It turned out to be a large, fat squirrel that went scampering up the trunk of a tree to disappear into the foliage. The security men dispersed, and Sunny continued with her solitary search.

Somehow, I don’t think walking around saying, “Here, Shadow-Shadow,” is going to work. Even with only herself as an audience, that thought fell flat in the humor department. Sunny had a sinking feeling that if Lee Trehearne had his way, Shadow would wind up in a bag full of rocks flying off the end of the point—or maybe get made into a hat. Almost unconsciously, she began to walk faster. I’ve got to do something. Trehearne and his men in black are really on Shadow’s case.

Her hunt took her past the pool, where she saw Carson, Peter, and the Neals already reinstalled on the lounges. Unfortunately, Shadow wasn’t there mooching anything from Yardley.

Sunny continued to work her way toward the guesthouses, one hiding spot at a time. At one point she knelt, trying to pierce the shadows in a lush planting by the path, and was startled by the sound of a car horn behind her. She scrambled to her feet and out of the way as one of the ubiquitous town cars rolled past. Beau Bellingham leaned out of the rear window, running a hand through his tousled curls. “You can say good-bye to them,” he said with a grin. “I’ve already got an appointment!”

Laughing, Sunny waved him on, watching as the car passed the troopers and the roadblock. Her eyes went from the disappearing car to the guys’ guesthouse, and her mood got more thoughtful.

Carson and Peter are at the pool, she thought. With Beau going off to get shorn, that means no one’s home. Maybe I can snoop a bit somewhere Lieutenant Wainwright can’t get a warrant.

Trying to look casual, she strolled across the private road to the fieldstone steps that led to the front door of the other guesthouse.

Here goes, she told herself. I just hope nobody’s looking.

*

From his hidey-hole under the porch, Shadow watched Sunny approach. This wasn’t a good sleeping place—it was too cool and damp. But with bright sun coming down, it was a good place to keep out of sight, while keeping a lot in view. He’d watched the big, black go-fast thing come rolling past. And now here came Sunny, apparently heading straight for him!

Had he been wrong all this time about her? Was she able to track him by scent?

No, she turned to go up the steps to the door. Shadow rested his chin on his paws and thought. This isn’t Sunny’s place. Her things are in the house across the way. Why would she come here? This place only has males. . . .

A horrible suspicion dawned. A female visiting a house full of males. Was Smells Good in there somewhere? Was Sunny going to see him?

Shadow almost flew from his hiding place, scrambling up the stairs. Sunny was quietly opening the door. She seemed to be looking around a lot, but not down on the ground where Shadow was. He slunk through the space between her feet, careful not to touch her, and rushed down the hall, casting around for a trace of scent.

It was much like the other house, many dead smells from a place shut up too long. Some interesting aromas came toward his questing nose on a puff of breeze from the rear, probably from the room of food. Some of them smelled like food going bad. There was also a strong odor of that sour stuff the two-legs liked to drink, the stuff that made them get silly.

No made smells here, although some of the more pungent stinks wafting down from upstairs could certainly cover the more delicate fragrance he was searching for.

Sunny seemed to agree, because she started up the stairs. When she reached the hallway above, though, she stopped as if she wasn’t sure where to go. As Shadow stealthily crept after her, he caught traces of male and female scents from one of the rooms. But Sunny merely peered into that room and went away. She stopped at another room that smelled as if no one had been in there for a long, long time. Shadow could tell that, even from his spot crouched by the wall. Couldn’t Sunny scent anything at all?

She continued across the hall. The next room had some interesting smells that Shadow had never come across before, some of them nose-twisting, some of them metallic. For a second, he considered slipping past her to investigate.

But what happens if she closes the door? That thought held him in his place, keeping watch. Besides, Sunny didn’t go in there either. She continued to the last room, the one where the strongest stinks came from.

Shadow charged. Is that why Smells Good covered himself in a made smell? Was his natural scent too strong? Shadow came through the doorway ready to unsheathe his claws and draw blood, to punish the interloper who had stolen his Sunny.

But she stood alone, pulling out furniture drawers.

The rest of the room reminded Shadow of some male places he’d seen. The bed things were rumpled and hanging down to the floor. Old clothing also lay around. Shadow couldn’t help himself from sniffing at a sock rolled up on the floor. Yes. Very male indeed.

What he didn’t detect, though, was any trace of the sweetish, spicy scent he’d caught on Sunny. This wasn’t the place of Smells Good. What did Sunny want with this other He?

Shadow went over to the bed to see if there was anything to find there. A rumpled green shirt hung half on, half off, clinging to a blanket. He stretched up for a sniff and recoiled with a mew of surprise.

There were traces of blood there.

*

Normally, Sunny might not have heard the faint sound. But she was standing alone in an empty house, and the noise hit her ears like a small explosion. She whirled guiltily around from the dresser she’d been searching to find Shadow staring up at her.

“Shadow!” She knelt to scoop him up in her arms, but by the time she reached for him, the cat wasn’t there. He’d bounded onto the mattress, although it was heavy going for him through the tangled bedclothes.

Sunny pursued, calling his name, pleading with him. “Everything’s okay, I’m not angry with you, I want you to come home!”

Shadow didn’t seem to pay much attention. He seemed more intent on evading her, although he didn’t turn to the more drastic tactics he’d used on Lee Trehearne. There was no spitting, no clawing. He just dodged when she grabbed. Sunny managed to head him off when he reached the head of the bed, keeping him from leaping off and hiding under the bed frame.

But he darted back, somehow worming his way between the mattress and the headboard. Sunny hesitated over the bed, trying to figure out where Shadow would pop up next.

Instead, something else popped out. As Sunny knelt, completely distracted by the object on the floor, Shadow disappeared under the bed and then rocketed out the door.

It was a small plastic bag, with one of those resealable zip tops, the kind Sunny used for storing leftovers. Except in this case, the bag was half full of pills. Most of them were white tablets with a score line on the back. They reminded Sunny of one of her father’s heart medicines.

But there was also a blister pack of other pills. Sunny could see them through the little plastic bubbles. They looked pink and crumbly. She jumped up and searched around for something she could use to turn the bag over without letting her fingers touch it. Finally she found a pencil. With a couple of careful pokes, she managed to flip the bag and see the foil-sealed back of the blister pack. There was something printed there, but not in English. It was in an alphabet she didn’t recognize.

A sudden crash brought her to the room next door, where she found a screen on the floor and a cat’s rear end disappearing out the window. By the time she got there, Shadow had made a death-defying leap into the shrubbery below, promptly disappearing.

There goes any hope of catching up with him, Sunny thought as she returned to Beau’s room and the other problem she faced.

Frowning, she tried to decide what to do. For all she knew, this little supply of pills could have been jammed in place years ago. Just because Beau was a medical student, working in a hospital, it didn’t necessarily mean these drugs were his. Though if this is Beau’s stash, she thought, taking it will alert him that someone has searched his room.

Sunny pondered possibilities for several minutes, and finally brought out her cell phone. She activated the camera and began taking shots of Beau’s room, including the bag on the floor. Then she knelt over it and focused several close-ups.

Finally, wrinkling her nose, Sunny used the top of one of the socks on the floor to pick up a corner of the bag and wedge it back into its hiding place. She left the room—and the house—much more quickly than she’d gone in.

But as she came down the steps to reach the private road, she slowed down, trying to fit what she’d found into what she knew.

I guess a supply of pills might suggest why Beau seems zonked out all the time, Sunny thought. Does the fact that he’s using drugs add anything more to motive, opportunity, and means?

The answer seemed to be “not really.” Despite ticking the most boxes as a suspect, even at his worst, Beau seemed grumpy rather than murderous. Peter Van Twissel, on the other hand, came off more dangerous while under the influence.

Once safely on her side of the street, Sunny sent a text to Will: THIS CLD BE EVIDENCE, and attached photos of the plastic bag. Maybe this was just a distraction from her search for Eliza’s murderer. It could even be a dead end. But she had to follow it.

Beau looked like a new man when he returned from town and came up the path to the pool. The hairdresser hadn’t just trimmed off the shaggy bits of his mop, he’d given Beau a haircut sculpted to complement the shape of his face and his features. He’d gone from looking like a frat boy gone to seed to the young medical professional he was aiming to become.

Sunny caught up to him just before the gate to the pool. She’d been watching for him, trying to devise some sort of a plan. Finally she decided this was the place to brace him, just out of earshot but within view of the other people around the pool. Hopefully, the presence of witnesses would keep Beau from trying anything drastic.

“You look good. How do you feel?” Sunny asked.

“Lighter.” Beau ran a tentative hand along the back of his neck. “Have I got a tan line back there now?”

“No, you were smart enough to spend most of your time sleeping in the shade,” Sunny told him. She decided to jump right in. “Speaking of which . . .” She brought out her phone and showed Beau a picture of the bag of pills. “Is this how you manage to stay so calm and rested?”

For a moment, Beau seemed to loom over her, his face gone blank. Then, as if he’d developed a sudden leak, he deflated. “It’s not what it looks like.”

“It looks like a supply of pills,” Sunny said. “Of course, some people say that’s almost a required accessory for med students.”

“And they might be right,” Beau shuffled his feet, kicking at the gravel in the path. “It’s pretty hard to stay sharp when you’re averaging about four hours’ sleep a day. I got some . . . chemical help. Something to pep me up. Thought I could keep a handle on it, but I couldn’t. It sounds about as stupid as I feel, but . . . I got hooked.”

Sunny stared at him, thinking of Beau’s constant drowsiness. “If those pills are supposed to pep you up, I don’t think they’re working.”

“You don’t understand,” Beau said. “Those pills aren’t uppers. They’re supposed to help me get off the uppers. I knew I was getting messed up. This time off would be my only chance to stop using. If I took this stuff, it would help me detox with minimal withdrawal symptoms.”

He gave Sunny a rueful, mirthless smile. “Unfortunately, there’s a side effect that affects a very small percentage of users, so I didn’t worry about it. But some people taking this stuff suffer lethargy and extreme tiredness.”

Sunny nodded. “And you’re one of the lucky ones.”

“It’s like I’m making up for all the sleep I lost in the last year.” Beau looked embarrassed. “I even dozed off in the barber’s chair.”

“So I presume that explains all the white pills,” Sunny said. “What about the pink ones?”

Beau’s expression suddenly became guarded, but Sunny pressed. “Are they an emergency supply of uppers in case your do-it-yourself detox didn’t work?”

“Look—please.” His voice was strained.

“You’ve come clean this far,” Sunny told him. “Why not go all the way?”

Beau’s big shoulders slumped. “It’s true. You know my secret now . . . but so does someone else. I was blackmailed.”

Sunny struggled to keep her expression neutral, while internally she thought, Hot damn—looks like Randall might be right!

Beau’s face became relaxed as he unburdened himself. “When I got the demand, there wasn’t much I could do. Residents with drug dependency issues usually don’t become doctors. And it was supposed to be a one-time payment—a hefty one, but I managed to scrape it together and wire it off.”

A one-time payment, Sunny thought. That fits.

“Why would you trust that there’d only be one payment?” she asked.

“It’s not like I had a choice.” Beau shrugged his heavy shoulders. “Besides, Carson and some of our other friends knew other people who’d gotten similar demands. I heard them talking. Bits and pieces, rumors and gossip. But the payment seemed to work. There were no more demands for money.”

His voice ran down, but Sunny knew there was more. “The problem was, you still owed a favor.”

Beau jumped as if he’d been stung. “How do you know?”

“I’ve heard bits and pieces, too,” she told him. “So the pink pills are the favor you owe?”

The big guy didn’t so much nod as drop his head. “Rohypnol.”

Sunny stared. “The date-rape drug?”

“I was told to get a supply, something untraceable, from out of the country,” Beau said miserably, still hanging his head. “Nowadays the legit stuff has an additive that turns drinks green if you drop the pills in them.”

“What—?” Sunny began, but Beau quickly cut her off.

“I don’t know. I don’t know what was going on.” The words almost tumbled out of him. “All I was supposed to do was pass them on to Eliza Stoughton. Whatever was going down with her, I have no idea. Guess we weren’t close enough to share our really big secrets.”

“She was being blackmailed, too, I hear.”

“I figured as much, the way she started going off on everybody.” Beau let off a long breath. “I was supposed to lie low until she contacted me. The thing is, even though she was always screaming at me, she never asked for the pills. And then she wound up dead.” He shuddered. “I really wanted to keep my head down after that.” Beau looked at Sunny pleadingly. “How do you think that Wainwright guy would react if I told him the same story I just told you?”

“Better than you might think,” Sunny said, keeping her reporter alter ego’s harsher opinion to herself. Or he may just stamp “case closed” on the file and ignore all the loose ends.

“And how about you? You’re a reporter,” Beau said, remembering that a little belatedly. “What are you going to do?”

“For now, I’ve got to think about it,” Sunny replied. “You have to know this may be connected with the deaths.”

Beau stared miserably at his feet. “I had nothing to do with either of them.”

“If I can keep you out of it, I will.” Even as she made it, Sunny wondered if that was a smart promise.

The minute Will hears about this, he’ll want to turn it all over to Wainwright, and to hell with Beau, she thought. Is that the right thing to do? Beau’s getting clean. And I believe him when he says he’s not involved.

Sometimes, she had to admit, her reporter’s truth radar could be fooled. But Beau had been forthcoming about his drug use and the blackmail. And as for not knowing what Eliza Stoughton was up to, that rang true to Sunny as well.

On the other hand, if I’m wrong, I’ve just warned a killer that I’m onto him, she thought as a chill ran through her. Sunny hated to admit it, but the blackmail angle actually made things look worse for Beau. If Eliza was supposed to contact him, that meant they both knew that the other was being extorted. Sunny had a further uncomfortable thought. What if Sheriff Nesbit, armed with Randall’s blackmailer theory, had raised the subject in a quiet meeting with the prime suspect—Beau? I could end up like Eliza, or Nesbit. As part of his surgical training, Beau would know his way around a knife.

Pushing that thought from her mind, Sunny asked, “How did the blackmailer contact you?”

“Text messages that disappeared from my phone,” Beau replied. “Pretty freaky.”

Sunny decided she needed a bit of time to try to digest this new information. She sent Beau off to his friends at the pool and set off on a walk around the Neal’s Neck compound. Not the most reassuring of considerations after getting old Beau to open up. It certainly piled more into the boxes for motive and means. Opportunity, though . . .

Lee Trehearne’s cameras still placed Beau inside the guesthouse when the murders occurred, a definite alibi. Unless he’d managed to climb up to the roof and grow wings to commit his crimes, Beau had been, if not asleep, then at least in the house. Possibly he could have figured out how to avoid the cameras, but how would he have even known about them? This was his first visit to Neal’s Neck.

Rather than avoiding the cameras, it might be possible to fool them, Sunny thought. You’d just need the technical skills.

That suggested Peter Van Twissel, the computer genius with the strong-looking hands. His alibi depended on the cameras, too. And then there were the disappearing text messages—another bit of techno-magic. Could Peter be the mysterious Taxman? A poor boy lifting money and favors off the rich?

Not to mention an unpleasant drunk. Sunny scowled. Was he the sort of criminal who’d screwed up his own plans? Everybody seemed to be drinking when I passed the pool party the day of the press conference. Did Eliza somehow tumble to the fact that Peter was the Taxman, and he eliminated her? And then did the same to Nesbit? For that matter, would he have been able to see straight enough to go after the sheriff?

She continued to walk aimlessly. Peter could have been playing drunk—or drunker—to give himself an alibi. But Sunny had problems putting him in the middle of the Taxman’s web. Randall said the extortion scheme had been going on for at least a decade, which would have made Peter a young teenager when it began. Where would a high school kid have gotten the kind of information required?

Or maybe, where would a good hacker get the information?

Sunny found herself passing the tennis court, and Priscilla’s brothers’ never-ending marathon of games. How about one of them? Could one of the Senator’s grandsons be supplementing his governor’s salary and influencing people through blackmail? Both were a bit older than Sunny—certainly more used to technology than any of the older generation. Neither had shown himself as a computer whiz, but maybe that was on purpose.

The knife that killed Frank Nesbit did come from Lem Junior’s bedroom, Sunny couldn’t help thinking. And the Kingsburys are surely more familiar with their own security systems than any of the visitors. In fact, aside from the whole technology aspect, Senator Kingsbury would fit quite nicely in the role of the spider running the Taxman’s web, she thought. He probably knows where a lot of bodies are buried, metaphorically or literally. And since he got dumped by his old associates, he’d have motive to make them pay.

The problem was, she was certain that he didn’t have the computer smarts to pull off something as fancy as vanishing text messages and untraceable payments. Of course, he could have hired out the work, but that would’ve meant a partner who could reveal all. And what would any of the Kingsburys want with Rohypnol?

An ugly scenario suggested itself to her mind: Tommy Neal was an up and coming Wall Street type, distant relation . . . and spurned suitor? Robin Lory and others had suggested that Priscilla and Tommy had been considered as matrimonial partners, but he’d ended up marrying Cillie’s best friend. What if he still wanted Priscilla—but wanted to make sure she wouldn’t remember it? A date-rape drug would take care of that.

Sunny shook her head. This is beginning to sound like one of those new nighttime soaps, she silently complained. It certainly didn’t help her to narrow down the circle of suspects.

She suddenly felt very alone.

I’d give a lot to have a friendly face around.

*

Shadow trailed after Sunny, not even sure why he was doing it. First she’d chased him and then ignored him, and then she’d sat watching for the big He to come along. Shadow could smell that He even from the underbrush where he’d hidden. There were made smells on him now, some of them pretty interesting. But underneath that was the same strong male scent that Shadow had detected in the room where Sunny had gone.

Whatever else, though, this one was not Smells Good.

Shadow gave a little quiver of annoyance. I thought Sunny was happy enough with the Old One, her He . . . and me, he thought. Why has she started fooling around with all these other two-leggity males?

He wasn’t sure whether he’d find out, but he kept on her trail, even when she absentmindedly walked past the Black Ones who were searching for him. Sometimes he had to detour to stay out of their way. But he always came back to Sunny.

Shadow could tell she was troubled. He might not be able to climb into her lap and comfort her, but he could make sure he’d be nearby.