Last Licks

9

“Gardner will be missed,” Ollie said as Luke hefted his guitar case.

Luke smiled and patted Ollie on the shoulder with his free hand. “I know, Mr. Barnstable. Just hang in there. Try and sing a little more.”

“Thanks, Luke,” Ollie said. “I’ll look forward to it.”

“I hope I’ll see you, too,” Sunny said, earning herself a look from Will.

Luke headed off with his guitar, and Will went to take the handles of Ollie’s wheelchair. But Ollie waved him off. “What the hell were you doing?” he demanded in a low, venomous voice. “Why were you giving that kid the third degree?”

“For one thing, that was hardly the third degree,” Will replied. “I just asked him a couple of questions. We know he was here late, after lights-out, which is when you told us Gardner had his mystery visitor.”

Ollie looked as though he wanted to argue but was aware that he was awfully short of ammunition.

“Second, at this point our strongest suspect is Alfred Scatterwell. So I wanted to see how Luke felt about Alfred, how he’d react when I talked about him, especially the cremation. I’ll admit I hit him a little hard, but I hoped to shock a reaction out of him.”

“And did you get what you needed?” Ollie asked.

Will’s expression changed a little. “I’m not sure. He was a tad off, not forthcoming. I think Luke was going to say something, but changed his mind.”

“Maybe he was going to curse out Alfred,” Ollie suggested, “but didn’t because Sunny was here.”

“I can’t say—but he did censor himself about something,” Will said.

No one had anything else to add, so they just talked around the subject, making mundane conversation as they rolled along to Room 114. Once they were inside, Ollie said, “Sunny, could you call for an aide? I’ll need some help getting back into bed.”

She did as Ollie asked, and moments later, Camille the aide came in.

“Why don’t you give us a couple of minutes while I get Mr. Barnstable straightened away here,” she suggested.

Sunny and Will stepped out into the hallway, where Will proceeded to give her the fish eye. “What’s the idea of you telling that Daconto guy you hoped to see him again?”

For a guy who’d rather spend a weekend getting sunburned than going out with me, he’s pretty quick on the jealousy trigger, she thought, but decided it wasn’t worth going into that. Instead, she said, “Luke’s one of the nicer people in this place. I’d definitely rather see him again than, say, Dr. Reese.” She shuddered. “Or Dr. Gavrik. She can really be nasty.”

“I’ve been thinking of the good doctor,” Will said. “Specifically, what Rafe the guard had to say about the way she turned up on the night Gardner died.”

“That’s right—he thought she’d been flying. She didn’t change her clothes, which is weird because any flight into Pease would have gotten her home hours before she was paged.” Using her tourist-information knowledge, Sunny considered other nearby airports. “Portland doesn’t have any red-eye flights. The latest arrival there is before midnight. Maybe Boston?” Sunny frowned. “Of course, maybe she flew in a lot earlier and was hanging around someplace. Otherwise, Logan Airport would have the latest flights in the area. Wherever she came from, Gavrik rode in a town car. Maybe that could tell us something.”

He nodded. “I’ve got an old buddy from my state trooper days who moved over to the Boston Police. Suppose I ask him to check the car services down there and see if any of them made a run from, say, Logan to Bridgewater? It’s almost a hundred-mile trip, so that should make it a fare to remember.”

“That’s a good idea,” Sunny replied. “No way am I confronting that woman without something I can hit her over the head with. Metaphorically speaking, of course.”

“On the other hand, Rafe might have a reason to try and distract us with the doctor,” Will said. “We’re getting to the end of our first full day here; that means only six to go. Time keeps ticking away.”

She nodded. “Much as I’d like to concentrate on Obnoxious Alfred—or the nasty doctor—we still have other people to question. I’m going to tackle Elsa Hogue tomorrow. And I think I should do it. Sounds like she had a hard enough time with Gardner. I think she’d react better to a sympathetic female ear.”

“Fine with me,” Will said. “I’ll spend the night going over those attendance lists that Rafe copied up.” He smiled, but with a little malice. “You can play with your cat.”

They went to sign out. Rafe nodded his good-bye, but Portia was more demonstrative, jumping onto the top of the desk and rubbing her face against Sunny’s shoulders.

When Will and Sunny stepped out of the rest home, they discovered that the weather had changed. A dome of dead air, hot and soggy, had settled over the area. Merely getting from the grand doors of Bridgewater Hall to Will’s pickup left Sunny’s suit wilted and sticking to her. Will yanked off his coat and opened the top two buttons of his shirt.

“Now I remember why I didn’t wear this outfit later than the end of May.” Sunny caught the front of her knit top between her thumb and forefinger and tried to pull it away. It still felt plastered to her. Will moved on ahead, climbing into the cab of the pickup, starting up the engine, and closing the windows. Sunny joined him to find the air-conditioning on, but not making much headway against the warm air trapped inside. They didn’t do well against traffic, either.

When they got onto the interstate, the usually brief ride seemed to drag on forever.

At last they turned onto Wild Goose Drive and followed the gently curving road to Sunny’s house. She thanked Will for the ride, and mentioned she’d take her Wrangler tomorrow. “Maybe we’ll be able to cover a little more territory.”

Will nodded. “You want to talk to the Hogue woman. I’ll see if I can get in touch with my friend in Boston tonight.”

“I’ll also talk to Mrs. Martinson again and see if she can come up with any dirt on Alfred Scatterwell . . . and Henry Reese.” Sunny paused for a moment. “Are any of your police friends veterans? Recent veterans, I mean? Maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea to get a picture of what Rafe Warner is like when he’s not behind the security desk at Bridgewater Hall.”

Will slowly nodded. “That’s probably something we should follow up. I’ll try to talk to some of the guys tomorrow. And you were right—we should have hit Ollie for expense money. Coffee and doughnuts don’t come cheap.”

They waved good-bye, and Sunny made her way through the thick air into the house. She could feel the air-conditioning on in the living room. When she looked in, she found Mike half-lying on the couch, his eyes closed, looking like a wrung-out washrag.

“I got caught in this lousy weather and got home as fast as I could,” he complained. “For a while there I wasn’t sure if I was breathing or sipping water through a straw.”

“You’re sure you’re okay?” Sunny asked worriedly.

“Yeah, I just feel tired,” Mike told her. “Give me a little more time here in the cold air to revive.”

Sunny went up to her room to peel off her suit. She left it on the bed and quickly changed into a pair of shorts and a T-shirt.

When she returned downstairs, she found Mike watching the end of the weather report on television news. “It’s going to be miserable like this tomorrow,” he reported. “Maybe I’ll try to get in an early walk, or go up and do it in one of the malls. Otherwise, I think I’m going to stick close to home.”

“I wish I could do that, too,” Sunny said. One thing was certain—no dressing up tomorrow. A nice tee and a pair of light cotton pants would have to do.

She looked around the room. “Where’s Shadow?”

“He got out of here when it started getting cool. Maybe he decided it was unnatural to have that kind of indoor weather in summertime.” Mike shrugged. “You’d think he’d be happy for a chance to enjoy some cool air, stuck in a fur coat the way he is.” He gestured vaguely toward the rear of the house. “Try the kitchen.”

But when Sunny arrived there, she didn’t see Shadow, not even on top of the refrigerator, where she’d expected to discover the cat hiding out.

Looking in the fridge, Sunny shook her head. They were running low on supplies. But even her brief exposure to the weather had killed her appetite, and she was willing to bet her dad felt the same way, too. She gathered a large can of tuna from the bottom shelf, a Vidalia onion, and an avocado that had been taking its sweet time getting ripe. She chopped up some of the onion and mashed the other ingredients together with some lemon juice, a hint of oil, and a shake of pepper. After washing some romaine leaves, she arranged them on two plates and then scooped a healthy dollop of the tuna-avocado mixture in the middle.

Although Mike praised the salad—after first asking, “What is that?”—he just nibbled, making the most of the saltless saltines Sunny had added to the table, and drinking a couple of glasses of seltzer. To be honest, Sunny didn’t do too much better.

She kept checking for Shadow, looking toward the entrance to the kitchen, down the hallway and the foot of the stairs, even out the screen door, which she began to suspect Shadow had learned somehow to manipulate. If so, he’d be in trouble now. They’d shut the storm door to keep the air-conditioning in. Finally, Sunny tried the ultimate Shadow lure, getting up and rattling some cans of cat food together. But the cat declined to appear.

“Do we want to save this?” Mike’s words jangled through her distracted thoughts. She turned to find him frowning at their plates, still generously piled with the salad. Obviously his traditionally thrifty Maine upbringing was at war with the world of unknown food.

“We’ll put it in one of the bowls with the lids that seal tightly,” Sunny said. “Hopefully, it will keep till tomorrow. I guess we should also make a list and do some shopping.” She grinned at her dad. “In case it doesn’t keep.”

They did the dishes, and Mike got a pencil and paper, heading to peruse the refrigerator and make a shopping list. Sunny trudged upstairs, the air feeling warmer with every step. I really ought to get my suit brushed and hung up, she thought, stepping into her room. Then she froze at the foot of the bed.

Shadow lay sprawled facedown across her suit jacket and pants, all four legs spread wide, his eyes shut, his whole body inflating with deep inhalations.

“What are you doing?” Sunny demanded, trying to yank the clothes from under him. “I’ll end up with three times as much cat fur—”

She broke off with a cry of pain as Shadow leaped up, hissing and lashing out with his claws.

Sunny stared at the three furrows torn through the skin on the back of her hand, at the dark red blood welling up, a drop falling down on the dusky blue suit below.

Belatedly, she brought the wounded hand up to her mouth and then ran for the bathroom.

*

Shadow lay in a stupor of pleasure, breathing in the two most wondrous scents in the world. Every time he filled his lungs, he tasted the fragrance of Sunny . . . and also the aroma of the mysterious She that permeated the soft cloth. He exhaled and drew the scents in again until he thought his lungs might explode.

It was bliss. He didn’t know how long he’d lain here, luxuriating, indulging his nose. He’d been fast asleep, lying in the shadowy coolness under Sunny’s bed when she first returned home earlier, and he’d slowly awakened when she came into the room and moved around for a bit. By the time he emerged, she was gone, but on the bed he’d discovered this wonderful source of aromas that made his senses swim. He was vaguely aware that he was hungry, but what was hunger compared with the chance to wallow in these sensations?

Oh, he’d encountered the herb that drove other cats crazy, the sharp-smelling stuff put inside toys that caused cats to meow, or run around chasing invisible prey, or roll and sniff.

But this was different.

Maybe the closest sensation to what he presently enjoyed would be the times a cat would lie, belly exposed, gazing foolishly up at the ceiling.

But he wanted to warm this soft cloth, make the scents within the fibers rise to fill his nose and mouth, to cling to it and keep it forever . . .

And then, the jarring shout, the sensation of this wonderful cloth being jerked out from under him, it had shattered his nerves like an unprovoked attack. And when he was attacked, he responded in kind. He hissed, lashed out with his claws. Yes! They struck and tore. That would teach the interloper!

But now he came out of his daze, his overpowered olfactory senses bringing information to his brain.

The One who had interrupted his bliss, the One he’d attacked . . . it was Sunny! And worse, he could smell blood, her blood! How could he have done this?

Shadow stood rooted on the bed, his spirit falling into desolation as Sunny recoiled from him, blood on her paw. She brought it to her mouth to lick, then turned and ran away. The cloth that had entranced him lay wadded and disregarded at his feet. The stink of blood overcame the alluring scents that clouded his senses.

Leaping to the floor, he raced to the doorway and stood staring out into the hallway. The door to the room of tiles was closed, and Shadow could hear the sounds of rushing water.

He couldn’t get to Sunny, and even if he were able to, what could he do? Lick away her hurt? By now he’d known her long enough—well enough—to remember that she hadn’t liked it when he tried to help with other hurts. And those weren’t his fault! This time . . .

Shadow crouched till his head was barely above the floor, a low moan coming up from inside him as painful as when he retched up bad food. He’d seen cats lose homes for scratches like that.

How could this have happened? Didn’t Sunny realize the torment she put him through, bringing those strange, disturbing . . . intoxicating scents home with her?

Couldn’t she smell?

*

When Sunny returned to her bedroom, Shadow had disappeared again. She spread the suit jacket on the bed and got the handy-dandy lint remover that Mike had or-dered from the ad on TV. After a couple of runs over the bloody area, the plastic roller was covered in cat fur. Sunny ran it under water, dried it, and went to work again. When the fur was gone from the area, she took the jacket into the bathroom.

“At least it’s permanent press,” she muttered as she started the cold water. Rummaging in the medicine cabinet, she found the old shaker of salt that had sat in there lord knew how many years, to use for gargling with salt water to treat a sore throat.

Sunny wet the area around the stain, then sprinkled salt on the spots and began rubbing them together. She kept at it until she couldn’t see the stain anymore.

It would have been a lot easier if she could have used both hands. But she had to be careful with her right, the one where Shadow had drawn blood. Sunny had carefully washed the gashes, spread on antiseptic ointment, and then covered them with gauze and some tape. They felt okay, but she had to be careful not to soak the pad in the water and start all over.

At last she held up the jacket, peering at the damp fabric for the stain. “Gone, I hope.” Sunny went back to get the pants and then brought them both to the basement for a gentle cycle through the washing machine.

“Decided to give these a wash,” Sunny told her dad, popping her head into the living room. “With this sticky weather, they need it.” Which was true, even if it wasn’t the full story.

She saw him looking at her bandage. “Little accident upstairs.” No sense giving Mike something else to complain about when it came to Shadow. She stayed downstairs while the suit was in the washer, and when she took the jacket out, the stain seemed completely gone. After running the suit through the dryer, Sunny breathed a sigh of relief. She couldn’t spot the spot at all. Putting jacket and pants on a plastic hanger, she started climbing the stairs from the basement. About halfway up, she realized a pair of eyes were watching her from the doorway to the kitchen.

“Shadow?” She almost whispered his name. He gave a brief, very quiet mew.

When she got up to the kitchen, he backed away from her, keeping his eyes on her face, almost as if he were afraid. “Oh, Shadow,” she said, “what happened?”

She hung the suit on one of the knobs for the kitchen cabinet. Shadow didn’t even glance at it. He only had eyes for her. The only thing dimming the moment was that his stomach suddenly rumbled.

“That’s right, you haven’t eaten.” Sunny replenished his water bowl and got a can of cat food. He watched her make the preparations but still wouldn’t come close.

“I hope I won’t regret this,” Sunny muttered, kneeling down beside the bowl and scooping up a bit of wet food on her left forefinger. Then she leaned toward him, extending the finger. Step by slow step he approached and delicately licked her finger clean.

“Now go eat the rest,” she told him gently, retreating to one of the kitchen chairs.

It was a slow process—Shadow spent more time glancing at her than he did concentrating on his food. But when he was finished, he got up and followed her out to the living room.

Mike was watching a mystery show, and Sunny settled on the floor, leaning back against a chair. They chatted for a little while, and Sunny asked if he would enlist Mrs. Martinson’s aid in getting the skinny on Alfred Scatterwell.

“I don’t see why not,” Mike said. “Helena may not have liked Gardner, but Alfred is a whole other kettle of fish to stick a spoon into.”

Right then, Shadow appeared beside her left thigh, pressing his furry body as close to it as he could.

Are you trying to say that you’re sorry, or are you just huddling for warmth? As usual, Sunny’s wisecracking side had to have the last word—even if no one knew it but her.

But she gently reached down and petted her cat all the same.

*

The next morning, Sunny woke to find Shadow plastered against her under the covers—although that might have been due to the fact that she had her air-conditioning unit on. She gave Shadow a careful hug, then got up and went to the bathroom. Peeling off the gauze, she flexed her hand and frowned. It hurt a little, but the real problem was that she didn’t want anyone to know that Shadow had scratched her, and the healing slash marks were too easily identified.

Guess I’m going to be wearing gauze for a while. Sunny could only shrug.

She took a shower, put on a new bandage, and got dressed in lighter-weight clothes this time around.

When she got downstairs, she found a note from her dad, saying he’d set off for outlet-land to do his walk in air-conditioned comfort. He also warned her to take an umbrella, since the weather was supposed to break late in the afternoon, but there was a chance of showers. Sunny went to the phone, called Bridgewater Hall, and asked for Elsa Hogue. The occupational therapist said she’d be busy with clients, but agreed to meet with Sunny a little later in the morning.

Sunny had almost finished breakfast by the time Shadow came creeping in, the picture of subdued contrition.

“There you are.” Sunny had already cleaned and refilled his water bowl. Now she put some dry food in the other one. She knelt down to arrange the bowls, and Shadow came closer, his gold-flecked eyes seeming larger than usual as he gazed up at her.

“I can see you feel badly over what happened.” He made a little noise of distress and nudged her hurt hand. “What got into you?”

He licked her fingertips, something he’d never tried to do before.

“Okay, okay.” She scratched his head between his ears. “You’re forgiven. Just don’t start this humble act with Dad. He’ll think you’re sick and start pestering me to take you to Jane Rigsdale for a checkup.”

*

Sunny drove up to Bridgewater Hall after the morning rush, which allowed her to avoid all traffic. With the windows down, the forced breeze kept the heavy, sultry air from feeling too horrible.

She signed in at the security desk and walked down to the rehab wing, arriving early for the appointment she’d made with Elsa Hogue.

And who was Elsa working with but Ollie Barnstable, urging him on with some good-natured banter as he complained about the number of reps he had to do, lifting a weighted bar. “Oh, we always ask you to do more than you want to do,” Elsa told him with a smile, “but never more than you can do.”

Ollie didn’t notice that Sunny was there until he finished his session. When he did, his face tightened, his eyes going from Sunny to Elsa.

Yeah, you didn’t have any trouble with us going after Alfred, or Mr. Orton, or Dr. Reese, Sunny thought. But investigating means bothering people you like, too—like Luke Daconto . . . or Elsa.

Sunny patted him on the shoulder. “You’re doing wonderfully,” she told him. “I’ll be in to see you after I speak with Elsa.” Lowering her voice, she whispered in his ear, “I’ll be gentle.”

Then, to Elsa, she said, “Is there somewhere private where we can talk?”

They wound up outside in the garden. As they passed through the door, Sunny saw a notice warning residents about going out in extremely hot weather.

“I think we’ll live,” Elsa said, following Sunny’s gaze. Sunny could tell that since Gardner Scatterwell was no longer on the scene, the woman had changed. She’d let her hair down, falling softly around her face, and though she still wore her glasses, Sunny detected traces of makeup. And instead of the sloppy sweats Sunny had seen her in on the first day, today Elsa wore what looked like a tailored safari suit, the arms of her jacket rolled up to reveal well-toned arms.

“Is there something you need to tell me about Mr. Barnstable?” Elsa’s expression grew sympathetic. “You see a lot of men like him in rehab. They feel their body has betrayed them. They hurt. They’re scared. That’s pretty much standard. Usually it’s just a question of volume.”

“He gets loud when he’s frustrated,” Sunny admitted.

“But he’s settling in now,” Elsa said. “He’s working hard, and if he keeps it up, he may find himself better off than before.”

Sunny thought of her own dad, taking regular exercise, eating more healthily—even if she had to argue with him about it. Wait a minute, we’re getting off the track.

She shook her head. “I have to ask you some questions about Gardner Scatterwell. Oliver and several other people here at Bridgewater Hall have asked me to look into the circumstances of Mr. Scatterwell’s death.”

Elsa’s expression became haunted. “All I can tell you is that Gardner Scatterwell was a vile sort of person. He began acting inappropriately almost as soon as I began working with him.”

“He had a reputation as a ladies’ man when he was younger,” Sunny offered. “I’m told he fell violently in love about every six weeks.”

“‘Violently,’” Elsa echoed in a bitter voice. “And it went on for more than six weeks. But then I suppose the pickings were slim around here.” She seemed to shrink in on herself. “He used to touch me when he thought he could get away with it.”

She looked Sunny in the eye. “Maybe I do the man wrong. He seemed cheerful and charming with everyone else. Strokes sometimes have psychological effects. If so, I took the brunt of a very nasty split personality.” From the look on Elsa’s face, she didn’t really believe that possibility. “Or maybe it’s a family trait. Alfred Scatterwell always claimed he was a very different man from his uncle, but he had the same cruel streak . . . or self-absorption to the point where it amounted to the same thing.”

Sunny wondered what had prompted Elsa’s low opinion, but after her few encounters with the younger Scatterwell, she couldn’t imagine Alfred improving with longer acquaintance. She decided to keep the conversation focused on Bridgewater Hall.

“But Gardner was your real problem. And you couldn’t do anything . . .” Sunny prompted.

“Because of his friendship with Dr. Reese. That’s why I was working late, getting my reports in order. I needed to maintain a good level of performance, because I’ve been looking for another job.”

I didn’t expect that, Sunny thought. But I guess it’s the only option Elsa had. Out loud, she said, “It must be difficult, leaving a facility with such a strong reputation.”

“Not really,” Elsa shook her head. “Several therapists have left already. We’re all independent contractors, you know.”

“No, actually, I didn’t know that. You aren’t in the union?”

“Sometimes I wish we were,” Elsa said. “It might give us a little more bargaining power. As it is, we find ourselves working longer hours for less pay and fewer benefits. As do a lot of people these days. I guess that’s why Dr. Reese feels so free to press us—so far he’s pushed one person into retirement, and two others to new facilities.”

“And you were ready to vote with your feet, too,” Sunny said.

“I like this place, my colleagues, and most of my clients, but it’s not enough.”

I guess I can see why, Sunny thought.

“To go back to the evening in question, did you see anything unusual?” she asked.

Elsa shrugged. “I was working in our office. We’re sort of in our own little world, between the clients’ rooms and our facilities.”

“You were here after lights-out for the patients.”

The therapist nodded. “But I didn’t see . . . Oh, wait. I went to the nurses’ station in hopes of getting a cup of coffee or tea, and bumped into Luke Daconto, who was there for the same reason. He’s a very sweet young man. The residents love him.”

She started to smile, but that faded away. “I’m sure a lot of people thought highly of Gardner Scatterwell, too. So many were shocked and saddened when he died.”

Elsa’s face was almost blank as she turned to Sunny. “But I was just . . . relieved.”