The Big Kitty

22

Ollie Barnstable was gone from the office when they finally got there, but Sunny called his cell phone. It would not be business as usual tomorrow. She needed a free hand to conduct phone interviews and even have news crews come in if she was going to accomplish what she hoped to do. He wasn’t happy when he heard that, but Sunny gave him a pretty stark choice. Do nothing and let the town endure a wave of bad publicity from a double murder, or let her undertake this project and give the local media an alternative story to cover.

“Which headline do you think would be better for tourism?” she asked. “‘Two Thugs Murdered in Kittery Harbor’ or ‘Search Continues for Lottery Millions’? No, I can’t guarantee finding the ticket. But either way, the problem will be finished by tomorrow.”

The next step was to convince Ken Howell to use his media contacts and get some publicity. “It’s a straight news story,” Sunny told him. “Tomorrow evening I’ll make a last-ditch attempt to find Ada’s ticket. Ada asked me to help before she died, and Gordie did, too.”

That was all literally true, but Sunny was hoping that a paranoid mind might start wondering what else Ada and Gordie had told her.

Ken worked up a story, including quotes from Sunny, and promised to do what he could with it.

Then Will saw Sunny home. She and her dad had a rerun of the stew for dinner, and she went to bed early—tomorrow was going to be a long day.

*

Sunny sat in the kitchen listening to the local news radio over breakfast. She usually did that to catch the weather report. Today, though, she listened for the lead stories. Had terrorists done something awful overnight? Had a political scandal broken? Had some Hollywood starlet gotten herself arrested for some stupid crime? So far, the answer was no. It sounded like a fairly quiet news day.

The morning news team bantered a bit with the weatherman, and then got serious to report the pair of bodies discovered in Kittery Harbor. A moment later they lightened up again, talking up the missing lottery ticket.

“Sources close to the family say that they’ll attempt a final search of the house this evening,” the female anchor reported.

“That’s cutting it pretty fine,” her male counterpart said. “They only have until tomorrow to submit a winning ticket.”

Sunny grinned. The seed had been planted.

She did try to get some work done at MAX during the day, and in spite of the crime stories, tourism interest seemed to be picking up again. But she also had to make time for interviews. The phone kept ringing, and Sunny found herself either answering questions or agreeing to visits from camera crews.

Then came a very different call.

“Oliver Barnstable, please,” a male voice said from the telephone receiver.

“I’m sorry,” Sunny replied, “but Mr. Barnstable isn’t in the office.”

“He goddamn well isn’t answering his cell phone, either,” the voice said, losing a whole lot of politeness in the process. “I’m tired of leaving messages, too. So here’s something you can give to him person to person. If Ollie imagines that by ducking me he won’t have to pay what he owes, he’s got another think coming. I’ll start legal action to put liens on the insurance money he’s expecting from that fire in Sturgeon Springs. If he thought the meth lab thing was embarrassing, wait till it goes into the legal record that he’s defaulting on payments. I’m sure you’ve got a direct line to the big man, so you just tell him that.”

“But I don’t—,” Sunny began. That was as far as she got before the phone clicked off in her ear.

She hung it up and sat for a moment, staring as if the handset might suddenly jump up and smack her in the head. I guess the signs were all there, she thought. He’s gotten erratic with my pay and even offered to sell back his piece of the Crier at a loss. It looks like Ollie does have money troubles. And if so, where is that going to leave me?

The answer was way too familiar for too many people these days—out of a job.

“I’ve got to find out,” Sunny muttered, getting out the cash box where the key to Ollie’s supposedly secret files was kept. It was like the awful compulsion to stick the tip of your tongue into the gaping hole after the dentist drills out a cavity and before he fills it. She hurried over to the bank of cabinets along the back wall, painfully aware that everything she was doing could be clearly seen from the street outside.

All I need is for Ollie to come strolling in on his way to lunch. Sunny hesitated with the key, then thrust it into the lock. To hell with it.

She found the file she was looking for just a couple of dividers ahead of the “Investment Opportunities” folder she’d collected to deliver to him a few days ago. This one was headed “Bills,” and it was stuffed with pieces of paper. The latest ones all seemed to be in shades of red with some version of “past due” on them. Even the Land Rover that Ollie was so ridiculously proud about—the dealership hadn’t gotten a lease payment for months.

If this keeps up, he’s going to be asking if he can borrow my old mountain bike, Sunny thought as she slammed the drawer shut and locked the cabinet again.

She went back to her desk feeling curiously light-headed. When Gordie had bad-mouthed Ollie, she’d just taken it in a sort of business-as-usual way. She’d even laughed when Will had outlined a motive, opportunity, and means case against her boss.

But if Ollie was up against it financially, then he had a real motive to get money out of Ada somehow. What had Will said? Big money—big motive? If he were desperate enough to pressure Ada into selling her house—or even to go snooping around in there, trying to find that blasted ticket …

Yeah, he could have sent the birdlike little woman flying.

So—motive and means, Sunny thought. Then she realized she might have a perfect witness: Mrs. Martinson. Her dad’s lady friend must have been up early, baking that damned coffee cake for him. Helena Martinson’s house was on the same block as Ada’s, just across the street and a bit farther down.

Sunny dug out the local directory and got the number. Luckily Mrs. Martinson was home, answering on the second ring. “Hello, dear, I’ve been hearing a lot about you on the radio. Are you really going over to Ada’s tonight?”

“I am,” Sunny told her. “But I just thought of something else. You were probably up the Saturday morning when Ada died.”

The older woman sighed. “I’m up most mornings,” she admitted, then paused. “You mean was I across the street when this terrible thing happened? I never even thought of it that way.”

“We don’t know when it happened,” Sunny said quickly, not wanting to upset her neighbor any further. “I was just wondering if you might have seen anything out of the ordinary.” Given Mrs. Martinson’s weakness for gossip, Sunny was sure the woman would keep a close eye on her own block.

Probably has a periscope in her kitchen to maintain surveillance, she thought.

“If I saw anything suspicious, the police would have already heard about it,” Mrs. Martinson said. “But there was nothing, not even a car.”

Sunny suddenly realized how tight her shoulders had gotten. But just as she relaxed them, her neighbor went on. “Except for that Barnstable fellow, driving around the neighborhood in that ridiculous safari truck of his. He was always looking for houses with realty signs, or where an owner had passed away, or where the house was getting run-down because the elderly owner was a little overwhelmed.”

She paused for a second. “Like Ada.”

“Ollie made an offer on the house,” Sunny admitted.

“Did he, now?” Helena Martinson said tonelessly.

Somehow, Sunny managed to thank Mrs. Martinson and hang up the phone before her neighbor put any more of that picture together. She found herself gnawing one of her knuckles—a bad habit she thought she’d gotten rid of years ago—as she mulled this new information over.

Ollie was at least near Ada’s house the morning she died, and he’d never mentioned the fact. Though, of course, they didn’t have an actual time of death. Ada could have gone down those stairs the night before.

The phone rang, and Sunny almost jumped out of her seat. Maybe it was Mrs. Martinson, calling back to say it was all a mistake …

Instead it was Sunny’s dad, sounding reassuringly normal. “You were on the noon news,” he said, “looking very pretty behind your desk.” He made an annoyed sound over the phone. “I should have recorded it.”

While Sunny appreciated his compliments, the important thing was that the story was building some momentum.

“Your feline friend and I just ate,” Mike went on. “I hope you don’t mind that I didn’t invite him up to the table.” He took a sip of something. “Iced tea. Very refreshing. Have you had lunch yet? Where are you going to eat?”

For a brief, yearning second, Sunny thought of the bench by the wharf. All of a sudden the walls of the office seemed to be pressing in on her.

But with my luck, I’ll end up dodging a sniper, or the Loch Ness Monster will attack, she thought sourly.

“I brought a sandwich, and I’ll probably end up eating it at my desk,” she told her dad. “There still may be newspeople coming by.”

“In that case, make sure you clean up the crumbs,” Mike said.

But the next person to stop by the office didn’t bring a camera—just a large chip on her shoulder. Jane Rigsdale had a stormy look on her face as she rattled the door that Sunny had been keeping locked.

Sighing, Sunny went to open up. What now? she wondered.

Jane’s heels made an abrupt rat-a-tat noise as she stalked across the wooden floor. “You know, I asked about as nicely as I could whether Will was seeing anybody.” Her voice came out a little loud and her face was pink. “So when Donna Stavely comes down from Saxon to have me look at her Pomeranian, think how surprised I was when she mentioned seeing Will having a romantic dinner up at Avezzani’s on Saturday night with you.”

Sunny blinked. “I don’t even know … who the heck is Donna Stavely?”

“She used to be Donna Allnut—and she certainly recognized you and Will.”

The worst gossip in high school, Sunny thought. This whole county is really too small to live in.

“So you don’t deny it?” Jane pressed, really getting into Sunny’s face.

Sunny forgot her resolution to be nicer to Jane the next time they met. “What is there to deny?” she snapped. “We went on a date. Big deal. When you did that whole cutesy-wootsy ‘Oh, is he seeing anyone?’ routine, I honestly didn’t know. I still don’t. Will could be dating someone else or have a harem on the side. I just met the guy. We’ve been working together, trying to dig up the truth about what happened to Ada Spruance. And lately, he’s been trying to keep me from getting killed.”

Well, at least that stopped the flow of high-school-level complaints. Jane stared as if Sunny had just gone out of her mind.

“If you read the Crier, you’d know that somebody messed around with my car and outside my house,” Sunny said. “And that car accident where Gordie Spruance got killed? That was an attempted hit-and-run on me. And that double murder that’s all over the news?” She explained that story’s background, which Sheriff Nesbit was keeping quiet for the moment.

“So in the middle of all this, Will asked me out to dinner to talk over the case, and I said yes. As you’ve noticed, he’s a nice guy, and I’m a big girl. So what now? If you want to kill me, you’ll have to get in line.”

Jane changed her tune a bit after that, not so much accusing Sunny of stealing her once and future boyfriend as blaming Sunny for ruining what could have been a beautiful friendship.

Sunny might have asked how strong this newfound bond might be if one friend came to jump down the other’s throat because she went out with the one presentable man both of them knew. But she was distracted, having spotted a big red toolbox that lay apparently unattended on the sidewalk.

“Are you even listening to me?” Jane complained.

“To tell you the truth, no,” Sunny replied. “The guys who’ve been after me have tried gas, poison, bullets, and speeding SUVs. That leaves bombs, and there’s a big box sitting right outside.” She pointed, and Jane was left staring again.

Sunny was just about to suggest a quick exit through the bathroom window in the rear when a guy in a Verizon hard hat walked past the window and picked up the box.

Jane headed back to the door, her heels tapping even more quickly. “I don’t know what Will sees in you,” she said. “You seem to have real problems.”

Sunny bit the inside of her cheek to keep from answering with something she’d later regret.

But as soon as Jane was gone, Sunny sat glumly at her desk. So much for treating Jane better. How does she manage to get under my skin like that? Maybe I do have a problem. To rouse herself out of the dumps, Sunny reviewed her suspect list. She wasn’t sure this ticket stunt would bring out the Towles or Veronica Yarborough. On the other hand, if the winning ticket expired without being found, Ada’s death would certainly get a lot less attention. So it was possible that, rather than going for the prize, a hometown killer might try to preempt the ticket’s discovery.

Criminals like drug dealers would definitely want the money. And speaking of wanting money … Sunny found herself back to obsessing over her boss as a possible killer. The recitation of murder attempts she’d made to Jane would seem to weaken the case against Ollie. It struck her as a bit far-fetched that he’d hire a bunch of drug-running lowlifes who just happened to know Gordie Spruance. That whole side of the case had to involve the abortive crystal meth deal.

And yet …

Gordie had seemed honestly surprised—even shocked—when Sunny had tried to connect his mom’s death to his drug-dealing associates.

What if Ollie committed the murder for his own completely separate motives? Sunny found herself wondering. Trying to get the house or the lottery ticket—or maybe Veronica Yarborough put him up to it, offering money or clout with the homeowners’ association. So that takes Ada out of the picture, and Gordie needs to find the ticket to get Ron Shays off his back. She sighed. And then I stuck my nose in, and Shays and his drug people came after me because Ron Shays didn’t want his meth lab deal revealed.

A worse thought hit her. What if, when Gordie couldn’t provide the money for the lab, Ollie got involved somehow? He has money problems, so he’s probably looking for some way to turn a quick buck. And if he’s desperate enough, he might not be too picky about how he does it.

Sunny sat at her desk, resting her head on her hands. Maybe Will was right. Maybe she got too caught up in the theoretical aspects of the case.

She sat up straight. Well, with luck she’d untangle all the nonsense tonight. Doing, not thinking. A van with a television channel logo on the side pulled up on the street in front of the office, which reminded her that she had another camera crew due for an interview. Sunny shook out her hair and went to the door. More bait for her trap.

*

I could get him, that stupid bird, Shadow thought from his perch on the top of the couch. He’d chosen this vantage point to see when Sunny might come back. But now all his attention was on the idiot bird hopping through the grass on the front lawn.

Shadow had hunted birds when he was out on his own and found that they could provide good meals—but plenty of frustration. An hour’s worth of careful stalking could go to waste when they’d flutter up right as he pounced, just evading his paws to escape into the sky.

But if I was coming down on him, say from here, while he was trying to go up …

Licking his chops, Shadow stretched from the couch to rest his paws on the windowsill, stretching his long body almost to its limits. He quickly pushed off with his rear legs to bring his back paws onto the sill in preparation for a mighty leap … and his nose hit glass.

Oh. Right. The window’s closed, he thought, flinging his rear legs back to the couch and scrabbling for a hold. He’d been so intent on the hopping morsel outside that he’d forgotten all about the window.

Now he found himself barely clinging with his front and rear paws, his body overextended and vulnerable. And then, from behind, he heard the footsteps of the Old One entering the room.

Shadow tried to twist and keep an eye on that tricky human, but that made him lose his precarious hold. After a second of skittering in the air, he plummeted down behind the couch.

He couldn’t see the Old One from behind the piece of furniture. But Shadow could hear him. The two-leg didn’t speak in his usual gruff way. In fact, he was making happy noises and saying the phrase that Shadow had often heard in his wanderings.

“Crazy cat.”

I wonder what that means, Shadow wondered as he swaggered back around the couch. Maybe “excellent fall”?

*

By the time Sunny got home, she found Mike flipping between channels. “They said they were going to do your story on Channel 6,” he said excitedly. “Now I’m checking Channel 8. This time I’m going to get you recorded.”

She appeared on both those channels—twice—and on the later broadcast from the local CBS affiliate. Shadow had come into the room during one of her interviews. He’d stared at her image on the screen, then turned to her, extending a paw as if to make sure she was real.

Okay, she thought as the interview ended. Looks as if phase one of the plan worked just fine.

They sat down for supper, but Sunny couldn’t eat much.

The butterflies are taking up too much room.

She ended up putting her plate into the refrigerator and then went upstairs to change into the clothes she’d used to search Ada’s house the day before—no use getting another set dirty.

All prepared, she went back downstairs and spent some time stroking Shadow, hoping that would calm her down.

Sunny looked up at her dad, who was pretending to watch the national newscast, and patted his knee.

“I wish I could go with you,” Mike said quietly. “But I’m not in any kind of shape to be useful.”

It was dark out by the time Will came to pick her up. “You don’t have to do this,” he said for about the fifteenth time since Sunny had come up with this plan. “We could just sit tight and let the word get out that you didn’t find anything.”

Sunny shook her head. “We’re doing this to see if we can smoke this guy out,” she said. “We have to give it a shot.”

“I still think I should go in there with you,” Will insisted.

“That might spook him off.” Sunny patiently went through the plan they’d agreed on. “You’ll drop me off, go around the corner to make sure you’re not followed, park, and then walk back. I already checked with Mrs. Martinson. She has her car parked right across from the Spruance place. And she gave me her spare keys, so here, take them and you can get in her car and keep an eye on things. As soon as you see anybody else going in, you’ll come out and arrest them”

“I talked to Ben Semple,” Will added. “He’ll be in the area if we need backup.”

“We won’t.” Sunny did her best to sound confident. “Piece of cake.” She took a deep breath. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

But when she opened the front door, she heard Mike swear. Then, as she turned, a gray streak flashed past her legs.

“Shadow!” she called. “Shadow, what are you doing?”

She glanced at Will.

“It’s your call,” he said. “If you want to spend the time chasing the cat.”

“No.” She shook her head. “We’ll find Shadow when we come back.”

But as she climbed into Will’s truck, she couldn’t shake the feeling that this was a bad omen.