The Big Kitty

24

Ben Semple and the other constables quickly called two ambulances, one each for hauling Ron Shays and Will Price off to the hospital to be patched up. Getting Sunny down to the police station to explain what had happened turned into a much more ticklish job, however.

Shadow had positioned himself between her and everyone else in the room, back arched, his openmouthed hiss showing his willingness to attack anybody who even approached her.

It took a while for Sunny to calm the cat down. Finally she carried him down the stairs to the cellar, out to the backyard, and around the side of the Spruance house—to face what seemed like a wall of cameras and lights, all aimed at her.

Sunny just shook her head as the reporters surged forward, asking all sorts of inane questions. Luckily, Ben Semple got their attention by holding up the winning lottery ticket, now encased in a clear plastic evidence bag.

That’s the nice thing about the television media, Sunny thought. The cameras are so easily distracted.

They arrived at the town police station at the same time as Sheriff Nesbit. He just sat quietly, running a finger over his silver mustache and shaking his head, as Sunny recounted her story.

Nesbit was probably fuming. On the other hand, though, despite nearly getting herself killed, Sunny had also managed to close out that embarrassing double murder case in the sheriff’s supposedly crime-free county. And, of course, the perpetrator was a very nasty drug dealer—and an outsider.

Will looked properly heroic when he arrived with a bandage around his head, joining Sunny to answer questions at an impromptu press conference. Nesbit got in front of the cameras, too, finding lots of ways to spin the situation to his benefit.

Sunny was just eager for the questions to finally finish so she could put an end to this whole crazy adventure.

Except it still wasn’t quite over.

The sheriff’s office and the Maine lottery authority went to war over the ticket that had caused all the trouble in the first place. Nesbit said it was evidence, while the bean counters up in Augusta demanded that it be turned in to determine its authenticity.

Luckily, the amount of publicity surrounding the big prize ensured that some sort of reasonable accommodation would be reached.

That opened the way for an entirely different legal battle. Whose ticket was it? Obscure Spruance relatives whom Sunny had never heard of suddenly emerged to claim the prize—and argue with one another in front of the TV cameras. Mike Coolidge was delighted with the coverage, shouting abuse at the various contenders as they appeared on the screen. Sunny just shook her head, thinking, Where is Jerry Springer when we really need him?

Maybe it was watching all those seedy people fighting over so much money, but Mike began to show signs of Lotto fever. He suggested that Sunny should put in a claim for the winnings; after all, he argued, she was the one who’d found the damned ticket. Then Sunny caught him on her laptop, checking prices on pimped-out fishing boats, and laid down the law. That ticket might be worth millions, but it had brought worry and death to everyone connected with it.

Even though it might have made her life a lot easier, she told her dad that she didn’t want a penny of the prize money. It would probably give her angina pains.

Maybe Mike felt he had to make up for that little episode, or maybe he couldn’t resist the idea of scooping up a bargain. But after lengthy whispered negotiations with her dad hanging up the phone whenever Sunny came into the room, Sal came driving up Wild Goose Drive one evening in the maroon Wrangler and presented the keys to Sunny.

It still felt weird to drive around in an attempted murder weapon, but when Sunny asked her dad how much the SUV had cost, he’d just smiled mysteriously and said, “We can afford it.”

Working in the office was a bit better, probably because all the free publicity for Kittery Harbor had led to a tsunami of interest from tourists. Apparently most of them were more interested in Lotto luck than mere murder. With Ron Shays’s admission that he’d killed Ada Spruance and his complaint that the meth lab deal had died for lack of funding, it became clear that neither Ollie nor his money had been involved in the case. Sunny wasn’t sure whether her suspicions about her boss represented paranoia or just a morbid wish-fulfillment fantasy.

Ollie the Barnacle even apologized for his bad behavior. “I was having a little cash-flow problem. Sometimes these hiccups happen, and, well, I suppose I kinda went off the deep end.”

He didn’t give her a raise, however.

So, just as everything was returning to normal again, Sunny was not happy to find a letter from a lawyer. This one was different from the usual legal garbage that had been clogging the Coolidge mailbox.

It was an invitation to attend the reading of Ada Spruance’s will.

Fine, she thought. So Ada leaves me her undying thanks, and then the whole shebang goes to Gordie, who probably died without a will. Which means her estate will either go to the state or into court for as long as those vulture relatives have money to fight over it.

Sunny appeared at the lawyer’s office, a place on Main Street in downtown Kittery Harbor. She was shocked to find Jane Rigsdale in the reception area, too. Maybe the veterinarian gets Ada’s thanks, too, Sunny thought. Wonderful.

Jane reacted to the unexpected encounter pretty much the way Shadow had greeted the return of the Jeep Wrangler to the Coolidge driveway, by circling around suspiciously. At least Jane didn’t try to sniff Sunny.

Finally Jane said, “After all I heard on the news, I guess I owe you an apology. Those guys really were after you.”

“Let’s just say you didn’t pick the best time for a confrontation,” Sunny replied. “I was wound a bit tight—frankly at that point, I was wondering if my boss was trying to kill me.”

Whoops, maybe too much information, Sunny thought, taking in the look on Jane’s face.

“Anyway,” Sunny went on, “I hope we can be friends.” With just the occasional body slam and elbow in the eye when it comes to Will Price, she finished silently.

Nobody else joined them in the outer office. Sunny and Jane kept glancing around, feeling weirder and weirder, until Peter Lewin, the attorney, came out, greeted them, and seated them in front of his desk with almost old-fashioned courtliness. “Mrs. Spruance came to me the day that the first story about her ticket appeared in the Harbor Crier,” he said. “She was feeling very optimistic about finding it—an optimism that, despite everything, turned out to be well-founded,” he added with a smile at Sunny.

“The terms of the will are actually very simple, so, if you agree, I’ll just state them without the usual legal language,” Lewin said. “There was a small trust fund set up for Gordie, provided he stayed clean and sober. As that apparently didn’t happen, those funds go back into the main estate.”

He turned to Sunny. “To thank you for your kindness and promise to help, Ada offers you your pick of any of the cats living at her house.”

Sunny couldn’t help laughing. “Actually,” she said, “one of the cats has already picked me.”

“The remainder of her estate after taxes is to be invested into a foundation for the care of animals—especially cats. And Ada wanted you, Dr. Rigsdale, to run the show.”

Jane looked as if she were about to fall out of her chair. “We’d talked many times about the specific problems that cats face—dogs get adopted much more often—and how Ada always hoped the town would have a no-kill shelter. But that was always pie in the sky!”

“Well, now you should have the wherewithal to accomplish some of those hopes,” Lewin said. “I can hardly wait to hear the reaction from Ada’s so-called relations.”

“And that’s it?” Jane asked. “It all goes to … me?”

“There will be papers to sign—lots of them,” Lewin replied. “But that can be left to the future. I thought you should know the basic disposition of the estate.”

Jane still looked a little shell-shocked as they stepped out onto Main Street. “It all seems just so … so unfair!” she burst out. “You not only found that ticket for Ada, you risked your life to find out who killed her and her son.”

She broke off as a black pickup truck pulled up in the street and the window rolled down. Will Price stuck his head out. “Hey, Sunny!” Then he realized who was standing beside her and ducked his head. “Jane.”

“You’re just in time to congratulate us,” Sunny told him, laughter bubbling up again. “We just heard the reading of Ada Spruance’s will. I inherit a cat, and Jane here gets the millions.”

Might as well let him know now, she thought. Jane’s hit the trifecta. Looks, personality, and buckets of money.

“Actually,” Jane broke in, embarrassed, “it’s a foundation to benefit animals.”

“Huh,” Will said, looking a little shell-shocked now himself. He glanced over at Sunny. “Maybe we’ll get that no-kill shelter you were talking about—even if it is a New York kind of idea.”

Sunny felt a grin tug at her lips. So, he remembered that, did he? Maybe she had a chance after all, in spite of Jane’s obvious advantages.

“Definitely,” Jane said. She took Sunny by the hand. “I know it’s not much, but I can promise you this. As long as I have any say, you won’t ever have to worry about a vet bill for Shadow—ever.”

Sunny was actually touched. “Thanks, Jane. I’ll be sure to take you up on that. Knowing Shadow, he’ll need more patching up than the average cat.”

“It’s little enough,” Jane told her.

“Oh, no,” Sunny replied. “I’ve gotten my payment.”

She smiled, thinking of the look she would see on her dad’s face when she told him this story.