The Big Kitty (23 page)

She forced herself to sit down, and they flipped through the channels on the TV, searching for some sort of local coverage. But it was much too soon, and they couldn’t find any mention of an attempted trespass, a police chase, or anything even remotely criminal sounding.

Sunny sat down on the couch beside her dad, taking his hand.

“Gonna fight me for the remote?” he asked.

“Nope—just glad we have one sensible person in this house,” she said.

That got a smile out of him.

They watched the countywide news channel, but again, no luck.

Then the doorbell rang.

Mike’s hand tightened under hers, but Sunny got up.

“I’m dialing up 911,” Mike called, making sure his voice was loud enough to carry outside. “Anything funny happens, the call goes right to them.”

Sunny looked through the glass panel and saw a nervous-looking Ben Semple. “Don’t have your dad call anything in,” he begged. “I’m not supposed to be here.”

“Hang up, Dad,” she called over her shoulder. Then she opened the door for Ben. “Why—Sunny began, but he was talking already.

“Will asked me to stop by and tell you what happened. One of the other constables was driving by, keeping an eye on the Spruance place, and he saw someone sneaking up the driveway. Dispatch sent everyone screaming over there,
and the noise spooked whoever was inside. Although our guy was covering the front, one person can’t surround a house. The intruder took off through the backyards. We’re searching, but I don’t have much hope.”

“And Will?” Sunny asked.

Semple shrugged. “He turned up, and the sheriff is keeping him on the scene. Since he’s been in there before, maybe he’d notice if anything has been disturbed. The perp didn’t have much time inside, so we don’t think he found anything. But if we knew where he’d been, it would be easier to look for evidence.”

“Other than not catching him, though, nothing bad happened?” Sunny felt a little silly, but she wanted it spelled out.

“Everything is fine,” Semple assured her. His lapel radio squawked. “I gotta get back to my car.”

He dashed down the walk. Sunny went to close the door.

“All clear,” she called. “No more excitement.”

Then she saw another visitor approaching—Helena Martinson.

Sunny reopened the door. “Hi,” she said, “coming to see my father?”

“No, dear,” Mrs. Martinson said in a determined voice. “I’m taking you for a haircut. I’ve already made you the appointment. It’s long overdue, especially since I understand you have a date tonight.”

Sunny shot a look at her father, who pretended to be absorbed in the weather report. She tried to decline Mrs. Martinson’s overeager gesture gracefully, but the neighbor lady put her foot down. “This is the first time you’ve gone
out since you came up here. And, frankly, my dear, you have to do something about your hair.”

Sunny raised her hands in mock surrender. “All right,” she said meekly. “I know. Thank you, I guess.”

Looking relieved that warfare had been averted, Mike shut off the TV and got up from the couch. “While you’re gone, I’m gonna take a page out of the cat’s book and have a nap.”

The salon was in an upscale enclave outside of town—and from the outside it looked pretty busy. Sunny wondered how much social extortion Mrs. Martinson had used to shoehorn Sunny into the schedule. Did the stylist know what she was in for?

As she opened the door, who should come out but Veronica Yarborough, a triumph of the beautician’s art. She stared down her nose at Sunny, who bit her tongue to keep from saying something snarky.

Instead, she gave the head of the homeowners’ association a pleasant smile. “Wow, looks like you got the whole spa experience, Mrs. Y,” Sunny let her smile get wider. “Must have had you up a little early for your usual Saturday.” As she spoke, Sunny remembered that Veronica still had no alibi for the morning when Ada Spruance had died.

Veronica’s eyes got big and she made low gobbling noises as she stomped off.

Grinning in triumph, Sunny went into the salon and put herself in the hands of the professionals.

She heard a lot of tsking from overhead as her shaggy mane got shampooed. Frankly, after all the chemicals and
treatments Sunny had tried to make her hair straight or mildly wavy, it was a wonder she had any hair left at all. She’d finally found a Manhattan stylist who knew how to manage rebellious curls. But since she’d come home, Sunny had let her hair alone. If it frizzed till she looked like she’d stuck her toe in a light socket, fine. As long as she could pull it back out of her face, she was willing to make do.

Her heart sank as she moved from the sink, hair wrapped in a damp towel, to wait for her stylist. Of all people, sitting in the chair next to her was Jane Rigsdale, looking like a queen in her salon gown. Even without makeup, the planes and angles of her face spelled “knockout.”

What’s the matter with me?
Sunny asked herself.
I just faced down the neighborhood queen bee without a problem. Why does Jane rattle me so much?

She couldn’t worry about that now. Jane had already spotted her and smiled. “Talk about a coincidence! I didn’t know you used this place. It’s my best discovery since I came back here.”

Like you really need beauty treatments,
Sunny thought. Instead, she gave Jane a tight smile and took refuge in the truth. “It’s my first time here.”

“Oh.” Jane’s pale eyebrows rose as she glanced around, perhaps trying to figure out who’d gotten bumped from the crowded Saturday schedule to accommodate Sunny. “Helena Martinson,” she muttered, then blushed when she realized she’d spoken aloud. Trying to change the subject, Jane asked, “So, is this for a special occasion?”

Sunny felt a little warmth flooding her own cheeks as
she said, “Not really.” That might be the literal truth. Will
had
even mentioned business. But no way, no how was Sunny going to discuss a date with Will—not to his gorgeous former flame. “I guess Mrs. Martinson got tired of my Sasquatch hair. She’s a … good friend of my dad’s, you know.”

Jane didn’t know, but she didn’t ask any more questions, either. They chatted a bit about fitting back into the swim of things in Kittery Harbor. Sunny got to hear a lot of news about classmates she hadn’t thought of since graduation.

Finally Jane was called for her haircutting session. Sunny stared after her.
She was trying to be nice to me. So why do I get so witchy whenever I see her? I mean, I hated her Miss Perfect act back in high school, but I should be over that by now.

Moments later, Sunny’s stylist came and collected her. She was a very nice older woman. And very good. By the time she was done, Sunny’s mane had been tamed into a very flattering cut.

Well, Jane was right about one thing,
Sunny thought as she breezed out of the salon.
This may be the best discovery I’ve made since coming back to town, too.

*

Shadow padded through
the empty downstairs of the house, enjoying the silence. The past few days he had slept most of the time, even through the dark hours, trying to recover from his hurts. But now after napping when the Old One had gone upstairs, he’d awakened feeling refreshed and full of energy.

He had tried a few rounds of the race-and-jump game, but it just wasn’t the same without Sunny to land on. So he had looked out the windows, sniffed around the doors, and finally come up the stairs. Shadow made his way slowly down the upstairs hallway, dim in this cloudy weather, stopping outside Sunny’s door and inhaling deeply. He savored the sweet smells from the bottles and jars—and from Sunny herself. The door was slightly ajar, and for a moment he debated pushing against it and going in to explore those things on her table more closely. But he decided against it.

Regretfully, Shadow backed away—and then froze, hearing a shifting of bedsprings and a low groan. Then came footsteps and the faint creak of a door opening. This didn’t come from Sunny’s room, where Shadow had hidden by the partly opened door. No, this came from farther down the hallway. The Old One must be stirring!

Sure enough, the older human appeared in the hall. Shadow could see him clearly in the gray light, but, judging from the way the two-leg groped around, he could barely see his hand in the dimness, much less Shadow.

Keeping his own steps silent, Shadow crept forward as the Old One stepped into the room of shiny tiles and shut the door.

Sudden light from under the door made Shadow blink and shy back. Then he arranged himself just beyond the edge of the pool of light. He had played the jump-out-of-the-dark game with other old ones—females who screeched and jumped when he pounced on their feet.

The light went off, and Shadow braced himself for the
attack. But as the Old One came out, he gave a deep sigh, rubbing at his face. His footsteps seemed to shuffle, and his shoulders slumped in weariness.

Shadow had never pounced from the darkness on a sick, frail person. It didn’t seem right, somehow; not fair.

He remembered that since Sunny had brought him home, hurt, the Old One had been kind to him in his gruff way. He made sure the bowls were full in the kitchen and had even extended his hand—slowly, carefully—for Shadow to sniff. Perhaps he was sorry for the tricks he’d played earlier.

No, Shadow decided as the Old One made his way back to his room. Another time, maybe, but not today.

*

Sunny returned from
the salon to find her father up and watching college football.

Dad whistled his approval. “Lookin’ good, kiddo.”

Sunny couldn’t help but smile. “Thanks, Dad.” Then she glanced at her watch. “But we’ve got stuff to do.”

Not only were there routine chores that had been neglected in a week of interviews and death attempts, stuff like laundry and housecleaning, but there were new tasks, like emptying Shadow’s litter box. And then, as promised, Sunny took Mike out on a grocery run. Her dad wanted a prepared dinner that he could nuke, but all of them had either too much fat, too much salt, or both. In the end, Sunny suggested making an early supper with a snack later if he felt the need for it in the evening. “Just don’t eat all the ice cream in the freezer,” she said.

“If I’m hungry—” he began.

She rolled her eyes, not willing to get embroiled in this kind of argument.

In the end, they wound up collecting the makings for a beef stew. When they got home, Sunny got out her mom’s old pressure cooker. Mike assisted in peeling carrots and potatoes while Shadow ran back and forth on the kitchen floor, excited by the activity. They sliced onions, which made the cat wrinkle his nose, and trimmed and split celery stalks. Then Sunny put a little olive oil in the cooker and seared the meat, tossing the onions in, too. The rich aroma had Shadow stretching up on the front of the stove, sniffing appreciatively.

After stirring the meat and onions around the bottom of the pot, Sunny piled on the other ingredients, adding some water, dill, garlic, and her mother’s secret ingredient, half a cup of V8—the low-sodium variety. Finally she locked the cooker’s top in place.

As the stew cooked, she and Mike cleaned up their mess from the prep.

“Your mom loved that thing,” her dad said, pointing at the hissing cooker. “She used to say we could have a stew in fifteen minutes.”

Sunny grinned. “That’s true, if you just count the cooking time. Of course, we spent about forty minutes peeling, chopping, and so on.”

By the time they’d finished with the cleanup, the stew was ready. Sunny ladled a serving onto a plate for her dad, her own mouth watering as she took in the savory smell. The rest of the stew went into sealed bowls to cool off and
be refrigerated. They’d made enough for a couple of meals. And the longer the stew marinated in its own juices, the better it tasted.

“I bet you won’t get anything as good as this when you go out,” Mike announced, tucking in.

Sunny laughed. “You may be right.”

“So where are you going?”

“Will suggested a place up in Saxon,” she said, naming a wealthy township farther up the coast.

“Sounds fancy,” Mike said.

Sunny shrugged. “He told me it’s dressy casual.”

She spent a while going through her wardrobe to create an outfit to match that dress code. In the end, she wound up with a soft wine-colored sweater over a pair of black cords that felt more like velvet. With her car-length leather coat and a pair of low boots, Sunny felt about as ready as she was going to be.

She was upstairs, making a last-minute inspection in the mirror, when the doorbell rang. She came downstairs to find Will chatting amiably with her father.

“Right on the dot,” Mike said with approval.

Will took in her outfit and new hairdo. “You look great,” he said.

She laughed as Shadow inserted himself into the group, twining around Sunny’s legs and sniffing. “Apparently, I smell great, too.” She gave Will an up-and-down look. “And you don’t look so bad yourself.”

Will wore a pair of polished boots, soft gray wool slacks, and a slightly darker V-neck sweater with a tweed hacking jacket that accentuated his solid shoulders. His
face softened in a slightly shy smile, and Sunny thought she’d never seen him look so good.

Not only had Will polished up his boots, he’d polished up his truck. Saying good night to Mike, they went outside and climbed aboard. They rode up to Saxon, a town that nowadays seemed to go more for Beemers and Escalades, though Avezzani’s, their destination, had a more rustic look, with plaster walls the color of parchment and exposed blackened beams.

A tall guy in an Armani suit and an apparent year-round tan greeted Will warmly at the door.

“Gene Avezzani was in my homeroom—now he runs this place,” Will said, making introductions. “It’s thanks to him that we got a table.”

“You don’t ask every day,” Gene replied, making a courtly bow over Sunny’s hand, “or bring such lovely ladies.”

He personally took them to a table in the corner and presented them with a nice bottle of Barolo.

Will grinned at Sunny over his menu. “When I was in high school, we’d go to the deli Gene’s folks ran next door for meatball heroes,” he confided. “The deli’s gone now—too downscale for the neighborhood—but the meatballs are the same.”