Catch as Cat Can (19 page)

Maybe this is better,
Shadow thought.
Maybe the fight is over and they're going to eat.

But, no, instead the Old One opened the door to the dark place below, and he, Sunny, and his She went down the stairs. This didn't look like a good thing. It didn't look like a game, either. Shadow watched in puzzlement as the Generous One slammed the door. Then he put a shiny thing in his pocket, went down the hall to the front door, and left.

Shadow crept into the kitchen and sat in front of the closed door. He could hear agitated voices on the other side. Couldn't the two-legs get the door open? Shadow thought humans could do that.

Now you know how it feels to be a cat,
he thought as he heard banging from the other side.

He put a curious paw out to push against the wood. It didn't move. He gave it a quick scratch, but he could see claws wouldn't work, either.

Then he heard a rattling noise. He looked up to see a metal thing moving slightly—not a knob like most doors, but a squarish thing kind of like the catch on the screen door that he was able to jump up and work. He heard Sunny's voice calling him, like when they played the Chase the String game.

Shadow crouched down, then sprang up, his paw batting at the metal thing as he passed it. But the door didn't open.

He landed on the floor, staring up, as Sunny called him again. He jumped, but again the metal thing resisted his efforts, for that try and two more.

It doesn't move when I hit it,
Shadow thought, examining the thing above his head.
But it sticks out enough. Maybe I can catch it . . .

He gathered himself for another leap, but this time instead of batting at the recalcitrant thing, he hooked a paw around it. A sharp vibration went through his leg, and then the metal thing twisted beneath him, trying to dump him to the floor. Shadow spun in midair, getting his legs under him and springing away from the sneaky thing—just in time.

The door almost flew open, and Sunny came running out, calling his name. She swooped down to him, gathering him up in her arms and planting her lips to the top of his head. She didn't do that very often. Shadow had learned that two-legs didn't like to groom.

He settled in her arms as she hugged him close and put her lips on him again.

This is pretty nice,
he thought.
But I wouldn't want to play that game again. It's kind of
stupid.

Sunny blinked away
tears as she kissed Shadow again on the top of the head. “You did it, little guy,” she told him. “You saved us.”

Shadow's eyes slitted and he purred with pleasure. Then his eyes went wide as a series of barks echoed their way up the stairs, and Toby came galumphing into the kitchen, capering around Sunny's feet at all the excitement.

Shadow's expression of pleasure disappeared. Now he gave Sunny a look as if he'd just received an awful surprise, like the time he'd tried to jump onto the hood of Mike's car while he was washing it and had slid all the way across to land in the pail of soapy water. “You know Toby lives here,” she whispered to him. “I'll make sure he doesn't bother you.”

By now, Mike had brought Mrs. Martinson up the stairs
and installed her on a kitchen chair. Sunny shifted Shadow around her neck like a stole and scrambled down the hallway, retrieving her cell phone and calling up Will's personal number.
Don't go to voice mail, don't go to voice mail,
she silently chanted as the phone rang.

“I'm at Helena Martinson's,” she told Will when he picked up. “Neil Garret was just here.”

“What? Why?” he instantly demanded. “I figured he'd be out of town by now.”

“He stopped off to pick up a pistol from Vince Martinson's old gun collection,” Sunny told him. “The reason Neil gave Val the slip is because Yancey Kilbane kidnapped Abby Martinson. If Neil wants to save her, he's got to turn up at Charlie Vane's ship in less than an hour now.”

“Neil got a gun.” Will sounded as if he wanted to make sure he was hearing correctly. “I don't suppose Mrs. Martinson gave him one willingly.”

“No, he got hold of the gun first, rounded us up, and locked us in the cellar.”

“Is that where you are now? Should I send help?”

“No, we got out,” Sunny said. “I'll save the story of how. You won't believe it anyway. But maybe you should send some cops to Vane's boat—try to cut Neil off before he does something stupid.”

“If he felt that he needed a gun, he doesn't trust Kilbane very much.” Will sounded worried. “I'll call it in, but the nearest patrol cars are probably up in outlet-land. Do you have a car model or description I can pass along so we can maybe intercept Neil?”

“Sorry,” Sunny apologized. “We didn't see him come up, and we were down in the basement when he left.”

“Too much to hope for,” Will muttered. “I'm on my way back from Levett, so I'll head for the dock directly.”

Alone,
Sunny thought. But all she could say was, “Be careful.”

“Definitely,” Will replied.

They hung up, and Sunny turned to Mike. “Will's calling it in—I figured he'd get farther than we would dialing 911. But it's going to take a while before the cops get there.” She took a deep breath. “I think we need to catch up with Neil—slow him down until some help arrives.”

She glanced at Helena Martinson's worried face. “We'll need to beat the clock, but I'm betting on Will.”

Sunny unwound Shadow from around her neck and passed the cat to Mrs. M. “Can you take care of Shadow? I don't want to leave him alone after all of this.”

Shadow did not look happy, clinging to Helena's arms and glaring down at the barking Toby. “Thanks,” Sunny said. “We'll be back with good news, I promise.”

She headed for the door with Mike in tow. Her dad looked frankly dubious, but he kept quiet until they were out in the street. “Sunny, it's not a good idea to make promises you might not be able to keep.”

“I know, Dad. But I'm going to do my darnedest to make sure things turn out okay.”

She started rushing back to their house, to find Mike speed-walking right beside her. “
We're
going to do our darnedest,” he told her.

They just about flew up the driveway to Sunny's Wrangler. She got behind the wheel, buckling into her seat belt. Mike did the same. “I suspect it's going to be one of those kinds of rides,” he said.

Sunny started the engine, and they were off. She negotiated the local streets at as fast a speed as she could safely manage. Mike glanced at his watch. “He has quite a lead on us. How do you figure on trying to catch up with him?”

They hit a county road, and Sunny pushed the speedometer a little more. She'd been sorting through options as they drove and had finally decided on one—not the best choice, she had to admit, but the only chance to cut down their travel time to town. “I was thinking of taking Ridge Road.”

“Ridge Road!” Mike burst out. “Are you crazy? You want to take an unpaved goat track in the dark?”

“It's the one shortcut that might put us ahead of Neil,” Sunny said.

“Yeah, if it doesn't put us in traction.” He paused. “The last time you tried that shortcut, somebody got killed.”

“They sure as heck didn't mean me any good and got what they deserved.” She gripped the steering wheel tightly. The turnoff for the disused road would be coming up soon on their left. “Have you got a better idea?”

Mike stayed silent for a long moment. “I don't, damn it. Just don't go racing downhill. The ruts and washouts are bad enough, but there may still be ice along the way.” He put his hands against the dashboard. “And brace yourself.”

Sunny downshifted and angled off the pavement onto Ridge Road.
One good thing,
she told herself,
no traffic to deal with.
The car dropped heavily into a rut.
One very bad thing—there's no way to see other cars get in trouble —no advance warning.

They thumped and bumped down the incline. Even though Sunny was sparing with the gas, they picked up
speed. The jouncing view in the headlights looked like the surface of the Moon. Great pools of darkness hid potholes that seemed to go to China. Sunny tried to stay in the ruts, following the route where generations of teenagers had gone joyriding.
So far, so good.

Then they hit a washout, and the truck went airborne. Sunny gripped the wheel as they landed heavily, her body flung against the restraints of the seatbelt. But she managed to guide them back onto what was left of the road.

The hillside steepened, and they picked up more speed. Sunny carefully applied the brakes.
No racing,
she told herself.
You don't want to bottom out.

Even so, they suffered a couple of bone-jarring rattles and crashes. Beside her, Mike grit his teeth as he tried to keep his grip on the dashboard. Every once in a while, she saw his foot pump in the air—trying to use a nonexistent set of brakes.

Maybe I should have put Dad behind the wheel,
Sunny suddenly thought.
He was the professional truck driver.

Mike stifled a gasp—or was it a groan?—as they took a bump that pitched them far over to one side.

On the other hand, Dad's also the one with the heart condition.

But it was a little late to be considering that. She had to devote all her attention to keep them from flipping onto their noses or their sides as the Wrangler battered along, bucking like a live thing. The frozen ground was unyielding, and they took quite a pounding.
We've got to be three-quarters of the way down . . .

Their nose flew up again, landed heavily, and rebounded.
The bouncing cone of illumination from their headlights showed something Sunny hadn't encountered before on this thrill ride.

Somebody had abandoned a car in the middle of the ruts. The old beater must have bottomed out and died in a sort of hollow along the route and apparently had just been left to rust. Now Sunny had to gun the engine and get the Wrangler out of its ruts, or they'd end up rear-ending the dead car. She managed to get the Jeep up and out, only to discover that the depression had also collected a pool of ice.

The Wrangler was going sideways almost as fast as it was going forward. Sunny yanked her right foot back, fighting the instinctive response of tromping on the brakes. That wouldn't work if the tires couldn't get traction. She gripped the steering wheel until her hands hurt, but she didn't try to yank them into some sort of course correction. Most likely, that would send them spinning out. Her breath seemed to freeze in her throat. Was this what her mom had gone through in the last instants before that fatal crash? All she could do was hang on.

Their skid seemed to last forever, but it had to be only seconds. At last they slowed as they came out of the sunken area, Sunny gently working the steering wheel to get the tires set in the direction she wanted to go. Pebbles rattled under them, and Sunny cautiously gave the engine a little gas. Two of the tires bit into dirt, slewing them around a little, but then they were out of the ice patch.

Sunny picked her way around the derelict car, slid as gently as possible into the ruts again, and proceeded down the rest of the way. The incline slowly leveled out, with only
a few more bumps to rattle everything loose in the car—not to mention their teeth.

Mike let out a long-held breath as Sunny finally climbed onto the pavement of a county road. “Good driving,” he said, and then, “Well, I can see where your raise for this year is going to go—to Sal DiGillio.”

Mentioning their mechanic after she'd just given the shocks such a workout should have annoyed Sunny. But in the exhilaration of having survived the wild ride and the skating pond experience, she laughed. “Like you never took a hot rod down this way,” she told her dad.

“Not in the middle of winter,” he replied. “Those ancient days might have been a time when men were men and seat belts hadn't been invented, but we weren't out-and-out stupid.”

They continued onward towards Kittery Harbor's old downtown area with Sunny crowding the speed limit and sometimes going well past it.
If there were cops around, we'd have heard the sirens,
she told herself as they barreled along. It was well after the town's version of rush hour, and traffic was thin.

The dock area, when they got there, was pretty much deserted. Fishermen were early risers—and just as early to bed. There weren't many cars on the street or even parked. The only sign of life was the Dockside Diner with its broken neon lights.

“Keep going,” Mike directed as they rolled past. “That's the pier where Charlie used to tie up his boat.”

“Not exactly in heavy use,” Sunny muttered.

The dock wasn't totally dilapidated, but it was certainly lonely. About halfway out, a fishing boat lay moored.

“There's the
Ranger,
” Mike said. “People think it's named after the ship John Paul Jones took out of port here. But Charlie told me his buccaneer ancestor had commanded a ship by that name sixty years before the Revolution.”

“Nobody around,” Sunny said, coasting to a stop. “No police, and no Neil. You figure he'd have left his car here, and there's nothing.”

“This Kilbane fellow picked a pretty good place for a meeting.” Mike peered along the length of the pier. “There's no cover, and he'll see anyone heading for the boat long before they get there.”

“Yeah, we're a little too obvious here ourselves,” Sunny said. “I'm going to pull back to the diner. We should be able to catch Neil as he passes through there—”

She broke off as a figure stepped out of the shadows and into their headlights. He was a big guy, bearded, with a thatch of hair receding from his forehead. Only the snub nose and the wild eyebrows gave Sunny a clue to his identity. That, and the pistol he aimed at her.

It was Yancey Kilbane.

“Out of the car,” he said. “And don't try anything stupid, or one of you gets hurt right now.” He moved to cover them both as Sunny and Mike exited the car. “Onto the dock. We'll join your friend Abby on the boat.”

Walking onto the pier at gunpoint, Sunny glanced longingly back toward the land. The sign from the diner flashed its mangled message:
DOCKSIDE DI E, DOCKSIDE DI E
.

I really hope that's not an omen,
Sunny thought as she walked along.