Catch as Cat Can (6 page)

“No, it's all newly installed,” Ollie said. “Quite an investment for the tenant.”

Speaking of which . . .
Sunny spoke up. “I didn't get a chance to talk with Neil Garret about the rent—considering what happened.”

Val Overton sat a little straighter. “Garret was having problems paying the rent?”

“The fact of the matter is that next door has always been a bit of a problem location,” Sunny said, earning an annoyed look from Ollie. “The fish store seemed to be doing fine during the summer months. Lately, though, I think business has been dropping off. Maybe the local folks are eating less fish in the cold weather.”

“There won't be any business done with that damned tape across the door,” Ollie complained.

Val Overton leaned forward and patted his arm. “Don't underestimate how big a crowd a nice, public crime scene can draw.”

Ollie didn't snatch his arm away, but he looked even more uncomfortable.

“And if you're invested in any kind of home security, you might get a bump,” Val went on. “Nothing like a good break-in to make people reevaluate their locks and shutters.” She leaned back in her chair. “Now, could you tell a gal where she might get something decent to eat around here?”

The reminder made Sunny's empty stomach rumble. “There's a little cafe down by the docks,” she said. “It shouldn't be too busy, this time of day.”

Ollie's expression was almost pathetically grateful as he said, “Why don't you take Marshal Overton over there, Sunny? I'll finish here and lock up. You can take the rest of
the day off. Doesn't look as though we're going to get much work done, anyway.”

*

The wind coming
off the water was like a freezing cold knife stabbing into Sunny's face, and strong enough to make her stagger. But Val Overton just plowed ahead, apparently unfazed by the weather, until she said, “I'm beginning to see why this place isn't too busy. Do people freeze to death before they get there?”

“Almost.” Sunny kept her head down as the wind tore at her curls. “But they've got a hot chocolate that can revive the dead.”

They fought their way to Spill the Beans, and Sunny took her usual wintertime table, the one directly under the heater. The waitress brought her a hot chocolate before she even ordered.

“I think I'll have the same,” Val said, looking on as Sunny spooned up some thick brown cocoa from under its cover of whipped cream.

“They do a sandwich with home-baked ham and their own hot mustard on farmer's bread.” Sunny rolled her eyes as she took a sip of chocolate. “It's not like the shaved ham you get from a deli. They carve slices off.”

“Can we get two ham sandwiches, please?” Val asked as the waitress returned with a cup for her. “Breakfast doesn't seem to stretch as long as I'd like when I'm doing cop things.”

They sat quietly for a few minutes, shedding their parkas and letting the heat penetrate their chilled faces and hands. Then the sandwiches arrived, mounded high with
thick slices of ham. Sunny took a bite, savoring the way the spicy mustard blended with the salt from the ham and the sweetness of the brown sugar glaze.

“Mmmmm,” Val Overton mumbled as she chewed and swallowed. “Worth a trek through the Arctic. And you're right about the reviving powers of this chocolate.” She took a sip, put down her cup, and sighed. “So, tell me about your boss.”

I think she's taking Spill the Beans a bit too literally,
Sunny thought.
Is she after one of Ollie's business connections?

Aloud, she said, “With Ollie, what you see is what you get. He can be gruff, sometimes unreasonable—”

“I'm going to cut right to the chase,” Val interrupted. “Is he single?”

Sunny was glad she didn't have a mouthful of chocolate. Otherwise, it might have come spewing out her nose. “Ollie?”

“Yeah. Slightly older guy, reddish hair, blue eyes . . .” Val grinned. “Pink face.”

“You're interested in Ollie Barnstable?”

“We can't all get guys like Will Price,” Val said. “So, is he taken?”

“I can't speak for Ollie,” Sunny said.
Especially about this,
she added silently. “He broke a leg not too long ago and wound up in rehab. I think he's been seeing one of the therapists.”

“Good. Then he must be used to taking orders.” Val laughed at the look on Sunny's face. “Oh, come on, loosen up. I've got a job that sends me traipsing all over a pretty big state. Unless I want to pick up guys in hotel bars, it isn't easy to meet people. Do you think Ollie might go out with me?”

Sunny took a bite of her sandwich to chew that one over.
“Frankly,” she said as she finished, “right now I think you've got him scared to death.”

“Yeah.” Val looked a little repentant. “I overplayed the whole serving papers thing.” She grinned. “But his expression was so priceless.”

“He takes this stuff seriously. After all, he is a businessman.”

“Okay, okay,” Val said. “I promise to be nicer to your boss.”

“It could be the difference between honey and vinegar in drawing the fly,” Sunny said.

Silence fell as they devoted themselves to their sandwiches, until Val, putting her napkin down, said, “Speaking of honey, does this place do any good desserts?”

Sunny smiled. Here was a person after her own heart. “Do you like whoopie pies?”

“Those cookie things with the whipped cream?” Val asked.

“If you have to ask like that, you haven't had a real whoopie pie,” Sunny told her. “But they have them here.”

“Oh, really?” Val purred. “You know I'll have to test that.”

Sunny nodded. “And maybe another cup of
chocolate.”

Shadow glared down
from his vantage point on top of the refrigerator, his tail lashing in aggravation. Usually, this was his place to look down on the world and those crazy two-legs. But today it felt more like a refuge.

The Old One had come home all sweated up, something that always baffled Shadow. How did he manage to do that when it was freezing out? It had looked to be a typical day. The Old One had gone upstairs and washed himself off so that he didn't smell so bad, sitting on the big chair and drifting off into a nap, which was fine with Shadow. He did the same.

But when the Old One got up and fixed himself something to eat, he put the picture box on. Shadow hadn't paid attention. He'd made a nice warm spot for himself, creating a sort of cave with a blanket. The last thing he expected was
for the Old One to jump up and run to the box. The sound came louder, killing any hope of a continued nap. By the time Shadow got out to see what the trouble was, the Old One had already turned off the picture.

Usually, the Old One only got this excited when the picture box showed gangs of two-legs running around and chasing a ball. Then the human would shout and shake his arms. This time, though, he sat down but didn't go back to sleep. Instead he picked up the talking thing and began to poke at it.

Shadow was close enough that he could hear some of the voices that came from somewhere inside the device. One sounded like Sunny, although the Old One didn't talk to her. Another sounded like the Old One's She, and they talked for a while. But Sunny's father didn't seem very happy when they stopped. He talked to other humans, male and female, and just seemed to grow more anxious.

The Old One finally stopped talking, but he didn't stay seated. Shadow wasn't sure what to do. He and the human finally got along, but it was more like an armed truce than good feelings. Shadow didn't trust the Old One not to misinterpret any friendly overture. He'd known some humans to kick him away when he'd tried to rub against them and make them feel better.

So in the end, Shadow had tried to follow the Old One as he paced unpredictably back and forth around the room, sometimes looking at his wrist, sometimes looking out the window.

Is he waiting for Sunny?
Shadow wondered as he scrambled to keep up with the longer legs. Finally he had to retreat to the kitchen to make sure he didn't get stepped on.

The problem was, the Old One had managed to transfer his anxiety to Shadow. Safely on top of the refrigerator, far away from voices and feet, the cat should have been able to compose himself for another nap, even if he didn't have a blanket-cave anymore. Instead, his tail beat an uneasy time as he watched the shadow of the roving human shift around the hall.

Annoyance made him want to leap down, charge down the hall, and pounce on it, even though he knew shadows couldn't be hurt or even caught. And he certainly knew better than to try and pounce on the Old One when the human was so unsettled.

So Shadow pushed sleep away, keeping anxious watch, hoping it was just some crazy two-legs thing that a cat didn't have to care about—but afraid that it wasn't.

If you kept me up for nothing, you'll pay,
he silently promised the Old One.
Sooner or later, you'll have to go to sleep. And then, when you least expect it, I'll jump on y
ou.

*

Sunny stopped off
to do a little shopping before she headed home. She got a package of wide noodles and a fresh bottle of horseradish. They had a container of stew stored in the freezer, and that reheated with the noodles would make a warm and filling meal for a frosty day.

She parked the Wrangler in the driveway and started for the door with her bags when she spotted Mike looking out the living room window at her. His expression warned Sunny that he'd heard about her latest adventure.

No sooner did she get the door open than a furry gray rocket came careening down the hallway toward her from the kitchen. Shadow got underfoot, determinedly sniffing at her as Sunny tried to make her way to the living room. “Hey, Dad.”

Mike appeared in the arched entrance way, looking much as he had after getting reports of some high school misdemeanor. A bit older and whiter, to tell the truth, and more worried than angry. “Saw your office on the noon news,” he said, “not to mention the outside of the fish shop.”

“I suppose I was gone by then.” Sunny took off her coat. “They took me up to Levett to make a statement.” She paused for a second. “Did they come up with an identity for the guy we found in the freezer?”

Mike shook his head. “I was wondering if you could tell me.”

“Nobody from around here, as far as I could make out.” She figured that was the main thing on Mike's mind. “He was wearing a raincoat in this weather.”

From the look on Mike's face, she might just as easily have reported that the dead man was a nudist.

“Maybe he was a New Yorker.” Mike looked relieved enough to try a weak joke. “Even a Bostonian would have better sense.”

“Well, I didn't recognize him.” Hefting her shopping bags, she headed for the kitchen with her cat and her father trailing behind. Shadow made a detour over to his bowl while Sunny restocked the refrigerator. She glanced over at Mike who stood in the kitchen doorway.

“You were worried about me, and I didn't call.” She shook her head. “You know, I thought I handled the situation well,
but it looks as though my brain was only firing on two cylinders. I'm sorry, Dad.”

“Well, you're here now. And I got a little more exercise than my usual three miles, pacing around the living room.”

They talked about nothing in particular as Sunny brought the water for the noodles to a boil and defrosted the stew in the microwave. Together, they set the table. Then Sunny freshened up Shadow's bowls.

Soon dinner was ready and Sunny portioned out two plates. Mike put a healthy dollop of horseradish on the side, and so did Sunny. After a few mouthfuls, Mike sat back in his chair. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“There's not much to say. I heard Neil pulling up the gate to his store, went over there, and realized something was wrong. We found the back door open and a dead man in the freezer. After that, everything was in the hands of the police—and that included me. Captain Ingersoll had one of the deputies take me up to Levett, Lenore Nesbit asked some questions, and I signed a statement.”

“You didn't talk to Will?”

“Not until after I'd given the statement. He drove me back to the MAX office. Did I mention there's a federal marshal in town? She was in the office with Ollie.”

Mike laughed. “His past misdeeds finally catching up with him?”

“Actually, I think she was there to flirt.”

“With Ollie? That's the problem with the federal government—misplaced priorities.” Mike paused for a second. “So what did Will say about the case?”

“Not much,” Sunny admitted. “And maybe that's the way it ought to be.”

“But he's your partner. You worked on cases together.”

“We worked on cases together mainly because his bosses didn't want to investigate them. You remember how Frank Nesbit was about the crime statistics. He didn't want to admit any serious crime happened in Elmet County.” Sunny took a breath. “But now Will is Lenore Nesbit's chief investigator. He's official now.”

Mike nodded. “And this is his first big case. How do you think he's doing?”

“It's not easy,” Sunny said. “They don't even know who the dead guy is. Will said he had no wallet and no identification on him.”

“Could he have been homeless?” Mike suggested. “That might explain the wrong clothes for the weather, and even why he broke in.”

“It might explain something else.” Sunny took a sip of seltzer. “Zach Judson described the guy who attacked Shadow as wearing a raincoat.”

“So—maybe a nut, homeless and looking to get out of the weather.” Mike looked worried. Kittery Harbor was a blue-collar town, where a lot of people were only a paycheck away from homelessness.

“But if he wanted to get out of the cold, why go in the freezer?' Sunny asked. “And most importantly, who shot him?”

Mike chewed on a piece of meat for a moment, then said, “Neil Garret?”

“There was frozen blood around the dead guy.” Sunny shuddered a little at the memory. “So he had to have been there for a while. When I came into the store, Neil looked shaken—but not ‘I shot somebody' shaken.” She shook
her head. “I have a hard time picturing Neil as the shooter. And why would he open the freezer and show me the dead body?”

“Maybe he wanted it found at that time,” Mike suggested. “Or maybe he wanted a witness to see when he supposedly found the body.”

Sunny nodded slowly. “Sheriff Nesbit was pretty interested in making sure when Neil arrived at the store.”

“You mentioned that she questioned you,” Mike said. “How is Lenore handling all of this?”

Sunny poked at her stew. “She said she's skipping anything with tomato sauce for the time being, but she asked some good questions.” She frowned. “I suppose they have to concentrate on Neil. He's the obvious suspect. It's his store, and the body is in the freezer he specially ordered.”

“You say this guy broke in,” Mike said. “Wouldn't Neil have been justified in shooting him? Self-defense or something?”

Sunny shook her head. “Not the way this guy was killed. He was shot from the back. And it's not as though Neil just walked into the store and found an intruder. The blood had frozen.”

Her frown grew deeper.
So, you've got a dead body in your freezer. It's not impossible to get rid of. Lock up the shop, wait until things get good and quiet, and bring your car round the back where the deliveries get made. Open the back door, bundle the embarrassing body out, and drive away. You've got almost 3,500 miles of coastline to dump it,
she thought, remembering a factoid she'd used in some of her promotional copy.

So if Neil was the shooter, why did he need to show the body to me—or whatever other unlucky first customer he had today? What's the advantage for him? And if the body in the freezer was a surprise to him, how did it wind up there? With all that coastline to choose from, why would someone take the risk and go to the effort of breaking into Neil's place to dump a body there?

She smiled at Mike. “If you smell something burning, it's probably just a few brain cells. I don't envy Will on this case. Not only is it a whodunit, but a whowuzit, and why'd he get killed?”

They talked about other things as they finished the meal. Mike joked about whether having Abby around would cramp Mrs. M.'s style on the local gossip grapevine. “She might have to come to you for the latest info,” he said.

Smiling, Sunny shook her head. “She'd probably get more from reading the
Harbor Courier.
”

As she spoke, the phone rang.

“That could be Helena right now,” Mike joked.

Close, but no cigar,
Sunny thought when she heard the voice on the other end of the line. It was Ken Howell, editor, publisher, most of the reporting staff, and printer of the
Harbor Courier
.

“So, you forget your old friends now?” he asked.

“Oh, I remember you,” Sunny replied. “The problem is, I don't have much to say. Maybe you should be having this conversation with Will.”

“I think you mean talking to the sheriff department's public information office,” Ken corrected her. “I'd have better luck trying to get something out of Lenore Nesbit.”

“Maybe you would,” Sunny agreed. “All I can tell you is that I walked into the fish store this morning and saw a dead body in the freezer. After that, it was all in the hands of the cops.”

“You mean Will Price.”

“And other people. I talked with Captain Ingersoll and Sheriff Nesbit. You know, the official people,” Sunny told him. “They've been working since the morning. By now, they must have assembled some more information.”

“You'd think.” Ken didn't bother to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. “But not really. They still don't have any identification on the fellow you found. And if they know anything else, they're being mighty economical with it.”

“You're saying Lenore Nesbit is hiding something?”

“I'm trying to decide if this situation merits a special edition,” Ken confessed. “We delivered this week's issue around the time you discovered the body. It's an expense, you know. And after the murders we've had in the last year or so, can I justify going up against the local dailies, or publish on my usual schedule?” He sighed. “Ollie is pressuring me to soft-pedal the story.”

“Well, he would, considering his investment in the tourism market.”
Including my job,
Sunny silently added. “Do you think Lenore is actually stonewalling you?”

“I can't be sure,” Ken said. “But if I decide to go to press, what the hell am I going to say? You're a pro, Sunny. What do you think?”

“The victim seems to be an out-of-towner, non-local,” Sunny said slowly. “You've got the online edition now. Why not break the story there and hold back on print until more
facts come to light?” She had a sudden inspiration. “Dad was wondering if the guy was homeless—wearing the wrong clothes for the local weather. That might be an angle to examine, using the murder to springboard into a more general concern.”

“Yeah.” Ken's voice sounded a little hollow. “'Cause if I guess wrong, the paper and ink bill might make
me
homeless.” He paused for a second. “I know that Will is supposed to be doing the investigating and this is his first case, so I can understand you backing him up.” His voice grew pleading. “But you really have nothing for me?”

“Nothing more than I already told you,” Sunny assured him.