The Big Kitty (28 page)

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.

In the darkness,
Shadow crouched by the bushes at the end of the driveway. He’d enjoyed having Sunny pet him, but hadn’t liked the scents coming off her. She smelled of the old place where he’d lived, the place of death. And he caught a whiff of something else. It wasn’t quite fear—he knew that stink all too well. There was worry in there, too. He felt that in her touch. But there was also an odd tickle, the sort of thing he sensed when a strange cat had decided to fight.

Sunny was very quiet, talking with the Old One, so she wasn’t going to fight with him. Then the new male came in. Something was going on between them, though it didn’t seem like a fight, either. But something kept warning him of danger.

When he saw they were going out, he escaped before they could stop him. He heard Sunny calling to him, but stayed hidden. When she went to the door on the big vehicle, he dashed across the sidewalk and launched into a jump for the open back. His bruised ribs complained at the exertion, but he landed successfully.

Even better, no one had noticed him.

They didn’t go far. But even though he couldn’t look over the sides of this large box, his nose told him where they were. He stretched to hook his forepaws over the top of the wall, scrabbled over, and landed in the street.

Why did they keep coming back to the Dead One’s house? Didn’t they know that this was a Bad Place?

*

Sunny released a
deep breath as she walked up the driveway to the rear of the Spruance place. She didn’t want to admit it, but the house definitely looked creepier in the dark.

Pulling out a pocket-sized LED flash, she lit her way down into the basement and up into the pantry. She flipped a switch, and the kitchen lights came on. Sunny breathed a sigh of relief. The power company hadn’t pulled the plug yet.

She prowled around the kitchen and then glanced at her watch. Five minutes had passed. Will should be in place by now. How to kill time before Shays turned up?

Sunny repressed a shiver. Maybe “kill” wasn’t a good word to use while waiting for a murderer. She decided that she might as well actually continue looking for the ticket
to spend the time and drifted back to the pantry to finish the search that Shadow had interrupted earlier.

All she found was more canned goods, more dust, and an unidentifiable damp patch that was unpleasantly sticky. She washed her hands in the sink, then tackled the cabinets beneath.

No errant lottery ticket had fluttered down to land among the cleaning stuff. Sunny was on her knees, shifting the pots and pans, when the pantry door screeched open.

“Wow, that was quick. Did you get them already?” Sunny began, but she stopped when she saw who was standing there. “Raj? What are you—?”

Sunny stopped again when he brought up his right hand—the one with the pistol in it.

“Recognize it?” he asked, his voice more nasal and a lot less polished. “It’s your boyfriend’s.”

“He’s not—” Sunny broke off her denial, realizing it wouldn’t do much good arguing about her relationship status when a murderous character was holding a gun on her. Then a more important thought crowded out that reaction. “What did you do to him?”

“He just went nighty-night when a lost traveler asked him for help with an address, and then slugged him with a tire iron.” Raj thought that was really funny and gave her a smile; a real, openmouthed smile, one that revealed his distinctive, brown, mismatched teeth.

“Ron Shays,” Sunny said. “Well, you clean up pretty well.”

Shays made an airy gesture with his manicured hand—the
one not holding the gun. “I do, even if I say so myself. Headed down to Boston for a haircut and beard trim, not to mention an improved wardrobe. Then I booked myself into an expensive spa—tanning bed, mani-pedi, all kinds of skin goo.” He gave her another snaggletoothed grin. “I came out a new man.”

“With a new name,” Sunny said.

He nodded. “A lot of people, when they got to change their identity, choose something with the same initials. You can almost pick ’em out. Me, I go by sounds. Lately, I was doing business as ‘Rob O’Shea.’ You hear that in a crowded room, and it almost sounds like ‘Ron Shays.’

“And so, in a slurred kind of way, does ‘Raj Richer.’” Shays beamed.

Sunny felt stupid to admit it, but she could see his point.

“A bit more upper-class,” he said, falling back into the vaguely European accent he’d been using in his latest identity. “The only problem was the teeth. No time to get them fixed. But that whole British tight-lipped thing really made it convincing.”

“Yeah.” Sunny grimaced at her gullibility. “What I don’t understand is why you came after me at all.”

Shays shrugged. “A customer from up this way tells me some local gossip about a down-on-her-luck newspaper reporter poking into the old woman’s death. I needed a place to lie low, and I wanted a look at the person who was following the news story. Figured I’d take care of both jobs by going to your office. And as soon as I saw you at work, finding me a place, digging up that genealogy crap, I knew you’d have to be stopped. You’d have kept digging, going
after Gordo, until you found out about my business. So I figured I’d keep an eye on you—with an eye to getting rid of you.”