Cat Nap

by Claire Donally

  When he spotted her coming in, Ken gave Sunny a companionable nod and pointed at the chair beside his desk. For him, that was a warm welcome. He’d been almost hostile a year ago when Sunny had approached him about a reporter’s job. But that ice had been broken. They’d worked together on a couple of stories and developed a healthy respect for each other’s abilities. The sad fact of the matter was that a local weekly couldn’t afford to take on Sunny, or anyone else, full-time.

  After a few minutes, the clattering stopped and Ken came over, wiping his hands on a rag. “What brings you down here on a Sunday?” he asked, white eyebrows rising on his long, spare-fleshed face.

  “Moneylending,” Sunny replied.

  Ken looked at his shoes. “I wish I could help,” he began.

  “I mean professional moneylenders. Or rather, loan sharks.” Sunny quickly jumped in.

  He jerked his head up, his eyes sharp. “My advice—don’t get involved there. If the Elmet Bank won’t help you, try a credit union. I think your dad—”

  “It’s not for me,” she promised. “I’m just trying to get an idea of where people would turn. Are there operations that could take over whole businesses?”

  “I’ve heard about that,” Ken said slowly. “But bear in mind, this is pretty much a blue-collar town. The loans are small, comparatively speaking, and so are the sharks. The big business these days involves mortgages, screwing people out of their homes, or quasi-legal deals like payday loans. Which seem to me like going after people in a bad position and trying to make things worse.”

  His eyes took on a speculative gleam. “Maybe there’s something to write about there. We’ve got a lot of people around town hurting in this economy, and they’ll do really foolish things to try and stay afloat.”

  He looked a little self-conscious. “To tell the truth, I nearly did it myself a couple of years ago when the bottom first fell out. I looked around for a loan to keep the paper going. Banks were no help—they were afraid to lend money. One of my horse-player friends set me up with a guy in Portsmouth. He looked straight out of The Godfather—he’s passed away since.

  “When I looked at what the deal would finally cost me, I realized I’d never get out from under. That was probably the idea. Most payments we get are in cash, so they could play with the books.”

  “Money laundering,” Sunny said.

  Ken gave her a brief nod. “And then Ollie Barnstable came along, offering to buy in. He was bad enough. I didn’t need anyone else trying to make me an offer I couldn’t refuse.”

  He straightened his storklike form to its full height. “But I really considered the idea for a while, crazy as it was. That’s the problem. You’ll do crazy stuff for something you love.”

  14

  The picture box made noise—confused noise, many voices shouting while two-legs ran up and down on grass. They seemed to be fighting or running to catch something. Shadow had seen it before—many times now. Sometimes, the Old One would sit up on his couch, wave his arms, and shout, too. Shadow didn’t really understand why. It was just one of those weird human things.

  Today, though, the Old One had fallen asleep. Not for the first time, Shadow wished he knew how to make the picture box shut up. From what he could see, it involved pointing a smaller box at the larger one, but every time he tried to investigate, the smaller box was moved away from him.

  He tried moving to a patch on the rug behind the couch. It was a little cramped and could have been warmer, but at least the bulk of the piece of furniture blocked a lot of the noise. He was just beginning to doze when he heard a key in the lock.

  Darting out from behind the couch, he ran for the door just in time to catch Sunny coming in. As he came close, he caught a confusing collection of scents. One he recognized—he definitely smelled Gentle Hands.

  Why did Sunny keep going to see her without me? He paced around Sunny, sniffing more deeply. There were traces of several more animals on her—both cats and Biscuit Eaters. Shadow wrinkled his muzzle and squinted his eyes. He didn’t like that.

  This could be worse than the Old One’s female friend bringing the young dog here. Shadow had lived in places where the humans brought younger animals to stay. And then, all of a sudden, Shadow didn’t have a home.

  But Sunny wouldn’t do that to him.

  Would she?

  Sunny bent over, reaching her hand out to him. It smelled of Gentle Hands, but no other animals. That was good. Shadow rubbed his face against her fingers, to mark a little bit of his own scent there. Okay. If Sunny tried to pick him up, he’d let her.

  Instead, the doorbell rang. Sunny went to answer it, letting in a blast of cold air and snowflakes and a shriek of wind that Shadow had only heard as a faint whisper before.

  The female Old One stood in the doorway, with the Biscuit Eater pup straining at the leash in her hand.

  Shadow hurriedly backed into the living room. What was going on here?

  *

  Helena Martinson looked apologetic as she struggled to hold the golden retriever pup in check. “Forgive us for turning up like this,” she said. “We were out for a walk, and the weather turned so nasty all of a sudden.”

  “Come right in,” Sunny told the older woman. If she held the door open much longer, they’d have to start shoveling the front hall.

  Mrs. Martinson came in, clumps of snow dropping from her dark gray parka—not just the same cut as the one Sunny had picked up, but the same color, too. “We shouldn’t have a problem with Toby,” Mrs. M. promised. “He did his business early on our walk.” She used a piece of tissue to wipe at the puppy’s paws.

  Toby stretched to his full height, his paws resting on Helena’s right thigh above her knee. He rattled the ID tags on his collar as Mrs. Martinson undid his leash. Then he dropped his paws back to the floor and gave himself a good shaking.

  “I’ve been trying to get him to do that before he goes any farther into the house,” Helena explained, reaching down to pet Toby’s head. “Good boy.”

  Toby gave a happy yip and wagged his tail. Then he turned and headed for the living room.

  Sunny glanced around. Where had Shadow gone?

  “Hey, Dad,” she called. “We have company.”

  They came in to find Mike Coolidge blinking awake on the couch. “Helena!” he said in surprise and pleasure. Then he spotted the dog, and his pleasure dimmed a little. “And Toby. What a surprise.”

  Sunny spotted Shadow standing off to the side of the arched entranceway. Toby saw him too, and started bumbling his way toward the cat. Either he’d forgotten the unfriendly welcome he’d gotten on his last visit, or he was willing to let bygones be bygones. As Mrs. Martinson joined Mike on the couch and Sunny took a chair, Toby kept coming after Shadow, who in turn kept retreating. Shadow obviously didn’t want to be driven out of his territory, but Toby’s dogged pursuit kept him on the run.

  In a desperate leap, Shadow bounced into Sunny’s lap. But even there he wasn’t safe. Toby tried to climb up after him—not very successfully, his antics making Sunny, her dad, and Mrs. Martinson all laugh. Finally, Shadow swarmed to the top of Sunny’s chair and launched himself in a leap to the remaining chair in the room. He set himself on the chair back like a sailor clinging to a refuge while Toby circled mournfully around, unable to reach him. From the way Shadow’s tail lashed about, he didn’t find the situation funny at all.

  Helena declined coffee or a snack and just sat chatting. The snow squall blew itself out in about forty-five minutes. But in that time it had deposited a fresh coating of a couple of inches on the dirty remains of the previous snowfall. The sunlight was definitely fading by now, and Mike offered Helena a lift home.

  “Nonsense,” she replied. “It’s just a short walk, and Toby will enjoy a chance to play in the snow.” She put on her parka, attached Toby’s leash, and started down the drive. Mike stood in the doorway waving good-bye. Sunny stayed in the living room, approaching the chair that Shadow had appropriated, but when she
went to pet him, he disappeared from under her hands.

  A little skittish today, aren’t we? She turned around to find him. Maybe he’s smelling dog on me from my visit with Jane.

  Suddenly Mike yelled and dashed out the door. Sunny followed, shivering in the frosty air. She saw Mike slipping and sliding along the snowy pavement to a dark form lying on the ground. Toby circled around, whining.

  Sunny reached her dad as he helped Helena Martinson onto her knees. “Are you okay?” His voice was loud, agitated, making Toby spin around and huff at him. “Did that damn pup pull you off balance?”

  “I’m all right,” Helena said in a breathless voice. “That tumble just knocked the air out of me for a second.” Then, more in her normal tones, she went on, “And no, Mike, it wasn’t Toby’s fault. I just hit a slippery patch, and my feet went out from under me.”

  “Just take it easy and make sure everything’s okay,” Sunny said. She didn’t want to aggravate any possible injury by hauling the older woman to her feet. On the other hand, Sunny could feel herself shivering. She was pretty sure that standing around in a whipping wind with just a sweater on wasn’t the best thing for a heart patient either, but Mike insisted on helping Helena to her feet. Sunny retrieved Toby, holding him in her arms, and together they headed back to the open door.

  Mike kept an arm around Helena as they went up the step to the doorway. “You’re limping,” he said in concern.

  “It’s nothing to worry about.” Mrs. Martinson sounded a bit testy now. “This isn’t the first time I’ve slipped on the ice, you know.”

  They stood in the hallway for a moment, Helena brushing snow off herself, Sunny and her dad warming up.

  “You’re sure you’re okay?” Sunny asked as she returned her neighbor’s dog. She’d taken some falls, too—it was kind of hard to avoid ice, given the local weather—but Mrs. M. had a good thirty years on her.

  “I’m perfectly all right,” Mrs. Martinson assured her, cuddling Toby. “I guess I landed on someone’s lawn, since the ground wasn’t too hard. And the snow broke my fall—so I didn’t break anything.” She shook her head. “We weren’t walking all that fast. Tody was a making a new path through fresh snow. I guess I didn’t watch where I was going. All of a sudden my feet were off the ground—and then the rest of me was hitting it.”

  “You scared the hell out of me, going down like that,” Mike told her. “I was afraid you’d cracked your head.”

  “But I’m fine now,” Mrs. Martinson insisted. “Let’s not make a big deal out of it.”

  “Okay,” Sunny said. “But you are getting a lift home.” She made sure she had her car keys and pulled on her parka.

  Mike wanted to come, too, but Sunny told him to stay home and warm up. His exposure to the cold had left him looking pale instead of pink.

  “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Sunny said. Then she, Helena, and Toby headed out to the Wrangler parked in the driveway.

  As they pulled onto Wild Goose Drive, Sunny said, “You’re sure you’re all right?”

  “Just a little shaky,” Mrs. Martinson admitted. “I didn’t want to say so in front of Mike. You know how he’d worry.” She rubbed her right knee. “And I guess I took a good knock here when I hit the ground. I’ll probably have a bruise to show for it tomorrow.”

  She smiled down at Toby, who sat in her lap and worriedly licked her fingers. “I’ll be fine with my little friend here.”

  “Just don’t expect him to dial 911 for you if you end up feeling worse than you think,” Sunny warned. “You can call us—we’re not that far away.”

  That was true. A couple of turns, a few blocks, and they were pulling up in front of Mrs. Martinson’s house. Sunny insisted the older woman hold her arm as they came up the walk. She tried to lighten things up. “After getting you through all of this, I don’t want you to skid and fall at your own doorstep.”

  Sunny got Helena inside, out of her coat, and installed in her favorite chair. Toby resumed his place in her lap. After brewing some tea and making sure Mrs. Martinson was settled in, Sunny was ready to head home. Before she left, though, she had one question. “Did you have the hood on your parka up when you went out before?”

  Mrs. M. nodded. “The snow might have stopped, but the wind was pretty bad.” She looked up at Sunny. “Why do you ask?”

  “I just think it’s a problem with these parkas,” Sunny said. “You wind up with a kind of tunnel vision when you pull the hood up.”

  “I’ll try to be more careful,” Mrs. Martinson promised. They said good night, and Sunny went out to her car. She frowned as she got behind the wheel. The snow may have stopped now, but the wind had picked up, sending showers of newly fallen flakes whipping around. It felt as if the temperature had dropped, too. Sunny had to concentrate on getting home along much more slippery roads.

  When she arrived, she found that Mike had made a simple supper—soup and grilled cheese. He growled about the need for more salt—not on his food, but on the roads and sidewalks around town. After skidding her way home, even in the Wrangler, Sunny wasn’t about to argue with him.

  They finished and did the dishes. Mike headed for the living room and the television. “There’s a good game on tonight.”

  Sunny begged off. “I want to do a little research,” she said, going up the stairs. Once in her room, she fired up her laptop and got on the Internet.

  I asked Mrs. M. to get some personal information on Dawn Featherstone, Sunny thought. Maybe I should have gotten some public info first.

  All through dinner, she kept remembering Ken Howell’s comment. “You do crazy stuff for something you love.” But Sunny also knew that people did crazy things for people they loved.

  She’d had a theory that Dawn tried to pin the blame on Jane for a simple reason: Dawn had committed the crime and was looking for a patsy. But what if Dawn was afraid that someone else had objected to her relationship with Martin Rigsdale and had taken him out? A father, a brother, an old boyfriend? Dawn might have been trying to cast suspicion on Jane—and even Sunny—to protect somebody close to her.

  Using tricks she’d learned in her first weeks as a reporter, Sunny dug up the basics on Dawn—make that Dora—Featherstone. Here was a birth certificate from the right time frame. Not too many babies named Dora these days. That gave Sunny the names for both parents. She also learned that Dawn was an only child.

  Looking for the Featherstone name in local newspapers brought sad news. Both of Dawn’s parents had perished in a house fire while Dawn was away at college.

  Some things you’d rather not know, Sunny thought, leaning back from the keyboard. Well, that’s a perfectly good hypothesis shot to hell. Dawn doesn’t have a family to protect her.

  She closed out her search window but then paused for a moment. There could be a boyfriend, though.

  Unfortunately, she was unlikely to find anything like that online, unless things had gotten as far as an official engagement. So Sunny got her phone instead and punched in Helena Martinson’s number.

  “I just wanted to check in and hear how you were doing,” Sunny said.

  Mrs. Martinson laughed. “You should coordinate better with your father,” she said. “I just got off the phone with him a couple of minutes ago.”

  “I was upstairs doing some work,” Sunny explained. “I haven’t gotten a report from him. So, how are you?”

  “I’m fine,” Helena told her. “I rested a bit in my chair, had something to eat, and will probably go to bed a little early tonight. Tomorrow I may be a little stiff, and my knee will be a bit sore. As I told Mike, nothing life-threatening.”

  Busily concentrating on the question she wanted to ask, Sunny stumbled a bit. “I’m glad.” She grimaced. “I mean, I’m glad that you’re fine, not that you’re going to be sore.”

  “It could have been worse,” Mrs. Martinson agreed. “So what’s on your mind, Sunny? You usually don’t flub things up.”

  “It’s just a question that came up, and
you might have heard the answer already. When you were asking about Dawn Featherstone, did anyone mention her having a boyfriend?”

  On the other end of the line, Mrs. Martinson paused for a moment. “Most of the people I spoke with were in Martin’s social circle, not Dawn’s,” she said slowly. “But there was mention of a serious boyfriend who went into the military—the Army, if I remember correctly. They sent him off to Iraq or Afghanistan, and he hasn’t been back since. Someone mentioned that he’d gotten married and either settled down south somewhere, or he’s on a base down south somewhere.”

  Another possibility scratched off, Sunny thought. “Well, thanks, Helena,” she said. “It’s just a question that popped up.”

  “Yes.” Mrs. M.’s voice was dry. “I wondered if there might be someone who’d object to Dawn carrying on with Martin Rigsdale. This fellow, Joey Something-or-other, was the closest possibility, but since he was out of the picture, I didn’t mention it.”

  “But there you were with the answer,” Sunny said. “Thanks. Look, if you need anything—”

  “Your father already volunteered, at least for the daylight hours,” Mrs. Martinson told her with a laugh. “And he said that you’d be on call if I need anything after dark.”

  Sunny shrugged. “Well, he’s right to put my name up. Just bear us in mind if you do need anything.” They wished each other a pleasant rest of the evening and then hung up.

  Rising from her chair, Sunny stretched and looked around. Usually when she was upstairs this long, Shadow came padding in to check on her. She went downstairs to find Mike watching his football game.

  “Hey, Dad,” she asked, “has Shadow been with you?”

  Mike’s shaggy eyebrows rose in surprise. “I thought he was upstairs with you.”

  15

  Sunny flew around the house, calling Shadow’s name and checking usual places where he liked to get out of the way. Top of the refrigerator: empty. Under Sunny’s bed: no cat. She peered under the dining room table—sometimes Shadow perched himself on one of the chairs there—and even got on her stomach to get a look under the couch. That was usually Shadow’s hiding place of last resort.