Before Will could say anything more, the waitress arrived and took their orders—American coffee for both of them. When she left, Will leaned across the table. “Sheriff Nesbit had me come in early today for a ‘fatherly chat.’”
Since Will’s late father had been sheriff before Frank Nesbit got elected to the office, there were several layers of meaning for Sunny to unpack from that sentence. Will blamed Nesbit not only for driving his dad from office, but for the older Price’s death in an auto accident soon afterward.
Will sat silently for a moment as their coffees arrived. Sunny took a sip. “It’s pretty good, even if it doesn’t have a shot of hazelnut buffalo milk.”
Will just made a noncommittal sound, stirring his spoon in his cup.
“So what do you need to get off your chest?” Sunny prompted. “What did you and Nesbit chat about? Trumbull? Jane?”
“Both,” Will said. “I guess it got pretty loud. Ben must have overheard some of it.” He shot her an anxious glance. “What did he tell you?”
“Well, he mentioned that there might be a problem for a cop who was—‘close’ was the way he put it—with a murder suspect.” She frowned. “Does Nesbit think Jane did it?”
“He doesn’t care.” From the look on Will’s face as he sipped from his cup, he might as well have been drinking pond scum. “But he gave me a great lecture on avoiding even the appearance of impropriety.” He set the cup down a little too sharply. Coffee slopped onto the acrylic cover that protected the reclaimed wood of the table. “The big hypocrite.”
“So what’s the bottom line?” Sunny asked.
“Complete cooperation with the Portsmouth investigation,” Will said. “Nesbit ordered me to answer every question Trumbull might care to ask.” He frowned angrily at the memory. But then he deflated, adding in a low voice, “And no communication with Jane.”
Will dabbed at the puddle of coffee with the totally inadequate napkin that had accompanied his cup, and then looked up at Sunny. “She may not show it, but this whole situation has Jane pretty freaked out.”
“We talked a little about it this afternoon.” Sunny decided not to tell Will about Jane’s mini-meltdown. “If you have any advice you need to pass on to her, you can always do it through me.”
For the first time since he’d come in, Will brightened a bit. “You’re the best, Sunny. I think that’s the only decent thing I’ve heard all day.”
But his smile quickly flickered out. “I think we’re past the point of giving advice,” he said. “What Jane needs now is a lawyer.”
“Peter Lewin has worked with her at the foundation,” Sunny began, naming a local attorney, but Will shook his head.
“I’m talking about a criminal, not a civil, lawyer,” he interrupted. “Someone who can practice across the river in Portsmouth.”
He dug a crumpled business card from his shirt pocket. “This is a guy who knows his business.” Will gave her a wry smile. “Back when I was on the Portland force, he dragged me over the coals a couple of times when I had to testify in cases. He’s the youngest partner in the firm.”
“Crandall, Sherwood, and Phillips,” Sunny read the top line of the card aloud. “Well, at least it’s not Dewey, Cheatem, and Howe.”
“Tell her to get in touch with this Phillips guy.” Will shook his head unhappily. “Otherwise, it looks as if my hands are tied.”
He called the waitress over for more napkins and the bill. “I’m sorry, but I can’t drink this stuff. Not the way I’m feeling now. It’ll go right through me. And that’s not a good thing when you’re going on patrol.”
Sunny didn’t know whether to laugh or scowl as Will quickly headed out the door.
So much for the myth of the tough cop,
she thought. “Waste not, want not” was another Kittery Harbor mantra. Sunny reached over and poured the rest of Will’s coffee into her own mug, and ordered a whoopie pie. With her first bite, the cream filling squelched out to either side of her mouth.
The evening’s still young,
she thought sarcastically.
I wonder who’ll call to invite me out to supper.
When she got home, though, all she found was a note in the kitchen from Mike:
Got the machine in your office and no answer on your cell phone. Have to go to a meeting. Will eat out. I promise not to eat anything with fat, salt, or flavor.
Dad
No answer? Sunny dug out her cell phone. “Great,” she muttered. “Dead battery.”
Then she smiled down at Shadow, who was still twining his way around her shins. “Looks like it’s just me and you tonight. I just hope there are some sandwich makings in the fridge that aren’t ham and cheese.”
In the end, she wound up making a smashed fried egg sandwich, taking her plate into the living room and sitting on the floor with the cat.
*
Shadow paid no
attention to the picture box, busily trying to push the plate out of Sunny’s lap so he could climb in there. He usually didn’t hang on her so much, but it wasn’t often that they had the house to themselves.
After the Old One left, Shadow hadn’t been able to settle back into his nap. Instead, he’d patrolled the empty rooms, feeling . . . lonely.
He tried to burn the feeling off the same way he would excess energy, playing the running game where he started in the kitchen, raced down the hall, caromed off the archway into the living room, and landed by the couch. The only problem was, it wasn’t the same when he wasn’t landing on Sunny. So he’d been especially glad to see her, even though she came home late.
When he went after her plate the fourth time, she tore off a piece of what was between the bread—huh, it turned out to be egg, which he ate even though he really wasn’t interested. He just wanted to be nice to Sunny.
As she finished the sandwich, he finally got a paw on the plate and shoved it across her thigh. Then, when she went to pick it up, he swarmed over her arm and into her lap.
Halfway there, he paused for an instant, distracted. Was that Gentle Hands he smelled on her arm? Why was Sunny seeing her? His paw felt fine. To prove it, he reached out and gave Sunny’s leg a good smack. No pain at all.
He swirled around in her lap and arranged himself comfortably. He certainly hadn’t expected to find traces of Gentle Hands tonight. That was the interesting thing about two-legs. You never knew what they got up to once they left the house.
Sunny finally got
loose from a surprisingly clingy Shadow to get hold of Jane Rigsdale on the phone. When she passed along Will’s advice about a lawyer, Jane almost instinctively resisted. “Doesn’t getting a lawyer make me look guilty?”
“Has not having a lawyer made you look more innocent to Trumbull and Fitch?” Sunny asked.
Jane didn’t have an answer for that.
“Look, Jane, you’re a smart person,” Sunny told her. “But you haven’t been at your best dealing with the police. You need someone who understands the system, and that means a lawyer. Don’t take my word for it. Will is an experienced cop. He’s been around for people being questioned, and if he thinks you should have a lawyer with you, you probably should.”
“I—I’ll think about it,” Jane finally said. “You say Will gave you a card?”
Sunny read off the name and information on the card while Jane wrote it down. Then they wished each other a good night.
Hanging up the phone, Sunny looked down at Shadow, who had sat at her feet during the conversation. “Well, that’s the best I could do,” she told the cat. “The rest is up to Jane. If she’s as smart as I think she is, she’ll call that guy soon.”
They went back to the living room to watch some television. Around nine o’clock, a car pulled up in the driveway and then drove off. Seconds later, Mike opened the door.
“Before you ask,” he said, “Zack Judson gave me a lift, and I had soup and half a sandwich for supper.”
“That all sounds pretty good,’” Sunny replied. “But what I was going to ask was why you had to go flying off on such short notice.”
Mike looked at her in surprise. “I figured you would know—or at least be able to read between the lines. The sheriff has been using this Rigsdale case to bash at Will. We had to firm up his support when some folks began wavering.”
“Politics,” Sunny said in disgust. “I should have known it.”
“That crowd up in Levett has pretty much had it their own way for years.” Mike went into his standard rant about the lousy state of local government.
“Well, Levett is the county seat,” Sunny pointed out. “Do you really think your Kittery Harbor crowd would do a better job if you got to run things?”
“Be hard to do worse,” he grumped. “Besides, somebody had to stand up to those guys.”
“But Will is the one being bashed.”
Mike made a helpless gesture. “You know I like Will.”
“Yeah,” Sunny said. “So do I.”
“Maybe not in the same way.” Her dad tried out a smile, but it fell flat. “Will went into this with his eyes open. He has his own reasons to dislike Frank Nesbit.”
“That’s true,” Sunny had to admit.
“And it’s this stupid case in Portsmouth that’s hurting him,” Mike said. “Once that’s cleaned up—”
“Just don’t expect me to whip out my trusty magnifying glass and solve everything,” Sunny warned.
Right,
that mocking voice from the back of her head chimed in.
Just because you dug up a couple of clues doesn’t mean you’re investigating anything. Yup. Sure.
From the look on Mike’s face, she wondered if he had a little voice in his head saying something similar. But he only shrugged. “If there’s one thing I think you’ve learned in life, it’s not to bite off more than you can chew.”
Sunny felt a little better as he turned back to put his coat away in the hall closet. Then she heard him add under his breath, “At least I hope so.”
*
After a Thursday
with all sorts of visitors bringing all sorts of news, Friday was kind of a letdown. Sunny tried not to think of it that way. “Maybe what I need is just a normal business day,” she told herself. She had a bit more activity, helping out with weekend plans for eager shoppers and even more eager romantic couples. At least no snowstorms threatened.
Around three o’clock, when things seemed to be quieting down, Ollie Barnstable called. “Nothing urgent going on in the office, is there?” he asked. “I’m thinking of spending the weekend down here in New York. Guy I know thinks he can score some orchestra seats for—”
Sunny really didn’t want to hear what smash hit he was going to see, probably at bargain prices. She was saved when the other line rang.
“Can you hold for a second?” she asked. “It might be one of the shopping packages.”
She switched over to hear Jane talking a bit too fast. “I did it.”
“Did what?” Sunny said, hoping this wasn’t going to turn into a dramatic confession.
“I called that guy—the lawyer, Phillips. He’s been following the case and agreed to meet with me tomorrow. The thing is, he’s working on another big case and wants to see me around six o’clock.” Jane finally paused for a second. “I hate to ask—would you mind coming with me?”
“That didn’t work out so well the last time,” Sunny reminded her.
“But that’s part of it. You’re a witness . . . and you’d be backup. I think I kind of need that,” Jane admitted.
Sunny sighed. “Okay. We’ll make some kind of a plan. But I’ve got to get off now. I left my boss on the other line.”
She got back to Ollie, who apparently was engaged in conversation with somebody else. “Oh, Sunny. Yeah. Look, I may stretch this trip even longer. Don’t expect me back until Tuesday, maybe Wednesday. Call me if anything comes up.” He cut the connection almost before he finished the sentence.
Lucky you
, thought Sunny. The rest of the day was the same old, same old. Sunny locked the door right on schedule and headed home. She even had time to take care of Shadow’s oil massage before tackling the job of cooking supper.
“I’m going to miss this,” she told the cat as she kneaded the oil around the pads on his paw. It had turned into a nice little ritual. Whenever she got out the bottle of oil, he’d come right over and present his paw.
Just like the way he’d do it with Jane,
she thought, looking into the cat’s odd, gold-flecked eyes.
Maybe he’s starting to trust me.
“Are we having supper soon, or is the whole night going to go toward pet physical therapy?” Mike asked, coming into the kitchen. “Because there are human beings around here who are sort of hungry.”
“I’ll be starting in a minute, Dad,” Sunny told him. “And, yes,” she went on as he opened his mouth, “I’ll wash my hands first.”
They watched a couple of Mike’s favorite programs on the TV, but Sunny didn’t pay much attention, playing with Shadow. As soon as the news came on, she stood up, yawning. “I’ll hear about the weather tomorrow,” she said, heading up to her bedroom. “I want to get up a little early.”
It was just as well she turned in a bit ahead of time, because the area was covered with fog when she got up. Sunny hurried through the morning routine and crawled into work with lousy visibility. She could hear foghorns from the harbor as she unlocked the office door.
The fog didn’t lift until noontime. Sunny barely noticed. She hurried through the day, trying to accomplish any bit of work that might slow up her escape. She’d even brought a sandwich from home so she could work through her lunch hour.
When quitting time rolled around, she already had her computer off and her parka on. For once the phone didn’t ring with some last-minute disaster. Sunny killed the lights and locked the door. She saw a pair of headlights make the turn onto the street and then glide to a stop. It took a moment for her to make out Jane’s gray BMW in the darkness. Sunny walked to the curb and climbed aboard.
Jane made nervous small talk all the way across the bridge and into Portsmouth. “I know you probably think I’m silly,” she said, “but I’m going to end up talking about some pretty serious stuff with a complete stranger. It will be good to have a friendly face in the room.”
They managed to find street parking not far from the address on the business card. It turned out to be a renovated six-story brick building. According to the board in the lobby, Crandall, Sherwood, and Phillips was on the fifth floor. Luckily, part of the renovations had included installing an elevator.
The door opened onto a reception area paneled in dark mahogany instead of the blond wood in Martin Rigsdale’s office. That wasn’t the only difference. This receptionist actually smiled at them, and the place was obviously jumping, even at six o’clock. The young woman’s desk was covered with piles of paper, and behind her Sunny could see people scurrying around with still more papers in their hands.
It took a couple of minutes to get hold of Mr. Phillips, and the receptionist apologized. Finally, a tall guy came down the hall in his shirtsleeves, a conservatively patterned silk tie pulled loose at his collar, and a cup of coffee in his hand. “Please forgive me for the delay.” He gestured with the cup. “I had to refuel.”
When he got to within ten feet of them, though, Mr. Phillips stopped and stared. “Jane Leister,” he said in disbelief, “and Sunny Coolidge!”
Sunny stood looking into a semifamiliar face. Knock off a few inches of height, make the hair longer and messier, wind back the clock so the boyish face was actually a boy’s . . .
“Toby Philpotts?” She and Jane blurted out the name almost in unison. Sunny hadn’t thought of Toby Philpotts in years—well, not until she’d suggested naming Mrs. Martinson’s incontinent pup after her grammar-school classmate with the weak bladder. And here he was, all grown up.
The man in front of them didn’t quite grimace—he’d had a lawyer’s training in controlling his expressions. “It’s Phillips these days,” he said quietly. “And I prefer Tobe.”
He led them through a maze of cubicles to his office. It was a pretty modest space, although the bookcases were the same mahogany as the paneling outside. So was the desk. And he did have a door that shut and a window with a view toward the harbor. Toby Philpotts, a.k.a. Tobe Phillips, glanced at the empty desk outside his door. “My assistant is busy jockeying around the copying machine,” he explained. “We’ve got to get a filing ready by the opening of court on Monday.”
He set his cup down on the side of a fairly messy desk and gestured toward the pair of comfortable seats facing him. “I’ve been following the case on TV and in the papers, but obviously I didn’t get all the information.”
“I still can’t believe it!” Jane said. “I haven’t seen you—since when? Middle school?”
Tobe nodded. “My dad got a job on this side of the river when I was a freshman. I wound up in a new school, made new friends, found new interests.”
Got a new name,
Sunny added silently. “That’s right,” she said aloud. “I remember you wanted to go into science.”
“Law ended up paying better,” Tobe said with a wry smile. “That’s one of the reasons I changed my name. I kept hearing comments about pots of cash.” His voice got drier. “Or pots of bovine scatology, as what’s-his-name used to put it.”
He cast an admiring glance Jane’s way. “But then, you’re a vet. You may encounter the real stuff out in the field.”
She shook her head. “I don’t do that much with large animals, Tobe,” she said, almost as if she were tasting the name. “Most of the BS I put up with is figurative.”
Tobe grinned at her. “And what do you do these days, Sunny?” he asked.
“I was a reporter down in New York,” she began the same old story. “Had to come back home to take care of my dad, got laid off, though, so right now I’m in the tourism business.”
“Ah,” he said, obviously filing that under “Questions to Be Asked Later.” He turned back to Jane. “So, tell me a bit about Martin Rigsdale. Did you meet him professionally?”
She nodded. “I worked with him, married him, and ended up divorcing him.” She went on to give a pretty concise explanation of the reasons for each stage in that relationship and didn’t fly off the handle when describing Martin’s shortcomings.
While Tobe Phillips quietly took all that in, Sunny spent the time checking him out, hoping she wasn’t being too obvious about it. The studious boy she remembered had grown into an attractive man. His sandy hair had been cut in a style that suited his face, rather than the too-long mess she remembered. And the years had pared away some of the youthful softness from that face. Tobe didn’t have the drop-dead gorgeousness of a Martin Rigsdale, or even the chiseled features of a Will Price. But he was a good-looking guy, thoughtful, and judging from his reactions to Jane’s story, kind.
Sunny glanced around the desk and shelves. No pictures of a wife and kids.
He asked a couple of questions to clarify some details, then said, “So you had a marriage that didn’t work out and a divorce that wasn’t too contentious.” He raised a hand—no ring, Sunny noticed—to cut off any comments from Jane. “Believe me, I’ve seen worse. So why do you think you need me?”
“Because I get the feeling that the cops think I killed Martin,” Jane replied a little more loudly than she’d intended. She sat back in her seat, looking embarrassed.
“We have a mutual friend, a former Portsmouth policeman who’s now a town constable in Kittery Harbor,” Sunny said. “When the detectives started questioning him as well as Jane, he suggested we talk to you. His name is Will Price. Apparently he encountered you in court.”
Tobe sat back, thinking for a moment—and smiling. “I remember him,” he said. “A pretty savvy cop. If he thinks you may have trouble, I’d take it seriously. So back to the real question: Why do you think the police suspect you?”
“Well, we found Martin—the body.” Jane faltered a little over those words. “His receptionist immediately started accusing me.”
“Detectives Trumbull and Fitch took our statements,” Sunny said. “When we were finished, Will came to pick us up at the station, and Trumbull saw him.”
“Mmmm-hmmm.” Phillips turned to Jane. “Were you in the habit of seeing your ex-husband?”
Jane shook her head. “It was almost a year and a half since we’d even talked. Then he asked me out to dinner—but that was only so he could ask for money.” She explained about the foundation she was running and its generous funding. “He wanted a six-figure consulting fee, and he wanted it up front! Is it any wonder I threw that drink in his face?”
That was something Jane hadn’t mentioned before, but Sunny didn’t have a chance to ask any questions. Jane went on, “Then I heard from Sunny that Martin had been to see her, and I called him. He said to come over during his evening hours.”