“Yeah, I kind of noticed that about her,” Sunny said. “She barged into Jane’s office last night, complaining that Jane was holding up a cat adoption on her.”
“Was she?” Mrs. Martinson asked.
“Sort of, but not because she was upset about Martin. Jane wants this Dowdey woman to take a class on how to take care of pets. Apparently, she’s killed two cats with kindness—overfeeding them.”
“Really?” Mrs. M. looked a little worried. “Maybe I should sign up for that class, too. Toby seems ready to eat anytime—”
Mike broke in, rolling his eyes. “And anything.”
“I think that’s pretty standard when it comes to puppies,” Sunny said. “Looks as though the two of you are going through a learning curve.”
But her neighbor was on to a different subject. “Carolyn has been through some big changes, and hasn’t handled them well. Her husband left her well off when he passed away. She’s invested heavily in altering her house and her wardrobe—neither for the better. She wants very badly to be modern.”
“Young?” Sunny interjected.
Helena gave an uncomfortable nod. “I suppose so. And even though she buys the best, it’s not always the best for her.”
“You sound sympathetic,” Sunny said.
“And you sound surprised,” Helena Martinson replied.
Sunny shrugged. “Well, all I saw was her nasty side, clawing at Jane—although she did compliment Shadow.”
Mike hmphed in the background.
“She just about worshiped her cats,” Helena said. “I guess they were good company in a fairly lonely life.” She glanced at her wristwatch. “I hate to chat and run, but I should probably get a move on in a little while. I got a pet sitter to keep an eye on Toby. You wouldn’t believe what he’s managed to get into when he’s left alone.”
Sunny saw the stab of disappointment on Mike’s face. He’d sat for all this gossip that had nothing to do with him, and obviously had hoped for more of a visit with his lady friend. “I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse me,” she said. “I just realized I’ve got to get online for a work thing. Do you mind if I say good-bye now and leave you with Dad?”
Mike brightened at the thought of some alone time with Helena.
But Helena Martinson, Sunny was sure, saw right through her flimsy excuse. Mrs. M. smiled at her. “I understand,” she said.
Sunny headed upstairs to her room, followed by Shadow. Which was just as well. They’d probably like their privacy in the living room without a feline audience.
“Dad did the same thing with me when I was in high school so I could sit on the couch with a boy for a while,” she whispered to her cat.
Selecting an old favorite from her bookshelf, Sunny lay on her bed to read. After a couple of pages, she felt warm breath on her right ear. She turned to find Shadow perched on top of the clock radio, looking over her shoulder.
“At least you’re not tapping me on the shoulder to turn the page before I’m ready,” she told the cat.
They stayed in companionable silence for a while until Mike knocked at the door and stuck his head in. “Finished with your Internet stuff?”
“It went faster than I expected,” Sunny cheerfully lied. “Is Mrs. Martinson gone?”
He nodded. “She said to thank you—I guess for the coffee. And you didn’t even touch your piece of cake.”
She grinned at him. “Look on the bright side. You can probably have it tomorrow.”
They turned in early, not listening to the eleven o’clock newscast. So, when Sunny awoke in the morning, she wasn’t ready for the chilly, blustery weather that had moved in.
“Welcome back, Winter,” she said, looking out the kitchen window. Wherever yesterday’s snow melt had accumulated, ice patches had formed. Her dad lectured her about getting too overconfident in the Wrangler. “Some people think that climbing aboard an SUV is like getting into a tank,” he said. “Those are the ones who get into accidents.”
In fact, she did see someone in a big macho-wagon spin out. But she had a very careful drive into town and got to the MAX office uneventfully, before settling in for an uneventful day.
Sunny got about two hours of that until the phone rang. It was Jane.
“Well, the medical examiner’s preliminary report is in,” she reported. “Trumbull just called me about it.”
She sounded pretty upset, which surprised Sunny. This was a murder investigation, after all. In spite of what Jane and Will might wish, Trumbull was going to keep turning up. “I thought they already figured out the cause of death,” she said cautiously. “Was that so bad?”
“They found a broken needle in Martin’s arm.” Jane’s voice was tight. “Trumbull was all over me about it. You see, I’ve got a case like that in my record.”
Sunny frowned, shifting
in her seat. “It’s not a . . .” She fumbled a moment, trying to find a word, and then gave up. “It’s not a criminal record, is it?” she asked into the phone.
“No, it’s just a stupid . . .” Jane paused to take a deep breath. “Sunny, are you doing anything for lunch? I’d prefer to discuss this face-to-face rather than over the phone.”
“I think I need to stay close to my desk,” Sunny told her, remembering yesterday’s extended field trip. It had turned up some interesting stuff, but she didn’t want to try stretching her luck by being out of the office again.
“Look, I’ve got a gap in my appointments in about forty-five minutes. What do you say we grab some sandwiches and talk in your office? My treat,” Jane offered.
“Who am I to turn down a free lunch?” Sunny replied with a grin. They made the date and then hung up. It seemed as if Sunny had barely gotten back to her computer screen when she heard a knock at the door. Jane couldn’t have gotten downtown that fast.
She looked up to see a stocky figure in navy blue opening the door. Constable Ben Semple was a member of the tiny Kittery Harbor police force. Short and heavyset, with a wide, open face and a snub nose, he didn’t exactly look like a crimebuster. In fact, he probably paid his own salary and a good part of Will Price’s by nailing traffic violators along the five-mile stretch of road by the outlet malls. But Sunny had seen him take charge of a crime scene. Ben knew how to do his job.
Now he hesitated in the doorway, looking uneasy.
You’ll never get to work undercover if you let your feelings show so easily, Ben,
Sunny thought. She smiled at him and joked, “Hey, I thought you guys only rattled the doors after we closed up for the night.”
Ben’s answering smile was strained. “I can only stay for a second or two.” He glanced through the window at his patrol car double-parked outside. “I just wanted you to know that the Portsmouth department has gone official, asking a lot of questions about Jane Rigsdale—and Will.”
Not good,
Sunny thought.
“I’d have imagined Sheriff Nesbit would be tickled pink that Martin Rigsdale moved out of town before he got himself killed.” Sunny couldn’t keep the sarcasm from her voice. Whenever the election cycle came around, Frank Nesbit plastered the area with posters about his great job of “Keeping Elmet County Safe.” The problem was, many people suspected the sheriff of enhancing that safety record by playing with the crime statistics. That was why a political faction in Kittery Harbor wanted Will Price in charge. With his background as a state trooper and then as a Portsmouth cop, Will had credible police experience.
“Yeah, the sheriff’s glad about Rigsdale,” Semple said, “but he’s giving Will grief about his relationship with Jane.” He quickly switched conversational gears when he caught the look on Sunny’s face. “I mean, these days Will and Jane are friends, but years back they were pretty serious. It doesn’t look good for a cop to be close to someone involved in a murder investigation.” Sunny was sure her expression didn’t improve when she heard that. If there was one thing that trumped professionalism, it was politics. And Frank Nesbit was a master politician. That was how he’d won and so far kept the job as sheriff.
“If the sheriff had his way, he wouldn’t even let Will talk to Jane,” Ben said.
So I guess the news isn’t all bad,
that irreverent side of Sunny’s brain spoke up.
“It’s going to be tough for her,” he went on, “since she really doesn’t have many friends here in town.”
There it was—the Kittery Harbor Code, “Do right by your neighbors.” Unfortunately, the flip side of that translated into a kind of clannish mind-set: “To hell with outsiders.”
By moving out of Kittery Harbor, Sunny, Jane, and Will had all turned themselves into outsiders. Sunny might not like to think about it, but for a lot of folks in town, the jury was still out on the returnees. Yet Sunny also knew that she was a product of Kittery Harbor. “Do right.” “Never go back on your word.” Those were things that she she’d grown up believing—and still believed.
She sighed as Ben said good-bye and headed out.
Like it or not, if Jane really gets in trouble, I’ll have to help her, even if nobody else does—or can.
She pressed her lips together very tightly, as if she were holding back a bad taste.
Especially if nobody can.
That was just the way of things. It was literally where she came from.
Oh, won’t Jane and I have some things to talk about over lunch.
*
Not long after
Ben Semple went back on patrol, Jane arrived at the MAX office door. “I thought we could go down the block to Judson’s and pick up some sandwiches there,” she suggested. “My treat.”
Sunny nodded. “Sounds good to me.”
The deli counter was pretty busy—a lot of folks in the area had had the same idea for lunch. Sunny got Black Forest ham and Swiss cheese on rye with honey mustard. Jane got fresh turkey breast, coleslaw, and tomato on a roll.
“You’re brave,” Sunny told her. “If I ordered that, I’d end up with coleslaw on my chin.”
But Jane would probably make it look good,
her snarky alter ego added.
They both got lemonades, and Jane snagged a bag of chocolate-covered pretzels. They both headed back down the block to the MAX office. Sunny checked the answering machine and the e-mail. “Okay, no messages, no disasters—let’s eat!”
In moments they’d settled in around Sunny’s desk and unwrapped their sandwiches. “Now what’s this problem with the Portsmouth cops?” Sunny asked.
“It started with a call from that guy Fitch,” Jane said. “He was asking how often it happened that a medical professional broke a hypodermic needle in a patient. I said, quite honestly, I didn’t know. That certainly wasn’t something I’d try to answer off the top of my head. Then he asked if it had ever happened to me.”
Jane took a bite of her sandwich and chewed for a moment. “From the way he asked, I knew that he already had the answer.”
“Which was ‘yes,’” Sunny said.
“It was years ago, when I was just starting out, working with Martin.” Jane looked hard at her sandwich, as if debating which part she’d bite next. “We were treating a big dog, a Shepherd mix. Sometime after his visit, we got a call. The dog wouldn’t eat, was drooling froth, and obviously in some sort of distress.”
Sunny waited till Jane raised her eyes. “That doesn’t sound good.”
Jane responded with a professional’s shrug. “There’s no nice way to say it. Dogs are kind of dopey. They’ll eat stupid things. Cats do it, too, but with them it usually comes right up.” She gave Sunny a rueful smile. “Wait till the weather gets warmer—you’ll see.”
“I can hardly wait,” Sunny said.
“With dogs, especially big ones, the stupid things they eat can cause an obstruction farther along in the digestive system,” Jane went on. “The thing is, in a case like that, you’d expect the dog to be vomiting.”
Sunny put her sandwich down. “This is one hell of a lunchtime conversation.”
“Sorry, that kind of happens when vets talk shop,” Jane apologized. “Look, I’ll try to make it brief. There was obviously something wrong with the dog, and the owners went for another opinion. That vet took an X-ray to see if the problem might be in his mouth or throat. Instead, he found a piece of metal lodged in the muscles of the dog’s neck, near the shoulders.”
“The tip of the needle.” Sunny paused for a second. “But you sound as if this came as a surprise to you.”
“It did,” Jane replied. “And a damned unwelcome one. You see, I’m not the one who gave the shot. Frankly, that’s not an area where a vet should have even
made
an injection. A broken needle could have migrated through the muscle fibers and in between the vertebrae, causing some real problems.”
“Sounds bad. But you say you didn’t give the shot, so why is it on your record?”
“Martin. He was the one who gave the shot. But he convinced me to take a hit for the team.”
“Because you could get away with a rookie mistake?” Sunny deduced.
“Yeah, just call me young and dumb. And the black mark went against my insurance, not his.”
Definitely young and dumb,
Sunny thought.
And probably already halfway in love with Martin the Charming Louse.
Jane shook her head. “And now, all these years later, it comes back to haunt me. Even after I divorced Martin—hell, even after he’s dead—I can’t get rid of him!”
“Well, looking on the bright side, you don’t sound like someone who killed him,” Sunny said.
That shocked a laugh out of Jane. “Maybe I should have said that to Trumbull and Fitch, the Portsmouth Manhunters.”
“Or is that Womanhunters?” Sunny joked, but then got more serious. “Somehow, I don’t think that would persuade them.” She paused for a second, trying to choose her next words carefully. “Ben Semple stopped by today.”
“That’s one of the guys who works with Will, right?”
Sunny nodded. “I suppose you know that Trumbull has been asking Will some questions.”
“He mentioned it.” Jane made a face.
“Up to now, it was unofficial. But now he’s gone to Sheriff Nesbit.” Taking a deep breath, Sunny explained the political ramifications. By the time she’d finished, it was clear that Jane had heard only one thing.
“You’re saying Will won’t be able to talk to me anymore?” Jane’s surprise made her look all the more forlorn.
Sunny was afraid that if she answered yes, Jane might just burst into tears. Instead, Jane grabbed her by the arm, talking rapidly. “He’s one of the only people around here who went out in the world and came back to town. Who else can I talk to?” She stumbled over her words for a moment. “I mean, besides you. Folks are polite and everything, but I always feel as if they’re measuring me, seeing if I can really fit in again.”
Tell me about it,
Sunny thought.
“Sometimes I can even see it in Rita’s eyes when we’re in the office together.” Jane looked a little embarrassed, but straightened her shoulders and went on. “When times are quiet, I go back to the patient cages. It’s not just to check out the animals staying with us. It’s because, even if they can’t speak, I know that most of them like me.”
“What?” Sunny said in surprise. “Everyone likes you.” The words sort of burst out of her, words she’d thought for most of her life.
Everybody likes Jane Leister.
“Once upon a time I might have thought so.” If anything, Jane looked even sadder. “But nowadays they think, ‘There’s that Leister girl who tried to go off, but had to come back home, and still couldn’t hold on to her husband. And we had such high hopes for her.’”
Her eyes were bright with unshed tears. “And now I bet lots of them think I actually killed him!”
Sunny wasn’t quite sure how to handle this kind of confession. Then, summoning up her inner Mary Poppins, she briskly dismissed Jane’s worries. “It’s not just the patients who like you. Anyone who’s brought an animal to you knows what a good vet you are. That you care for their pets and their feelings. I know that, because I’ve seen you with Shadow. And then there’s the work you’re taking on with the foundation. You’ve done a lot for this town, and people know that. And they do like you.”
Sunny picked up her sandwich. “Now let’s stop the shop talk and eat our lunch. I want to get at those chocolate-covered pretzels.”
Jane laughed, but she still wavered on the edge of crying.
Sunny leaned over and patted her on the hand. “You’ve got friends you don’t realize—Ben Semple, for instance. And like it or not, you’ve got me. Will may face all kinds of problems if he talks to you, but that doesn’t stop him from talking to me, and then I can talk to you. I don’t work for Frank Nesbit.”
Jane really started laughing when she heard that. “And I bet he thanks God every Sunday afternoon for that.” She looked down at her food. “Okay. Sandwiches, then pretzels.”
Sunny gave her a bracing smile. Bur underneath it, she thought,
I hope I haven’t just made a promise that I’m going to regret.
*
The rest of
lunch passed in chewing and small talk—not at the same time. They did have manners, after all. When they finished, Jane took Sunny’s arm again. “Thanks. We should do this again.” She sighed, but then grinned, her confidence apparently back in place. “Maybe with less police involvement.”
Sunny saw her to the door and then went back to work. She had a couple of new listings to add to the local attractions database. It was a calming sort of job. Wrangling with computer code seemed so much more straightforward than dealing with people.
The phone rang, and Sunny found herself back in the human equation. Will was on the other end of the line. “Would you mind grabbing a quick coffee with me when you finish work?”
Normally, she would’ve accepted with pleasure. Now, though . . .
“Does this have anything to do with the conversation I had with Ben Semple earlier today?” Sunny asked.
“Could be,” Will replied cautiously.
Sunny threw up her hands in surrender. What was she going to do? “Okay,” she said. “How about that new little café that opened near the harbor?”
When Sunny closed up the office, she walked the short distance downtown. The cobblestone street at harborside was as quaint as ever, but almost deserted thanks to the icy wind blowing in off the water. As the only customer at Spill the Beans, Sunny got a warm welcome and her choice of tables. She chose the one in the corner under the heater and settled in to defrost. Moments later, Will came in, tall and rangy in a dark blue parka. His chiseled features looked more like ice sculpture, the tips of his ears and nose red from the cold. He unzipped his coat, showing that he was still in civilian clothes, and sat across the small table from her, blowing on his fingers.
“You can order one of those New York cappy-frappy things if you like,” he said. “I just want a nice, big cup of American coffee to wrap my hands around.”
“Or maybe you could wear gloves,” Sunny suggested.
“They’re with my uniform coat,” he told her. “So they’re waiting for me when I start my shift.”