Authors: Claire Donally
Sunny nodded. Tom frowned in thought for a moment, then said, “It’s been some time since our family took part in politics here in Maine. But I remember Frank Nesbit, and not just as a good friend and loyal supporter of my grandfather. As sheriff, he represented everything that local public service should be about. I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to see him on this trip, and sorrier still for what happened to him. We Kingsburys would all like to express our sympathy to Frank’s family.” Tom cocked his head. “Okay?”
“That’s fine,” Sunny said. “Thanks, Governor.”
When they approached the eldest brother, Lem, he turned to his wife. “Deborah, do we have anything to say?”
She responded with a prompt but obviously prepared party line. “We join with the Senator in his sorrow at the loss of a good man like Frank Nesbit. While his life was an example of public service, his death shows how dangerous law enforcement can be. Family to family, we grieve with the Nesbits.”
The Senator himself declined to add anything. He gave Sunny a moment’s frowning consideration, and then said, “I’ve already made a statement on that subject.”
Case closed,
Sunny thought.
Go away.
She thanked the Senator, then she and Cillie beat a quick retreat. On their way out of the house, they bumped into Cale Kingsbury. When Sunny asked him for a statement, he waved her recorder away. “Nothing I have to say would carry any weight. You had more contact with the man, Cillie. If you can say he helped with the foundation in any way, that would be good enough for me.”
It took a while to weave together the more professional pronouncements from the Kingsburys with Priscilla’s more heartfelt memorial, but in the end Sunny was pleased with the results. Along with a nice portrait of a subdued Cillie and one of Ken’s shots of the Senator at the mic, it made for a nice, respectful posting. Once that was accomplished, Sunny felt justified in putting her feet up for a while and trying to catch up on some of the sleep she’d lost. The afternoon shadows were stretching more toward evening when she awoke. Her drowsy eyes seemed to see a familiar silhouette outlined against the window.
Shadow?
But when she blinked herself alert and sat up, the cat was gone.
*
Shadow picked himself
up and walked out of the soft bed of flowers where he’d fallen. He’d wandered around this new place for so long without finding Sunny that he’d begun to lose hope. Why would Sunny come here? There didn’t seem to be much of interest to be found here. He’d come across a place where there was loud music and a big pond of splashing water. He’d seen those places before and never thought they were any good. For one thing, the
strong, nose-twisting stink that came from the water made it hard to scent anything else. He’d have left right away except that there was a two-legged female there who had petted him gently and had given him some food.
She was nice, but she wasn’t Sunny.
He’d finally drawn away and went back to the house where Sunny had left him earlier. Getting in wasn’t as easy this time. The doors and all the windows on the ground floor were closed. He’d been experimenting with the upstairs when he’d gotten a trace of an unmistakable fragrance. Working his way carefully along the roof, he’d approached another window and looked inside. There was Sunny, lying on a bed, asleep!
Shadow had immediately set to work on the screen in the window, trying to pull it aside so he could enter and wake Sunny up. But he’d foolishly used the paw with the broken claw. A sudden jolt of pain had made him jerk back—not a good thing when dealing with the tricky footing of a roof.
He’d found himself tumbling backward, and then there was no roof under his paws, only air. Nothing for his claws to catch hold of. And then he’d impacted on soft earth and sweet-smelling flowers—although a few of them would never be the same after he’d landed on them. Shadow got back on his feet, shook himself, and sneezed. Then he pranced out onto the grass, his tail held high.
Just in case anyone saw me,
he thought,
I’ll act as if I planned to do that.
*
Sunny managed to
get in a decent nap before Cillie Kingsbury appeared at her door. “Carson got a call. His parents are in the air. They expect to land in about an hour.”
The news shouldn’t have startled Sunny. She knew the de Kruks were due to arrive today. So why did her stomach suddenly tighten the way it used to when she was going off to interview someone for a big story? She was just a spear-carrier in this particular opera—nothing but window dressing.
And speaking of dressing, she had just enough time to take a shower and change into her other suit before rejoining Priscilla downstairs. A moment earlier, Sunny had been admiring her reflection in her cinnamon-colored suit. She’d made more of an effort to get active lately, and the results had shown. Her suit wasn’t tight, the skirt was just the right height, she’d even felt stylish. Compared to Cillie’s outfit, however . . . Well, Priscilla’s left shoe probably cost more than Sunny’s whole outfit combined.
But if Sunny felt a reporter’s buzz, Cillie radiated nervousness.
“Come on,” Sunny told her. “You look as if you expect them to eat you. Haven’t the de Kruks been here before?”
“No,” Cillie replied. “And now that they’re almost here, everything looks so moth eaten.”
“Well, you look nice.” That was an understatement. Priscilla wore a deceptively simple aquamarine dress that flattered her short, sandy blond hair. The jewelry she wore with it was silver—old silver, with a patina, probably a hand-me-down from some Victorian ancestor.
“So do you,” Cillie said. “That’s a nice color for you.”
Sure—when you can’t compliment the clothes, compliment the color.
With a determined mental effort, Sunny shut her interior critic down. She wasn’t the center of attention here, the bride was. “I’d tell the de Kruks that the place is like your jewelry—old with a story behind it.”
Cillie touched her necklace. “It was my great-great-grandmother’s. How did you know?”
“Because it looks like a family piece. Augustus de Kruk’s family line may be old, but their money is new. The Kingsburys, though, have history. To be crude about it, isn’t that what they’re marrying into? Even if that includes the silver monstrosity in the rear parlor.”
Sunny’s irreverent analysis shocked a laugh out of Cillie, and seemed to put her on a more even keel.
“So where will you receive the guests?” Sunny asked.
“Down in front of the big house,” Priscilla replied. “I suppose we’d better start collecting people and get a move on.”
They came downstairs to find that Carson had already shepherded the rest of the younger guests out onto the road. He wore a cool gray suit with a muted check. Its skinny lapels and tailored fit flattered his slim build. Tommy Neal was more businesslike in navy blue. Peter Van Twissel had a suit much the same color, but his was definitely off the rack and didn’t fit him as well. And with his khaki slacks, off white jacket, and shaggy hair, Beau Bellingham looked like a beach bum crashing the party. Yardley Neal was a symphony in beige—clearly an expensive ensemble, but in a color that didn’t necessarily suit her.
“Shall we get the show on the road?” Carson suggested.
They’d barely started on the path when they had to draw off to let a motorcade of two town cars and a Range Rover pass them on the way out. Sunny caught a glimpse of Lee Trehearne in the lead vehicle, barking orders into a microphone.
“There goes the welcoming committee,” Cillie muttered.
When they arrived at the mansion, only Cale Kingsbury stood outside. “Too much hot air in there,” he told Sunny with a grin. “The Senator is still working on his welcoming speech.” He got a little more serious when he saw Priscilla, taking both her hands and stepping back to admire her. “Pay no attention to your broken-down old uncle,” he said. “Except when he tells you that you’re a lovely young woman.” He turned to Carson. “And you, my friend, are a lucky young man.”
Actually, Cale didn’t look too broken-down. He wore a summer-weight tan suit with a slightly darker knit tie. Only the width of the tie and the lapels suggested that his suit wasn’t as fashion forward as some of the others.
Sunny wouldn’t have minded a chance to talk with Cale, but she didn’t get much of a chance. He circulated among the members of the wedding party, chatting and joking.
And certainly bringing down the tension level,
Sunny had to admit.
The rest of the Kingsbury clan emerged, the males in almost identical navy blue suits, although the Senator’s had a pinstripe. The female side of the party all wore pastels.
A security guard stepped up to whisper in the Senator’s ear. “They’ve arrived,” the Senator announced, and everyone began to sort themselves out along a fieldstone retaining wall in front of the house. Now that Sunny came to think of it, that wall had served as a background for numerous family photos she’d seen around the place.
Sunny quickly positioned herself away from the
developing reception line.
Spear carrier,
she reminded herself.
Window dressing.
Still, it was an impressive little ceremony as the de Kruks, Augustus and his wife Magda, arrived. The Senator welcomed them, looking almost natural as he shook hands with the Emperor Augustus. Then came the political glad-handing with the governors, Lem Junior and Tom and their ladies, Deborah and Genevieve. After that, Carson and Priscilla offered handshakes and hugs, ending the formalities.
Augustus de Kruk glanced around. With his shining dome, beaky nose, and piercing eyes overshadowed by heavy brows, he really did look like a bald eagle, the alter ego used in so many op-ed cartoons.
Personally, Sunny had never responded well to the “look of eagles” she read about. To her, what eagles were usually looking for was their next meal. Certainly, the Emperor Augustus was quick to pounce when his eye fell on Beau Bellingham. “I hope you’ll be getting a haircut before the wedding, young man.” Augustus’s trademark growling voice, which he’d used to blight a hundred reality-TV careers on his various business shows, rumbled out as if the big man were perfectly willing to make his record a hundred and one.
Beau looked as though he’d been slapped, putting a hand up to his blond mop. “Oh, uh, of course, sir.”
The Emperor nodded. All was right with the world.
Priscilla suddenly appeared beside Sunny, hooking her arm and bringing her forward to the imperial presence. “Augustus, I’d like to introduce Sunny Coolidge. She’s a reporter, sort of embedded with us for the wedding.”
That ignited a spark of interest in de Kruk’s predatory eyes.
Sure,
Sunny thought,
he always was a publicity hound.
“I wouldn’t have expected that, Priscilla,” Augustus said. “Such an interesting idea. Which media outlet do you report for, Ms. Coolidge?”
“The
Harbor Courier
, a local paper,” Sunny replied. “Because first and foremost, this is local news.”
“Mmm-hmmm.” The interest in de Kruk’s eyes blinked off as if a switch had been flicked when he heard that Sunny didn’t represent a national media outlet.
The Senator’s wife decided the moment had come to offer some concrete hospitality. “We have a little light meal prepared,” she offered. “Or, if you would prefer to freshen up after traveling—”
Her polite speech was interrupted by a near shriek from Augustus de Kruk. “What—what is that
animal
doing here?” His famous rumble came out more like a falsetto, and his hand trembled as he pointed over everyone’s head.
Like everyone else Sunny swiveled to see what had upset the big man. Then she had to stifle a large gulp.
“That animal”
was a cat, peering down with interest from the top of the fieldstone wall.
And that cat was Shadow.
At the first
sign of trouble, Lee Trehearne had come at a run, then he halted, staring back and forth, struggling with how to resolve the situation. Augustus de Kruk kept cowering back, shouting, “Shoot it! Somebody shoot it!”
That seemed a somewhat extreme reaction to a cat that was doing nothing more aggressive than staring at him. Sunny kept her mouth shut, however. She had a strong suspicion that things wouldn’t go well for her if de Kruk discovered that the animal causing his apparent nervous breakdown was her cat. And knowing Shadow, he was just as likely to seal the deal by leaping down into her arms. Still the situation seemed surreal enough that Sunny couldn’t believe the cat was in real danger.
Trehearne tried to reach up and grab Shadow, but the height of the wall left the cat just beyond his grasp.
“How about climbing up on one of the bags?” Cale pointed to the luggage that had just been unloaded with the de Kruks.
“Yes! Please! Just get it!” Augustus didn’t sound much like an emperor. He was begging.
Looking dubious at the whole process, Trehearne lugged a large hard-sided case up to the wall and hoisted himself on top of it. As soon as he began to draw level in height, Shadow strolled casually along the top of the wall, keeping slightly more than an arm’s length away. Sunny could have told the security chief how this was going to end. Instead, she bit her lip as Trehearne stretched after the cat, who remained just tantalizingly out of reach. She could hear muttered swear words as the man reached a precarious balance at the edge of the bag. He stretched yet again, ramming an angry hand more in a punch than a grab at the cat, who responded by hissing and arching his back. That didn’t deter Trehearne, who leaned back and then suddenly lunged to catch Shadow, apparently intending to grab the cat and make a landing.
Instead, Shadow hissed and met Trehearne’s groping hand with a set of claws. With a yell of pain, Trehearne jerked his hand back, sufficiently distracted enough to blow his landing and collapse in an ungainly heap at the foot of the wall. Trehearne got himself up on his hands and knees to find the cat in almost the same pose above him, yowling cat curses down.
Staggering upright, the security chief got out his radio. His face was brick red from exertion and fury—and embarrassment over the smothered laughter from some of the onlookers. The last thing he wanted to do was call in
reinforcements over a cat. But he had to admit the need for them, especially with Augustus de Kruk sobbing and shouting for cat blood.
Several black-jacketed security men arrived in response to his call. They moved with military precision to surround and subdue the intruder. One team advanced on the wall with a ladder. Another climbed onto the wall where it was lower, proceeding along the top on foot. A third force blocked the way to the house and advanced from there.
Sunny began to take the situation seriously enough to consider what kind of plea she’d have to make to keep Trehearne from wringing Shadow’s neck. But just as the forces of humanity closed in for the capture, Shadow moved like greased lightning. He jumped down onto the head of the security man on the ladder, slid down his back, and bounced off the guy steadying the ladder. In an instant he was on the ground, breaking into evasive maneuvers on the run.
The man on the ladder nearly toppled off after making a belated grab, much like Trehearne. Augustus de Kruk let out another howl as Shadow darted past, about five feet away from his expensive shoes. With the glare Lee Trehearne sent after the cat, Sunny was surprised the lawn didn’t burst into flames.
The whole welcome event dissolved into chaos. Magda, Augustus’s latest blond wife, half-supported him as he tottered toward the house. She was quickly joined by Carson and Beau, who got the elder de Kruk inside and into a chair. Beau had a hand on the older man’s chest and then checked his pulse. “Are you short of breath?” he asked in his best emergency room manner.
“He should be okay now that the cat is out of sight,”
Carson said. Apparently he’d seen his father react like this before.
“Augustus has this very strong reaction to seeing cats,” Magda explained. Her accent made the “this” sound like “zis,” and “cats” became “catza.” She patted her husband on the shoulder. “Many famous people have had it: Julius Caesar, Shakespeare, Napoleon, even your President Eisenhower.”
“Ailurophobia,” Sunny muttered to herself. Having done some research on the subject, she wasn’t exactly surprised that Mrs. de Kruk had skipped over a few of the other famous historical sufferers—like Genghis Khan, Hitler, and Mussolini. She recalled a story about Napoleon being found in a room, pale and trembling, stabbing into a wall tapestry with his sword. When the guards arrived they found a kitten hiding behind it.
Obviously, his brush with Shadow had been a shattering experience for Augustus. He no longer looked like a bold bald eagle, but more like a hoot owl caught in strong daylight. His piercing eyes blinked, he shivered, and his face was covered in sweat.
The Senator simply stared, lost for words—in fact, completely at a loss as to how to deal with his guest. After all, Augustus de Kruk was a master of the universe. How did one talk to him after seeing him dissolve into gibbering, irrational terror?
Luckily, the Senator’s wife stepped into the breach. “I think after all this confusion, a little rest is called for,” she said gently. “We can show you to your room now.”
“Are you sure, Julia?” the Senator asked.
“Yes.” Her voice was definite. “I believe we can wait on supper for a little bit, until our guests are settled.”
Carson and Beau helped an almost pathetically grateful Augustus up to the guest bedroom.
Sunny took advantage of the intermission to go outside. Maybe she’d be able to spot Shadow. Maybe he’d come back. He had to have seen her.
But when she came out the door, she saw black-jacketed security guys all over the compound, searching for the renegade cat. Her heart squeezed a little.
Oh, Shadow, what have you gotten yourself into this time?
Her worried thoughts were interrupted by muted laughter. Cale Kingsbury sat on a lower part of the wall, disregarding any threat to his good suit. He looked up at Sunny, his bad-boy grin threatening to split his face. “Un-be-lievable!” he chortled. “The all-powerful Emperor Augustus, brought low by a pussycat! You should have been using your camera, Sunny. A guy like de Kruk would pay through the nose to keep that meltdown off the Net. A couple of pictures, and you’d be set for life.”
Sunny gave an uneasy nod. “Frankly, I’m more worried for the cat.”
Another voice joined the conversation. “He seemed like a nice cat.” Yardley Neal came out to stand beside Sunny. “I saw him earlier today. I just thought he was a neighborhood cat wandering around. He visited over at the pool this afternoon. He didn’t like the water and the splashing, but he wasn’t at all hissy with me.”
“I bet you didn’t try to grab him,” Sunny said.
“No, but he let me pet him.” Yardley smiled. “We had kitties all the time I was growing up. Pumpernickel and Daffodil. Daffodil liked flowers. I have no idea how Pumpernickel got his name. Anyway, that cat had good manners.
He didn’t stick his nose into things. I fed him some cold cuts from our sandwiches.”
Well, at least that means he ought to have plenty of energy to escape Trehearne’s Raiders,
Sunny consoled herself. “I’m going to take a walk,” she said. Maybe she could find Shadow. But then what would she do? Wrap him up in her jacket and smuggle him to safety? Where would safety be?
*
Shadow ducked into
the cover of a flower bed, lying low among the greenery as another pair of two-legs went by. They wore the same black as the Clumsy One who’d tried to grab him, the one he’d marked with his claws. Maybe that made them all mad at him. Certainly, they seemed to be looking for him. But they didn’t know how to hunt or stalk. Their feet made crunching noises on the little rocks in the paths, and they talked—or those boxes on their shoulders talked. A cat would have to be deaf not to know when they were coming.
The only problem was, he couldn’t go back to try and find Sunny. He’d seen her there among the other two-legs when the Howling One had started in. That had brought the Clumsy One. At first Shadow thought he was trying to play the keep-away game, where Shadow stayed just out of reach. But that last attempt would have hurt if he’d gotten hold of Shadow, and Shadow had let him know it. He hadn’t expected all this excitement, though.
What really worried him, though, was how Sunny had stayed quiet while the Clumsy One came after him. Shadow knew she’d seen him, but she didn’t come to him
or even say anything. It was as if she were pretending she didn’t even know him. That hurt, and the feeling began to turn to anger.
He’d also caught traces of the made smell while he’d stood on top of the wall. Did Sunny ignore him because she was with the one who wore that scent? Shadow silently snarled, stretching his paw so the claws slid out. He’d mark that one, too. But not Sunny, of course. He’d never do that to Sunny. But he’d remember.
She’ll have to do a lot before I forget how she deserted me,
he promised.
Yes, he’d make her pay—as soon as he found her. But where could he do that? He headed back to that odd-smelling house where she seemed to be staying.
*
Sunny zigzagged across
Neal’s Neck, looking for places where a cat might hide. She tried the pool area, since Shadow had successfully mooched a meal there. But he wasn’t in the cabana. So she strolled on, paying special attention to plantings and shrubs. Shadow always surprised her with his ability to scrunch down and blend his tiger-striped body with the stems and leaves, especially in failing light. But she didn’t find much in the way of animal—all vegetable.
She remembered her dream from earlier, seeing Shadow in her bedroom window. Or had it really been a dream at all? At the time, she’d thought Shadow was still home. Now she knew he was here.
That’s why there was cat hair on my clothes,
she realized.
He didn’t roll on them in a snit, he stowed away in my bag!
On a surge of hope, Sunny set off on the path back to
the guesthouses. Maybe Shadow had gone back to her room.
She’d almost reached the edge of the compound when she heard shouting ahead. Sunny picked up her pace, afraid of what she’d find. Black-jacketed security men were dashing around the house where she was staying. One of them brandished an old fish-landing net, like an oversized butterfly catcher.
Sunny broke into a run. She reached the edge of the house to see Lee Trehearne and six security guys pounding after Shadow, who dodged and evaded. The man with the net tried to snag him, but Shadow wasn’t there when it landed, hitting the ground so hard that the wooden handle broke.
Shadow leaped away into the street, legs flashing.
Trehearne charged headlong after him, so focused on the cat that he almost crashed into the roadblock sawhorse when Shadow darted under it. The security chief skidded to a halt, suddenly aware of the state troopers staring at him . . . and of the photographers across the street. Shadow swerved to check on his pursuers, saw that he wasn’t being chased anymore, and slowed his pace to romp away at a trot, his tail held high.
Sunny had to hold a hand over her mouth to keep the laughter from coming out. The whole episode had looked like some sort of cartoon. But she felt a chill, too.
Better be careful if you come back, Shadow,
she aimed the thought at the retreating cat.
Because now Trehearne might well try to shoot you.
That wasn’t the end of the incident, however. One of the troopers—Hank Riker, Sunny realized—walked over to the wrecked net, poking at it with his toe and talking
with the security man who’d been carrying it. Then he spoke into the radio unit on his shoulder.
The amusing episode suddenly took on a more ominous tone, though Sunny couldn’t quite put her finger on what had changed the mood so quickly, and she didn’t feel confident enough to presume on Hank’s friendship with Will to just walk up and ask. But she got an answer about an hour later, when they’d all reassembled for dinner, and the Senator was called away to respond to unexpected guests. Sunny quickly excused herself too and left the dining room in time to see Lieutenant Ellis Wainwright heading up the stairs with a couple of troopers. Hank Riker stood at the foot of the stairway, obviously positioned to prevent anyone from following. The Senator was nowhere to be seen.
Sunny looked around, and saw they were alone. “Can you tell me what’s up?” she whispered to the trooper. “I saw you checking out the fishing net.”
“That was enough for Wainwright to get a search warrant,” Riker replied in an undertone. “We found the Nesbit murder weapon left in a storm drain. A very expensive fishing knife. Turns out Lemuel Kingsbury, the Senator’s late son, was a big fishing buff back in the day. The net was part of his old fishing tackle. So the Lieutenant figured it was worth looking into.”
“Priscilla’s dad?”
Not to mention the father of Governors Lem and Tom,
Sunny realized.
Riker nodded. “According to the Senator, the tackle box was still kept in his son’s old room.”
Sunny frowned.
Where Lem Junior and his wife are staying now
.
A moment later, Wainwright appeared on the upstairs
landing, not looking happy. “The knife is gone, but the gear’s all scattered,” she overheard him say as she stepped back out of his sight. “Whoever went to get that net must have been in a hurry. I think his are the only prints we’re likely to find.”
Sunny tried to edge even farther back, when she heard someone behind her and turned to find that she wasn’t the only eavesdropper. Thomas Neal Kingsbury, former U.S. Senator, stood scowling at her.
The Senator couldn’t call her out for doing what he himself had been attempting, especially not within earshot of the state police homicide investigator. But he obviously wasn’t happy with a reporter knowing about the latest development in the case; one that implicated his own grandson. Neither he nor Sunny enjoyed the meal after they returned to the dining room.