Authors: Claire Donally
So either I need a little more white wine, or they need a lot of it,
she thought with a wry smile.
Since neither possibility was likely to happen, Sunny decided to return to Priscilla and her friends after lunch. She did, however, make Cale promise to send word if he actually was going to meet Augustus de Kruk on the tennis court. Cillie Kingsbury laughed when she heard about it. “That would be worth seeing,” she teased Carson. “Your dad, working up a sweat?”
“Oh, he doesn’t mind getting worked up,” the younger de Kruk told them. “Usually for money, but Dad would be okay going for a little glory, too.”
Genevieve Kingsbury, Tom’s wife, appeared sometime later with the news that battle would indeed be joined. The brunette looked a little envious of the young people lounging around the pool. They weren’t all that much younger than she was, and with her lively eyes, Genevieve didn’t seem the type to spend all day being a spectator.
Priscilla and Carson headed off to go and watch the game, and of course so did Sunny. Tommy Neal also decided to join the viewing party, while Peter, Beau, and Yardley stayed put.
As they walked over to the tennis court with Genevieve, Sunny said, “I’m still looking for some background to set the stage in my blog. The big house is so beautiful. Are there any interesting stories about it I could share? I heard about your great-grandfather trying to shoot the wasp, but that may be a bit too colorful.”
Cillie laughed. “I guess the problem is that all the good stories are Neal stories, not Kingsbury ones. Like the widow’s walk.” She pointed in the direction of the big house. “You can’t really see it unless you’re flying overhead, but Great-Grandfather Neal added a platform on top of the house. It’s got a great view out to sea, the highest point on Neal’s Neck. He’d have somebody up there with a lantern, signaling the rumrunners when it was safe to deliver. It was a big deal to get up there,” she added. “You had to work a catch on a secret door. Tom showed me when I was ten years old.”
“He showed me, too, the first time I visited here.” Genevieve’s voice was tart. “It sounded very mysterious and exciting, but what it came down to was a ten-by-ten deck, and the wind off the water was freezing.”
“Maybe you should tell Sunny about the copse,” Priscilla said with a naughty look.
“The cops?” Sunny repeated. “You mean the security people? The troopers?”
“No, C-O-P-S-E,” Cillie spelled it out. “It’s a little thicket of trees out by the point, probably the wildest spot you’ll find around here.” She gestured at the manicured
lawns around them. “There used to be a gazebo in the middle, but it lost most of its roof the year I was born. So now it’s a romantic ruin, a bower—”
“Inspiration point,” Tommy Neal put in. “Every teenager’s dream: quiet, secluded, and yeah, I guess romantic. Just remember to bring a thick blanket along. That old wood can get splintery.”
“Very practical,” Priscilla scolded him. She waggled her eyebrows at Sunny. “It may not be the grotto at the Playboy mansion, but in our family, it has . . . history.”
“History that Sunny won’t be sharing on her blog, I hope.” Genevieve tried to sound like the adult here, but Sunny noticed a faint blush on her cheeks.
Looks as if Genevieve visited the copse at some point, too,
Sunny thought.
“That’s the wrong kind of romantic past I’m looking for,” she assured them. “I’m doing the blog for a family paper, not
Eagle Eye.
”
They arrived at the tennis court, and conversation switched to the upcoming match.
“Dad might surprise you,” Carson said to the group. “He plays a darned good game of tennis. The competitive streak in him, you know.”
“But Uncle Cale is younger,” Cillie said to Carson. “And he’s in pretty good shape.”
“We’ll see.”
Augustus de Kruk arrived in a set of tennis whites, prompting Sunny to wonder what other wardrobe items he traveled with—white tie and tails? A scuba outfit? And while he wasn’t as svelte as Lem or Tom, his legs, exposed in shorts, were muscular. So were his arms.
Cale looked a little uncomfortable in what looked like borrowed whites from one of his nephews. They were a little tight, especially at the waist, but his legs were tanned and brawny, and his arms were ropey with muscles.
He must get a lot of exercise hauling the sails on his boat,
Sunny thought.
They squared off, and Augustus asked, “Shall we spin the racquet to see who serves first?”
“Since you’re the guest,” Cale replied, “I’ll let you make the choice.”
Augustus chose to serve, and they were off. The Emperor had a strong serve, and Cale’s response to his shots was always just a hair too late. His returns were rushed, not going where he aimed them; it was clear to Sunny that he just wasn’t quite in the game. He’d battle back a little, but then Augustus would quickly regain the upper hand.
Sunny maintained the silent decorum that tennis required, even though she was more used to rowdy softball games where raucous comments from the sidelines were the norm rather than the exception. Several times she was tempted to holler at Cale to get the lead out . . . and then she noticed something. Cale wasn’t even breathing hard.
She leaned over to whisper in Priscilla’s ear. “Is your uncle throwing this game?” Cillie turned from the action on the court to give Sunny a knowing look, whispering, “Augustus has made a couple of nominal donations to the foundation, but Uncle Cale wants to hit him up for something more substantial.”
Sunny smiled.
What better way to loosen the purse strings than to lose gracefully?
In the end, Augustus enjoyed a handsome victory, not
too easily won, and accepted the congratulations of the bystanders with a satisfied smile.
Old Cale might not be fighting for reelection, but he’s as much a politician as anyone in the family,
Sunny told herself. Looks like a case of o
nce a Kingsbury, always a Kingsbury.
Sunny, Cillie, Carson, and Tommy headed back to the pool and some late afternoon sun. The evening meal offered the usual buffet plus a rehash of the tennis game between Cale and Augustus. Sunny was glad to have a little time to herself afterward. Scarcely getting out of the property for days was beginning to feel a bit too claustrophobic for her taste. Sunny left the compound for a good reason, searching for Shadow. But, even though she worried about what kind of predicaments he might get himself into, she found herself enjoying fresh air without the need to wear a mask of decorum. She just about pounced on her cell phone when a text message came in from Will:
DUG UP A LITTLE, WANT 2 DISCUSS. WILL CALL.
By the time Will called, Sunny had circled around to the block where they usually met, arriving well ahead of him. She spent the time looking around in the bushes but found no sign of her trouble-causing kitty. As Will pulled up, she waved and quickly climbed in, asking, “What did you find?”
“I did some checking up on Lee Trehearne,” Will said. “He served in the army—Iraq—and when his enlistment was up, worked for a private security firm there. Not to say there weren’t good men in those companies—”
“But they have a reputation for acting like cowboys,”
Sunny finished. “And a lot of money disappeared from the supposed nation building after the war. Was there any hint of something Trehearne could be blackmailed over?”
“Not that I found,” Will began, but that was as far as he got before a white sheriff’s department cruiser screeched around the corner in front of them, and a similar vehicle pulled in behind, effectively boxing them in. Captain Ingersoll got out of the rear car, stalking over to Will’s pickup and gesturing that the window come down.
“Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear, Constable Price.” Ingersoll’s hoarse voice grated out the words. “When I said you were relieved of your duties here, I meant that you were no longer connected with this case. So you had no reason to go searching into the military records of the chief of security at Neal’s Neck, much less turn up here. Perhaps the sheriff was willing to turn a blind eye to these little personal projects of yours”—he glared at Sunny as if this were all her fault—“but the new administration will not tolerate failure to obey orders. So let me put this in words you can understand, Price. You are off the Stoughton case. You are off the Nesbit case. I do not want you interfering in the ongoing investigation. I don’t even want to see you on the streets of Wilawiport. You get that now? I hope like hell you do. I’m told you’re a good officer. Don’t make me fire you.”
Shadow crouched in
the underbrush, feeling his disappointment turn to anger. For a moment, he’d let his hopes rise again. Maybe this time, Sunny was going home with her He.
But then the noise had started, not from Sunny and the male, but from those white go-fast things, and that Fat One hollering. Shadow crept closer to catch a whiff of the shouting two-legs. No trace of Smells Good. That was a relief. If Sunny had gotten involved with a human like that, there was no hope of staying with her.
Sunny got out of the black go-fast thing, and her He drove off. The Fat One got into his vehicle and zoomed away, too.
Only Sunny was left, standing by herself. She looked very lonely there in the darkness. For a second, Shadow
wanted to go charging toward her, pounce on her foot, make her laugh, and just be with her. But Sunny had ignored him when he needed a two-legged friend, when the others were chasing him. And then she and her He had tried to grab him themselves.
Right now, Shadow wasn’t certain he could trust Sunny. What if he came to her and she grabbed him? Or worse, pushed him away? No, his heart would surely break.
So he stayed at the side of the road, just watching her.
Finally she started walking back to that place where she was staying. Silently, Shadow followed. He couldn’t trust her . . . but he couldn’t leave her, either.
*
Sunny lay in
bed, eyes open, for a long time, going over the facts she’d gotten from her interrupted conversation with Will and his subsequent phone call. Given the outlines of the career Will had sketched out, there was certainly the possibility that Lee Trehearne had something worth blackmailing in his past. And who better to put the squeeze on during a big event than the head of security?
Taking it a step further, why couldn’t Trehearne be the Taxman? Sure, he was way out on the fringes of society, working for the Senator. But if he’d used information he discovered from the Kingsburys as a start, and then expanded his operation . . . That might even explain the Taxman’s business model, using former victims to lure new ones into his web.
On the other hand, Trehearne hadn’t looked much like a criminal mastermind while in bumbling pursuit of Shadow. Although Shadow had a way of driving even the most competent people to a hair’s breadth of screaming craziness.
Including myself,
Sunny had to admit ruefully. But blackmail victim or perpetrator, Trehearne had the physical ability to do unpleasant stuff like strangling girls and slashing sheriffs. He also had the knowledge of Neal’s Neck, where the surveillance cameras were and how to avoid them, probably even what junk was stored where.
You can make a case against him,
Sunny had to admit.
But you can make a case against most of the guys stuck behind the security perimeter here. That doesn’t narrow things down. What I need is provable evidence.
Unfortunately, that, like sleep, seemed in short supply.
*
The morning was
well advanced by the time Sunny pulled herself out of bed, feeling droopy. She’d lain awake way too long but had finally dropped off sometime in the wee hours. She found herself at the late sitting for breakfast, joining Beau Bellingham and Tommy and Yardley Neal at the table. It wasn’t a comfortable meal. Everybody seemed a little stir-crazy.
“If I have to sit around that pool again today, somebody’s going to get drowned.” Tommy snarled as he stabbed his knife into a jar of preserves. A little belatedly, he realized how his words might sound and sent a suspicious glance over at Sunny.
“To tell the truth, I’m feeling the same way myself,” she admitted. “Maybe I’ll talk to Priscilla and Carson about arranging some kind of outing. There are lots of non-touristy things we could do.”
“If we don’t mind being followed by a bunch of paparazzi.” But she’d started Tommy thinking and his sour mood
lightened a bit. “Maybe we could talk Cale into taking us out again on the
Merlin,
” he said. “I wouldn’t even mind hoisting all the sails as long as it got us out of here for a while.”
With this plan in mind, they set off for the swimming pool, where they found Carson and Peter involved in a card game.
“I’m afraid Priscilla’s not here,” Carson said as he tossed his cards down. “She and Caleb left early this morning on some foundation business. She’ll be back for lunch—or rather, hors d’oeuvres, since we’ll be tasting some sample wedding cakes. “
“Probably too late for us to get out on the water.” Tommy explained his idea, scowling. “Unless,” he suggested, “I could take the wheel.”
“You really want to take Uncle Cale’s pride and joy off on a little unauthorized sail?” Carson asked skeptically. “He’d never forgive you.”
“All right, all right, you’ve got a point.” Tommy flopped down onto a beach chair.
Sunny noticed that Beau hadn’t paid any attention to the conversation. He’d just arranged himself on a lounge chair with a baseball cap shading his eyes, and in moments, his chest was rising and falling in easy sleep.
I wish I could do that,
Sunny thought jealously.
“Feel free to join our card game,” Peter invited the others.
“I only play for money, Van Twissel,” Tommy replied. “And that’s something that neither you nor Carson has got.” He rose from his seat, shrugged off the loud Hawaiian shirt he’d been using as a cover-up, and jumped into the pool with a lot more violence than necessary, showering Sunny with spray.
“Tommy!” Yardley called after him in a scolding voice.
“Don’t worry about it,” Sunny told her. “It’ll get even wetter when I jump in later.” She undid the towel from around her waist and ran it over her hair, leaving it around her shoulders. “Would you mind another poor person at the table?” she asked.
They spent the morning playing all the most ridiculous versions of poker they knew, wild cards, baseball, even something Carson called “Indian poker,” where players had to hold their cards up on their foreheads, seeing what kinds of hands other players had, but not their own.
Between crazy games and crazy bets, Sunny had won a lot of imaginary money by the time Deborah Kingsbury appeared at the gate. “The Senator thought it might be nice to have everyone present for the cake tasting.” Lem’s wife didn’t have to add that whatever the Senator thought to be appropriate had the force of an order.
*
This is a
stupid place,
Shadow thought as he crept along the wall of the house. He was in a bad mood; things had not gone right since last night. Sunny had walked back to that place where she was staying, and Shadow hadn’t been able to sneak in after her. So he’d left her and gone back to his sleeping spot next to the planter. But when the sun came up, loud people with even louder machines had come to do things, and Shadow had run for his life.
After that rude awakening, he’d quickly become aware of an unpleasantly empty feeling in his middle. He’d tried another backyard visit to the place where the nice two-legged woman had fed him the other day. But he was out
of luck. No kind human, just that stupid white cat being all unfriendly and brave behind the safety of the glass.
He’d tried foraging around, but all he encountered were the scents of large, dangerous animals apparently already hunting in the area. Not just biscuit eaters, but the nasty-black-masked critters.
Feeling a little desperate, Shadow went toward the big water, hoping to find something on the beach. But there, large white birds kept swooping down at him, screeching.
So, still hungry, he’d headed back through backyards toward the place where Sunny was. There was a wall barring the way, higher than he could jump, but Shadow had already found a spot along the base where some of the soil had washed away and a determined cat could squeeze in.
Maybe it’s better that I was empty before I tried that,
he thought as he barely managed to squirm through.
He quickly darted to the side of a house and made his way through flowers and plants until he faced a large open area. Keeping a wary eye out for the aggressive two-legs in black, he made his way from bushes to flowers to trees, doing his best to keep out of sight. They might not be able to catch him, but he’d hate to have a meal interrupted because those ones happened to come along.
As he came to the place with the splashing water, Shadow heard human voices. He used his best stalking moves to slink up, peering suspiciously around the metal post that held a gate. Another disappointment—all he saw were a pair of male two-legs bent over a table. Nothing to eat, and the friendly female who’d fed him wasn’t there. He wandered on still in search of a meal.
At last he came to a big, big house. Shadow moved even
more cautiously. This was where the Clumsy One had tried to grab him. It might not be a good idea to meet that one again. He had been angry, very angry, when Shadow got away.
Using every bit of cover he found, Shadow made his way around the house, following his nose. The breeze was coming toward him, and it held a touch of that slightly rancid tang that came from food the two-legs had thrown away. Well, sometimes a cat could happily fill his belly from what the two-legs didn’t want.
The scent grew stronger as he advanced, until at last he found the source—another disappointment. Shadow could clearly smell the old food, but there were only traces left on the stony ground beneath his feet. He couldn’t eat traces, and the food itself was sealed away in heavy metal containers that were too hard to break into and too heavy to knock over.
It was enough to bring a faint mew of frustration out of him.
Then he heard voices again, and scrunched down to make himself as inconspicuous as possible. But the voices didn’t come his way, so he went to investigate.
That turned out to be an excellent idea, because as he drew closer to the voices, he also smelled food. Good food. Shadow poked his head around something that couldn’t make up its mind whether to be a window or a door and found a room the two-legs used for messing around with food, making it hot or mixing it up together. Sunny and the Old One often worked in a room like this. It was also where they fed him.
But this room was much, much bigger, and there were several people in there, clattering pans and talking. It reminded him of places he’d sometimes seen in his travels,
somewhere a cat might find a meal. Sometimes a cat might even try to make friends and get a really good meal. He’d learned, though, not to go inside. That would only mean trouble, loud voices, and someone in white chasing him away.
So he’d held back, watching the busy humans, until finally they started coming outside carrying very large plates. This seemed odd. Were they going outside to eat? Sometimes Sunny and the Old One did that, but they usually brought food to the thing that made smoke. And he didn’t smell smoke now.
Shadow waited for a chance to follow one of the two-legs and came to a table. A long white thing came over the sides and down to the ground, and Shadow quickly hid under that. But he peeked out from under it, watching many feet come and go. Then they stopped, and he decided to take a risk and come out from hiding. Shadow craned his neck and stretched as high as he could, unable to see the top of the table but taking in the smells that wafted down.
He could distinguish several kinds of food that he knew—and many more he didn’t. It was enough to make a cat’s mouth water. Shadow gathered himself for a jump to the top of the table. But then voices came from the other side, and he darted to the cover of the white stuff again, crossing under the table and peering out from under the far side.
Feet again! This was getting monotonous, not to mention annoying. His stomach growled from the good smells. Shadow poked his head out to see what the two-legs were up to.
He caught a wave of made smells and saw humans in bright colors talking loudly. They were clinking glasses and eating little things. . . .
That’s what must be on top of the table!
He slunk out, but no one noticed him. He tried to sit and watch, to wait for his chance. He waited for a long time. Seconds, at least.
The smell of food was making his head swim. He couldn’t help himself—he had to have some!
Crouching low, Shadow sprang up and scrambled to the top of the table. Yes, there were the big plates, covered with all kinds of little foods. Ignoring everything else, he followed his nose, greedily trying everything he came across. Some of it tasted odd, some of it he spit out. But lots of it tasted good . . .
very
good.
*
Sunny looked in
her closet, trying to mix and match an outfit into existence for a so-called casual lunch. Deborah had mentioned that the meal would be outdoors, so Sunny figured a top and slacks should be appropriate.
The problem is, I’ve worn most everything I’ve brought.
Remembering all the bags the de Kruks had unloaded didn’t exactly cheer Sunny’s mood. She finally chose a pair of khakis and the blouse she’d worn under her cinnamon suit.
When she got downstairs, Sunny found Tommy and Yardley Neal dressed as if for an afternoon at the country club. Yardley wore a white linen suit, while Tommy wore a raw silk jacket over a polo shirt and dark gray slacks.
I guess this is how it feels to be the poor relation,
Sunny thought gloomily.
Of course,
she comforted herself,
when we get to the big house, we’ll probably find the present Mrs. de Kruk wearing a diamond tiara, and Emperor Augustus in a golden crown.
She really wished Cillie
Kingsbury were there to lighten the mood, but she wasn’t around, apparently having gone straight to the big house.
When they met up with the rest of the guys, Carson had on a light blue linen-weave jacket over a white collarless shirt, Peter wore the jacket from his blue suit over a green T-shirt, and Beau had recycled his oatmeal-colored jacket over a tan Henley shirt.
At least half of us look like fashion casualties,
Sunny’s alter ego commented snidely.
Perhaps because it was a command performance, the Senator—or more likely his wife Julia—had tried for a more festive atmosphere. The younger group arrived at the terrace to find the Kingsburys and de Kruks with wine- glasses in their hands, nibbling on hors d’oeuvres.