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Overview
Political heiress Priscilla Kingsbury is about to marry Carson de Kruk, son of business mogul Augustus de Kruk, at the Kingsburys’ waterfront compound. For reporter Sunny Coolidge, an assignment from the Harbor Courier to cover the event is like catnip.
But when Sunny photographs men pulling the body of a dead woman out of the water, the Kingsburys’ private security isn’t happy. They claim the woman’s death was an accident, but the story seems fishy. Now, with a little help from her police officer boyfriend and her cunning cat Shadow, Sunny is determined to get the scoop on a killer.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9780698167094 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Penguin Publishing Group |
| Publication date: | 05/05/2015 |
| Series: | Sunny and Shadow Mystery Series , #4 |
| Sold by: | Penguin Group |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 304 |
| Sales rank: | 110,869 |
| File size: | 732 KB |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
1
He didn’t know how long he’d stood in the cover of the bushes at the rear of the house. But it was long enough to convince him that the place was empty.
So he strolled across the yard. No hurry, anyone who might look would instantly recognize that he belonged here. Of course, the door barred his way. But he knew that wouldn’t be a problem. He’d been practicing.
A little finagling with the latch, then a quick jump to catch the top of the door, and it swung open without a struggle or a noise. All it took was a little twist, and he was inside.
The kitchen was warm—it had been a sunny day—and there was no sign of anyone in residence. A quick prowl of the ground floor quickly enlarged the no-one-home zone. Even so, he moved silently, listening for any telltale noises. As he stood at the foot of the hall stairway, he heard the gurgle of running water above. That brought him upstairs at a run; quietly, but quickly.
As he stood in the hall, he also heard a snatch of song under the rush of the water. But he followed the scent of perfume into her room. Just as he expected, she had her fresh clothing laid out on the bed. He reached out and snagged one of her underthings—absurdly tiny, sheer and lacy.
He was just raising it to his nose for a whiff when something happened he couldn’t have planned for: the phone rang. An instant later, she burst into the room, headed for the phone. She had a towel wrapped around her head . . . and that was all.
They stood frozen for a long moment, him with the frilly little nothing still dangling, her with her bare skin pink and still damp from the water.
And then she moved, tearing the towel free and throwing it at him.
He yowled in surprise, his attempt to dodge sending him tumbling to the floor, with barely enough time to get his feet under him. But he could move, too, darting to squeeze under the bed where she couldn’t get at him easily.
His quick action—not to mention his lashing tail—stirred up a cloud of dust under there that made him sneeze. But he hunkered down on all four paws, staying put and warily keeping a lookout for any more possible attacks.
I don’t know why she overreacted like that, he thought. Maybe she’s embarrassed about having so little fur.
*
Sunny Coolidge stood on the deck of the cabin cruiser, enjoying the sailing. Although she hadn’t set off feeling very laid-back, after dashing out of the shower to find her cat Shadow playing with her underwear. He hadn’t appreciated getting attacked with a damp towel and had taken cover under the bed, leaving her with a heck of a job coaxing him out.
Sunny had felt rushed and frazzled by the time Will had picked her up, and he’d just laughed when she told him what had made her late. “I always had him pegged. You’re sheltering a peeping tomcat.” She’d finally relaxed now, though, and they’d ventured far enough from land to feel a rhythmic swell in the ocean, the remains of a storm considerably farther out to sea. It was enough to impart a rocking feeling to the vessel and made Sunny glad that she was a good sailor.
If only I could be sure that Ben Semple is as good a skipper, she thought as she watched the man at the wheel. Dressed in a pair of Bermuda shorts and a long-sleeved shirt to avoid sunburn, he looked about as non-nautical as a person could get. A long-billed Kittery Harbor Police baseball cap completed his ensemble, and he wore it down low over his eyes as he scanned the waters around them.
Will Price must have been reading Sunny’s mind, since he came over and draped an arm around her shoulders, grinning. “Don’t worry. We’ve got at least three GPS gizmos on board to get us back safely.”
Sunny had less faith than Will in navigational systems. She couldn’t help thinking of a cartoon her dad had shown her of a car going off a cliff while the GPS voice droned, “Recalculating . . . recalculating.”
“I’m just wondering if heading for the Isles of Shoals might not be a little too ambitious for Ben,” she whispered. “You said that on your other trips, you always stayed in or near the river.”
The river was the Piscataqua, which divided Maine and New Hampshire. On one side was Kittery Harbor, Maine, Sunny’s hometown. On the other was the city of Portsmouth, in New Hampshire, where Will had previously been posted. Nowadays, both he and Ben were constables in the Kittery Harbor police, but Will was aiming for a promotion—he was running for county sheriff. Last night he’d been speech-making at a homeowners’ association meeting in one of the new developments at the edge of town, and Sunny had sat there trying to look loyal and gracious, while Tammy Wynette sang “Stand by Your Man” nonstop in an irreverent corner of her brain.
Today represented a rare break in routine or campaigning, a chance to kick back and enjoy themselves before Labor Day arrived to put an end to summer. “I remember when my dad first took me out to the Isles of Shoals. We went with one of his fishing buddies. I thought it sounded like a fairy-tale place, someplace where we might see mermaids sunning themselves on the shore,” Sunny said.
“Huh,” Will said. “As a kid, I always thought that was the place where all the foot-care stuff came from.”
“Different spelling.” Sunny glanced at Will, not sure whether he was kidding. He had an oddball sense of humor.
“We might see some seals over on Appledore Island.”
“Which was not named after the guy who taught Harry Potter,” Sunny said, trying to get ahead of Will. “I guess I should be glad you didn’t bring up Smuttynose Island.”
Will shrugged. “I was just thinking of things that would be nice to see, like the lighthouse on White Island.”
Sunny sighed. Maybe she was just making things harder than she had to. For a small town like Kittery Harbor where the pickings were slim, Will was prime boyfriend material—tall, dark (especially with his summer tan), and yes, handsome, with regular features and a pair of gray eyes with odd-colored flecks. He’d rate as decent male companionship even in New York City, where Sunny had gone in search of a journalism career before returning home to help her dad when he got really sick. His health had recovered, but alas, her New York City newspaper career hadn’t, so Sunny had stayed put.
“I haven’t seen any of this,” the fourth passenger on the boat joined the conversation. “So you guys will have to point everything out to me.”
Sunny wasn’t sure which pride and joy this little voyage was supposed to show off—the boat Ben had devoted a big chunk of his salary to getting, or the girlfriend he’d also acquired this summer. Robin Lory was a nice, uncomplicated girl from a little town up in the woods who’d been excited to get a job running a cash register in one of the stores lining the interstate north of Kittery Harbor—outlet-land, as the locals called it. The store was local, however, a bakery with a wonderful line of pastries and, yes, donuts. Sunny had to hide a smile at the spectacle of a cop falling for a baker’s assistant. Still, Robin was cheerful, bubbly, and she’d certainly pepped up the usually stolid Ben. Though Robin had been a little quiet today, first because the flip-flops she’d worn hadn’t protected her toes from the deck hardware, so she’d taken one of the padded seats and stayed there. Then the swells had turned her a little green. But now it seemed she’d recovered. “What I’m really interested in,” she said, “is catching some rays out here.”
With that, she stood up and peeled off the long T-shirt she’d been wearing, to reveal a tiny bikini and a lot of Robin.
Will took one brief, appreciative look, but shot a glance at Ben when Robin began fiddling with her top.
“Hey, Robin,” Ben said, glancing back at her, “I think we’d better cool it. Will’s running for office, and a lot of voters are on the conservative side.”
“Who’s gonna see?” Robin squinted around at the waters surrounding them.
“All it takes is one boat—and somebody on board with a telescopic lens.” Will spoke with the authority of someone who’d spent time on stakeouts. “And the next thing you know, a blurry photo is showing up on someplace online.” He looked over at Sunny. “And they’re claiming it’s you.”
Sunny glanced down at what she called her seagoing Daisy Duke outfit—cutoffs and a shirt tied above her waist, with deck-shoe-soled tennies and no socks. “Hey, I don’t think an A-line dress and a pillbox hat are going to work out here.”
“Besides,” Robin scoffed, “I’d be surprised if that Nesbit guy even heard of the Internet.”
Will frowned. “Frank Nesbit got to be sheriff by being a damned good politician—and a bare-knuckles one at that.”
Will ought to know, Sunny thought. Nesbit once bounced his father out of the job. Not even Will could tell whether the car crash that killed his dad shortly after losing the election had been an accident or something else. Either way, Frank Nesbit had remained sheriff ever since, and whenever the election cycle came up, billboards sporting portraits of an ever-graying Frank Nesbit appeared beside main roads, touting his record of keeping Elmet County safe.
But not everyone bought that line, arguing that Nesbit massaged crime statistics, artificially downgrading more dangerous offenses in order to make his numbers look good. Sunny’s dad was one of those dissenting voices, and he and several other Kittery Harbor politicos had helped install Will as a town constable, grooming him for a race against Nesbit.
As Sunny had seen in recent weeks, though, this insurgent campaign wasn’t easy. Like a lot of places, Elmet County politics wasn’t exactly a two-party system—more like one-and-a-half parties. Folks had to get pretty fed up with the people in office before they’d vote for the opposition. That meant the party primaries were the only voting that really counted. And for Will, it meant a lot of speeches to homeowners’ associations—and no topless boat rides to the Isles of Shoals.
Robin pouted, but she kept her bikini top on, arranging herself as best she could on the padded seat in the stern of the boat for maximum sun. Sunny fiddled with the ends of the blouse she’d knotted along the line of her ribcage. “You think I’m underdressed for this boat ride? I thought we were taking it easy.”
“I think you look fine.” Will himself was wearing an open short-sleeved button-down shirt over a tight tee that made the most of his rangy build, with a pair of cutoffs and boat shoes. “We just have to be aware that other people will be looking—and yeah, judging.”
The boat trip lived up to every promise, offering up glimpses of seals, lighthouses, scenic rocky shores, and sea breezes. But for Sunny, the sudden intrusion of politics had taken something away from the outing—the fun. She felt distracted all through the journey around the islands.
As Ben steered about, heading for home, a large sailing yacht cruised past in the distance, its distinctive red, white and blue canvas billowing on the breeze.
Robin immediately perked up. “Oh, wow, that’s Caleb Kingsbury’s yacht!”
Ben glanced back from his post at the wheel. “How do you know?”
“From TV, silly. It was on Eagle Eye. They did a whole piece on the announcement of his niece Priscilla’s wedding and about the whole family,” Robin said. “The Senator, the governors, and Caleb. The best part was that yacht, I think it’s called the Merlin. It’s named after a pirate ship or something one of his ancestors sent out during the War of 1812.”
“Do you mean a privateer?” Sunny asked. “They were sort of early defense contractors. The government gave them the legal go-ahead to raid and seize cargos from enemy merchant ships.”
“Like pirates.” Robin shrugged. “Whatever you want to call it, that Merlin came home with a hundred thousand dollars.”
“Before inflation,” Will joked, but his eyes grew serious as they followed the vessel, almost three times the size of Ben’s boat. “Kingsbury’s got a lot of nerve, sailing in these waters after what happened.”
“I know, right?” Robin said. “They mentioned that on the show, too, about the girl who drowned under his boat.”
“That cost him his seat in Congress.” Sunny remembered the scandal, which had happened during the summer of her junior year in college. Caleb Kingsbury had been found on top of his overturned boat—the dead girl had been beneath it. “He was just getting ready to run again, but after that, none of his father’s political friends wanted anything to do with him.”
“Well, it couldn’t have hurt him much if he’s out there sailing a fifty-foot schooner.” Ben adjusted their course slightly.
“So what’s the scoop on this celebrity wedding?” Sunny asked.
“You don’t know?” Robin sounded incredulous. “Priscilla Kingsbury is marrying Carson de Kruk in a couple of months. It’ll be the biggest thing to happen around here this fall. Eagle Eye said the families will be spending some time at the Kingsbury estate, getting to know one another.”
Sunny might not be up on the local wedding gossip, but even she knew the name Carson de Kruk—son of multimillionaire Augustus de Kruk. “If Caleb Kingsbury is sailing in for this get-together, I wonder how the de Kruks will make their entrance,” Sunny said. “They’ve got more money than God.”
“Maybe they’ll pile it all up and come parasailing down from the summit,” Will suggested.
“One thing’s for sure,” Ben said, going from sea captain to traffic cop. “Driving anywhere near Wilawiport is going to be a real mess—especially round the Kingsbury compound. They may not be Kennedys or Bushes, but they’re sure to have TV crews and lots of gawkers around. Now I know why I’m being posted up there. I was supposed to keep quiet about it. But if it’s on TV . . .” He shrugged.
They reached the dock where Ben was renting space without spotting any other mysterious schooners, and the two couples parted ways. Will gave Sunny a lift home.
“Do you want to come in?” she asked as they turned onto Wild Goose Drive.
When she saw Will hesitate, Sunny said, “I promise there are no paparazzi hanging around.”
“It’s not that—or you.” Will fumbled for words. “It’s your dad. Whenever he gets hold of me now, he’s full of advice.”
“Well, he kind of considers himself your unofficial campaign manager.” Sunny pointed out.
“Emphasis on the unofficial,” Will said.
“Hey, he and Zach Judson and the other members of the Kittery Harbor political faction got you back here in the first place.”
“I know. It’s just that it’s gotten so complicated.” Will ran a hand through his hair, and made a face as his fingers got stuck.
Sunny grinned. “Yeah, salt water will do that. You know, some folks intentionally spray the stuff onto their hair to get more volume.”
“Well, all it does for me is to make everything clump together.”
She laughed. “Better than the frizz of death, which is what I get. Come and have a quick drink, then you can plead the need to take a shower and escape if Dad gets to be too much for you.”
Will agreed, and together they walked to the front door, then headed into the living room to find Sunny’s dad, Mike Coolidge, sitting on the couch with their neighbor Helena Martinson.
“Well, you two look dry, so I guess Ben Semple didn’t sink the boat on you,” Sunny’s father greeted them.
“No, we had a nice little jaunt,” Sunny assured him, glad to see her Dad looking so well and relaxed. When she’d come home from New York City to tend him after his heart attack, it had been touch and go for a while. But now he was eating healthily and getting in a three-mile walk every day, though his unruly white curls needed a trim, as usual. His piercing blue eyes were fondly aimed at Mrs. Martinson, whom Sunny suspected was the other reason for Mike’s improvement. There were plenty of widows available in town, but her dad had gravitated to Helena, and Sunny could see why. Mrs. Martinson was everything Sunny wanted to be when she grew up—or at least grew older. Petite, graceful, with a figure that Sunny could only envy and blond hair that had somehow gone platinum with age, Mrs. M. was definitely a catch . . . and Sunny was glad that Mike had caught her.
“Kinda nice, being able to sit around without worrying about furry critters underfoot,” Mike said.
Helena nodded. “We had a pet-free day. Your Shadow was out visiting, and I left my Toby playing in my backyard.” She shuddered slightly. “I just hope he hasn’t gnawed his way through the fence or knocked a tree down.”
The ungainly pup Mrs. M. had adopted had grown considerably . . . and didn’t show any signs of stopping yet. Combined with a bumptious puppy-dog personality, Toby’s awkward stage wasn’t always charming.
“I didn’t think they could breed golden retrievers with Godzilla.” Mike shook his head.
“So, did you enjoy your day off?” Mike turned round to include Will in the conversation. “Lord knows you won’t get many until after the primary.”
“Too true. In fact, I was reminded of what can go wrong in a political career,” Will said, “when Caleb Kingsbury went sailing past us.”
“The Kingsburys? They’re definitely out of my league. Now there was a political dynasty still looking for a crown.” Mike shook his head. “Although at least his father, Thomas Kingsbury, reached out to folks in Kittery Harbor the last time he ran. Tom was ‘the Senator’ to everybody, even his kids. He was kind of a stiff old coot, which worked against him in the end. The party, even long-time supporters, dumped him for a younger, more with-it candidate.”
“From what I hear, the kids didn’t turn out too happily,” Will added.
“The eldest, Nate, came out of West Point as a newly minted second lieutenant, and his dad sent him off to Vietnam to become a war hero. Apparently the Senator forgot that people could become casualties, which is what happened to Nate. Lem, the second son, was campaigning for the old man’s seat and got killed in an accident up in the mountains.” Mike paused for a moment. “You know, that’s why the term ‘landslide’ became a taboo political term among the Kingsburys.” He went on, “The Senator’s grandsons haven’t done too shabbily, though. Lem Junior is a governor down south, and his kid brother Tom is one of the youngest governors in the country out west. You can’t exactly call the Kingsburys kingmakers, though. Even with both of their states together, the best they can deliver is seven electoral votes.”
“And Lem Junior got pretty well trounced in the last round of presidential primaries,” Sunny recalled. “He was out before South Carolina.”
Mrs. M. spoke up. “Nate, Lem, Caleb . . . putting the names all together like that, it begins to sound like the cast from Hee Haw.”
That got a shrug out of Mike. “The Senator was very big on early American names. It’s not uncommon in these parts. Although maybe not in such volume.”
“And he seemed to do well enough as Thomas Kingsbury,” Helena Martinson added.
“Thomas Neal Kingsbury,” Mike corrected. “His Neal relations were the really rich ones. They’ve got an old family mansion up in Wilawiport, on Neal’s Neck, their private peninsula.”
“If the house is up in Wilawiport, the Neals probably were robber barons,” Mrs. M. said. “You had to make your money before 1929 to build an estate up there.” She confided to Sunny, “Just like the Piney Brook people look down their noses at what they call the ‘new money’ putting up McMansions in the new developments, the Wilawiport crowd looks down on the Piney Brook mansion set because they made their money around World War II.”
“As I said, out of my league.” Mike turned back to Will. “We’ve got a sheriff’s primary to win. Are you all set for your next speech?”
“The 99 Elmet Ladies.” Will glanced at Helena. “At least I can depend on one friendly face in attendance tomorrow evening.” Mrs. Martinson was a leading light in that county-wide civic group.
“I’ll be there, too,” Sunny loyally promised, wondering where she could find a sufficiently conservative outfit on short notice. Maybe something with a bustle.
“Not every face will be friendly, though,” Mrs. M. warned. “Lenore Nesbit is a founding member.”
“The sheriff’s wife?” Sunny thought hard, but she couldn’t remember ever meeting the woman. “Do you think she’ll be a problem?” She tried to lighten the mood. “From your tone of voice, I’d be expecting the Wicked Witch of the West.”
“Oh, no, Lenore is quite charming,” Mrs. Martinson said mildly. “So charming, you’ll hardly feel the knife as it goes in.”
2
Sunny didn’t know how to answer that, so she was glad when the doorbell rang and gave her an excuse to escape. It was Rafe Warner, delivering Shadow home.
“He was pretty much a gentleman,” Rafe reported as he put down the cat carrier, “except for a little roughhousing with Portia.” He grinned. “She egged him on.”
An imperious “Meow” came from the grilled front of the carrier. Shadow didn’t mind being transported in the carrier . . . but he didn’t like being cooped up in his own house. Sunny undid the latch and the big gray tomcat stepped out, immediately twining his way around her bare ankles. He paid special attention to her shoes, making Sunny wonder if she’d stepped into some trace of Ben’s last fishing expedition.
Rafe’s grin grew wider as he watched. “That Shadow is a smooth one. Moving from one girlfriend to another.”
“I’m just glad you’re okay with having Shadow over to visit Portia.” Sunny bent and picked up Shadow, then waved good-bye to Rafe as he headed back to his car.
Shadow wormed his way out of her arms and onto her shoulders, draping himself around her neck like a large and internally warmed fur collar. Sunny wore him like that back into the living room, but he quickly abandoned her once she sat down, climbing to the top of the chair, then jumping down to the floor and investigating the other people in the room.
Mike and Mrs. Martinson got a fairly cursory examination, although Shadow made a sort of sneezing noise around Mrs. M. Probably catching a whiff of Toby, Sunny thought.
Shadow was more circumspect as he approached Will. While it didn’t reach the level of cold war, there was definitely a respectful antagonism between the two. Will and Shadow were both pretty stubborn and didn’t find much to agree on—except, maybe, for Sunny. And Will had yet to forgive Shadow for the time that the cat had literally crashed a romantic moment, falling from the roof of the house just as he was making a move. Even so, Shadow was enough of a snoop that he couldn’t help checking Will out for any interesting smells—especially Will’s Top-Siders.
“Whatcha catching there, little guy?” Will asked with a smile. “A whiff of fish head or fish guts? I keep telling Ben he’s got to clean the decks more often.”
“Of course, that’s why any man buys a boat,” Mrs. Martinson said in a tart voice. “The chance to do marine housekeeping.”
Sunny remembered that as a kid, she’d often seen Mrs. M.’s late husband coming home from fishing expeditions. He’d had a boat, too. Whenever Mr. Martinson enjoyed a good catch, he’d share it with the neighborhood. Nice, but Sunny remembered her mother’s delight at getting stuck with the job of gutting and scaling a fresh fish dinner.
Whatever it was Shadow had been smelling, he finally finished his rounds, walked back in front of Sunny, sat back on his hindquarters, and stared up at her.
“I know that look,” Mike said, “and I never go to sleep if I see it in the furball’s eyes.” He deepened his voice. “Feeeeed meeeeee.”
Sunny rose. “Well, we’ll see if he wants dry food or something to drink.”
“Speaking of feeding . . .” Mrs. M. got up from her chair, too. “I’d better get home to see what damage Toby has done to my backyard.”
“I should be heading home, too.” Will joined Helena as she went for the door.
After they said their good-byes, Sunny headed down the hall to the kitchen, with Shadow leading the way and Mike trailing after.
“Do you think it was something we said?” Mike asked as Sunny laid out some food for the cat. Mike stepped over to where Shadow leaned into his bowl, delicately crunching away on dry food. “Or was it something the furball did?”
*
Shadow was just as glad to see the visitors leave. He’d put in a hard day, chasing and playing with Portia, the calico cat with the irresistible scent. Now he was ready for a nice nap. Besides, you never knew what two-legs would get up to when you put them in large groups. Sometimes they’d sit around talking loudly, setting little things on fire to breathe the smoke, turn on the picture box or the box that made noise, drink that stuff that made them act silly . . . and then they’d forget that there was someone to watch out for on the floor. Shadow had lived in houses like that, and it could get dangerous.
Luckily, Sunny and the Old One weren’t that way. They didn’t make the picture box too loud, Sunny liked to play, and the Old One left Shadow alone for the most part. Even their visitors weren’t too bad. The She who visited with the Old One wasn’t grabby, and she knew the good places to scratch. If it weren’t for the fact that she smelled so much of dog, Shadow wouldn’t mind having her around.
Sunny’s He was another story. Shadow remembered how that one had held him helpless, keeping him from meeting Portia for a long, long time. Shadow wasn’t about to forget that. If it happened once, it could happen again. So Shadow kept a wary eye on that one, even when he came in with strange and interesting aromas.
That reminded him. Shadow turned back to Sunny, inhaling deeply, trying to identify the elements of the bouquet wafting from her. Some were familiar, like Sunny’s own scent. And there was the faintest smell of fish coming from the things on her feet. Others he couldn’t identify, like the sharp tangy odor from back around her heel. Most of all, he caught an odd fragrance still enveloping her, one he sometimes sensed in town when the wind came blowing across the big water.
It was a scent to stir the blood, wild and salty.
Shadow turned from his bowl and ran his tongue along Sunny’s bare leg until she jumped away with a surprised noise.
Yes, definitely salty. It went well with the crunchy food he was eating.
*
The next evening, Sunny looked critically at her reflection in the bedroom mirror. Was she ready to deal with the 99 Elmet Ladies and Will? Spending time outdoors on the boat yesterday had strengthened her tan—and left a spray of freckles across the bridge of her nose and her cheeks. Her outfit involved neither a pillbox hat nor a pantsuit. Sunny wore a simple belted dress in muted green, something nice but a tad fuddy-duddy that had sat in her closet for a long, long time.
I guess I should be glad it still fits, she thought. It’s one of the first things I bought when I moved to New York.
Sunny had a nice figure, but spending most of her day sitting in front of a computer was enough to shift the sand in even the daintiest hourglass. She’d upped the exercise quota this summer, and now she was glad of it as she checked the fit of the dress.
She’d managed to wash the salt out of her hair, but her auburn curls were as unmanageable as ever, a genetic bullet from her father and his own mass of curls. She really needed a cut and styling, especially if she was going to have to attend more of these dressy events with Will. But the one beauty parlor in the area that could control her mop was pricey.
She’d actually gotten a raise for her job as webmistress and general office worker monkey at the Maine Adventure X-perience, MAX for short. Sunny would’ve thought her boss, Ollie Barnstable, more likely to donate a kidney than fork over a little more in her paycheck but he’d actually come across pretty generously. Still, it seemed really ridiculous, spending it all on her hair. Had Jackie Kennedy dealt with problems like this? That irreverent corner of her mind was having a field day. Did Hillary Clinton?
Catching movement in the mirror, she turned to find Shadow sitting in the doorway, watching her.
“Don’t tell me you’re smelling mothballs,” Sunny told him.
She headed downstairs to the living room, where her father had installed himself with the Sunday papers on his lap and the TV remote in his hand.
“You look nice,” Mike said. He seemed in a mellow mood after a lazy day and a salad supper.
“Sure you don’t want to come, Dad?” Sunny teased. “You could have a front-row seat to watch politics in action.”
Mike shook his head. “Not after I got a pass from Helena. There’s a very smart woman. She told me, ‘Togetherness is fine, but there’s nothing like the meeting of a ladies club to put a strain on it.’” He grinned. “Besides, I think she’s afraid one of the ninety-eight other ladies might try to poach me.”
The mention of the other women reminded Sunny of something. “Do you think the sheriff’s wife is going to make trouble?” That thought had been nagging at her ever since Helena had mentioned Mrs. Nesbit.
“I’ve met Lenore a couple of times, usually when I was up at the county seat for some political confab or other,” Mike said. “For the most part she kept to herself. But when she opens her mouth, watch out.”
“Thanks,” Sunny told him. “That makes me feel a whole lot better.”
Mike spread his hands. “What is she going to say? Will doesn’t have any interns to fool around with—” He abandoned that line of thought when he caught the look she sent him. “He has a good reputation as a solid cop. One you’ve helped him achieve. Whatever she says, if she says anything at all, it can’t be too bad.”
Even so, Sunny felt uneasy as she walked the few blocks over to pick up Mrs. Martinson at her place. Helena was out on her porch. “I thought I’d spare you a greeting from Toby.”
From the level of excited barking inside the house, Sunny was just as glad.
Mrs. M. held out a set of car keys. “Would you mind driving the Buick? The evenings are still long, but it will be dark by the time we’re heading back.”
It wasn’t the first time Sunny had done the driving, so she led the way to the car, opening the passenger-side door for Helena. The car started up without a problem, and Sunny noticed the gas gauge read “full.”
All prepared for the journey, she thought. I hope.
She took local roads over to the interstate and headed north. The Elmet Ladies usually met in the county seat of Levett, which was sort of enemy territory for Will. Most of his support came from people like Sunny’s dad, down in the southern end of the county, folks around Kittery Harbor who felt they were getting shortchanged by the movers and shakers up in Levett.
This could be a chance for Will to make some inroads in Frank Nesbit country.
As long as Mrs. Nesbit doesn’t overturn the applecart. Sunny pushed that thought away.
Sunny got off at the exit for Levett, and Mrs. M. directed her to a lodge hall that the Elmet Ladies had rented for the evening. There were definitely more than ninety-nine people inside, and some of them weren’t even ladies. Sunny hadn’t expected to find so many political junkies in this neck of the woods. Maybe this was a good thing for Will.
Helena took her around the room, introducing Sunny to people, and in some cases, reintroducing her to the mothers of old classmates or people who’d been ahead of her at school.
Then her eyes lit up. “Here’s someone you really should meet.” The someone was a young woman, younger than Sunny, and she was surrounded by a buzzing cluster of ladies. Helena deftly inserted them into the crowd, moving forward until she could make the introductions. “Sunny Coolidge, this is Priscilla Kingsbury. Priscilla, Sunny.”
So this is the bride-to-be, one of the fabled Kingsburys, Sunny thought. Priscilla had sandy blond hair, cut short in a fairly utilitarian style, and wore a plain khaki dress not that dissimilar from the one Sunny had on. Hmmmm. Maybe I have a future as a political helpmate, at least in the wardrobe department.
As Priscilla turned to them, Sunny was struck by the girl’s eyes, large, dark, and intelligent, the best feature in an otherwise pleasantly pretty face. She also displayed a killer smile and a sharp memory. “Nice to meet you, Sunny. And good to see you, Helena.”
“Priscilla is helping with our food pantry,” Mrs. M. explained. That explained a lot. Helena had made keeping the local food pantry stocked her personal mission. Jobs were still scarce around the county, and a lot of families needed help in stretching their food budgets.
“We just provided some seed money and discussed best practices.” Priscilla smiled. “It’s passionate folks like Helena who really got it off the ground. If we can find more people like that in neighboring counties, we can try setting up a regional pilot program and even wind up with a model that we can use nationally.”
Sunny nodded, impressed. “Sounds pretty serious.”
Priscilla laughed, flashing that smile again. “It makes a nice change from forever talking about wedding plans.”
“Speaking of which . . .” A lady off to Priscilla’s left cut in. “Have you considered using local goods and services for the wedding? That could be a real economic boost.”
Priscilla turned to her, looking a bit harassed. But the woman on Priscilla’s right stepped forward with an answer. “I’m Fiona Ormond, Ms. Kingsbury’s wedding planner. Some elements of the wedding—the gown, for instance—will of necessity come from New York. But there are many other supplies and services, of course, we’re looking to source locally.”
The planner had a handsome, slightly square face, and blond hair with dark roots showing at the part. Proof that she’s a busy woman who doesn’t get distracted by mere vanity, Sunny’s irreverent alter ego suggested. With her crisp business suit and a smile that could cut paper, Fiona was the classic stereotype of the go-getting New York career woman.
Is that what Will thought he was seeing when he first met me? Sunny wondered. She looked over to the stage, where he stood looking out at the crowd. Will smiled when he spotted her. At least he’s changed his mind now.
“I guess this isn’t the time or place to discuss life on the campaign trail,” Helena whispered with a smile as she moved away from Priscilla and deftly snagged them a pair of aisle seats. As usual, Mrs. M.’s timing was impeccable. No sooner had they sat down than the chairwoman called the meeting to order.
Once everyone was seated, Will set off on his stump speech. It wasn’t an attack speech. Will was respectful of Frank Nesbit, praising him as a good administrator who worked well within the county government. Will had practiced and refined his words, working with Mike and other members of his “Kittery Harbor Kitchen Cabinet.” As Will concluded, he said, “Just as his billboards say, Frank Nesbit has done a good job of keeping Elmet County safe. But now the job is changing. We’ve had drug labs appear, even dealt with a serial killer. What you don’t know can hurt you. So you have to ask yourselves: are you safer not knowing what’s out there or being aware of the potential crime situation?”
Sunny tried to listen like the reporter she used to be, rather than a girlfriend. She thought Will sounded pretty good, and judging by the applause, a lot of other people in the audience did, too. Then the chairwoman opened the floor for questions.
A voice came from the rear of the hall, pitched so everyone could hear. “But how do you become aware of the potential crime situation? Would you be sending officers out looking for trouble?”
Sunny twisted in her seat to get a glimpse of the questioner, a handsome woman with a frosting of gray in her short, dark hair.
“Lenore Nesbit,” Helena Martinson whispered in Sunny’s ear.
Did Will recognize his antagonist? Whether he did or not, he responded to Lenore with a smile. “For most cops, it’s the other way around. Every time a law enforcement officer goes out, there’s the possibility of trouble finding him—or her. That’s a difference between the sheriff and myself—I’ve pounded a beat in several different locations.”
“So is that your policing policy, that our officers should be ‘pounding a beat’ rather than, for instance, driving on traffic patrol?” Lenore asked.
Will refused to be drawn into that trap. “I think we know what the situation is on the interstate through outlet-land,” he said. “There’s a lot of traffic, and people get a little crazy when it comes to bargains. Plus, I’m aware of the revenue generated from giving tickets to folks from outside the state. It’s a fiscal enhancement for the sheriff’s department and for the county, as well as a valid safety issue.”
So Ben Semple will keep his job, Sunny thought.
Lenore thanked Will and disappeared while others in the hall asked questions or expressed concerns. The chairwoman was just beginning to wrap things up when a surprise visitor arrived.
Frank Nesbit walked into the hall, wearing his usual green sheriff’s department Windbreaker, his trademark silver mustache as carefully groomed as ever. He might as well have stepped down off one of his campaign billboards.
He made his way to the front of the hall, shaking a lot of hands on the way. “I’m not here to steal my opponent’s thunder,” Nesbit said as he faced the crowd. “The past few years have shown that Will Price is a very talented, experienced officer. Right now we have a situation that calls for both of those qualities: the Kingsbury-de Kruk wedding. So I’m appointing Constable Price as my liaison officer for the duration, effective immediately, so he can help us work with all the other law enforcement agencies providing security for the celebration.”
While everyone applauded the sheriff’s generous response, Nesbit shook hands with Will, who did a good job of looking pleased. But Sunny could tell otherwise, and so could Mrs. Martinson. “What’s that old rascal up to now?” she asked in a low voice.
They didn’t get an answer until Will finished pressing the flesh and almost everyone had left the hall. “That’s one I didn’t expect,” Will growled as he escorted Sunny and Helena to the Buick. “If the wedding goes off without a hitch, Nesbit cements his reputation as a great administrator, appointing the right man for the job. And if anything goes wrong, it will all be my fault.”
“That is clever, in a twisted kind of way,” Sunny had to admit.
“But here’s the kicker,” Will said. “It also means that I’ll have to spend a lot of time up in Wilawiport, giving me even less of a chance to campaign.”
“And there you have it in a nutshell,” Helena Martinson said. “The difference between a cop and a politician as sheriff.”
3
Since it was a work night, Sunny couldn’t stay out late to help Will figure out how to deal with this latest political curveball. By the time she got Mrs. Martinson home, it was just about time for bed. Sunny arrived at her house to see her father watching the late news.
“Somehow, Will’s speech didn’t make it into the national newscast.” Mike grinned at her. “How did it go?”
“As far as the speech went, that was pretty good. But afterward . . .” She recounted what happened with Frank Nesbit’s surprise visit.
“Not wanting to steal Will’s thunder? Of course he did.” Mike frowned. “And Nesbit’s shoveled enough happy horseflop with the Kingsburys to know damn well this isn’t the plum job he’s making it out to be.”
Sunny nodded. “Will already figured out it’s a heads-Nesbit-wins, tails-Will-loses situation. And it will keep him stuck in Wilawiport instead of campaigning.”
That got a deeper scowl out of Mike. “Just means we’ll have to pull up our socks and work all the harder to get the word out. Is Will taking it okay?”
“He knew from the start what he was getting into,” Sunny said. “And we all knew the sheriff wasn’t going to make it any easier.” She looked down. “I’d better get out of this outfit and into bed.”
She’d already spotted Shadow making a slow circle around her, watching intently. It wasn’t often that Sunny wore nylons, and she wanted to get safely out of reach before Shadow’s nosiness overcame his usual caution. Cat claws and pantyhose did not make a good combination.
Up in her room, she quickly changed into pjs. Shadow shouldered the door open and came in, looking relieved to find her back to normal.
Sunny sat on the floor, and Shadow crawled into her lap, arranging himself for a good petting.
“Yeah,” Sunny told him, “life would be so much easier if all any of us needed was a good belly scratch.”
*
The next morning Sunny breakfasted with her dad, who was already dressed for his daily hike. “Going up to outlet-land to walk in the air conditioning,” he said. “The weather guy last night said to expect some more hot air,” Mike winked. “He didn’t say whether to expect it from Will, Frank Nesbit, or any of the Kingsburys.”
Whatever the cause, the prediction was right. The air felt unseasonably warm as Sunny walked out to her Wrangler for the ride into town.
Monday-morning traffic flowed more freely than it had on the weekend. At least all the people visiting on Saturday and Sunday excursions had gone home. But Sunny saw plenty of vehicles with out-of-state plates, lazing along, enjoying the scenery—and clogging the roads. Considering her line of work, boosting tourism and booking accommodations at the Maine Adventure X-perience, Sunny realized that the waves of tourists were partly her doing. Obviously, not all—there were things like great scenery, discount goods in the outlets, and a state tourism bureau involved. But her promotional copy and the time and effort she put into the website made a contribution, too. So in a way, one could argue that the traffic-laden roads were a testament to her success.
Be interesting to use that as an excuse if I’m late, Sunny thought.
Either way, she beat the clock into the office, fired up the computer, and started checking e-mail. A few minutes later, Nancy the summer intern arrived and started a pot of coffee. Nancy was supposed to have been working on the local paper but had found publicity and promotional work more interesting than the nuts and bolts of journalism. Sunny didn’t necessarily agree with that herself, but having an assistant web lackey around had made life a lot easier—she’d miss Nancy when the girl returned to school in a few weeks. For now, though, they divvied up the morning’s tasks and set to work.
Around eleven o’clock, they had a real surprise when their boss, Oliver Barnstable, also showed up. Ollie was a local boy who’d left town to make good, then came back to spread his money around his old hometown. The MAX office wasn’t just about tourism, it also served as home base for a variety of his mysterious enterprises. The whole back wall of the office was lined with locked file cabinets containing all the dealings of Ollie’s mini-empire.
What People are Saying About This
Praise for the New York Times bestselling Sunny & Shadow Mysteries
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