Last Licks

“Looks good,” Mike said as he came into the kitchen and took a bottle of lemon-lime fizzwater out of the fridge.

Sunny got the glasses, and they sat down to eat. She glanced around the kitchen, noting that Shadow no longer guarded the top of the fridge but was finally paying attention to the food she’d laid out for him.

But while she—and Shadow—ate, Sunny noticed that he kept looking over at her as if something was wrong.

*

Shadow kept giving Sunny puzzled glances. This wasn’t fair, not after all he’d gone through today, nearly killing himself climbing that tree, nearly getting killed by that crazy bird, getting trapped on the roof, and finally escaping . . . into the Old One’s room. He knew the Old One usually kept his door tightly closed, just to keep Shadow out. Shadow didn’t mind because it also kept the scent of the Old One in. He feared he’d be stuck in there, and Old One smells weren’t particularly interesting or pleasant. The scent of the human’s sickness was fading away, which was good. But the Old One had one pair of shoes that let off such a terrible stink, Shadow was surprised that Biscuit Eaters weren’t showing up to roll on them.

He’d had a bad time for a while but the door hadn’t latched, and he’d managed to get it open, escaping out into fresh air. The first thing he’d done was go downstairs to the kitchen and drink some water. Then he’d taken a nap. And then, when Sunny came home, he’d rushed to her with an eager nose, hoping to erase all the bad things that had happened, the unpleasant smells he’d endured, by sniffing around her. She carried the same scents that he’d detected for the past few days, scents of illness and, in this case, a particularly nose-twisting odor he hadn’t liked. She also smelled of car, and the He who was often around her, and several kinds of food.

But the scent he really wanted, the scent he’d been looking forward to . . . there wasn’t a trace! For days now, Sunny had brought back traces of the mysterious She. The thought of filling his nostrils with that intoxicating aroma had brought Shadow at a run, only to be disappointed. Was the She teasing him? Or was Sunny?

He sullenly made the cat food disappear, all the while doing his best to give Sunny a cat’s version of a dirty look.

*

The next morning, Sunny dressed with a little more care than usual. Maybe it was silly; she’d crashed New York’s swankiest enclaves of the rich and famous as a reporter. But today she was heading for Piney Brook, the fanciest neighborhood in her old hometown, to beard Alfred Scatterwell in his den, or stately home, or whatever. That seemed to call for special armor. She got out the dusky blue lightweight suit she saved for the biggest interviews. Will seemed to have had the same thoughts, turning up in dark gray slacks, a slightly lighter shirt, and a sport coat with a very fine houndstooth pattern. “Do you mind riding with me?” he asked. “I’ve got a couple of things to discuss before we tackle Alfred.”

As they drove over, Will said, “I got some files from my friends this morning—figured the night shift was the best time for them to go and look.”

“Anything that helps us?” Sunny asked.

He shook his head. “Nothing on Elsa Hogue, not even a traffic ticket. Her husband passed away about seven years ago—severe heart attack. Rafe Warner was involved in a confrontation once, but it won him a commendation, not an arrest. He once apprehended a guy who grabbed a tourist’s wallet in a restaurant and headed for the door. Warner put him on the floor and kept him there until the cops arrived.”

“So he’s a good citizen,” Sunny said.

“A good citizen who has no problem putting a bad guy down,” Will replied. “I added Alfred Scatterwell to my wish list, just to see if anything came up. He’s never been accused of a crime, but he’s been a complainant in several cases, usually for assault.”

Thinking of Alfred’s attitude when she met him, Sunny wasn’t exactly astonished.

“Of course, given the present administration’s stand on crime statistics, the charges all became harassment,” Will went on.

“Which is probably what they were in the first place,” Sunny said. “Alfred strikes me as the kind of guy who’d claim assault quickly to defend his dignity.”

“You mean have other people—like the cops—defend his dignity.” Will drove on for a moment, then said, “Would it surprise you to hear that Gardner Scatterwell, on the other hand, had been in some kind of trouble stretching back to his high school days?”

“What kind of trouble?”

“Drunk driving, disturbing the peace, harassment—female division, this time. It all stayed pretty low-level, fines and suspended sentences, probably due to him having expensive lawyers. Usually there were fairly long gaps between charges, so I guess he tried to behave himself.”

“Probably he took his bad behavior out of town. My dad mentioned that he often traveled,” Sunny said.