Last Licks

Sunny herself he seemed to regard with more sorrow than anger. When she got the glasses from the cabinet over the sink, she discovered Shadow at her feet, gazing up at her. Sorry, she silently told the cat. I’m not sure if this is a love-of-your-life kind of thing, or if it’s simple biology. Some days I really wish you could talk and tell me.

She deposited a plate and glass in front of Will and then did the same for herself. He held up a piece of paper. “As you no doubt noticed, there were a few names that appeared once. Three names appear more than once. I’ve got one turning up twice, another three times, and a C. Thibaud five times.”

He thought for a moment. “You know, five would be exactly the number of extra deaths.”

Sunny frowned, staring at the list. She’d only paid attention to the last names, not the first initials. C. Thibaud, she thought.

Could that be Camille?

Aloud, she said, “I guess our next step is to head over to Bridgewater Hall and talk to this Thibaud person,” but inside, she really, really hoped that friendly, helpful Camille wouldn’t turn out to be their latest suspect.

Sunny closed her eyes, trying to recall the surrealistic scene that night as she rushed down the long, dim corridor to Room 114. The staff had all seemed gathered at the nurses’ station . . . Sunny tried to bring that into sharper focus. No, she definitely didn’t recall seeing Camille. But it was still possible that the girl had been somewhere else on the floor, tending another patient, or even somewhere mundane, like the ladies’ room. Or hiding out.

Will’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “We never got a chance to talk to Luke, either, what with all his new fans mobbing him.”

Sunny managed a laugh. “I hope he didn’t take too much of his pay in beer.”

The doorbell rang. Over by his food dish, Shadow brought his head up suddenly, but at the sound of barking outside, he slowly brought it down again.

“I’m going to go get that,” Sunny said as the bell sounded again, accompanied by more barking. She opened the door a crack, pretty sure she already knew who the visitors were.

Sure enough, she saw Mrs. Martinson wrestling with a leash as Toby tried to stick his nose into the house.

Sunny shot a quick, nervous glance over her shoulder. No Shadow waiting to make a dash for freedom. And no hisses and screams from the kitchen. She relaxed a little and opened the door wider. That got an inquiring canine nose thrust at her and an apologetic smile from Helena.

“Sorry about the delay in answering,” Sunny said. “We had a little incident with Shadow trying to get out earlier, and—” She fluttered her hands. “And here I am. What can I do for you?”

“Toby and I were out for our walk, and we heard two very odd stories,” Mrs. M. said. “One was from Florence Gaddis. She was driving back from town last night, and she swears that she saw you, Will, and Mike standing in the parking lot of O’Dowd’s.”

“Well,” Sunny admitted, “she’s right. We were actually there last night.” She hurried on at the shocked expression on Mrs. Martinson’s face. “A friend was playing some music there, the therapist I’d told you about from Bridgewater Hall.”

“The young man.” Now Helena’s expression looked disappointed. Not only had she not been included in an outing with Mike, but she’d missed a chance to meet possible matchmaking material for Sunny.

“We couldn’t think of asking you there,” Sunny said desperately. “I’m sure you’ve heard what a cesspool it is.”

“I went to O’Dowd’s once . . . years ago,” Mrs. Martinson said. “If your friend does another show there, let me know.”

Sunny knew when she was licked. “Of course,” she promised.

Helena nodded and tightened her grip on Toby’s leash, not meeting Sunny’s eyes.

“You, ah, said there were two odd things?” Sunny finally prompted.

Mrs. M. looked as though she’d been roused from a reverie. “Goodness, where does my mind go sometimes? That’s right, another friend mentioned that Alfred Scatterwell is having a memorial for his uncle at the mansion tomorrow evening.”

“Oh, really?” Sunny said.

Mrs. Martinson nodded. “It will be the first time the place will be open since Gardner stopped giving parties—which has to be twenty-five years now. With all his absences, traveling and so on, I wonder how the old place has held up.”

“You should go and see,” Sunny suggested.

But Mrs. Martinson shook her head and looked down.