Last Licks

The box-thing stopped growling, and Sunny and her He stepped away from it. Shadow crept forward, extending a wary paw. He gave the boxy thing a tap. It didn’t growl; it didn’t even move. But that transparent belly-thing seemed to wobble. That gave Shadow an idea. He pushed harder, shoving with both forepaws, and the boxy thing fell over, its clear belly falling away and all those little strips of paper spilling all over the floor.

This was wonderful! Shadow leaped on the largest pile of paper, scattering the strips, rolling on them, having a grand old time until Sunny and her friend came back. Sunny had a big, black, plastic bag, and oh, did she make noise when she saw Shadow in the make-believe snowdrift he’d created.

Shadow expected Sunny’s He to make even more noise—human males usually got angry and loud in the houses Shadow had lived in.

But this one just stood quietly, shaking his head.

*

Sunny and Will spent a remarkable amount of time collecting the paper shreds, bagging them . . . and keeping them out of Shadow’s reach. “If we ever have to do this again, I vote we burn the evidence instead,” Will said, glaring down at the cat. “You are one crazy creature.”

Sunny had to go along with that opinion, but it seemed to be the only thing they agreed on for the whole trip to Bridgewater Hall. Sunny tried to lay it out logically. “Okay, maybe we’ve got a new lead here. But how do we find some proof? More importantly, who even gets to hear it?” she asked. “If we go to Dr. Reese for corroboration, we’ll open exactly the can of worms Rafe was afraid of. Reese will know we’ve been looking at files illegally. Do we talk to Rafe and let him know one of his union people might be a viable suspect? Where will his loyalties lie?”

Will kept his eyes on the road. “I say first we find out who this C. Thibaud is. Then we talk to him or her. Then we make up our minds.”

“What kind of questions can we even ask?” Sunny wanted to know. “I can’t see us strolling up and saying, “Gee, have you noticed that a lot of people die when you happen to work the late shift?”

Will’s lips quirked. “Whenever you talk to a murder suspect, you have to expect that they’re on their guard, even if they’re innocent.”

“But here we don’t even know if there are murders,” Sunny burst out. “We went to outside doctors, and they told us that Gardner could have died of a stroke. We have a handful of deaths that we think are statistically relevant based on the numbers. Strokes, according to the cause of death in the papers Rafe gave us. Maybe five really sick patients in a row got transferred from a hospital to the nursing home and then died. I don’t think it’s impossible. That article my dad mentioned to me said that nursing homes get patients who are frailer and sicker these days. That three years is an average life expectancy. Some live longer, and some go quicker. Maybe a lot quicker.”

“That’s an interesting philosophy for someone who’s looking for foul play,” Will said.

“I suppose that’s what Ollie wants. But call me naïve, I have a hard time believing that someone is stalking the corridors in that place looking to bump people off. I might expect it in a big city like New York, but this is my hometown, for crying out loud. I rode my bike around town. The dangerous neighborhood was the streets around O’Dowd’s on a Friday night, because people might get liquored up and drive like idiots.”

Sunny glanced over at Will. “I know you’re a cop, you see a lot of things I don’t. And I know things have changed. Crimes that only used to happen in big cities are turning up in small towns now. But in my heart, I can’t imagine that stuff happening in Kittery Harbor . . . or Bridgewater.” She grinned. “This isn’t like Dr. Gavrik’s hometown, where her relatives were ready to kill the neighbors.”

“I can understand what you’re saying.” Will’s voice got softer. “I grew up around here, too, remember. But as you say, I’ve been a cop. I’m trained to look for foul play.”

In the end, they decided to ask Rafe about C. Thibaud without explaining the possibilities. Sunny called his number, forgetting until the phone was ringing that he was probably sound asleep after his night shift. But he answered anyway, and didn’t sound too upset.

“Sure I know her,” he said. “You probably know Camille, too. The last name is pronounced Tee-bow, like the football player.”

“Camille the aide?” Sunny asked.

Rafe confirmed it, and she thanked him then clicked her cell phone closed as Will parked his truck at Bridgewater. He gave Sunny a long, thoughtful look. “So you know her.”

“I had a suspicion I might,” Sunny admitted.

“And you like her, which is why I’ve been getting this song and dance from you about people possibly being innocent.”

“I won’t deny that, but I also don’t think we have a convincing case to present.”

They walked inside in silence until they reached the nurses’ station. “Do you want to talk to her?” Will lowered his voice.