“It’s a lot of money,” Dani somberly agreed. “And it isn’t only mine. Sooner or later, the people in Montreal, they start to ask questions. I need to find that money. You want to find who kills your Dr. Rigsdale. Maybe we help each other, eh?”

“Maybe.” Sunny was willing to go along with Dani if it meant getting out of there. But other than discovering this Ukrainian connection, she hadn’t found out anything useful yet.

“Because I think whoever kills the doctor, that person stole my money,” Dani said. “And I got to get it back.”

He looked intently at Jane.

Oh, God, he knows about the foundation, Sunny thought.

“Your husband that used to be, he talked about you,” Dani said. “How when he finished with you, then all of a sudden you have money.”

“It’s not my money,” Jane tried to explain.

“But would you use it to save a life?”

Jane looked stricken.

Would it have made a difference if Martin had explained about getting in over his head with the Ukrainians instead of trying to charm the money out of her? Sunny wondered. And then, Wait a minute. Why would he need that much from Jane? He still had the money he stole from them.

Or did he?

Dani shrugged and spread his hands. “Because if we don’t find our money, we got to get it from somewhere.”

He gestured to Olek. “So now we let you go. But we be in touch, eh?”

Olek opened the door to the alley, politely holding it as Sunny and Jane made their way out. As they got into Jane’s BMW, Dani stepped past them into his SUV. He pulled it away so it no longer blocked their path. Then he got out and made a sweeping gesture with his arm.

Jane took the hint. She started her car, backed it onto the street, and drove off. When they were about ten blocks and two turns away, she pulled to the side of the street. “I’ve got to stop for a minute,” she said. “My hands are shaking too much to drive.”

Sunny knew what she meant. She was shivering, and it had nothing to do with the cold outside.

Jane slowly sank forward until her forehead rested on the wheel. “Oh, Martin,” she moaned, “what have you gotten me into?”

“The first question is, do we tell anybody?” Sunny said. “Our new friend Dani was trying to be nice, but he’s obviously a mobster.”

“And that Olek . . .” Jane just shuddered. “Following him was not one of your better ideas, Sunny.”

“My enthusiasm got the better of my common sense,” Sunny confessed. “It’s the kind of mistake a real rookie reporter would have made.” She shrugged uncomfortably. “Maybe being such rank amateurs is what saved us. I don’t think they’d have been so pleasant and forgiving if Will had been along.”

On the other hand, she thought, Will would have stopped us. But she didn’t actually say that.

“Maybe.” Jane sounded doubtful, not to mention worried. “But they’re expecting us to help them—or give them a big chunk of money.”

“Well, we definitely have to find out more about them,” Sunny said. “I can ask Ken Howell at the Crier to see if his buddies on the other local newspapers have heard anything about new loan sharks in town. And maybe, if I’m careful, I can ask Will—”

“You can’t!” Jane sat bolt upright, staring at her in panic. Then, a little more quietly, “I don’t think they’d like you passing along what they said.”

“I can talk about finding cigarettes, and give the names as something I overheard.” Sunny tried to calm her down. “Then we’ll see what Will can find out.”

She raised a hand to stave off any more protests from Jane. “When Sheriff Nesbit ordered Will to cooperate, he gave him a direct order. Will has to answer any question that Trumbull wants to ask him. As far as I know, Trumbull hasn’t asked anything about Ukrainian gangsters. We’re just trying to find out about Martin’s finances.”

Jane gave her a long, odd look. “The longer I hang around with you, the more I’m willing to bet that you have a very perverted view of the truth,” she finally said.

Sunny could only shrug. “You probably wouldn’t lose money that way. Sadly, there’s one thing that always comes with a reporter’s job: you get to hear a lot of lies.”

When they got back across the bridge into Kittery Harbor, Sunny got on the phone. “Hey, Dad? Sorry I’m running a little later than I expected. Have you eaten yet?”

“Kind of hard, when the cupboard is just about bare,” Mike replied. “I’ve been looking at one of those little cans you feed your friend, wondering if I put in a little chopped onion and mustard, maybe it would taste like tuna salad.”

Sunny laughed. “Trust me, Dad, it would take a lot more than a few condiments to make cat food taste like tuna salad.” She dug out her wallet. “What do you say to a pizza? Maybe half mushroom and half broccoli.”

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