Free Bellingham Mysteries 3: Black Cat Ink by Nicole Kimberling Page B

a sumi brush in one hand and a bottle of ink in the other, painting wide expressive strokes on the porous paper. Gigi slept beside him on the rug.
    After kissing Nick good morning, Peter went to engage the shower. While he enjoyed the exquisite four-head spray, a curious thought occurred: what about Bradley? What if he had stolen the sculpture himself? He plainly needed money. He wondered if Borealis Microsystems kept a log of which of their salespeople had been in the Pacific Northwest on, say, the Fourth of July. Invigorated, he lunged from the shower and, wrapped only in a towel, first visited the Internet and then made a few calls.
    Afterward, puffed up with pride, he went to crow his triumph to Nick.
    “Borealis Microsystems says that Bradley De Kamp hasn’t worked for them since June.”
    “That doesn’t surprise me at all.” As usual, Nick didn’t look up from his work. The brush strokes began to assemble themselves into the shape of a cat. “He’s always been better at selling himself than actual products.”
    “I don’t follow.”
    “He keeps getting jobs but also keeps getting let go after a few years.” Nick dipped his brush in the ink again. “The business world is rough for those of mediocre ability.”
    “So I’m thinking that we have another option in terms of people who could have benefited from theft of the statue.”
    Nick let out a snort of laughter. “I cannot imagine Bradley figuring out a way to move something that heavy. You saw his problem-solving skills in action last night.”
    “I suppose so, but what if he and Stephano worked together?”
    “Not possible. They’d be working at cross-purposes. Either the university can get the money or Bradley can, but not both.” Nick drew a long, sinuous stroke to represent Gigi’s tail. As if sensing the complete drawing, she woke, stretched, and immediately went for the sumi brush. Nick removed the brush, saving it from a mauling. In her zeal, Gigi had darted onto the paper, walked across the wet drawing before coming to rest at the upper end of the paper, printing a trail of black cat paws behind her. Nick cocked his head slightly. “Nice background there, cat.”
    “Come on, admit it. You like her,” Peter said.
    “I like her best when she’s asleep.”
    “So we’re going to keep her?” Peter asked.
    For the first time, Nick met his gaze. “Only if you admit that I was right.”
    “About what?”
    “Wanting to keep this cat from the very beginning.”
    Peter hung his head. “Okay, I wanted to keep the cat from the very beginning.”
    Nick reached out to stroke his bare shoulders. “Me too. Now get dressed. We’ve got a lot of work to do.”
    * * *
    Before Bellingham was amalgamated into the City of Subdued Excitement, it was made up of four separate towns: Fairhaven, Whatcom, Fountain, and Bellingham. During the time of its founding, Bellingham was the least of the four start-up towns but was lucky enough to have the Bellingham Bay and British Columbia Railroad Depot. Once the canneries and sawmills of Fairhaven imploded, the railroad-endowed municipality of Bellingham subsumed the others. The names of the original nineteenth-century towns linger as designated neighborhoods with distinct characters. The original fountain that gave the neighborhood its name has long since gone, but Fountain Rental remains the place to acquire not only everything one needs to throw an average wedding or wake, but also a truck to move it all with.
    Peter had no need of any of the trucks available, though some of the big dualies appealed strongly to the four-year-old within him. He and Nick loaded the beat-up Hamster truck with tables and chairs and kerosene heaters. Last he carefully nestled a three-tier punch fountain between two stacks of chairs while Nick signed the rental agreement. They made good time, arriving back at their house just as Evangeline pulled up to help them unload and start decorating.
    “Can you give me a hand with this