Nina Wright - Whiskey Mattimoe 07 - Whiskey, Large (12 page)

“I did.”

“What did he say?”

I mentioned the first item on Noury’s list and then went blank.

“Wait.” I groped inside my bra for the cheat sheet. It had shifted in transport.

Odette covered her eyes. “If you need a moment to adjust your udder, please do so in the rest room.”

I was in the midst of explaining that I had stashed Bill Noury’s four-part instructions in a secure location when Odette took a phone call and headed for her desk.

All good. I would find the paper later. In the meantime, Odette was making money, which meant I was making money, too.

Before I could replace
my temporarily enlarged breast in its bra-cradle, my phone beeped. Then it beeped again. Hey, I had my hands full.

Just what I needed. More texts from Mom.

gr8ful 4 nu phn r u

As I frowned at the message, she sent me another one.

will u b l8 4 dinner

I typed:

R u reading a list of internet slang?

She promptly replied:

aamof i m

Studying the acronym, I was relieved to decipher “as a matter of fact” as opposed to a curse involving somebody’s mother. I texted back that I expected to be home by five.

It was just after two o’clock. My plan was to peruse paperwork in my office and make a few calls to clients. Since everybody knew I was on maternity leave, nobody expected to hear from me. Still, when you’re your own boss, it’s surprisingly hard to let go of all details. I figured I would spend an hour or so doing busy work at my desk and then have Helen drive me around for a while. I could enjoy either a short scenic drive or a backseat snooze, or both.

I made one phone call and promptly fell asleep at my desk. Actually, to be accurate, I fell asleep on my desk. When I awoke, Chester was gently tapping me on the cheek. My other cheek was pressed against the desk blotter. Once again, there was drool.

I knew it was Chester even though he was wearing an alarming disguise—a bug-like rubbery mask that covered his whole face and seemed to magnify his eyes.

“I’m trying out my birthday present from Jenx and Brady,” said a muffled voice. “What do you think?”

“Is that a gas mask?”

His head jerked up and down in a vigorous nod.

“Why on earth would anybody need that?”

He shrugged. “Propane tank explosion?”

“That wouldn’t save you,” I said.

He yanked it off, revealing a sweaty face and steamed-up glasses seriously askew.

“It will make a great Halloween costume, and who knows how bad our air quality will get in my lifetime? Oh, and they gave me a new deputy badge, too.”

He plucked a shiny gold star from the pocket of his navy blue school blazer.

“Chester, that’s a Texas Ranger badge.”

“Works for me,” he said and pinned it on his lapel. I had to admit it looked good on the blue blazer. “How’s Helen doing?”

“Fine. Thanks for loaning me her services, and the Town Car, too.”

I decided not to mention how much I would prefer MacArthur. It might make me seem ungrateful. Before I could ask about his day at school, Chester strode to my office doorway, checked up and down the hall, and softly closed and locked my door.

“Expecting trouble?” I asked.

“We’ve already got it. You need a plan to stop UberSpringer.”

With that he whipped out his smart phone and displayed his Twitter feed. He read aloud, “Mattimoe Realty shows no respect for agents. Mattimoe Realty cheats clients and competitors. Mattimoe Realty rents and sells to criminals and killers.”

He gazed at me with shadowed eyes. “UberSpinger posts stuff like this all day long. Those are just the latest tweets.”

“They’re awful,” I agreed. “Although I can’t dispute that last one.”

“You’ve had some bad luck,” Chester conceded.

“Plus Abra,” I reminded him.

Both our phones beeped at exactly the same time.

“Don’t tell me my mother is practicing her text-slang on you, too,” I said.

“It’s from Anouk,” Chester announced, reading his screen. “Somebody shot at Napoleon.”

I gasped.

“The operative word is ‘at.’” He was texting rapidly. “That implies a miss. Maybe that’s what happened at my party yesterday. The shooter was trying to hit Napoleon, not Anouk.”

“Why on earth would anyone want to shoot Napoleon?” I said.

I could think of several reasons for shooting Anouk.

Still texting, Chester said, “I’m letting Jenx know I’m reporting for duty. They’re going to need someone who can speak canine.”

Returning my dog, Anouk had theorized that Abra and Napoleon cut short their escapades because something scared them. Could it have been a shooter? If so, was my dog in danger, too?

“By association, maybe,” Chester replied when I voiced my concern. “But you can relax because I’m on the case. MacArthur is standing by to take me to the crime scene.”

Within minutes Chester and his hunky driver were en route to Vanderzee Park, followed by me and my elderly driver. Helen was thrilled to be part of a “police matter.” She enthusiastically described her favorite episode of
Murder, She Wrote,
in which somebody tried to pin a murder on a dog.

“Nobody’s trying to pin a murder on a dog,” I said. “In fact, somebody may be trying to murder a dog.”

“Oh, I hope not,” Helen said. “People should kill people, not pooches.”

Officer Brady Swancott was working crowd control at Vanderzee Park, assisted by Canine Officer Roscoe. I was relieved to see the well-trained German shepherd with all four paws on the ground, once again performing his professional duties without distraction. Keeping him clear of Sandra would protect and serve our town, not to mention his dignity.

“Hey, Brady,” I said. “Good to see you. Are your kids feeling better?”

The young part-time officer shook his head.

“I’m probably contagious. Everybody’s sick at my house, but Jenx called me in. We got lots of problems in Magnet Springs. Besides this one.”

I nodded and mentioned the fracas at the Goh Cup.

“That’s just one pet-friendly incident,” he said. “This morning Martha Glenn got knocked down by a tourist’s Newfoundland. She was so confused she called the DNR to report a bear attack.”

Martha, a fragile-looking octogenarian, was the senile shopkeeper of the fanciest dress shop in Magnet Springs. How Martha managed to run a business was beyond us all. I asked Brady if she was all right.

“Physically, she’s fine, but then she spotted a Mastiff and reported a lion on the loose.”

Jenx was wrapping up her interview with Anouk when I approached. The chief reminded her to phone the cops if she remembered anything that might aid their investigation.

“Did you see the shooter?” I asked Anouk.

Jenx pulled a face. “You’re on maternity leave, remember? Let MacArthur and Chester ask the follow-up questions.”

“Okay, but I think there’s a connection between what happened here and what happened at my house yesterday, and also what happened when Abra and Napoleon were on the loose.”

I turned to Anouk.

“See anything suspicious while you were running Napoleon through his paces?”

“Law enforcement has already covered that,” Jenx snapped. Anouk raised a hand and we looked at her.

“Not suspicious, perhaps, but a little strange. I noticed a man in a black pick-up truck driving behind me most of the way here. He turned away about two blocks before we got to the park.”

“You didn’t tell me that,” Jenx said, withdrawing her frayed spiral tablet to add the note.

Anouk shrugged. “I’m telling you now. I didn’t see the man again, and I don’t remember ever seeing the truck before. It was an ordinary-looking truck.”

“How about the man? Was he ordinary looking, too?”

“He wore glasses and had a beard,” Anouk recalled. “A brown beard.”

“That narrows it way down,” the chief said.

“A reddish-brown beard,” Anouk said. She had closed her eyes to sharpen the remembered image.

“Anything else?”

“He was young,” Anouk said. “Not yet thirty, I’m sure.”

I asked Anouk to repeat for Jenx what she had told me about Abra and Napoleon coming home early the previous night. She explained that the dogs seemed so eager to be back she thought something had alarmed them.

“You think somebody shot at them?” Jenx asked.

“Something bad happened,” Anouk said.

“Something bad usually happens when Abra’s involved,” Jenx muttered. “We got no reports of guns going off last night. I’ll have Brady check with County to see if they know anything.”

She turned to me. “So now you think somebody was trying to shoot Napoleon on your porch yesterday?”

I nodded.

“People shoot at your dog,” Jenx said, “because she’s a felon. Napoleon’s just a poodle.”

Anouk’s already straight back stiffened. “A champion stud poodle.”

“Who hangs out with Abra,” Jenx said. “Yup, he might be a target.”

I wondered if Anouk’s “gift” might provide additional insights, so I suggested she use her pet psychic powers to interview Napoleon about what had happened when he was out with Abra.

Anouk scowled as only a French person can.

“I regress dogs to past lives in order to alleviate behavior issues,” she said. “I don’t quiz them about their dates.”

“Chester could interview Napoleon,” Jenx said brightly. “It worked with Abra last summer.”

Indeed, it had. Months earlier, Chester interrogated Abra about a murder scene on a beach. Although the interview wasn’t admissible in court, the resulting information helped Jenx arrest a killer.

We found my young neighbor sitting cross-legged on the ground, Napoleon’s beautifully coiffed head in his lap. The poodle was breathing easy after his near-death experience less than one hour ago. Jenx squatted next to her best volunteer deputy.

“Good work, kid. Any chance he’ll tell you what he saw while he was out with Abra yesterday? Don’t lead the witness, but we’re wondering if somebody fired at them while they were running free.”

Chester nodded and motioned for us all to take a giant step back. We complied. Within moments he had gently roused Napoleon and joined the statuesque beast in a doggie greeting ritual on all fours. Nonthreatening growls, whimpers and snorts accompanied sniffing of key body parts. Then came the licking portion of their business, which I’d rather not to describe. Let’s just say it was noisy, wet, and fairly invasive. Before long Chester was barking and whining with varied inflection, and Napoleon seemed to respond.

MacArthur joined our ring of bystanders.

“That lad is a natural,” he commented. “I have great faith he’ll develop similar skills with the ladies.”

Jenx confided my shooter theory to her new volunteer deputy. I watched MacArthur’s face closely for signs that the Cleaner might have insights of his own, but he kept his eyes on Chester and his thoughts to himself. Finally, he excused himself to go see whether Brady or Roscoe needed a hand. That wasn’t where he headed, however. I watched the muscular Scot jog off in another direction, toward a thick grove of white pines that separated Vanderzee Park from a row of homes. He vanished among the trees.

When I returned my attention to Chester and Napoleon, the dog was enjoying a treat from Anouk and the boy was once again vertical.

“I recommend debriefing me while the conversation’s fresh in my mind,” Chester told Jenx. “I think I got something you can use.”

Since the police station was just four blocks away, Jenx elected to adjourn there. Chester rode with her in the squad car, and I followed, driven by Helen. I wasn’t invited, exactly, but I wasn’t banned, either, so why not tag along? After all, it was my theory we were testing. I was secretly thrilled to make any kind of crime-solving contribution given my spotty record as a volunteer deputy. Not to mention my compromising role as Abra’s default human.

“Napoleon and Abra got scared, all right,” Chester began, as soon as he, Jenx, and I had drawn chairs around the Formica-topped table in the police station kitchen, which doubled as an interrogation room. “Near as I can tell, somebody shot at Napoleon and Abra while they were doing what they do best.”

“You mean…?” Jenx asked.

“Making doggie love,” Chester confirmed.

“Napoleon told you that?” I said.

“He groaned in ecstasy whenever I mentioned Abra.”

Jenx said, “What did he tell you about the gunshot?”

“Nothing specific,” Chester admitted, “but dogs can communicate trauma. Napoleon cried and trembled when he remembered the incident. I was able to ask him whether there was a loud, sudden noise. I’m very sure he said yes. Then they ran as fast as they could, and they didn’t stop running until they reached Anouk’s house.”

“Any idea where they were when the shooter found them?” Jenx said.

Chester closed his eyes as if he were replaying the conversation.

“In a field. A big field. Closer to Anouk’s house than Whiskey’s, I think, or they would have run back to Vestige. Abra led the way. She’s the fast one, you know.”

“She’s fast, all right,” I said, “and she prefers Anouk’s house to mine. Anouk gives her spa treatments.”

“You could give her spa treatments,” Chester said helpfully.

I pointed at my belly.

“Well, you could ask Helen to give her spa treatments,” he said.

“I would not ask Helen to wrestle with my dog,” I said.

“Helen lives to please, Whiskey. I’m surprised you haven’t noticed.”

While Jenx conferred with Chester, I excused myself to pee. When I came back to the kitchen, Jenx had already dispatched Brady and Roscoe to scan the countryside for open fields that might contain traces of Abra and Napoleon, plus a shell casing.

“Good work today, Deputy,” I told Chester. “Where’s your driver, the other deputy?”

Chester was studying messages on his phone. Instead of answering me, he addressed Jenx.

“MacArthur just found a shell casing near Vanderzee Park.”

“Let’s see if it matches the one at Whiskey’s house,” Jenx said.

She and Chester high-fived each other, or, I should say, low-fived. Chester is short.

“MacArthur thinks they came from a high-powered rifle with a scope,” Chester added.