Nina Wright - Whiskey Mattimoe 07 - Whiskey, Large (13 page)

“The shooter must be bad at his job,” I said. “He’s missed three times.”

Jenx said, “Maybe his job is to send a message.”

“And the message is … ?”

Nobody, not even Deputy Chester, had an answer for that one. Who would want to scare Napoleon the champion standard French poodle?

“Maybe it’s Anouk that the shooter wants to scare,” I said, “by threatening her dog.”

That almost made sense except Anouk hadn’t seemed scared at all. Not even in her tweets, according to Chester. Was that a French thing, or did she know something the rest of us didn’t? Did Anouk know who was shooting at Napoleon? And why? Was her story about the man in the pick-up truck even true?

The woman wasn’t sinister, but she was hard to read. Plus, she had a past that spanned two continents and a long list of illicit lovers, or so she had bragged to me. I wondered out loud if one of them would want to hurt her by threatening to hurt her dog? As soon as I said it, I flinched. I’d forgotten that the deputy present was only nine-and-a-half years old. He rarely talked or acted younger than forty.

“When you mention Anouk’s lovers,” Chester said, “are you counting our headmaster?”

Disturbing facts about romances among the staff at his school had emerged during a recent murder investigation. I wasn’t sure how much Chester knew. Stammering, I tried to change the subject, but Jenx jumped in.

“Anouk is done with men.”

“Not ‘done’,” Chester said. “Taking a time-out. She’s using this phase of her life to focus on her dogs and her career.”

“She told you that?” I asked, marveling at the frankness of the French.

“She tweeted it,” he said. “Then Avery and Noonan retweeted it.”

“So did I,” Jenx said. “Everybody knows Anouk’s off men.”

“Everybody but me,” I said.

For once I couldn’t blame
my lack of awareness entirely on denial. I lacked a Twitter account. Although I had zero desire to open one, I was tired of being totally out of the loop. Anouk, Avery, Noonan, and UberSpringer were flooding cyberspace with factoids I really needed to know.

“Social media’s a good source of local gossip,” Jenx said. “It can even be useful to law enforcement.”

“I like the late-breaking news,” Chester said, “and the stock tips, but you have to check your sources.”

“What do you know about UberSpringer?” I asked Jenx.

She sniffed thoughtfully. “Could be a prankster. Could be something worse.”

“UberSpringer started out tweeting about goings-on around town,” Chester said, addressing his comments to the chief. “Now he, or she, mostly tweets about Whiskey and the way she runs her business. He tweets every day about how incompetent or even crooked she is.”

“Whiskey can be incompetent,” Jenx told him, “but Abra’s the crook.”

“I’m not incompetent,” I said.

Jenx arched her eyebrows. “Your dog’s a crook.”

“Not lately.”

“Yesterday she seduced and dognapped Napoleon. Again.”

“Anouk isn’t pressing charges,” I said.

“UberSpringer might be a crook,” Chester said. “I think his tweets are libelous.”

“You know that word?” I asked, impressed.

“Libel means spreading lies in print with the intent to destroy another’s reputation,” Chester said. “It’s what’s happening to you.”

“But does anybody believe what UberSpringer tweets?” Jenx said. “That is the question.”

Just then my phone buzzed. Odette was on the line and in a fury. I retreated to the police station bathroom for privacy. I could always use another chance to pee.

“Two rental clients just canceled their contracts to lease vacation cottages,” Odette said, “and one of your previous clients has decided not to let us list his current home for sale. Guess why?”

“Does it have anything to do with UberSpringer?” I said, suddenly exhausted.

“It has everything to do with UberSpringer. Those tweets could ruin us. I’ve been on Twitter for years, and I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“You’ve been on Twitter for years?”

“How do you think I’ve built my client list? You have a public relations crisis, if not a legal issue. You might want to call your attorney again.”

“I never want to call my attorney, especially not twice in one day.”

I hadn’t even fished his first advice out of my bra.

Odette added, “Then think fast about hiring a social media damage-control specialist.”

“A what?”

“Someone who does what Avery does for a living. Cassina and Rupert are in the tabloids every week. Avery fixes their public image.”

I thought that was where MacArthur the Cleaner came in. Clearly, I was confused. And tired. So very tired. Maternity leave was turning out to be way more taxing than I had expected.

I clicked off the phone but sat inert on the toilet until Jenx rattled the bathroom door.

“Yo, Whiskey. Did you fall in? All we got’s a one-holer here, so you gotta share.”

I flushed and pulled myself together as best I could. Jeb would be home in a few hours. He would help me figure out what to do.

Little did I know that Chester had already taken the first steps on my behalf. Waving his phone, he bounced out of his kitchen chair to greet me.

“I’ve got a social media damage-control specialist ready to start working for you tonight!”

“Wait. What? Oh, Chester, I don’t want to hire Avery.”

“Not Avery. This is somebody else, and he’s on the line now. I muted my phone, Whiskey. Trust me, this is the guy you need.”

Chester gestured for me to lower myself into a chair again. I did so with a groan that wasn’t entirely about my bulk. I was overwhelmed. UberSpringer? Damage control? Libel?

“His name is Ben Fondgren,” Chester said in a confidential whisper. “He takes over for Avery on her days off. Thanks to him, Cassina has fresh creative coverage, 24/7/365.”

He explained that Cassina used a repeating service to repost Avery’s daily tweets and other social media buzz, but Fondgren filled in new stuff whenever Avery was on holiday.

“Where is this guy?” I asked, hoping Chester wasn’t going to be a smart ass and say “Cyberspace.”

“Right here in Magnet Springs. Ben’s a jack of all trades, 21st century style. He does odd jobs for Cassina.”

“Odd jobs like lawn maintenance?”

“Odd jobs like freelance web posting and computer security.” Chester held up his phone. “Talk to Ben. I’ve already told him what you need. He’ll set up Twitter, Facebook, and other social media accounts for your business, and he’ll start the positive buzz tonight.”

Chester unmuted his phone and handed it to me. Not for the first time, I marveled at the kid’s ability to broker a deal. If he ever decided to build a real estate empire, I’d be out of business within a week.

Ben Fondgren had the most pleasant male phone voice I had encountered in years, mellow and deep like a nighttime disc jockey’s. I relaxed as soon as he started talking. Even better, he seemed to know his stuff, just as Chester had said he did.

“I’ll take a three-prong approach to countering the negativity and building a powerful positive image for you and your business,” he explained. “The key is not only defusing falsehoods but replacing and transcending them with specific and tangible desirables, plus enticements.”

I wasn’t sure I understood what he would do, but I was reasonably sure I needed him to do it. Ben required immediate access to Mattimoe Realty facts and photos. I promised that my office manager would fully cooperate, as would my top sales agent, Odette. The rest of my staff consisted of part-timers, but I would get them on board, too.

When I handed back Chester’s phone, I got out my own to notify my “peeps,” as Ben called them. Within half-an-hour everyone employed by Mattimoe Realty understood their roles in assisting our new consultant. Motivating them was easy. They were plenty worried about UberSpringer and the damage he might do to their earning power.

“Thanks for the referral,” I told Chester after I completed the calls.

He had remained in the kitchen while I talked, quietly preparing and then drinking a chai latte. Only now did I realize that he had brewed it using a one-cup-at-a-time stainless steel coffeemaker I’d never noticed before. It was a pricey item for a police station kitchen with scuffed harvest-gold appliances.

“Where did that come from?” I said, nodding at the coffeemaker.

“I bought it,” Chester said as if the answer should be obvious. “When I’m on deputy duty, I like my chai latte. Jenx prefers French roast, and Brady drinks decaf. This keeps everybody happy.”

“Everybody but Peg,” I said, referring to our coffee-vending mayor whose shop was across the street. “Does she know about this?”

“Don’t worry. We still patronize the Goh Cup at least twice a day.”

I believed him. Public employees and downtown merchants ardently supported each other in this town, regardless of tourist-pet policies.

“Where’s Jenx?” I said, realizing I hadn’t seen her since I left the bathroom.

“In her office,” Chester said. “I don’t recommend disturbing her. MacArthur came in while you were on the phone, and Jenx is debriefing him now.”

He checked his Patek Phillipe watch, worth more than most people’s cars. “When they finish, he’s going to drive me home. I’ve got a distance-learning lecture at 4:30.”

“M.I.T. or Princeton?” I asked, aware that Chester routinely enrolled in online seminars at both Ivy League schools.

“Harvard this time. Nanobiotechnology. It’s a survey course.”

I blinked. “I don’t even know what ‘nano’ means.”

Chester nodded sagely. “That’s why we have to save Mattimoe Realty.”

Jenx’s office door opened, and she emerged with her new volunteer deputy, the studly Scot.

“We have a rapidly closing window,” the chief explained. “MacArthur and I are joining Brady and Roscoe in the search for Napoleon’s field. Whiskey, can you give Chester a ride home?”

“It’s Deputy Chester, and I’m coming with you,” my young neighbor declared.

“We’d be glad to have you,” Jenx said, “but you have class.”

“At Harvard, no less,” I added.

Chester shrugged. “I record every lecture. Harvard won’t mind if I watch this one after dinner.”

Using his blazer sleeve, Chester buffed his Texas Ranger star.

“Let’s roll,” he said.

I understood. The kid needed to follow up on Napoleon’s eye-witness account if only to test his powers of translation. I turned to MacArthur.

“How did you know where in Vanderzee Park to look for the shell casing?”

He touched the side of his nose. “Some say I’m a bit of a scent hound myself. I’ve a gift for sniffing gunpowder residue, as well as bodily fluids.”

“Stinks fade, deputies, so let’s go,” Jenx said, charging for the door.

I made it halfway to a standing position before I realized she didn’t mean me.

The police station door banged shut behind Jenx, MacArthur and Chester. I plopped back down onto the creaking kitchen chair and bawled like the little kid who didn’t get invited to the party.

What the hell was the matter with me, besides an advanced case of first pregnancy? Given how much I complained about Abra and her antics, did I actually get some kind of kick out of chasing bad guys? Did I need my crime-fighting “fix”?

I’d never thought of myself as an adrenaline junkie, let alone a wannabe cop, so why did I feel blue about being left out of the local posse?

Suddenly I heard Leo’s laughter, that warm rumble I used to count as the greatest sound on earth. My late husband, taken from this world too young and fast, had a gift for putting problems in perspective. With kind words, a soft touch and that gentle laugh, Leo Mattimoe could soothe the scared and heal the wounded.

I stopped whimpering and listened hard, willing his laughter to ring out again. Instead, I caught the citrusy scent of Leo’s after-shave. Breathing it in, I smiled serenely. Somehow, some way, he would always be with me.

My maternity leave would come to an end. When it did, and I was a full-fledged responsible first-time mother, I would chase criminals again. And sell real estate.

As long as I shared my home with Abra, I would have no choice about the criminals. Call it karma. Call it canine magnetism. Felons would continue to find my Afghan hound, or she would find them. In turn, I would step up to help Jenx track down the bad guys.

Laying both hands on my belly, I whispered to the little person inside.

“You’re about to arrive, and Leo’s already gone. I guess you couldn’t both be here at the same time, but I’m going to show you a million amazing things, starting with the dog Leo brought us. Oh, Baby, just wait ’til you meet Abra.”

I
didn’t know exactly
how long I sat alone in the kitchen at the police station until Helen woke me. Yup, I had nodded off again. When she woke me, we still had twenty minutes before Mom would serve dinner at Vestige. It irked me that Helen had appointed herself my human alarm clock.

First, I was seriously sleep-deprived. If you have to ask why, you’ve never had a baby or lived with someone who did. I simply couldn’t find a comfortable position, in addition to my almost continuous need to pee. Jeb would tell you he hadn’t slept through the night since my thirty-third week.

Second, I didn’t need a sitter. I was in the process of making a baby, not becoming one. Back when I was a kid, my mother never hovered, probably because she was busy with her own life, so I didn’t want a driver who hovered now. Unless, of course, he was a hunk from Glasgow.

Downtown Magnet Springs was deserted when Helen and I emerged into the cool slanting light of a late afternoon in early spring. I didn’t care if someone saw me exiting the police station. That happened often, given Abra’s penchant for crime and attraction to criminals. I did care, though, if someone saw me looking as awkward and exhausted as I felt. I must have moaned a little.

“Pregnant women have their own kind of beauty,” Helen offered.

“Newly pregnant women, maybe,” I said, “if they get the glow.”

I’d had no glow, only morning sickness, but I’d felt better by my second trimester. In fact, when Jeb came home to stay in Magnet Springs, my sex life shifted into high gear. Until my third trimester, also known as Hippopotamus Phase. Lately I felt like the biggest, heaviest thing on earth.