Nina Wright - Whiskey Mattimoe 07 - Whiskey, Large (18 page)

“When it’s done, ma’am.”

“Cute,” I said. “I assume our local police will get a copy?”

Dupper mumbled a response that could have been either “thank you” or something crude. To whatever it was, he added “ma’am.”

As soon as he clicked off, my cell phone rang.

“We found a third shell casing,” Jenx began.

“Don’t you even say hello anymore?” I said.

“Why waste time? Your dog was helpful last night.”

“We must have a bad connection. It sounded like you said Abra was helpful.”

“That is what I said. Abra led us right to it. Well, almost right to it. First she showed us where she and Napoleon did the dirty.”

“Why didn’t she show you that the first time around?” I wondered.

“Where they made love, or where the shell landed?”

“Both. Either.”

“Dunno. Chester thinks she was distracted.”

“Abra’s always distracted. She’s a sight hound.”

“The point is we got the shell, it probably matches the others although we don’t know for sure yet, and it landed close to where the dogs were making out.” Jenx sounded way more satisfied than fatigued.

“Where was that?”

“To be exact, Abra showed us three places—under a bush, next to a tree and out in the middle of the field. MacArthur’s nose backed up her story.”

I noted that Napoleon was quite the stud.”

“We found the casing closest to the last location she showed us,” Jenx said, “so we figure the dogs were doin’ it for the third time when the shooter fired and scared ’em off.”

“That’ll teach Abra to be less of an exhibitionist,” I said. Of course, I was kidding.

Jenx said, “Based on the bullet pattern, I’m pretty sure the shooter’s after Napoleon, not Abra.”

“Bad news for the poodle. Does MacArthur’s sniffer agree?”

“The man’s nose is a gift, Whiskey. Don’t sneeze at it.”

I didn’t ask where Abra was now, but the chief told me anyway.

“Chester took your hound home with him last night. He’ll bring her back after school.”

“He should keep her pending further investigation,” I said.

“We know where you live.”

I asked Jenx if she’d interviewed Todd Mullen last night.

“I wanted to, but we had to deal first with the perishable odors. Mullen was too pissed off to wait around or make an appointment to come back later, even though I asked him real nice. He’s an A-one a-hole.”

I asked if she planned to talk to him today.

“Gonna try, but he’s not taking my calls, and I’m not sure where to find him. If I do get hold of him, I expect he’ll want his lawyer present, and his lawyer will tell him I got no right to talk to him.”

“Is that true?”

“Technically. It’s the State Boys’ case, but, dammit, it happened in my jurisdiction.”

I could hear her teeth grind, a sure cue to change the subject. When I told her about the call from Randy Dupper, she made me repeat his name.

“I know everybody in the state fire investigator’s office,” she said, “and there’s nobody named Dupper.”

“Maybe he’s new.”

“There’s a hiring freeze.”

I told her I was sure of his name but not who he worked for.

“Good thing you’re on pregnancy leave, or I’d have to reprimand you for sloppy police work,” she said. She demanded Dupper’s number.

Cracking open the bedroom door, Jeb tapped his bare wrist to remind me it was time to leave for my doctor’s appointment.

“Gotta go find out when Baby’s coming,” I told Jenx.

“Where do they keep that fact, and why would Jeb trust you to find it?”

Her own joke amused her. When she stopped chuckling, I gave her Dupper’s number.

“That’s not a state office,” Jenx said. “That’s somebody’s private cell.”

“Maybe he’s working in the field today.”

“Maybe he’s working for the other side,” she said.

Before I could ask who “the other side” might be, Jenx said, “Good luck at the doc’s,” and disconnected.

In fact I did have good luck at the doc’s. However, Jeb spiked my blood pressure by observing, correctly, while we were still in the waiting room that my OB looked and sounded like a younger version of my mother.

Why had I never noticed before? True, I am the Queen of Denial, but this was deeply troubling. Had I unconsciously sought out a clone of my mother to deliver my baby? Horrors. Even Doc’s mannerisms were indisputably like Mom’s, although, of course, Doc was nicer. Except when it came to nagging me about gaining too much weight.

Thinking about the “momness” of Doc distressed and distracted me during the whole examination. Although Doc’s voice seemed far away, I was aware that Jeb was tracking her comments. I took a deep breath and tuned back in.

Doc pointed out that Baby’s head was in my pelvis, leaving less room for my bladder, which—hello!—I already knew. Jeb voiced his concern that I kept falling asleep.

“I’m nearly narcoleptic,” I admitted.

“It’s not unusual at this point,” Doc said, “although some women get a burst of nesting energy about now.”

That cracked me up until I realized she wasn’t kidding. Doc warned me against driving if I was as sleepy as I claimed. We assured her I had a driver.

“Baby seems quieter than before,” I observed. “Is that normal?”

“Your baby’s at least 20 inches long and weighs at least eight pounds,” Doc said. “There’s less room in there to move around than there used to be.”

We covered my usual roster of complaints, ranging from itchy belly to swollen feet and loose bowels to backaches. Nothing new going on there. Nothing delivering Baby wouldn’t resolve.

Doc asked if I was having Braxton Hicks contractions, also known as “practice contractions.”

“None yet,” I said. “Should I be worried?”

She shook her head decisively.

“Braxton Hicks contractions are more common in subsequent pregnancies,” she said. “Worry is a waste of everyone’s time.”

Jeb and I locked eyes. That last sentence sounded just like Mom talking.

“Your breasts are not leaking colostrum,” Doc noted.

“No, but they’re bigger than ever,” I said.

“They’ll get bigger yet.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jeb grin.

Doc continued, “The lack of colostrum doesn’t mean you can’t breastfeed.”

“I don’t want to breastfeed,” I said, sounding slightly petulant even to my own ears.

She frowned, or I thought she did, and made a note in my file. Again with the Irene Houston-isms.

She warned me to watch out for “bloody show,” which is not a British expression, and the loss of my mucous plug, which sounded just plain gross.

Let’s be honest. The whole pregnancy and delivery thing is disgusting, and nobody is more squeamish than me. Not to mention the fact that I was doing this for the very first—and only—time at age thirty-five, which seemed perilously close to forty and old age.

Sensing my unease, Jeb squeezed my hand. Once again I silently thanked the universe and all things beneficent for giving us a second shot at getting marriage right. Yes, this was happening to my body only, but we were having our baby together. After a bumpy marriage, a fast divorce and a long time apart, we had finally become a solid team, with occasional disruptions from two dogs who may have been spiteful sisters in a previous human life.

Now we just had to get through the messy childbirth part so that, as Helen had put it, the “best part”—the parenting—could begin.

My thoughts were rambling when I heard Mom, I mean, Doc, say, “Possibly within forty-eight hours.”

“What?” I said.

Jeb kissed me. “Baby could come any time!”

“I thought we had five days the other day,” I said vaguely.

“That was three days ago, babe,” Jeb said and kissed me again, harder.

I turned to Doc. “Aren’t first babies usually late?”

“They’re often late,” she said, “but I don’t think yours will be. Your baby has dropped into position, and I expect your cervix to dilate soon.”

“But…but…what about the colostrum? And the contractions? And the mucous plug?”

“They’ll happen when they happen,” she replied. “Soon.”

Suddenly, I had the chilling sensation that I hadn’t been paying attention. Nine months had passed, and I was unprepared for what was about to occur. I didn’t even understand what was about to occur.

“What if my water breaks?” I panted.

“When your water breaks, you’ll probably be in labor already and in the hospital,” Doc said. “If not, you’ll give me a call, and we’ll take it from there.”

“This is gonna be great,” Jeb exclaimed.

He had never sounded happier.

Helen and the Lincoln Town Car
were waiting for us back at Vestige. When she approached Jeb on the driver’s side of my SUV, I wondered if she planned to make nice with him to defuse the tension between her and me.

She just wanted to know if he’d like some help off-loading me.

“Thanks, but I got it covered,” Jeb said cheerfully.

I realized that he probably didn’t know she’d walked off the job.

When he closed his window, I began, “Last night—”

“Your mom said you pissed Helen off,” Jeb said. “Don’t do that again, okay? You might need her to drive you to the hospital if I’m not around.”

I felt a stab of genuine fear.

“Why wouldn’t you be around? You heard Doc say Baby could come within forty-eight hours.”

He smiled in an attempt to look reassuring.

“I was paying closer attention than you were. Doc said Baby could come that soon. More likely you’ll start labor in about forty-eight hours, and first-time labor can go on and on.”

“I know that,” I snapped. “So why wouldn’t you be here to drive me to the hospital?”

Jeb took my hands in his. “I will be here, babe, but this afternoon I have to go to Grand Rapids for one more session. You know that. I’ll be home tonight, and then I’m not leaving your side. You’ll get sick of having me around.”

“You? Never. Sandra? Already happened. Keep that stinky dog away from my big feet unless you want to see me go boom.”

I grimaced. Go boom? Was I channeling baby-talk now? God forbid I should lose my grasp of the language along with my looks and mobility.

All I knew for sure was that I didn’t want to contemplate Jeb’s being ninety minutes away at this point in my pregnancy. It meant I’d have to make amends with Helen, for sure. Well, I’d planned to, anyway, because we still might need to hire her as a nanny, but I wanted her to see me sulking for a little while first so she’d understand that I was boss.

I didn’t say I was behaving maturely.

The next thing I knew Helen had popped open my door and was beaming a conciliatory smile up at me.

“Miss Whiskey, I owe you an apology. I never meant to cause you concern last night.”

The thing was I believed her, but I didn’t want to make up that fast. If Helen felt she owed me something, I had an advantage.

Jeb nudged me.

“Tell her it’s okay,” he whispered.

I just couldn’t. Call me a poor sport, a big baby or even a bitch. I wasn’t quite ready to let bygones be bygones.

Jeb nudged me again.

“Uh-huh,” I murmured finally, sounding noncommittal.

Helen continued sweetly, “As you requested, I stepped away from the vehicle so you could have your ‘alone time.’”

She put air quotations around the last two words.

“I heard a ruckus out in that field,” Helen continued. “It sounded like Abra was in some kind of trouble, so I went to see what was going on. I must have dropped my phone along the way. By the time I noticed it was gone, I had walked quite a distance, and it was getting dark. Miss Anouk came along, honked her horn and offered me a ride. I thought I should take it.”

“I see,” I said although I wasn’t sure I did. “Why didn’t you have Anouk call me so I’d know where you were?”

Helen blushed. “We were so busy talking about Abra that I forgot everything else. You know how that goes.”

Indeed, I did. My righteous indignation melted like soft ice cream on an August afternoon.

Leaning into Helen, I let her lower me from the SUV. Jeb jumped down from his side and hurried around to assist. With help from both of them I made a soft and grunt-free landing.

“Shall we go inside?” Helen suggested. “I’m sure your mother will want to hear what your doctor had to say.”

“So she can tweet it?” I asked, half-kidding.

“Of course,” Helen said. “She has three hundred followers already.”

“How is that possible?” I demanded when Mom showed me her long list of Twitter followers. “You just got your phone yesterday.”

“I have a lot of friends,” Mom said. “The real kind. Some are here. Some are in Florida. They all have real friends, too, so now we follow each other. That’s the beauty of social networking, Whitney.”

Helen nodded. “I’m following Irene and most of her friends. Now I just have to find my phone.”

I rolled my eyes and narrowly missed tripping over Sandra, who was galloping in a tight circle around us. No doubt she wanted to make sure we appreciated her new ensemble, a pastel leaf-print pantsuit and matching fedora.

“Chartreuse is not Sandra’s color,” I told Jeb. “It makes her look sallow.”

“I think it makes her look cute,” he cooed as he scooped up his darling doggie. “Hewwo, Mommy!”

Jeb waved Sandra’s right front paw at me.

“I’m not her mommy,” I said through gritted teeth.

“Don’t let Anouk hear you say that,” Jeb remarked. “You love both the de Havilland sisters ‘exactly the same.’ Remember?”

I groaned.

“That reminds me,” my mother said, “Jenx called, and you need to call her back.”

“If she wants Abra again for deputy duty, she can just tell Chester,” I said. “Abra’s at his house.”

I paused.

“Unless she isn’t. Oh no. Don’t tell me Abra ran away again.”

“She didn’t,” Mom said coolly. “This call is serious business about a dog who died in a fire.”

I would have much rather talked about Abra. Since I’d rarely used my home office in recent weeks, I excused myself to call Jenx. There I could lock the door, sink into my big leather desk chair and pretend I was a professional again.