Nina Wright - Whiskey Mattimoe 07 - Whiskey, Large (22 page)

Musicians’ wives tend to get a bad rap. Think Yoko Ono.

I knew Chester could convince Diva Ocean to help me find my man. The only question was whether Jeb needed finding.

Having married, divorced, and remarried my husband made me kind of a “Jeb expert.” While I believed he could have legitimately lost his cell phone, I knew it was possible he just wanted us to think he had. My husband might have “lost” his phone in order to savor a few final hours of freedom and privacy.

That was cool. I could accept it, but I’d be terminally pissed off if he didn’t call me soon. He needed to get his nice tight ass back here with plenty of time to spare before Baby debuted, and he’d better not cause me any more stress worrying.

Hell hath no fury like a hugely pregnant woman annoyed about anything.

Furthermore, I was not happy that Jeb was recording with a super-hot girl duo and even less happy that he had neglected to mention them. Precisely on purpose. Even though Chester, who understood the ins and outs of music sales, predicted platinum, my jealous bone throbbed. Rusha sounded like a sex kitten, and Keyarra sounded like a dominatrix. In my considerable experience talking to folks on the phone, I’ve found that although people may not look like they sound, they generally have the personality you perceive. Jeb had a lot of explaining to do.

Deputy Chester, now on husband detail, handed me back my phone.

“Keyarra thinks Jeb hasn’t shown up yet because he got sidetracked,” he said.

“Brilliant,” I replied. “What’s Rusha’s theory?”

“She thinks he stopped somewhere for an early lunch.” Chester smiled encouragingly. “I still think he’s getting a new phone, and he’s going to call you any minute.”

I resisted the urge to pat Chester on the head. He might think I thought of him as my pet. In truth, I thought of him as one of the best humans ever to enter my life along with Leo, Jeb, and, of course, Baby, whom I hadn’t yet officially met.

Jenx stuck her head into the car above Chester’s.

“Did I hear somebody say Keyarra and Rusha?” she said. “As in Diva Ocean?”

Chester nodded excitedly. “Jeb’s recording with them, and Whiskey didn’t even know it.”

Jenx whistled in a way that could only be called libidinous, and a light bulb flashed in my brain.

“Is Diva Ocean like the new Indigo Girls?”

When Jenx and Chester looked confused, I added, “A couple very gifted musicians who happen to be lesbians?”

The chief made a gurgling sound that might have been suppressed laughter. Chester handed me his smart phone. It featured a photo of two sensual, slim, scantily clad women, one white, one African-American, wearing shimmery make-up and elaborately coiffed hair. They both had legs to up here and tits out to there.

“That’s Diva Ocean,” Chester said.

“We all lust for them,” Jenx explained. “They’re an equal-opportunity wet dream. Like Scarlet Johansson.”

“I thought your tastes ran to big-boned gals with a lot of body hair,” I said.

Jenx shrugged. “Sexy is as sexy does. Keyarra shakes that thang.”

I handed the phone back to Chester, feeling less confident about almost everything. When Chester lingered too long over the duo’s photo, I reached over and clicked it off.

“You’re a little young for that.”

He grimaced, giving me a preview of teen years to come.

“I start middle school in four months, and we all know what will happen to my hormones.”

Jenx muttered, “The same thing that’s happened to Todd Mullen’s hormones. He’s hanging out at the bar at Mother Tucker’s, buying drinks for every sweet young thing.”

“So much for mourning Lisa,” I said.

“They weren’t strictly monogamous,” Chester commented. “I used to read their tweets.”

That was way more than I wanted to know, especially from a nine-and-a-half-year-old. I needed to go home and go to sleep, not necessarily in that order, and definitely not in the squad car. The Town Car offered such a superior ride. Plus, Abra was in the squad car. Let UberSpringer tweet Affie-arrest updates, which reminded me…Ben Fondgren hadn’t called back.

“Why is Ben doing such a bad job with my accounts today?” I asked Chester.

He reddened. “I’m sorry, Whiskey. Let me make a few calls and get to the bottom of that.”

Could it really be so simple? Why was UberSpringer still tweeting trash about me? Chester punched some numbers in his phone and withdrew from the Town Car’s doorway.

Jenx announced, “Brady and Roscoe will join us after they pick up that found cell phone. Chester’s riding with me and Abra. Helen’s gonna take you where I lead.”

“How about straight home? Mama needs a nap.”

“I need you for a little more police business. We all know you’ll be asleep as soon as this car starts moving.”

The next thing I knew, Helen was gently shaking me awake.

“Are we home yet?” I mumbled.

My elderly driver smiled. “Not yet. We’re with the chief, Chester, and Abra.”

I squinted out the window. Jenx’s squad car had stopped in front of us. We were at another rural location, parked along a dirt road. Tall trees, only now showing their first hints of green-to-be, lined both sides of the narrow byway as far ahead and behind us as I could see. The woods looked deep.

“What road are we on?” I said.

“It doesn’t have a name on my GPS,” Helen said. “MacArthur’s here. I guess he got a whiff of something.”

When I stretched myself for a better view, I spotted the Cleaner’s car—one of those sleek high-end models he drove for Cassina—parked off the road just beyond Jenx’s vehicle.

At least there would be eye candy. The Cleaner himself popped open my door.

“Good afternoon,” he said cheerfully. “Allow me.”

I gratefully allowed him to remove me from the vehicle and carry me to an oversized director’s chair set up on the berm. MacArthur’s many gifts included an ability to make an immense woman feel like no burden at all. Had Avery taught him that one?

The afternoon sun on my skin felt positively therapeutic. A light breeze stirred the earthy scents of early spring. We were farther from the lake now. I could no longer detect its smell, but MacArthur was definitely sniffing something. His nose twitched like a scent hound’s.

“What’s up?” I said.

He inhaled deeply as if trying to draw the entire forest into his lungs.

“Dogs and humans have been using these woods.”

“For what?”

I wasn’t sure I wanted to know, but I knew I was about to find out. The posse was approaching. Jenx, Chester, and Abra strode toward us as if in dramatic slow motion. I thought of spaghetti westerns starring Clint Eastwood in his prime. Chester had donned cowboy boots and a Stetson. He also wore his Texas Ranger badge. The gold star glinted furiously. If only he’d held the bridle of an obedient horse rather than the leash of my notoriously willful hound.

Let the chaos begin, I thought. The sooner things turn crazy, the sooner we’ll enlist help and move on with our lives. I wondered if I should dial the State Boys now and get it over with.

“If my nose is correct, this is the site of many rendezvous,” MacArthur said, pronouncing the French plural as if it were Scottish.

“That word again,” I muttered. “Just call it what it is—doggie action.”

“Not just dogs, Whiskey,” the Cleaner said. “This place is a legendary location for hooking up.”

“You mean for humans?”

He winked.

I said. “Why the hell would couples in lust head for the woods when there are quaint and cozy inns nearby?”

“What happens here generally happens quickly, or so I’ve been told,” MacArthur said.

“I see.”

“Perhaps you don’t see the whole picture quite yet. Many of the meetings are sexual, yes, but others may be about business.”

“As in drug deals, you mean?”

“Perhaps. There are other kinds of business people might choose to conduct off the grid.”

In my peripheral vision Abra bucked like a blonde bronco while cowboy Chester strained to rein her in. Although the diva dog usually behaved for her fellow deputy, strong scents or sexy sights overruled even his authority.

“Hey!” I shouted at Jenx. “Why the hell am I here?”

She was staring at the screen of her cell phone.

“We think whoever blew up the Mullens’ home planned the whole thing in these woods, with Diggs as witness.”

I turned to the Cleaner. “You smell Diggs here? He’s been dead two days.”

“I smell Diggs and Abra together,” MacArthur said. “Some scents endure, weather permitting. Canine odors are persistent. ”

Jenx said, “If it makes you feel better, Whiskey, your dog has probably peed in more places than she’s screwed.”

“That’s a comfort,” I lied. “What led you here?”

“His nose.” Jenx indicated MacArthur.

“With a wee bit of help from Officer Roscoe,” he demurred. “We’ve followed Abra’s scent. After she got away from us last night, I drew up a map of her dalliances. Every trail seems to pass through here.”

“It’s her sexual nexus,” Chester offered.

“Her what?” I said.

“It’s where she hooks up.”

Stetson tipped back, boots firmly planted, Chester looked like a mini-version of a TV cowboy, except for his John Denver-esque glasses and the fact that he had an Afghan hound instead of a horse. My panting dog now lay at his feet. She appeared relaxed and pliant, but I knew she was gathering energy for her next escape.

“Where are we?” I asked MacArthur.

He deferred to Chester, who whipped out his cell phone and clicked an app.

“42.667 degrees latitude, -86.183 degrees longitude. Four-and-three-quarter miles northeast of downtown Magnet Springs.”

“This road doesn’t have a name on any map or GPS,” MacArthur said, “but the folks who live ’round here call it Wham.”

“Named for the Wham family?” I asked.

Chester, Jenx, and MacArthur exchanged amused glances. MacArthur cleared his throat.

“There is no Wham family, Whiskey. The nickname refers to that rather crude American expression ‘Wham, bam—’ ”

“‘—thank you, ma’am.’ ” Grinning, Chester finished it for him. Clearly, he knew what it meant.

“It’s a popular place for high school kids with cars,” Chester explained, “and, of course, Abra.”

Miss Doggie Wham-Bam herself.

With a sweeping gesture, MacArthur presented the woods around us.

“I believe Abra has led us to the site of multiple iniquities,” he declared. “We need her to help sort out the sensory nuances. Scents can get muddled, even to an olfactory instrument as finely tuned as mine.”

“We’re looking for the nexus within the nexus,” Chester said. “The point where people convened and dogs witnessed what went on between them.”

“You think Abra took time out from her fun to pay attention to people?” I asked.

MacArthur nodded. “We think Diggs knew the humans who blew up his house, and they planned their crime here.”

I confronted Jenx. “You buy this theory?”

She shrugged. “It’s the best we got, so we’re rollin’ with it.”

“We’re going to comb these woods for recent signs of humans and canines,” MacArthur said, “and we’re collecting the evidence.”

Chester distributed surgical gloves to his posse.

“This is the step you always skip,” Jenx reminded me.

Guilty as charged. I tended to leave my own fingerprints at crime scenes, but that was usually because I had something urgent to do, like elude a crazed killer.

“This shouldn’t take long,” Chester said. “We’ve brought evidence bags and permanent markers, and we’ve planned our paths through the woods. We’re doing everything right.”

“Except you brought Deputy Abra,” I pointed out. “She does everything wrong.”

“We’ll sort it all out,” MacArthur vowed. “Brady and Roscoe will help.”

“Where are they?”

“They ran into an issue retrieving that cell phone,” Jenx said. “That’s why you’re here. We need someone to observe the road while the rest of us are in the woods.”

“Hey, I could go into labor at any moment. This is not the time to leave me alone in the middle of nowhere.”

“You won’t be alone,” Jenx said. “Helen will be with you. Unless we need her in the woods. She’s agreed to join us if the search bogs down.”

“Where is Helen?” I said, realizing that my driver had disappeared.

We all shouted for her in our own unique ways. I thought mine sounded like pure panic.

“Let the record show I did not tell her to take a hike this time, and you cannot leave me here alone.”

“Brady and Roscoe will handle it,” Chester said. “Here they are now.”

He pointed toward a squad car outlined in a cloud of dust. Gangly Officer Brady Swancott unfolded himself from the driver’s side as K-9 Officer Roscoe leapt out the passenger- side window.

“Helen’s gone,” I announced before anyone else could say anything. “There’s no way I’m staying here alone, about to give birth, while all of you look for dog-doo.”

“We’re looking for all sorts of evidence,” Chester reminded me.

Brady scanned the scene. “Are you sure Helen’s gone?”

“Do you see her?” I fairly screamed in frustration. “She pulled the same stunt last night.”

“I don’t see her,” Brady admitted, “but there’s got to be a logical explanation.”

“Why? We’re in Magnet Springs.”

The color suddenly drained from Chester’s already pale face.

“I just thought of a logical explanation,” he said.

Dashing to the driver’s side of the Lincoln Town Car, he flung open the door and shrieked like a little girl.

“Is she dead?” I said.

Except for Abra, everyone more mobile than I was rushed to the car. Abra bolted into the woods.

I didn’t bother to point out
that Abra was gone. Apparently, we had bigger issues in the Town Car.

MacArthur hoisted Helen’s limp form from the front seat and gently laid her on the grassy berm, where he administered mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Jenx was dialing the paramedics when Helen’s right hand rose from the ground to squeeze MacArthur’s beefy bicep.

“She’s alive,” I cried.

Chester, Jenx, and Brady shouted for joy. Roscoe barked enthusiastically.