Nina Wright - Whiskey Mattimoe 07 - Whiskey, Large (23 page)

“That’s the good news,” I said. “The bad news is Abra’s on the lam again. In other words, things are pretty much status quo.”

Roscoe, ever the law enforcement professional, locked eyes with Brady, who gave him his cue to go. The canine hero plunged into the woods after my hound.

Gazing after his four-legged partner, Brady said, “Roscoe’s certified in rescue, retrieval and felony apprehension. Unfortunately, there’s no course in Abra.”

“My bad,” Chester said. “I dropped her leash.”

“Abra’s motto is ‘seize the day,’” I reminded him, “so in a cosmic sense her escape has nothing to do with you.”

“You sound like Noonan Starr,” Chester remarked.

Inexplicably, I did sound like the New Age guru and massage therapist. Suddenly, my cell phone produced her ringtone.

“You’re channeling her because she needs to talk to you,” Chester said.

I didn’t like any part of that, but I took her call, anyway.

“What are you doing on Wham-Bam Road?” Noonan began, and a shiver shot through me.

“How do you know where I am?”

“Your mother was just here for a massage. Before she left, she checked her spy app. When she mentioned your location, I got a powerful vibe from Abra.”

“That’s because you heard the phrase ‘wham-bam,’” I said.

“That is not why,” Noonan said. “Is Abra there?”

“Do you want to talk to her?”

“She just ran away, didn’t she?”

“You know that happens more often than not,” I said.

“While I have no reason to think she’s in danger,” Noonan continued, “I believe she’s about to find something, or someone, connected to a dog that’s connected to you or your business.”

“Okay, now you sound like a pet psychic. Isn’t that Anouk’s gig?”

“This might have something to do with Anouk,” Noonan said. “I’ve been intersecting her wavelength lately. I channeled her a moment before she rang the doorbell at Chester’s party, remember? I’ve sensed some of Anouk’s tweets before she tweeted them. Speaking of Twitter, what happened to your account? It seems to have been hijacked.”

“Hold on,” I said, muting her call to speak with Chester. “Hey, did you talk to Ben about my social media issues?”

“I tried.” Chester looked apologetic. “I dialed all the numbers I have for Ben. His phones go straight to voicemail, so I left messages. Today’s his day off, but he’ll call me back. He always does. We’ll get this fixed, Whiskey.”

I wasn’t so sure, but I didn’t want to hurt Chester, so I nodded and returned to Noonan’s call.

“You were talking about Anouk.”

“Yes,” Noonan said. “Lately I sense her many times a day. She and I are connecting deeply although I’m not sure why.”

How would seem like a better question unless you lived in Magnet Springs. Noonan, like Anouk and too many other citizens of our fair town claimed to have telepathic talents.

“I think I’m channeling both Anouk and Abra because there are potent changes in local animal vibrations,” Noonan said.

When I didn’t respond—because I had absolutely nothing to say on that subject—she added, “Abra is a pet, and Anouk is a pet psychic. They’re as controversial as Magnet Springs’ new pet-friendly identity. We’ve shone the light, Whiskey, but some forces long to extinguish it.”

I knew from experience that when Noonan started talking about “the light,” it was time to go.

“We’ll do our best to find Abra,” I assured her.

“When time and light are right, Abra will find you,” Noonan said. “In the meantime, turn on your own light, Whiskey. Be watchful of the world around you.”

I clicked off, feeling a prick of fear. Paying attention was not my strong suit.

“Noonan just texted me,” Chester said.

“How is that possible?”

“She multi-tasks. She’s right. I think there’s a link between Anouk and Abra.”

“Another nexus?” I asked, trying out Chester’s cool word.

He nodded. “In Magnet Springs we have people who love animals and people who don’t understand them at all.”

“We also have crazy people who love animals way too much. Anouk and Fleggers, for instance.”

“I don’t think Anouk and Fleggers are crazy,” Chester said. “I think they’re zealous, and they’ve both helped you.”

He had a point. Fleggers’ creative and commercial vision allowed Jeb to earn a living with his music, and Anouk’s psychic gift allowed Abra and Sandra to live at my house in peace.

At the moment I was more interested in the Cleaner. He knelt next to my driver, who had rolled onto her left side. Her right hand was firmly affixed to his thigh.

Jenx approached. “Helen fell asleep listening to her iPod and woke up getting kissed by MacArthur.”

Helen was my mother’s age. She had no business swapping spit with my favorite Scot. To distract myself, I thought about lunch, Rusha, and Jeb, not in that order. My belly lurched, and I moaned. Chester asked if I’d had a contraction. I really wanted it to be a hunger pang.

All I knew for sure was that (a) I needed to eat, (b) I needed to find my husband, and (c) I wasn’t going to solve either problem waiting on Wham-Bam Road while my elderly driver copped a feel.

“Hey, Helen,” I said. “Time to drive me home.”

“Your lunch is in the car,” Chester reminded me. “You can eat it right now.”

“You should give a little of it to Helen,” MacArthur said. “Food will help her recover.”

“From what?” I said.
“Nappus interruptus?
She fell asleep on the job and you woke her with mouth-to-mouth.”

Helen coughed softly.

“I didn’t mention it, Miss Whiskey, but I’m hypoglycemic. If I don’t eat often, I get wobbly. I came back to the car to have a snack and a brief rest while you made your plans. I was listening to music, and I nodded off with my ear buds in.”

“Convenient,” I muttered.

“Helen manages her hypoglycemia so well we forget she has it,” Chester said. “You know how she strives to please.”

She did look ghostly pale, and I was getting lots of free rides in a luxury vehicle courtesy of Chester. I made up my mind to humor him and play nice.

“Helen, why don’t you eat a little of my lunch and lie down for a bit? Alone.”

MacArthur scooped the sexagenarian into his arms and returned her to a horizontal position in the Town Car, in the backseat this time. Moments later, he handed me my Fleggers lunch box, now missing Mom’s whole-grain blueberry muffins.

I sulked. “The best part of the meal is gone, and my seat is taken. Where am I supposed to eat what’s left? This director’s chair isn’t very comfortable.”

I brightened when he indicated the vehicle he had arrived in—a gleaming black Mercedes E-350 sedan. If Helen stayed wobbly, I might be the beneficiary of MacArthur’s services. Once he finished his deputy duties, that is.

The Cleaner deftly lifted me into the Mercedes’ backseat, but he didn’t offer breathing assistance. He did adjust the vehicle’s heating and ventilation system to my specifications. Finally, he served me Mom’s home-packed lunch, course by course. Funny how I had balked when Helen tried that the night before. Mom’s chicken salad tasted so good I could have licked MacArthur’s fingers.

“You’re all right, then?” he asked. “No contractions?”

“No contractions,” I said, “but I am worried about Jeb. I don’t understand why he hasn’t called me.”

“He lost his phone.”

“He should have a new one by now, or he should have arrived at the recording studio and phoned me from there.”

When the Cleaner glanced away, I knew he was thinking what I had thought, that Jeb was stealing a little private time while he still could.

“That man is devoted to you,” MacArthur said. “Perhaps he had a flat tire or some other glitch. I’m sure he’s fine, and he’ll phone you soon. In the meantime, we’re here with you.”

Chester knocked on my tinted window, and the magic was gone.

“The sooner we begin our smell search, the sooner we can get you home,” he said.

“Roscoe just came back without Abra,” Jenx added, appearing at Chester’s side. “He’s limping, and he stinks of skunk.”

“Give him my apologies,” I said.

Chester adjusted his Stetson. “If you need help, just phone us. We’ll come straight back.”

“She’ll take a nap,” Jenx remarked.

“You’re not alone,” Chester reminded me. “Roscoe and Helen are right over there.”

“Please. He limps, and she’s wobbly,” I whined.

The deputies jogged off anyway. Instantly, my phone played “Born Free,” the tune my mother sang without ever learning the lyrics. Mom’s version featured lines that rhymed nonsensically with “grass grows, wind blows”—lines like “clouds snow, boats row,” etc. I used it as her ring tone to remind me how annoying she could be.

“Yes, Mom, I’m on Wham-Bam Road,” I said.

“Well, you’re all grown up, so you can go wherever your driver will take you,” Mom said, “but Baby’s coming, and you’ve got bigger fish to fry.”

“Jenx ordered me here on police business. I was supposed to oversee Abra’s deputy duty, but she ran away.”

“Of course she did. Wham-Bam Road is Abra’s kind of place.”

Mom went on to list things I should be doing right now, like practicing diaper changes on Sandra.

“You have a spy app,” I reminded her. “Why can’t you find Jeb?”

“I can find his phone, but I don’t think he’s with it. That’s why I’m calling you.”

“Where’s Jeb’s phone?”

“Not far from where you are.”

“On Wham-Bam Road?”

“Not on the road, dear. Somebody would have run over it by now, and I wouldn’t be able to track it. According to my app, it’s in the woods between that field where you were last night and the place where you are right now, which leads me to believe that Jeb didn’t lose his phone. I think somebody stole it.”

Either that or he tossed it before he left town for a wife-free day. I didn’t say that out loud.

“As usual, you’re not asking for my advice,” Mom said disapprovingly. “If you did ask, I would tell you to let Jenx worry about Abra and Jeb take care of himself. You need to get ready for Baby.”

“I can’t drive,” I said.

“That’s why you have Helen.”

I brought Mom up to speed on Helen’s little issue.

“I was afraid something like that might happen,” she said.

“You knew about her hypoglycemia?”

“I knew she had issues. I told you that right up front.”

“Yet you used to let her babysit for me, remember?”

“Until she proved untrustworthy. I still believe that woman was a corporate spy.”

I pointed out that, even if true, the suspicion wasn’t relevant anymore. Her brother who worked for the pet food company was probably retired.

“He’s dead,” Mom said. “That’s not the point. Helen is very needy, and there’s something less than transparent about her.”

I reminded Mom that we all misrepresent ourselves a little.

“According to social media, you and Mattimoe Realty misrepresent yourselves a lot.”

The phone beeped in my ear. Odette was calling. She might have bad news, too, but at least it would be different from Mom’s. I excused myself and took the second call.

“I thought you were with a high-rolling prospect from Chicago,” I said.

“I am. He’s just gone off to the loo. Listen, he’s seen your Twitter account, so I’m dancing as fast as I can. How soon will that be fixed?”

“Not soon enough, but Chester’s working on it. He’ll track Ben down.”

“Fire Ben,” Odette said. “Hire somebody who can get in there and make it right, right now. Are you a broker-owner-manager or a wimp?”

“I’m a little distracted right now.”

I thought about telling Odette where I was and what was happening, but I knew she wouldn’t care. Lucky for me and my bottom line, she was all about selling real estate.

“Hire Avery,” Odette said. “She covers Cassina’s social media, so I’m sure she can handle yours.”

“Avery’s lazy, and she hates me,” I said.

“Your company has her family name on it. She might be willing to defend that, for a fee. Oh, I nearly forgot. Dani Glancy phoned. She needs to talk to you again. Hire Avery and call Dani.”

I considered reminding my best agent that I was on the verge of childbirth. Odette would find that irrelevant, and, anyhow, she had already hung up.

I wanted to talk
with Dani Glancy about as much as I wanted to talk with Avery Mattimoe. In other words, not at all.

I tried to recall where Odette and I had left things with Dani the day before. The details were blurred, thanks to pregnancy brain. Who was I kidding? I had always blocked unpleasant things.

Closing my eyes and challenging myself to stay awake, I replayed the scene in my office. Dani had started out accusing me of wresting hubby Hamp’s listing away from him, but she’d left with her facts realigned and her anger redirected at Todd Mullen. She was ready to sue him for signing with me, a second seller’s agent, after listing the house exclusively with Hamp. Given my recent encounter with Todd, I’d be happy if Dani sued him. It might keep him busy, too busy to sue me. Dani argued that Hamp wouldn’t have died in the fire at the Mullens’ home if they’d played straight with him. Was that true? Was it grounds for litigation?

My mind’s eye leapt to another scene with Dani in the driver’s seat of Hamp’s Beamer glaring at me in the backseat of Jenx’s squad car. Had that unfortunate incident inspired her latest complaint? Did she plan to inform the Board of Realtors that I was a felon unfit to sell real estate?

All I knew was I didn’t want the nasty woman with the big sunglasses filing a formal complaint against me. Even though I could clear myself, who needed the hassle? I was having a baby, yet I worried that everybody in town seemed to be reading UberSpringer’s tweets and believing at least some of them.

Which was why Odette had insisted I hire Avery. As if Avery would consent to be hired by me. She was already employed by a musical superstar. I was just her lowly, despised ex-stepmom. I sat musing about that for maybe two minutes when her unflattering photo blinked at me as my phone buzzed.

“Hello?” I answered cautiously.

“You’re supposed to hire me,” Avery announced.

“According to whom?”