Nina Wright - Whiskey Mattimoe 07 - Whiskey, Large (9 page)

Jeb arched his eyebrows at me.

“I have no issue using the goat prod,” I said, “provided we’re not around anyone I want to impress. I still have some pride.”

Helen nodded sympathetically.

“Chester has authorized a vehicle for those occasions when the goat prod won’t do. It’s a Lincoln Town Car. I’m sure you’ll find it quite comfortable.”

I was sure I would. I asked Helen to be available starting at 1 PM. Not that I had anywhere specific I wanted to go, but it was good to know I could go anywhere I wanted. It was even better to know I’d be able to enter and exit the vehicle no matter how much bigger I got before this baby was born.

Helen shook everyone’s hand, including Mom’s. Beaming at her former classmate and ex-employer, she said, “I owe this to you, Irene.”

Mom said, “I only hope Whitney is a better boss to you than she was to me when I worked at her office last winter. She’s so disorganized.”

Before I could retort, Helen jumped in.

“I’m sure she’ll be the perfect boss. She was the perfect baby.”

If she’d been a foot taller, I’m sure Helen would have tweaked my cheek.

“What is your problem?” I asked Mom as soon as Jeb had ushered Helen out.

“What do you mean?”

“You didn’t miss a single opportunity to point out my flaws, including some I never knew I had. A speech impediment?”

“You got over that one,” Mom said.

“Why so nasty to your only daughter, mother of your soon-to-be only grandchild ever?”

Mom rinsed her cup in the sink before facing me.

“Sorry if I was a little rough on you, dear. I was testing Helen.”

“You weren’t rough on Helen.”

“My purpose was to be rude to you so I could observe how Helen handled it. She kept smiling. Did you see that?”

“She was interviewing for a job, Mom. Everyone sucks up when they’re trying to get a job.”

“Well, you’ve been warned.” Mom slipped her cup into the dishwasher and turned it on.

“Warned about what?”

“Helen puts on a sweet face. You’ll never know what she’s thinking.”

“I don’t need to know what she’s thinking. I just need her to drive me places and get me in and out of the car.”

Returning to the kitchen, Jeb said. “You’re all set, Whiskey. We stowed Chester’s goat prod in your trunk.”

I had been warned that pregnancy stole one’s dignity, but I must have missed the clause about requiring farm implements.

I was alone in my bedroom stealing a post-brunch nap when Jenx dialed my cell phone. If Jeb had been there, he would have intercepted the call. Jenx wanted me to know she had located Todd Mullen at his cabin in the U.P.—what Michiganders call the Upper Peninsula, that far-northern land mass Wisconsin wanted. It’s all ours, and we’re proud of it, even if it looks funky on top of the mitten.

“How did Todd Mullen take the news?” I asked Jenx.

“Pretty much the way you’d expect,” she said. “I hate contacting next of kin.”

“Is he alone up there?”

“Nope. Two buddies are with him. They went north to fish, so it looks like Mullen’s got an alibi.”

“Does he need one?”

“When your spouse dies suspiciously, you better have an alibi.”

“The explosion wasn’t an accident?” I asked, my heart sinking.

“We’re waiting for the State Boys’ report, but this thing stinks, and I’m not talkin’ about the propane.”

I struggled to sit up in bed. The sound I made while doing so wasn’t pretty.

“You’re saying somebody wanted Hamp Glancy and Lisa Mullen dead?”

“Sure looks like it to me and MacArthur.”

“Is MacArthur the Cleaner your new volunteer deputy?”

“None of your beeswax, Mattimoe. Or are you Halloran again? I can’t keep track of your last name.”

“I’m still Mattimoe, same name as my business. Hey, aren’t you going to torture me with the latest Abra-and-Napoleon sightings?”

“There haven’t been any. Hard to believe, huh? By now your bitch should have done some serious damage.”

No news should have been good news, but history had taught me otherwise. The longer Abra stayed out of sight, the higher the probability she was in deep doggie doo-doo. This time Napoleon was in it with her.

“Shit,” Jenx muttered.

“I was just thinking about dog shit,” I said.

“Well, I was swearing. Peg Goh’s calling me again. She’s been on my ass all day.”

“About what?”

“This damn pet-lover makeover we got going on in Magnet Springs. It’s not working for everybody.”

“What does Peg want?”

“She wants me to keep the peace in every hotel, motel, store, and restaurant. In case you haven’t heard, pet-lovers are offending non-pet-lovers. We now got dogs, cats, and other creatures where some folks don’t want to see ’em. It’s a freakin’ mess! I am not taking her call.”

“But when the mayor calls, doesn’t the chief of police have to answer?”

“Not every single damn time.”

My own phone line beeped, and I checked Caller ID. Peg was phoning me now. I told Jenx.

“Good luck with that,” the chief said and clicked off.

Peg’s first question
was whether I knew Jenx’s whereabouts. I honestly didn’t. Her second question was whether MacArthur was available. I didn’t know that, either.

“We got a sticky situation,” she hissed.

“Who does?” I hissed back. “And why are we whispering?”

In low tones, Peg explained that a tourist who misunderstood the town’s new pet-friendly policy had brought a python into her coffee shop. In response, a couple other tourists were now brandishing pepper spray.

“That’s bad for business, not to mention your baked goods,” I agreed. “Did you try phoning Brady?”

“He’s still at home with sick kids, and Jenx has stopped taking my calls.”

I could feel Peg’s pain. She made her living as proprietor of the Goh Cup, Magnet Springs’ sole coffee shop and tattoo parlor. Even though few customers ordered a tat with their joe, just enough tourists enjoyed permanent souvenirs on their skin to keep Peg in business.

“I’d send Abra over to distract them if I knew where she was,” I offered lamely.

Peg gasped. “That’s it!”

“But I don’t know where Abra is,” I said.

“How about Sandra Bullock? Do you know where she is?” Peg said.

In the background a male voice rumbled, “Sandra Bullock? Did you hear that? Does she drink coffee here?”

“Bingo,” Peg whispered and hung up the phone.

I wasn’t sure what that meant, but I knew Peg would call back. She did, less than a minute later.

“That was fast,” I told her. “Everything better now?”

“Everything’s fine,” she sighed. “I let the nut with the python think Sandra Bullock was over in Saugatuck, so he took his snake and left.”

“Crisis averted,” I said.

“That crisis, yes, but we’ve got issues, Whiskey. This pet-friendly policy is kind of complicated.”

“We need to specify that it applies to cats and dogs only,” I said. “Pythons and the people who travel with them are not welcome in our fair town.”

“There are other issues,” Peg said darkly. “We can’t even get all our merchants on the same page. Now that actual tourists are showing up with actual pets, some businesses refuse to welcome them, or they insist on creating their own ‘pet-friendly’ policy.”

“Like what?”

“Well, some will accept cats but not dogs, some will accept only dogs that are small and non-shedding, and a few don’t want any four-leggers at all.”

“Maybe we were a little hasty in adopting this concept,” I said.

“Speaking of adopting,” Peg said, “have you heard the news about Chester’s planned pet rescue center?”

I hadn’t heard a thing since Chester’s party.

Peg said, “Noonan is still getting telepathic signals that Anouk is meant to run the place. She says that’s why Anouk was drawn to your house when Chester was talking about his plans.”

“Okay,” I said, not hearing anything new.

“Noonan is also getting a vibe about Helen.”

“My driver Helen? What about her?”

“It’s not quite clear, but Noonan thinks Helen wants to be in the rescue business, too.”

“That’s ridiculous,” I said. “Helen is proud to do what she does, which is taking care of other people. She just told me how much she loves her work.”

“I’m just giving you the latest news from Noonan,” Peg said. “Oops. Some nice tourists carrying a couple Siamese cats just walked in. I’m going to serve them my frosted cat cookies.”

I wished her luck and hung up. Propped up in bed, legs extended in front of me, I could actually see my feet. They were swollen, like the rest of me.

I recalled Mom’s story of Helen and the gourmet dog food. Could that be the vibe that Anouk was getting?

Mom opened my bedroom door.

“Don’t sleep the day away, Whitney. It’s not a good use of your time.”

At this point, I couldn’t think of a better use for my time, but Mom had other plans.

“Time for a diaper lesson,” she said way too perkily. “We’re going to practice on Sandra.”

“Oh, no,” I said. “She’ll gas us with her farts.”

Mom scowled. “Do you think your kid is going to make this job easy? He, or she, is going to pee and poop all over you. Trust me, you’ll long for dog farts.”

“But how will we get a diaper on Sandra?”

“That little dog is very eager to please, and she loves to get dressed.”

Mom was right about Sandra. She played baby like a pro. In fact, she was so good at it I suspected that Jeb had been practicing on her.

“This will be much harder with a human,” Mom warned. “Babies don’t lie still, and they’re not housebroken. Hence the diaper.”

I was relieved when Jenx rang my cell phone.

“The police chief is calling,” I said. “I’ll have to take this.”

“Surprise her,” Mom said. “Tell her you’re doing something useful.”

“I heard about the python solution,” Jenx began.

“You finally took a call from Peg?” I said.

“Nope. The Saugatuck police called me. They arrested some guy wearing a python around his neck, scouring the town for Sandra Bullock. He said the Magnet Springs ‘coffee lady’ sent him.”

Jenx still had no updates on Abra, but she did have news related to the Mullens’ fire.

“I notified Hamp Glancy’s widow Dani—short for Danielle. She didn’t take it well. In fact, I think she’s planning to sue you.”

“Sue me? For what?”

“Uh, you’d better talk to Odette about that. Dani said she called your office. It’s a real estate issue.”

“You know more than that,” I said. “Spill it.”

On the other end of the line, Jenx growled. “Lawsuits aren’t my business. Lawbreakers are.”

Then she was gone. I wondered if she’d stolen that line from a cop show.

While we were talking, I waddled away from the downstairs bathroom, where Mom and I had been practicing with Sandra. Now I stretched out on the sofa. There’s no such thing as a comfortable position when you’re almost due to deliver, but lying down is definitely preferable to standing up. Suddenly, I had to pee again, though, so back to the bathroom I went. Heave ho. This was tiresome.

As were legal issues. Therefore, I retained a good lawyer for my real estate business. That thought should have eased my mind. Plus, I was on maternity leave, so someone else could deal with almost everything that came up. Everything except a lawsuit. Oh, please don’t let there be a lawsuit, I prayed.

Honestly, I couldn’t imagine a single reason Dani Glancy, on behalf of Hamp, would want to sue Mattimoe Realty. There had been only harmonious relations between my firm and his, but logic rarely stopped vengeance if that’s what this was. Is that what this was? Maybe Jenx had misunderstood Dani, or maybe Dani was lashing out in grief. I didn’t know the woman at all, couldn’t even recall meeting her. What I did know, though, was that I had gone briefly crazy when my own husband Leo died. However, I’d never threatened to sue anyone. Lanagan County, like most other places, had too many attorneys, and a few were always eager to take flimsy lawsuits to court.

Before I could make myself more anxious than I already was, I picked up my phone to dial Odette, but Odette beat me to it.

“Houston, we have a problem,” she cooed, using not only a famous film line but also my maiden name.

“Don’t tell me. Dani Glancy?”

“You’re good. She’s in our office right now, and she won’t leave until you come talk to her.”

“Are lawyers involved?”

“Not yet, or not that I know about.”

“What does she want?”

“Besides you? I have no clue.”

“Well, if she won’t tell you, I can’t help her. I’m on maternity leave.”

“Hello?” I could almost hear the air crackle on Odette’s end. “Listen closely. Dani is powerfully pissed off about Hamp’s death. You need to consult your attorney.”

“Why would I need to do that? You just said I have no legal problems.”

“That we know of. May I speak frankly?”

“Don’t you always?”

“Except when I ignore you entirely, yes. How can I say this?” Odette’s syncopated accent rang in my ears. “Advanced pregnancy has addled your brain. Do not attempt to think for yourself.”

“Say what?”

“Dani insists on seeing you. She’s extremely upset. Most likely, she wants to spew accusations and make demands. Call your attorney. Then follow his advice.”

“Can you stall Dani?”

“Probably. Everyone knows you’re obscenely huge and slow moving. I’ll tell her you require a team of personal assistants to get you dressed and launched. That will buy some time.”

That wasn’t far from the truth.

“Meanwhile, I’ll order in lunch,” Odette added, “and try to keep her from tweeting.”

My ears pricked up. “Tweeting? You mean on Twitter?”

“I don’t mean like a bird. Dani has been tweeting the news of Hamp’s tragic death to everyone in cyberspace.”

I thought of UberSpringer and wondered if it could be Dani Glancy. Whoever trash-tweeted my company yesterday found out about the explosion before I did, perhaps via police scanner. They also knew 318 Swan Lane was my listing. Dani might have known that. I recalled Jenx speculating that Dani and Odette might be friends.