Whiskey on the Rocks (16 page)
Read Whiskey on the Rocks Online
Authors: Nina Wright
Tags: #Mystery & Detective, #Women real estate agents, #Michigan, #General, #Mattimoe; Whiskey (Fictitious character), #Mystery fiction, #Women Sleuths, #Fiction
“She’s been a pain in the ass,” Tina sighed.
Everyone should have a pain—or be one—now and then. If only to appreciate the pain-free times when they roll around again. That’s what I told Odette and Tina, but they merely stared at me. So I suggested we review the complaints.
Rico was a disgruntled buyer who felt we were holding out on him.
The Reitbauers claimed that I had failed to secure their home as per the terms of our property management contract. I expected as much from Mrs. R.
Martha Glenn’s complaint concerned a damaged waterline, which she said had ruined her entire backroom stock. But Tina insisted that we had not received a single phone call or letter from anyone at Town & Gown, and Martha had never mentioned a problem to me.
I vowed to personally contact all three clients and find a way to make things right. As we concluded our meeting, Jane VanDam reappeared with Tina’s sticky sons. She was smiling.
“They remind me of my grandchildren in North Dakota.”
I assured her that I would promptly resolve every problem.
“You do that, dear.” She no longer seemed interested. To Tina she said, “If you need a sitter, I’m available on very short notice.”
Clients who are angry enough to complain to the Realtors Board sometimes sue. Whether they have a case or not—whether they win or not—is another matter. I found no comfort in Odette’s and Tina’s insistence that they had been covering for me. Within the past twenty-four hours, I had learned that I hadn’t looked good and hadn’t done good work since Leo died.
First, I phoned the Reitbauers at their Chicago home. The maid informed me that neither Mr. nor Mrs. was available, but I could leave a voicemail message for either or both. I opted for both. Having faced disgruntled clients before, I knew the kind of conciliatory song and dance required. The key is a genuine willingness to solve the problem. I expressed my concern, apologized for any inconvenience they had experienced, and asked them to call me toll-free any time to discuss what I could do to correct the matter. I made a note to myself to follow up the phone call with a letter.
Next I headed for Martha’s Town & Gown. En route, I bought a dozen pink and white roses laced with baby’s breath. Pink and white were the colors of the dress shop, and I knew that roses were Martha’s favorite flower. She gasped when I came through the door.
“Dear me! It’s not my birthday! Is it?”
I told her that didn’t matter. What mattered was that we figure out what I could do to solve her problem.
“My problem?” She seemed clueless. So I reviewed her complaint. Martha blinked at me vaguely, her watery blue eyes framed by a fuzzy halo of snow-white hair.
“Why would I make trouble, dear? I’m very fond of you. And I adored Leo.” Her voice trailed off. “What were we talking about?”
“We were talking about your problems with this property. Apparently, you had some water damage to your stock? I want to fix everything to your complete satisfaction.”
A few more blinks and then the light flickered on.
“Oh! Yes! The pipe that broke! I remember now. I wondered what you were going to do about that.”
Martha couldn’t put her hands on any receipts, but she said she’d ask her assistant manager. On the spot, I wrote a check refunding her September rent, and I promised to cover repair and replacement costs. It would probably come straight out of my pocket since I doubted that she’d be able to provide the information my insurance company required.
“I need to know something, Martha. Did your assistant manager file the complaint against me with the Realtors Board?”
“Oh no, dear. That was me. I complained.”
“Why didn’t you call me first? We’re old friends. And I shop here regularly.”
“Well, I would have, but that young man from the Chamber was in here when the pipe burst, and he told me I should go right to the top. ‘Martha, you need to complain to the Realtors Board about negligence like this.’ That’s what he said. And, well, I was so upset about the mess that I did what he told me. I’m sorry if that was wrong, but he seemed so sure of himself.”
“Young man from the Chamber? Who do you mean?”
“Oh, you know—the artistic one.” Martha was losing interest in our conversation as she arranged the roses in a crystal vase.
Magnet Springs being Magnet Springs, half our local business owners were artsy. Then it hit me.
“Do you mean Rico Anuncio?”
Martha didn’t answer. She was fussing with a pink bud that didn’t want to stand exactly where she’d placed it.
When I repeated myself, she glanced up.
“Oh! I didn’t see you there. Did you need help with something, dear?”
Rico Anuncio didn’t seem surprised when I strode into the West Shore Gallery.
“Having a nice day, Whiskey?”
“It’ll be nicer once I figure out what’s bothering you.”
“What could be bothering me? I’m a happy man, about to be happier yet.”
I recounted my conversations with Jane VanDam and Martha Glenn.
“What’s your problem with me?” I demanded.
“I am a man of means, Whiskey, and I expect to be treated as such. You and Odette have been holding out on me.”
“You were at the Open House for our Featured Home, weren’t you?”
He snorted. “It was an Open House. Odette didn’t offer it to me; I arrived with the uninvited masses! The only properties she’s shown me are four-room cottages five miles from the beach, every single one of them listed by Mattimoe Realty.”
I took a deep breath. “What exactly would you like us to show you, Rico?”
“The Very Best of the Coast, offered for sale by every agency and owner.”
I promised we would do that starting today. Then I forced myself to apologize even though it made my ribs hurt.
Rico said, “Someone was asking about you.”
“Who?”
“A guy came in here Saturday. I think he said his name was Keogh. He wanted to know if you still had that Afghan hound.”
I no longer cared about the damned finger. Just about Abra and Chester and the sanctity of my own home. As I rounded the bend before Vestige, an oncoming stretch limo honked at me. I checked my rear-view mirror. Was that Chester’s arm waving from the passenger window?
Sinister scenarios played in my brain:
(1) Chester honking for help as he was kidnapped by Darrin Keogh.
(2) Chester rushing Abra to the vet after she’d been injured by Darrin Keogh.
(3) Chester banished to boarding school because I’d refused to keep him during Cassina’s World Tour.
My car phone rang. It was Chester.
“My father wants to see me! He sent this limo! I’m catching a plane to L.A.!”
Without thinking, I said, “I didn’t know you had a father.”
“Stop the car!” Chester bellowed. Over the phone I heard brakes squeal.
“I didn’t mean to upset you,” I said.
“You didn’t. Abra’s in the middle of the road!”
“Dead?”
“No. She’s a mess, though. I bet she’ll need a week at the doggie spa.”
I heard the limo door open and Chester call her name. Then I heard the driver mutter something in a foreign language. Probably something about the mess Abra was tracking into his limo.
Back on the line, Chester said, “We’re turning around, Whiskey. I’m bringing Abra home!”
“What about your father?”
“Rupert’s waited eight years to meet me. I guess he can wait a little longer.” Chester lowered his voice so the driver couldn’t hear. “Should I check the purse for the finger, or do you want to do it when we get home?”
I wasn’t sure whether Abra was happy to see me. But I was relieved beyond words to have that piece of Leo back in my life. Burrs and all. Chester’s toothless smile touched my heart, too. I wished I had a steak on hand so that they could share it, cheek to jowl.
Jenx arrived within four minutes of our 9-1-1 call. Chester timed it on his techno-wonder watch and proclaimed a new record in rapid response. As Jenx snapped on a pair of surgical gloves, I looked away. Then I heard the rustle of paper.
“No finger in here. But there’s a message for you, Whiskey.”
“A message for me?”
“Before I let you read it, you’ve got to promise not to over-react.”
“How can I know what’s over-reacting until I see it?”
“Fair enough.” Jenx passed me a folded piece of notebook paper. I opened it, read it, and screamed.
“That was over-reacting,” she said.
Maybe. But the unsigned note was a list of sexual fantasies involving my dog. The last line said, “I could have my way with her, but I’m letting her go. If she leads me to what’s mine, I’ll leave her alone. Stay out of it.”
“This has got to be from that wacko Darrin Keogh!” I said. “It’s his sick-puppy routine, only now he wants a dead man’s finger!”
“More likely his ring,” said Jenx.
“Either you call the MSP, or I will!”
“I already did. They’re sending a cruiser.” Jenx checked her Timex. “My response time is much better.”
“Did you tell them about the finger?”
“Not yet. But I told them about the missing dog and the threatening messages.”
Chester said, “You’ve got to tell them about the finger!”
“I will. And I’ll insist that we work together. Balboa says those boys need our help as much as we need theirs.”
Chester looked worried. “Will you get in trouble for withholding evidence?”
Jenx ruffled his hair, which was already standing on end. “I don’t think so, Deputy. Withholding evidence depends on intent. My intent is and always has been to solve this crime.”
Abra yipped and initiated a spirited pas de deux with Chester.
“That dog needs a bath,” Jenx said, fanning the air.
“And a shave and a bodyguard. So do I.” When Jenx looked at me, I said, “I need the bodyguard.”
We heard a siren.
“Finally, the state boys,” announced Chester. He frowned at his watch. “Their response time is unacceptable!”
Abra, Chester, and I hung back while Jenx went to greet the officer. He was one of those wrestler-types with wrap-around reflective sunglasses that stay on all shift. I asked Chester what he thought Abra had done with the finger.
He cocked his head at her, and she returned the look.
“She’s too excited to talk about it, Whiskey.”
“You know that by looking at her?”
“Body language is eighty-five percent of canine communication.”
Apparently, Jenx’s body language wasn’t serving her so well. I watched as she thrust the purse and note toward the officer, who jumped back as if stung. I half-expected him to reach for his sidearm. He recovered quickly, folding burly arms across his chest as he listened to Jenx’s story. A few minutes later, she was striding toward us, fists clenched.
“You okay?” I asked. “The last time your face was that red, the Holy Spirit joined us.”
“Boy Officer insists I ‘come in’ with him and answer questions.”
“Before he talks to me?”
“It’s not about you, Whiskey. It’s about whether or not I’ve impeded a police investigation.”
“But I’m in danger here! Well—I could be. Abra could be, for sure.”
“Call Brady and ask him to look out for you till I get back. I have to follow the kid in my car.”
Boy Officer was in his cruiser already, talking on the radio. He never glanced our way.
“Will she lose her job?” Chester said, hugging Abra, who had nodded off.
“Not Jenx. She’s a player.”
“What does that mean?”
“She’s . . . like Abra. Nobody beats her at her own game.”
Abra gave a sleepy woof of agreement, her head resting on Chester’s bare knees. I thought about poison ivy and wondered if it was already too late.
“Chester, you should wash with Fels Naptha right now!” Not that I was sure what that was or where to get any. I seemed to be channeling my mother.
“Okay . . . but can I take Abra to a safe house?”
He explained that Rupert’s private plane was standing by to fly him to L.A.
“Rupert said I could bring a friend. And we’ll all be better off if Abra’s with me.”
A tempting offer, but I pointed out the tangles and twigs in her coat. Chester swore he’d get her a makeover and keep working The Program while they were gone.