Nina Wright - Whiskey Mattimoe 07 - Whiskey, Large

by Nina Wright

  10

  “Helen Kaminski is here, and there was no front porch incident,” Jeb announced from my bedroom doorway. “She’s sorry she arrived fifteen minutes early. To make up for it, she’s stacking dishes in the dishwasher.”

  “Told you she’s a people-pleaser,” Mom said.

  “Invite her to sit down and relax,” I instructed Jeb.

  “Already did that. She wants to work.”

  Mom winked at me. “I’ll go down and talk with her while you get dressed.”

  “Will she speak to you?” I said. “Even if you don’t count the rivalry for Dad back in high school, you did fire her.”

  “That was more than thirty years ago.” Mom eyed me like I was dimmer than a 20-watt bulb. “Normal people move on, Whitney.”

  Taking my breakfast tray and her pot of decaf, she exited.

  “I don’t ever need to know what that was about,” Jeb said, “so don’t tell me.”

  I explained that he might very well need to know since we were poised to hire Helen.

  “Nope. Anything your mother got over thirty years ago can’t possibly matter to me.”

  Jeb disappeared into the closet to fetch me Curvy Mommy maternity clothes that still fit. Silently I gave thanks that he and Chester had found a designer who made stylish mother-to-be outfits in beige, the only color I wore.

  In the bathroom I started the shower, brushed my teeth and drank a glass of water. As steam filled the room, I gave thanks that I couldn’t study my reflection. I was feeling better already.

  Today would be a good day. Odds were strongly against another shooting or explosion. Petty as it sounded, I was relieved to be on maternity leave. Whatever problems were out there weren’t mine to solve. Then I remembered that Abra was still at large with Napoleon. Okay, so maybe maternity leave wasn’t as good as a “Get out of jail free” card, but having Jeb, Mom, and Chester on hand ensured that I wouldn’t have much to do.

  I shed my voluminous nightie and stepped into the Roman shower. As hot water and lavender bath gel sluiced off my abdominal slope, I felt human and hopeful once more. I couldn’t wait to meet Helen Plonka Kaminski, the “girl” who’d once had a crush on my dad. Who knew that a blast from the past might make my future easier?

  Helen Kaminski may have had dimples like Betty White’s and a voice as deep as Doris Roberts’, but her similarity to those actresses ended there. Plump and dark-eyed with a beaky nose and gray hair wound into a “grandma” bun, my mother’s former classmate was all smiles and nervous energy.

  “So this is little Whitney,” she exclaimed, clapping her hands together when I hove into view.

  “There’s nothing little about her now,” Mom said.

  “I’m six-foot-one,” I told Helen.

  “And sixty pounds heavier than normal,” Mom added. “Maybe more.”

  I shot my mother a hostile glare. Surely Helen recognized advanced pregnancy when she saw it, even if Chester hadn’t explained why I needed a driver.

  “You used to call me Ella,” Helen said, clasping my large hands in her small dry ones. Her skin felt like warm paper.

  “Whitney had a speech impediment for years,” Mom said.

  “I did?” That was news to me.

  “Oh, yes. It went away your first week of kindergarten, just like that.” Mom snapped her fingers. “I think hearing normal children your age talk was the cure you needed.”

  I frowned at Mom. What was with her? Why did she keep referring to “normal” versus me?

  Helen smiled with all the warmth currently missing from my mother.

  “You turned out to look just like your father. I knew you would. He was so handsome. Did your mother ever tell you I had a crush on him in high school? I sure did.”

  “Uh … ” I glanced at Mom for guidance, but she was busy wiping down the counter. “Gee, Helen, my mom and I talk about so many things, it’s hard to remember specifics. But I guess that’s just normal.”

  “How would you know?” Mom said without looking up.

  I wanted to scold her for behaving badly, especially since she had warned me to be good. Correction: She had warned me to be good to Helen, So why was Mom being mean to me?

  Jeb entered the kitchen and immediately read my face. He put one arm around Helen and the other around Mom and pulled them toward the kitchen table.

  “You both need to sit down and let me get you some coffee,” he said, “with a nice slice of strudel.”

  Normal women never turned Jeb down, and he never failed to improve their spirits.

  I joined the two seniors at the kitchen table and, although I’d just finished an ample breakfast, managed to gobble some strudel. Why not? In the name of pregnancy, I could justify any treat any time. My dieting days would begin soon enough.

  Mom made no additional references to what was normal or not normal, namely me. In fact, she said very little while Jeb and I gently interviewed Helen Kaminski. Despite what my mother had told me, her former classmate seemed capable and likable and not the least bit like Avery, i.e., a person who required extra help. Granted, we’re all on our best behavior during job interviews, but Helen struck me as earnest. Besides, Chester liked her, and you couldn’t buy a better reference than that.

  Helen had brought her resume as well as a copy of her Michigan chauffeur license. The woman was ready to transfer her skills and her energy from the Castle to our house, starting right now. Jeb clearly liked her. Despite our agreement to wait, he opened the nanny topic. I shot him an evil glare.

  “We’re not ready to hire a nanny,” I told Helen.

  “Really?” She stole a sidelong look at my belly. “Well, when you are ready, I’d sure like to help. I’ve taken care of twenty newborn babies and twice that many toddlers, including you.”

  “We are ready to hire you today as a driver,” I said.

  “Wonderful,” Helen cried.

  Jeb said, “The issue’s going to be getting Whiskey into her SUV. Frankly, it’s a challenge for me, and you’re much smaller.”

  “No problem there,” Helen said. “I used to help my late husband load trucks. And Chester lent me his goat prod. It’s in the trunk of my car.”

  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.

  11

  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.”r />
  “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.