Nina Wright - Whiskey Mattimoe 07 - Whiskey, Large

by Nina Wright

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 nor
theast 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.

  23

  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.

  “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.”