by Nina Wright
“What about Chester? Do you know where he is?”
“No, ma’am. But I think Abra’s onto something. When we were at the Jamboree, she started barking and jumping, trying to pull me toward Fishburg. Then I saw what she saw: somebody in a chinchilla coat, like the one on the dead waitress. But this person was wearing a matching hat. So I borrowed a snowmobile and took off.”
“Did you find her?”
“Not yet, ma’am. But I did find Chester’s coat.”
“Chester’s coat?” I couldn’t understand what she was telling me. “But he’s wearing his coat. Isn’t he?”
“Not anymore, ma’am. Abra saw it spread out on a rock by the shore. She barked until I saw it, too.”
“How can you be sure it’s Chester’s?”
“It has his name in it, ma’am. I think he left it to dry in the sun.”
“Why would Chester’s coat need to dry?” No sooner had I asked the question than I answered it. From my own recent experience. “Unless he fell through the ice.”
Deely must have heard the rising tension in my voice.
“Yes, ma’am, I thought of that too. Before you panic, consider that he must have got out again and made it to shore. There’s one set of tracks leading inland, and they look about Chester’s size.”
“Then where is he?”
“That’s why I’m calling, ma’am. Abra and I abandoned the snowmobile and followed the tracks till they ended. They led us to the Broken Arrow Motel. That’s where we are now.”
“The Broken Arrow? Isn’t that where Dr. David lives?”
She didn’t answer right away. When Call Waiting clicked again, I knew Avery had had enough of being on hold. I asked Deely to wait while I switched lines.
“Sorry, Avery,” I began, “but I’ve got two emergencies.”
“Whiskey, this is Jenx. I hate to be the one to tell you, but now you’ve got three.”
Chapter Thirty-two
“Some nut job took Leah and Leo,” Jenx said.
“I know,” I sighed. “That’s Emergency Number One. You’re counting it twice.”
“No, there’s another emergency, related to Number One. That adds up to three—if you have a Number Two.”
“I do.” I switched my cell phone to the ear that didn’t have a throbbing bruise by it. “Just tell me how Three is different from One!”
“After Avery called you, the whacko who took the babies called her,” Jenx said. “Why’d you put her on hold, anyhow?”
“Because of Emergency Number Two! Go on.”
“You put Avery on hold, she hangs up, and right away the phone rings. A muffled voice says Avery can trade Abra and Prince Harry for Leah and Leo. But there’s a catch.”
“There usually is,” I sighed.
“Avery has to bring the dogs herself.”
“Where?”
“The caller says that info will come later and adds, ‘You’d better be brave, or your babies are dead.’”
“Oh god,” I groaned. “No way Avery’s brave!”
Jenx said, “Emergencies One and Three.”
I told Jenx that Deely borrowed a snowmobile to go after someone in Fishburg and then found Chester’s wet coat on a rock.
“Deely and Abra followed Chester’s tracks from the shore to the Broken Arrow Motel,” I said. “That’s where they are now, where David Newquist lives. That’s Emergency Number Two!”
“I’m already on Broken Arrow Highway,” Jenx said. “I can be at the motel in three minutes. Where are you?”
“Still at the Jamboree. I was planning to do some aerial reconnaissance—”
“You’re going up in that helicopter again?”
“I owe the pilot a flotation device, so I thought I’d buy another ride while I’m at it. Do you want us to circle the Broken Arrow Motel?”
“Good idea, Deputy,” Jenx said. “Tell your pilot to keep in touch by radio.”
She told me the police frequency. I removed my mittens, found a pen in my pocket, and scrawled the digits on the back of my hand. Then I made Jenx promise to phone me if she found Chester.
Assuming that Deely was telling the truth—that she had followed Chester’s trail to the Broken Arrow Motel—what would she do next? What was Deely’s relationship with David? Although the veterinarian was living at the Broken Arrow, he might not be there right now. He worked Sundays, as needed, at his clinic downtown. Once again I wrestled with the notion that David could or would hurt anyone. It didn’t compute, even if Gil Gruen had felt compelled to get a restraining order against him.
Most likely the Broken Arrow Motel was simply the first place Chester found in his search for help. Or maybe he knew where he was going, and he counted on his friend David to be there. In any event, we were closer than ever to finding Chester.
According to my watch, I had thirty-eight minutes until take-off. Enough time to fetch my fare from the safe in my office and check around on the ground for suspicious characters. I hadn’t counted on running into Tina Breen and Noonan Starr in the lobby of Mattimoe Realty. By their startled expressions, I knew they weren’t pleased to see me, either.
“What brings you two to the office on a Sunday?” I asked. “Shouldn’t you be down at the Jamboree?”
“Uh, no—thank you, anyway,” Tina said nervously. But then Tina was usually nervous. Her job as my office manager didn’t strike me as particularly stressful, given the haphazard way she approached her tasks. But her husband’s recent lay-off plus the demands of her two toddlers seemed to be pushing Tina toward the edge. I recalled her reaction to the foul-mouthed man at Extreme Clean and thought I knew how to make her feel better.
“Good news, Tina. That pervert at Extreme Clean will never bother you again!”
Tina’s eyes filled with terror, and she covered her mouth with both hands. Choking back either a sob or vomit, she raced down the hall to the bathroom.
“I was trying to make her feel better,” I told Noonan.
The New Age massage therapist nodded. “Tina is learning to confront her terrors, which is where all healing begins.”
Taking a step toward me, she whispered, “That’s why we’re here, Whiskey. Tina’s checking her work schedule so that she can set up a series of counseling sessions. We’re going to start with her fear of foul words.”
I had my own fears to deal with.
“Roy Vickers is on the lam,” I confided. “He’s trying to find Chester, but I think Chester’s about to be found. Jenx is on the case, and so is Deely Smarr. If Gil is dead, Roy may be implicated in his murder. And in a second attack, too. I don’t know what to do!”
Noonan couldn’t have looked less perturbed.
“Roy Vickers knows the Seven Suns of Solace,” she said. “He’ll be fine.”
“But the police don’t, and I’m afraid they’re going to arrest him. In fact, I’m afraid they’re going to arrest me for helping him escape!”
Noonan took my hand in both her strong ones. “You need to work on trust issues.”
“Okay, but first I’d like to make sure I don’t get busted.”
I saw a rare flicker of impatience in Noonan’s pale eyes. “Follow the logic, Whiskey: If Roy is innocent, you have nothing to fear.”
“Yeah, but from here, that’s a really big ‘if.’ Roy doesn’t look innocent. He looks like an ex-con who’s headed back to the slammer.”
Noonan closed her eyes. I figured she was doing some kind of meditation. Either that or I had made her so mad that she was counting to ten. Silently I counted along. On nine, she opened her eyes and smiled.
“Godspeed, Whiskey.” Noonan released my hands and stepped back. Then, with a dramatic flourish, she extended her arms as if they were wings. “Fly where you will with faith in your heart!”
Was that some kind of metaphysical metaphor—flying equals personal freedom, for instance—or did Noonan know I was about to board a helicopter? And if she knew, how did she know? I demanded an explanation.
Noonan
smiled like an amused mother. “Oh, Whiskey. You continue to underestimate the strength of your personal vibrations. The Seven Suns of Solace would enlighten you about your own power.”
“That’s a fact,” another voice affirmed.
I peered past Noonan to see where the familiar tones were coming from. The visitor had entered Mattimoe Realty so stealthily that I hadn’t heard her. Like me, Noonan knew who it was. Without turning, she said, “Cassina, welcome home.”
I almost sank to my knees before the diva—not because I was a fan, but because I had failed as a child-care provider. As her child’s care-provider.
“Cassina, I am so sorry about Chester—”
“Forget it, Whiskey. I forgive you,” the superstar said, tossing about a mile of flame-red hair over one shoulder. “I’m a terrible mother, so you’re allowed to make a mistake.”
“You’re not a terrible mother,” I began. Except that she was, and the whole town knew it.
“Noonan,” Cassina said, “I need a Personal Power Coach session. I’m way overdue for a vibration infusion.”
“Personal Power Coach?” As usual, I was a few beats behind. I knew that Noonan had dozens of counseling clients for the Seven Suns of Solace, but I’d never heard anyone call her “Coach.”
“Personal Power transcends the Seven Suns of Solace, Whiskey,” Noonan explained. “It encompasses ongoing, larger life issues, for those of us working on a higher spiritual plane.”
Or a superstar budget, I thought. Cassina probably kept Noonan on retainer.
“Did the FBI call you home?” I asked the singer. “Or did you just get bad vibes?”
“I wanted to do the right thing,” Cassina said. “For a change.”
“Cassina has postponed the rest of her tour,” Noonan explained. “Until Chester can join her.”
How utterly un-Cassina. I had long suspected that she loved to spend days in her recording studio and months on the road precisely to avoid motherhood. Even when she had Chester in tow, Cassina tended to misplace him. She had left him behind in hotel lobbies too many times to count. And her tendency to lock him out of his own home was legendary. Cassina always insisted it was an oversight, but I figured it was more like a Freudian slip. When he couldn’t get in the door at his house, Chester found his way into mine, often through the window over my kitchen sink. He was resilient and resourceful, which gave me hope for him now. But, until I knew he was safe and whole, even his mother’s forgiveness wouldn’t ease my guilt. No matter who was involved in his disappearance, I knew that this time I had lost Chester.
“Did Rupert come back with you?” I asked.
“He’s in the limo,” Cassina said. “He thinks Magnet Springs looks like the set of a made-for-TV movie. Starring Angela Lansbury.”
“Will we get to meet Rupert?”
“Probably not. He’s a snob.”
“Were you looking for Noonan or for me?” I asked.
“Neither,” replied Cassina. “I told the driver to cruise the Jamboree, but it’s so blue-collar. Not my fan base. We were heading back to the Castle when I saw you duck into your office. I thought I’d let you know I’m not planning to sue you.”
She looked at her Personal Power Coach for approval and got it.
“Excellent soul expansion!” Noonan applauded softly.
“I don’t want to build any false hope,” I told Cassina, “but Jenx may be close to finding Chester.”
“Where?” Cassina’s Kabuki-white face brightened. “Has someone seen him?”
I shouldn’t have started this, I thought. What if I’m wrong? What if the tracks Deely followed weren’t Chester’s, after all? What if we never find him?
“I—uh—don’t think there’s been a sighting, but there may be some tracks. All I know for sure is that everybody’s looking.”
Cassina sighed, and Noonan put her arm around her best client’s waist. As Cassina fussed with the collar of her coat, I realized that it was made from some exotic fur I didn’t recognize. Cassina’s entire wardrobe was white, and the coat was no exception.
“What kind of fur is that?” I asked.
“Ermine,” Cassina said. “This was made for Marlene Dietrich. I bought it at an auction in Paris.”
“A word to the wise,” I said. “Women who wear fur coats in this town have been getting into trouble. You might want to warn your mother—even though she looks good in chinchilla.”
“My mother? What the hell are you talking about?”
“Evelyn Huffenbach? She showed up yesterday to talk to the FBI. As Chester’s legal guardian.”
“She was only supposed to take over in an emergency,” Cassina raged. “In case I couldn’t make it back to the States!”
The singer started for the door, shoved it open and then paused. Turning back toward Noonan, she said, “Call me later. I’m going to need some kick-ass coaching tonight!”
Chapter Thirty-three
Cassina and her ermine coat had barely left the building when Noonan declared, “She has made amazing progress.”
“Her music may be soothing,” I said, “but up close and personal, Cassina’s as serene as an abscessed tooth.”
“Would it surprise you to learn that people feel the same about you?”
“They think my music’s soothing . . .?”
Noonan gave me her tolerant-but-tired look. “People think you lack serenity, Whiskey. People who know and care about you.”
“I’m as serene as the next guy!”
A mistake—since “the next guy” turned out to be Tina Breen, who emerged from the bathroom bawling.
I slipped into my office and locked the door behind me. Twenty-seven minutes before my scheduled voyage into the wild blue yonder. Still plenty of time, but I needed to get focused. It had been a while since I’d raided my own office safe. The combination was one that Leo had invented: a mix of his birthday, 7-30 (yes, Leo was a Leo), and mine, 3-28 (I can’t help it that I’m an Aries). Carefully, I typed the numbers on the electronic keypad, followed by “enter.” When the door clicked open, I was relieved to find my modest stash of cash. I counted out four one-hundred dollar bills, re-secured the safe, and exited my office.
No sign of Tina or her new therapist. I hoped the Seven Suns of Solace would do more for my office manager than it had for my next-door neighbor. Or my stepdaughter.
My stepdaughter! Striding down Main Street toward the waterfront, I speed-dialed Avery on my cell phone. Five times I called, and five times she failed to answer. When I reached the entrance to the Jamboree, I was bathed in the cold sweat of anxiety. My phone rang. Caller ID said Jenx. Her voice was so low I could barely hear her.
“He’s not here,” she said.
“Who’s not where?”
“There’s no sign of Chester at the Broken Arrow Motel.”
My heart deflated like a cheap balloon. “You lost him?”
“Whiskey, he was already lost. Looks like he went from unit to unit, knocking on doors until somebody opened one. His tracks stop outside Room 19.”
I caught my breath. “Is that . . . David’s room?”
“No. The room is rented to Evelyn Huffenbach.”
“Chester’s grandmother! I should warn you, Jenx, something’s not right about her.”
Hastily, I filled the police chief in on my brief encounter with Cassina. Jenx asked if Chester’s father was here, too.
“Yes, but don’t expect to meet him. He’s a snob. What about Huffenbach?”
“She’s not in her room—or not answering the door. And the desk clerk’s none too helpful,” Jenx said. “We’ll need a warrant to force our way in.”
“I’m worried about Avery,” I said. “She doesn’t answer the phone,”
“She’s okay, just mad as hell at you for putting her on hold. She’s checking Caller ID.”
I groaned. “What are you doing about the babies?”
“I’m heading over to Vestige now to interview Avery. I’ll have to let the Fibbies in.
The State Police, too.” Jenx was talking through clenched teeth. “Then the assholes will make us wait while they muck things up.”
“Who says?” Threading my way through the Jamboree crowd toward the helicopter, I had an idea. Not so much a new idea as a revised version of an earlier one. “I’ll be your eye in the sky! But maybe now I don’t circle the Broken Arrow Motel. Maybe now I look for clues somewhere else?”
“Where?” Jenx asked eagerly.
“You’re law enforcement!” I said. “You’re supposed to tell me!”
I heard Jenx’s police radio crackling in the background. “Got to go,” she said. “I think you should still circle the Broken Arrow and then move out from there. Good luck!” Click.
As I hurried toward the helicopter, the pilot was pitching his services to a couple who looked around twenty years old. The male prospect reached into his pocket and withdrew his wallet.
“Not so fast!” I shouted, breaking into a trot. “The next ride is mine! I’ve got the money!” I waved my four one-hundred-dollar bills like a flag.
All three stared as if I was fanning my underwear at them. The pilot said something to the couple, probably something unflattering about me. They backed up a little.
Sliding to a halt, I said, “Sorry to cut in. Police business.”
I pointed to my badge, which had slipped sideways. If it had worked for Deely and the dog, it should work for me and my money. “We’re in pursuit of a potential felon! Maybe more than one!”
“What are you talking about?” the pilot said. “You owe me for the flotation device.”
“Right. And there you have it.” I handed him two bills and then extended two more. “Now you owe me a micro-charter.”
“I owe you nothing. These folks were here first, so they’re going up first. Hold your fare till we get back.”
“You don’t understand,” I said, “there’s been a kidnapping! Well, two kidnappings because they’re twins. Actually, three kidnappings, counting Chester. Plus two murders and one attempted murder.”
“What kind of town is this?” the young woman gasped.
“This week? A very dangerous one.”
