Whiskey with a Twist

by Nina Wright

  I buzzed Tina to ask if she had any antacids on hand. When she didn’t answer, I wandered out to the lobby. No one was in sight. Depressing indeed. This should have been a busy week at Mattimoe Realty. Historically, Leo and I had made almost twenty percent of our annual sales in September. So far this month, Odette had closed three sales. Nobody else had produced squat.

  Since Tina’s purse was still tucked neatly under her desk, I assumed she had taken a bathroom break. I was about to return to my office when her computer pinged, signaling an incoming email message. In the vain hope that it might be a real estate inquiry, I took a peek. Alas, it was spam. The new message, from someone calling himself Rod Wunderly (oh sure!), featured this subject line: Thrill her with your amazing manstick. I groaned. That was the kind of email opened by only the most gullible and insecure of men.

  I was about to delete it when I remembered that this was Tina’s work station, not mine. Given how slow business was, taking the time to delete it would at least offer her something to do. I glanced at her inbox. To my amazement, Tina had received, read, and not deleted more than a dozen recent spam emails, all of which seemed, ironically, to be about enlarging an organ she didn’t possess. Even if Tina was bored enough to glance at spam, I couldn’t believe she’d read let alone save these. Tina Breen was the most prudish person I knew.

  The toilet flushed, and I jumped back from her computer as if it had bitten me.

  “Looking for something?” Tina asked, a little sharply, I thought.

  “Actually, I was looking for you. Do you have anything for indigestion?”

  Without answering, she opened her top right desk drawer, scooped out the contents, and lined them up as if for a TV infomercial. I counted six OTC brands and several prescriptions.

  “Take what you need,” she said. “Since I developed my ulcer, I’ve tried every stomach medicine known to man.”

  “All I want is a Rolaid. Or something.” I eyed the assortment. “Which one works best?”

  Tina burst into tears again. “For me, nothing works! I’m in constant misery! My doctor says it’s because of the stress!”

  My own stomach now hurt much worse than it had a minute earlier.

  “Please, please don’t fire me, Whiskey!” Tina cried, pitching herself onto her knees. “And please don’t let your business go to pot!”

  “To… pot?”

  “Down the drain. Kaput. Pfft.”

  “Okay, I won’t. Please, Tina, get up off your knees. There’s no reason to panic as long as Odette still works here.”

  “You’re right.” Tina wiped her face on her sleeve. Then she grabbed the edge of her desk, grunted, and pulled herself up. Suddenly she shrieked in pain.

  “Now what is it?” I said.

  “My back! Ohhhh. Spinal stenosis, the doctor says. Ever since your business started falling apart, I’ve been falling apart, too.”

  “I’ve had better days myself,” I murmured, gently guiding Tina into her desk chair. “Can I get you something? Water, maybe? To replace all the fluids you’ve lost?”

  “Just let me keep my job!”

  I nodded. “My late husband built this company, Tina. No way it’s going under on my watch. At least not if Odette can help it.”

  At that very convenient moment, Odette called back. Since I didn’t want Tina to hear my concerns about Liam Davies, I raced to my office and closed the door.

  “I may have found a buyer for our listing in Pasco Point,” Odette began.

  “Someone with solid financing?” I asked.

  “Someone with cash! The rich are still rich, Whiskey. You just have to know how to find them. Fortunately, I do.”

  “And I’m overwhelmed with gratitude,” I said. Then I told her what Jenx had told me about Liam Davies.

  Odette made her dismissive raspberry sound.

  “I take it you know something Jenx doesn’t?” I asked.

  “Can crows fly?! What did I just say about the rich? They stay that way, even when they blow their money. That’s the difference between us and them: they can always get more. Don’t worry about Davies’ development, Whiskey. It’s going to happen. Ask me how I know.”

  “Okay… How do you know?”

  “I’m the agent of record, am I not? I sell real estate, I don’t just list it!”

  “Of course you do! And your broker appreciates that.”

  My office door creaked. Tina hovered in the hallway, peering inside. Apparently the door hadn’t latched. Either that or she had opened it partway. I had no idea how much she’d overheard, but I knew I didn’t want to explain any of it. Thinking fast, I called out, “Tina, I’m glad you’re there! Come in, please.”

  She did.

  “When MacArthur called earlier, you didn’t give me his name. You just put the call through. May I ask why?”

  Tina clutched her back as if mere mention of the handsome Scot gave her a spasm. And not the good kind.

  “You didn’t ask who it was,” she whined.

  “You always tell me,” I countered.

  Perspiration glistened on Tina’s frowning forehead.

  “I never know what to say when he calls. I mean, I know he works here part-time, but… is he a good guy, or is he a… cleaner?” She lowered her voice. “You don’t know this about me, Whiskey, but before I was married, I used to read true-crime novels. I know what a cleaner does!”

  “MacArthur is a bodyguard. And a driver,” I said.

  Tina shook her head and limped back to the lobby. My stomach was killing me. Although Chester’s waffles may have started my indigestion, I blamed my office manager for most of the discomfort I felt now. Her melodrama had kicked my gastric juices into overdrive. I slipped out the back way.

  Crossing the street to the Goh Cup, I dialed Jeb.

  “Do you have indigestion, too?”

  “I feel great,” he said.

  “How many waffles did you eat?” I said.

  “Three. Same as you.”

  “I had two,” I informed him. “Then I had a Tina Breen chaser.”

  I hung up before I belched. Arriving at the Goh Cup, I felt no better. My plan was to sip a soda while I listened to whatever it was MacArthur wanted to discuss. For one delicious moment I let myself imagine him begging me to get Avery out of his life. Maybe he’d even go down on his knees, as Tina had, to implore my assistance. I would resist the urge to tell him I had known from the start that Avery would only bring him trouble.

  Then reality set in. What if MacArthur really was about to dump Avery? While I would welcome the twins back at Vestige, provided I could convince Deely to be their nanny again, I sure as hell wouldn’t want Avery as my roommate. She and I got along about as well as… well, we didn’t get along at all. In fact, we’d once tried to scratch each other’s eyes out. So handsome MacArthur dumping bitchy Avery could only complicate my life. And my tummy felt awful enough already.

  I couldn’t have predicted what was about to happen at the Goh Cup counter. MacArthur greeted me with a view of his brand new tattoo. Yessir. His meaty upper arm featured a full-color close-up image of none other than my sour stepdaughter. The picture must have been lifted from a photo; Avery was scowling, as usual. If she wasn’t, no one would recognize her.

  “How life-like,” I said. “Did Brady do that?”

  “Yes. And Peg gave me a discount because I’m getting two,” MacArthur said.

  “Two tattoos?” I strained to imagine Avery with any other expression.

  “I’m getting a tat of the twins on my other arm,” MacArthur said.

  That was big-hearted of him since Avery had never named the twins’ father, and MacArthur hadn’t known them very long. To me she had admitted having sex with a fellow student who was a “real loser” and with her professor, another loser, in the space of one drunken week. The professor had ruled out his paternity with a blood test; Avery claimed not to have known the other dude’s name. MacArthur seemed like a huge improvement over any likely sperm donor. Even
if he was a cleaner.

  MacArthur’s “cleaning”-as far as I knew-involved making Cassina and Rupert look like better people than they actually were. He accomplished that by doing whatever was necessary to clean up the messes they left behind.

  “I’d like to volunteer my services this weekend,” he announced.

  “As a Realtor? Or a driver? Nobody but Odette is doing any real estate. And Abra’s going with me to Nappanee, so you might not want to drive.”

  His blue eyes twinkled, accentuating his thick black hair. What on earth was wrong with this man that he’d permanently inked Avery’s ugly mug on his flesh?

  “Did Chester tell you his parents went to Brazil?” MacArthur said.

  “Yes. I can’t believe they went without you. Was that wise?”

  MacArthur shrugged. “What happens in Rio stays in Rio. Anyway, Avery is gone, too, this weekend. I need to feel needed, Whiskey. To keep myself sharp. So I’m volunteering to be your bodyguard.”

  “But I’m not the one who got shot at.”

  “Chester thinks you’re at risk by association. He asked me to protect you and the woman with the Welsh name.”

  “Susan Davies? Yeah, well she comes with a co-breeder who’ll be the biggest bitch at the show.”

  “I know about her, too,” said MacArthur. “What time are you and Abra leaving?”

  I was about to tell him when a familiar speech impediment stopped me.

  “Pweez don’t pahticipate in dog expwoitation!”

  Chapter Nine

  David Newquist was the best and only veterinarian in town, as well as the dogcatcher of last resort. Because I so often needed his help, I tried to be patient when he preached Fleggers philosophy. Alas, his grim manner, combined with problems pronouncing Rs and Ls, made every lecture tedious. This time I cut him short.

  “How does a dog show exploit dogs?” I demanded. “Those are the most pampered pooches on the planet!”

  “Exackwee,” he sighed and went on with his lesson. According to the good vet, Nature never intended the kind of breeding, grooming, and show-boating required of canine competitions.

  “Then you should be proud of Abra and me,” I said. “She’s been invited to participate as a Bad Example. I think I deserve some credit for that.”

  Dr. David shook his balding head as people often did when I tried to explain myself. Here’s what he said, translated into normal spelling:

  “Animal-breeding systems imposed by humans make a mockery of the Natural World. Hence, any participation in sanctioned breeding programs is a crime against Nature.”

  I considered that as I stifled a fresh belch, tasting Chester’s waffles yet again. Apparently my neighbor had invented a breakfast you could sample all day long.

  “But you treat purebred animals,” I argued. “Hence, you support breeding programs, too!”

  I thought that was a pretty snappy comeback till Dr. David reminded me that he had taken an oath to help all animals.

  “It’s not the fault of purebreds that they were created through human vanity and greed.”

  Dr. David wore a yellow and white striped shirt that matched the paint job on his retrofitted Animal Ambulance. His name was stitched above one pocket; above the other was his mantra:

  MAGNET SPRINGS VET CLINIC

  YOUR PET’S A PERSON, TOO

  MacArthur spoke for the first time since Dr. David had joined us at the Goh Cup counter. He reached past me to shake the vet’s hand.

  “Thanks to you, Velcro has made an astonishing recovery. The wee guy’s joints are stronger, and he poops and whines little more than most dogs.”

  Dr. David said, “Nature never intended the descendents of wolves to be the size of teacups. But I serve all creatures.”

  “Even designer dogs,” I added, using the term I’d learned from Ramona Bowden.

  The veterinarian’s blue-green eyes flared. “They may be the greatest victims of all. Proof that humans persist in trying to outsmart Nature!”

  The sheen of sweat on his upper lip suggested it was time to change the topic. Fortunately, Peg Goh changed it for me. Our fearless, friendly mayor appeared on the other side of the counter with a fresh pot of coffee.

  “Anyone want to try today’s brew? It’s a Sumatran blend.”

  We shook our heads.

  “How about a big cookie? I’ve got Cappuccino Chocolate Chunk and Pumpkin Butterscotch Caramel, baked here this morning.”

  We murmured our regrets.

  Peg let the smile slide off her plump face. Setting down the coffeepot, she said, “It sure is a good thing I added that tattoo parlor in back. I’m selling less than half the caffeine and cookies I sold three months ago. But everybody loves a brand-new tattoo. Did you see MacArthur’s?”

  He displayed Avery’s snarl to everyone in the restaurant, which amounted to Dr. David and me.

  “Brady’s a natural with a tattoo needle,” Peg said. “I told him he should forget about online grad school and build a career right here. He’ll perfect his style by the time the tourist trade picks up.”

  “Where are all the tourists?” I said. “This is leaf-peeping season! People love to watch trees change color, especially with blue sky and blue water in the background.”

  “Have you seen the price of gas lately?” Peg said. “Most people can’t afford the drive. They’re watching the trees on their own street.”

  I couldn’t help but notice the new tattoo on Peg’s fleshy forearm. You gotta admire a sixty-some-year-old woman willing to do whatever it takes to save her business, even if it requires redesigning her own skin.

  “Is that your… cat?” I asked, craning my neck to view the tat right-side up. Helpfully Peg rotated her arm.

  “Oh my god!” I cried. “It’s Yoda!”

  The heart-shaped head, oversized ears, and glinting green eyes were unmistakable.

  She nodded happily. “I adopted the little bugger when Faye went off to school. First purebred pet I ever had. What a charmer.”

  Before Dr. David could start in with another Fleggers lecture, I said, “Yoda? A charmer? He’s a Devon rex! They’re the flying squirrels of the feline world.”

  Peg chuckled. “Yes, they are. I love the way he rides around on my shoulder.”

  Apparently Peg was lonelier than I had realized.

  Dr. David said, “All purebreds have problems. But since Fleggers snipped his manhood, Yoda has become a much better pet.”

  I wanted to ask whether Mother Nature had enlisted Fleggers to go around removing testicles. But before I could, the front door opened, and we all turned to see who had come for coffee.

  My office manager looked, if possible, even more wild-eyed than she had when I fled her presence. Tina’s frizzy hair formed a dull blonde halo around her blotched face. Despite a bad back, she managed her signature hop as she waved for my attention.

  “You forgot your cell phone again!” she whined. “So I couldn’t call you. Jenx needs to see you right away. Something’s gone wrong at the dog show!”

  “Incredible,” I said. “Abra isn’t even there yet.”

  Then I had a horrifying thought and added, “Is she?”

  “I don’t think so,” Tina replied. “Jenx said something about another shooting.”

  MacArthur was on his feet before I was. He threw down enough cash to cover his sandwich and my soda three times over. Peg thanked him and wished me luck.

  As we hustled toward the door, Dr. David called, “You’ll see me at the dog show, too, Whiskey! Deely and I are leading a protest!”

  Jenx was waiting at the Magnet Springs Police Station, one block away. She showed no reaction when I arrived with a bodyguard.

  “The shooter is now in Nappanee,” she said without preamble. “Ramona Bowden was grooming one of her dogs outside the exhibit hall when somebody took a shot at her.”

  “Somebody shot at Ramona?” I asked. “I thought Susan was the target.”

  “So did Susan,” Jenx said. “She phoned me
as soon as it happened. She’s ready to hire a bodyguard. For herself and Ramona.”

  “I’ve already volunteered my services,” MacArthur said, “to anyone who needs them.”

  Jenx nodded. “Ramona wasn’t hurt, but she’s badly shaken. So’s Susan. I advised them to stay out of plain sight 'til they get a bodyguard.”

  “I’m on my way,” MacArthur said.

  Then he asked if I needed him to double as my driver. I wanted to say yes because having a driver is the most decadent of luxuries. But he added that he’d prefer to go separately in order to have more freedom of movement. Since I thoroughly enjoyed watching MacArthur’s free movements, who was I to argue?

  Chapter Ten

  As we left the police station, I commented to MacArthur that our shooter was a lousy shot.

  “He’s tried three times and hasn’t winged anybody.”

  “That’s because he’s not trying to shoot them.”

  “Say what?”

  “He’s sending a message, Whiskey.”

  “What kind of message?”

  MacArthur paused for dramatic effect, which wasn’t necessary. A man as tall and well built as he is just naturally takes center stage.

  “That’s what I’m going to find out,” he said. “With a little help from my volunteer deputy. Chester told me you’re on the case.”

  I knew that Jenx preferred Chester over me in matters of law enforcement. He was more eager to please and less likely to compromise a crime scene. Also, Chester could speak canine. You’d be surprised how handy a skill that is.

  MacArthur urged me to leave as soon as possible, adding “Chester will have Abra ready to roll.”

  His thick brogue sounded so enchanting that once again I wondered why nasty Avery Mattimoe got to live with a hunk like him. I had been jealous when she hooked up with her good-looking professor, too, before I realized he was a toad disguised as a prince. Maybe, as Avery had gleefully pointed out, I was doomed to lust after all her boyfriends.

  Or, happier thought, maybe she was doomed to lose them all. The first one had walked out the day he discovered the twins weren’t his. I wondered what it would take to drive MacArthur from her bed. If her surly attitude, soft ass, and bad complexion didn’t do it, what would?