Whiskey with a Twist

by Nina Wright

  “Is that the goat paddock?”

  I couldn’t see a single goat.

  “They’re at the other end. Come on!”

  The Amish kids were already scrambling over the fence. Even with short legs and a long skirt, Rachel managed to scale it before I could figure out quite how to begin. I gave silent thanks that the only audience for my performance was three kids, two of already disliked me.

  “She’s a little out of shape,” Chester told Jacob and Rachel.

  “On account of the whiskey?” Rachel whispered.

  The long trek across the goat pasture did not improve my mood. If, as his cousins had said, Naughty Nathaniel was on punitive muck duty, then he hadn’t gotten very far. Goat shit was everywhere. Brown pellets half the size of my thumb stuck to my shoes like, well, shit. About every fifty steps I stopped to survey the mounting debris on my soles. It was like an extra layer of insulation but not the kind anybody wants. What I couldn’t understand was why nobody else was picking up half as much of it as I was. Chester pointed out that my soles weren’t made of leather like his, Jacob’s, and Rachel’s. Mine were made of some inferior petroleum-based composite intended for exclusive use in goat-free zones.

  “City slicker,” one of the Amish kids murmured. Probably Rachel. She was a pretty little girl but hostile to all things civilized.

  “Look out! They’re going to butt you!”

  “What?”

  I glanced up from the sticky sole of my shoe to see Rachel pointing toward something behind me. Before I could check it out, I received a hard shove in the derriere. Since I was standing on one foot only, the impact sent me sprawling. I landed on my knees and elbows, which might have been mildly amusing had it not been for the goat shit and the three-count ‘em, three-aggressive long-haired goats now in my face. I was down; they were up. And they were in the mood to head-butt.

  Adrenalized, I reached into my bag and pulled out the closest thing to a weapon that I possessed: the Afghan hound mystery, courtesy of Odette. Without thinking, I aimed the book’s solid spine at the muzzle of the nearest goat and swung with all my might. The impact sounded like a ball cracking a bat. The goat stumbled sideways, his eyes crossed. When the next goat came at me, I swung the book in a sharp uppercut. Although the sound of the connection was less satisfying, the angle of my blow peeled the goat’s front feet from the ground and sent him reeling. Right behind him, the third goat left me no time to strike, so I flattened myself to the ground and let him sail over me.

  Chester cheered. Cautiously I lifted my chin; the first goat was charging back this way, head down for the power-butt. I was adrenalized and inspired. Taking aim, I launched the book; it ripped through the air like the potentially lethal Frisbee that every trade paperback is. When it collided with the crown of the goat’s head, he grunted like a fullback and fell.

  Chester helped me to my feet. My clothing was sticky and smeared; I expected the Amish kids to snigger. They didn’t, however. They merely stared. Chester whispered something about their culture opposing combat in any form. Great. Now I was all about whiskey and violence. Maybe Nathaniel would like me.

  He did, as it turned out. Though not immediately. I met him while running away from yet a fourth angry goat. This one clutched what was left of the projectile novel in his jaws. The book looked half-eaten, and the goat looked pissed off. Why oh why did the hoofed demons attack only me? Although Chester was just the right size to knock down, he probably spoke goat and thus talked them out of it. I did the next best thing: I unleashed a stream of expletives that should have been clear in any language. But the damned critter kept up the chase, forcing me to run in ever wider circles toward the far end of the pasture. I caught sight of a muscular young man with a blonde bowl haircut wielding an oversized old-fashioned rake. Nathaniel for sure.

  “Help!” I cried. “That goat has got me in his sights and he won’t quit!”

  I tried to position myself so that Nathaniel was between me and the goat, but he didn’t stop raking, and the goat kept circling.

  “Can you help me out here?” I panted.

  Nathaniel said nothing.

  “Hey, I know about your mess with the wagon,” I said. “It’s why I’m here. I think you saw my dog! If you help me, I’ll make it worth your while!”

  That got his attention. Nathaniel leaned on his giant rake and grinned. “Will you get me a six-pack of beer?”

  “You bet! I got a helicopter, and it’s parked right over there!” Still dodging, the goat, I pointed toward the cornfield.

  “Where?” Nathaniel asked.

  “Ask that kid who’s coming with your cousins!”

  Nathaniel shaded his eyes for a better look at the three children running toward us. “Is that your son?”

  “Even better. He’s my bodyguard. Well, one of them. The good one.”

  With perfect timing, Chester shouted, “Don’t hurt Whiskey! She means you no harm!”

  “’Whiskey’?” Nathaniel looked confused.

  “It’s my name,” I said.

  Nathaniel winked. Then he shouted something in German that drove the goat away. Before I could ask what it meant, the children arrived.

  “She says she lost her dog!” Rachel said, watching me with continued wariness.

  Jacob added, “She thinks her dog jumped on your wagon.”

  “Is that so?” Nathaniel said.

  He had classic “bad-boy” good looks: mussed hair, twinkling eyes, a crooked grin, and lazy posture. Apparently some Amish men were born to be trouble, just like my ex-husband.

  I proceeded to describe Abra, and what the Two L’s had seen her do. Chester chimed in now and then to keep the narrative on course.

  “The bottom line,” he told Nathaniel, “is that Abra runs away all the time. So she’s good at it.”

  “I don’t have your dog,” Nathaniel said. “She was on my wagon, though. Until she jumped off it to chase another dog.”

  I groaned and smacked myself in the forehead so hard it hurt.

  “Where did that happen?” Chester said.

  “We were still on 20. A Ford pickup passed us with a big hairy dog in the back. The dog was barking at my wagon. Then all of a sudden it jumped out. I had to swerve not to hit it. The next thing I knew, another big hairy dog was leaping over my head-and over my horses-to get to the dog on the road. I almost ran over them both.”

  “What color was the first big hairy dog?” I said.

  “Gray. Like the truck.”

  “Silverado!” I cried.

  Nathaniel shook his head. “The Silverado’s a Chevy. This was a Ford.”

  “I mean the dog! Silverado is the name of the dog. He’s missing, too.”

  “About that pay-off you promised me… “ Nathaniel raised an eyebrow.

  “I’m good for it, but you gotta tell me more. Where on 20 did this happen, and which way did they go?”

  “How about you and me take a ride in your helicopter,” Nathaniel said. “I’ll show you where, and you’ll get me what I want.”

  Rachel said, “You can’t ride in a helicopter! You’re in trouble!”

  “You’ll be in trouble, too, if I tell your mother you’re sneaking food to the barn cats,” Nathaniel said. More nastily than necessary, I thought. Rachel turned white. Then she clambered over the gate and ran for the house.

  “I won’t tell on you, Nathaniel,” Jacob said. “No matter what you do. Neither will Rachel. She’s just scared.”

  “I know.” The older cousin lifted the boy’s straw hat and ruffled his hair, but he kept his gaze on me. “Jacob, go take care of your sister. If anybody asks about me, tell them you just saw me in the goat paddock.”

  Jacob placed a hand on top of the gate to pull himself up.

  “Wait!” Nathaniel said. “Take your little English friend along, why don’t you?”

  He was looking at me to grant permission, but I turned it over to Chester. “Do you want to?”

  “Oh yeah! Can I?” His eyes wi
dened behind his glasses.

  “Sure. We’ll be back before you know it… assuming Nathaniel can walk me through that cornfield to the chopper.”

  “Why not land the chopper right here?” Chester said.

  Producing his cell phone, he speed-dialed Jeb, who gave him Brad’s number. Then he dialed the pilot, introduced him to Nathaniel, and let the two of them work things out.

  Nathaniel couldn’t have looked happier. Handing the phone back to Chester, he told me, “We’ll be out of here before anybody can stop us.”

  My little English bodyguard waved and followed Jacob over the fence. Seconds later, I heard the whine of the approaching helicopter.

  Nathaniel leaned his rake against the fence and checked over his shoulder.

  “If you see my family coming, don’t panic. Nobody around here has a gun.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  I was too worried to do anything but my infamous ostrich routine. As the helicopter drew near, I shut my eyes and let somebody else make things happen. You’d be surprised how often that turns out to be the right choice.

  While I wasn’t looking, Brad the pilot found the paddock and neatly landed the chopper. Long-haired goats dodged every which way but at me. Nathaniel the Amish bad boy shouted that it was time to board. I didn’t look back till we were airborne. From that vantage point I could see an Amish family jogging toward the paddock, with Rachel, Jacob, and Chester bringing up the rear.

  Brad signaled for me to give our new guest a headset. Nathaniel held it in both hands for a long moment before slipping it on. At first, I thought he didn’t know what to do with it; then I realized he was savoring the moment.

  “Nathaniel’s going to show us where Abra and Silverado got together,” I told Brad. “Out on Route 20.”

  Even as I said it, I knew it sounded ridiculous. Nobody in the world cared as much as I did about tracking trouble-making dogs. Maybe it was time I stopped caring. Maybe I’d already made enough of an effort to find them. I was half-blind and covered with goat shit. I had a business to run, after all, and a screwed-up personal life to sort out.

  Nathaniel seemed utterly unfazed by his aerial experience. Pointing helpfully, he showed Brad the exact spot on Route 20. Along the way, he identified every farm and road.

  “I was about to turn there, on County Road 60,” he said, “when the dogs jumped!”

  “If only you’d seen which way they went after that,” I sighed.

  “I did!” Nathaniel said. “They headed back west on 20.”

  “Like they were returning to the dog show?” Brad asked.

  “Well, they didn’t do that,” I said.

  We flew in silence for a few moments looping pointlessly around the designated intersection. I noticed with irritation that Nathaniel’s focus seemed to be elsewhere.

  “That’s weird,” he remarked finally, gazing to his right.

  “What?”

  “Over there. It looks like a dog. No. Make that two dogs. Are those the same two dogs…?”

  Brad automatically swiveled the craft in the direction our Amish passenger was pointing. I leaned forward in concentration. And then I saw what Nathaniel saw. Loping west along Route 20 were two examples of the most graceful breed of dog ever placed on this planet. From the air, one looked blonde, the other steel-gray. Guess who was leading?

  “She’s at it again!” I said. “Luring another new boyfriend astray.”

  “Or leading him back to the dog show,” Brad said. “Maybe she’s some kind of hero.”

  “Please. You’ve never met my bitch.”

  Then Brad explained something I already knew, that he couldn’t set the helicopter down on Route 20.

  “Here’s an option,” he continued. “I can go ahead of the dogs and find a side road to land on. Then you can run after them…”

  “What’s the next option?”

  “We can follow them, and you can direct someone on the ground to intercept them.”

  “Call in the cavalry, you mean?”

  “Those are your options.”

  How I wished that Chester was here to help. The kid had a knack for canine problem-solving. I opened my cell phone, prepared to speed-dial Jeb. Then I remembered that he had arrived by chopper and did not have a car at his disposal. Sure, he could have used mine, except that I had the keys. So I phoned MacArthur.

  “You’ve reached my voicemail. Have at it.”

  Indeed I did, forcibly omitting all expletives on account of our Amish guest. I tersely summed up the situation, concluding with “We’re in the air following the dogs. Call me back! Fast!”

  “Look at that!” Nathaniel said as I ended the call.

  Below us, a big black car was making a U-turn on Route 20. As we stared, the vehicle passed our fast-moving gray and yellow targets, then pulled over onto the berm ahead of them. The rear door on the driver’s side opened, and in jumped both dogs. The door closed, and nothing else happened.

  Brad slowed the craft until we were literally hovering above the vehicle.

  “Do you recognize the car?” he said.

  “No!” I said.

  “Well, whoever’s driving knows they got an audience. Let’s see what they do next.”

  “The damn dogs got into a limo,” I said numbly.

  “That’s not a limo. That’s a Cadillac,” Nathaniel declared. “Probably a 2009 DTS.” When Brad and I stared at him, he said, “I know cars.”

  “You’re Amish,” I said.

  “I’m seventeen. I haven’t decided whether I want to be Amish or not. When I get the chance, I hang around car dealerships in Elkhart. I think I might like to sell used cars someday.”

  “Amish teens-I’ve heard about that,” Brad said, sounding suddenly energized. “You get to explore your choices, right?”

  “Right. Our families give us a lot of freedom.”

  “Speaking of freedom, the dogs are driving away!” I shouted. “Follow that Cadillac!”

  Calmly Brad said, “Now would be a good time to enlist your friends on the ground.”

  “If they’d answer their phones!” I fumed.

  When I called MacArthur again, I got his voicemail again. This time I left a few choice words in my message. For emphasis. And to scare the men in the chopper. Then I tried Jeb, on the off chance that he might be with MacArthur. I got his voicemail, too. I don’t remember exactly what I told him, but it wasn’t pretty.

  To Nathaniel, who was eavesdropping, I said, “How do you know what your limits are? Or don’t you have any?”

  “We’re not supposed to shame our families.”

  “Good plan,” I said. “What about your adventure with the wagon?”

  “That shamed them,” he admitted. “To sober me up, my uncle made me swim in the creek with my clothes on. Then he made me rake out the goat paddock.”

  Brad laughed into his headset. “Reminds me of myself at your age! Without the goats.”

  I was in the midst of male bonding.

  “I’m lucky,” Nathaniel told Brad. “She’s going to buy me a six-pack.“

  “Who?”

  The teen pointed at me. “She said if I helped find her dog, she’d get me something good. Maybe even something with her name on it.”

  “I never said I’d buy you whiskey!” I protested.

  “Hold on,” Brad said, glaring at me. “You promised to buy an under-age Amish kid booze?”

  I felt like the Anti-Christ. Maybe according to the rules of Amish Country, I was.

  “Beer only, I swear! His little cousin got confused about whiskey because it’s my name!”

  Brad shook his head in disgust. To Nathaniel, he said, “Here’s a better offer. As soon as we finish this job, I’ll show you how a chopper works. That’s way more fun than a six-pack!”

  “How about this,” Nathaniel counter-offered. “You drop me off at the Cadillac dealership in Elkhart, and I’ll forget about the beer. And whiskey.”

  I wasn’t sure if he meant the beverage or me
. Then my cell phone rang; Jeb was calling.

  “Where’s MacArthur?” I shouted. When I couldn’t hear Jeb’s answer, I repeated the question. Louder. Three more times. I never did hear his answer. By then Jeb had given up.

  “This isn’t working,” I told Brad.

  “We’ll track the car as far as the Barnyard Inn,” he said. “Then you can jump in your own car and take it from there.”

  “We have to retrieve Chester!” I reminded him.

  “I’ll pick him up on the way back from Elkhart. I have instructions from Mr. Davies to return Chester and Jeb to Magnet Springs.”

  “Tonight?”

  “Tomorrow morning,” Brad said. “Unless they insist on going back tonight.”

  “Nobody’s going back tonight,” I growled. “Not when I have to waste all this time looking for dogs!”

  I thought about Jeb, his overnight bag, and our passion, the last of which we’d probably squandered. This time I couldn’t blame Abra for everything that had gone wrong. I’d been a bitch, too.

  The black Cadillac was directly under us, passing every car in its lane. As Brad observed, they had to know they had aerial company. I asked if he could swoop down and get the license plate number, but he said that wasn’t possible.

  “I saw somebody do it in a movie,” I whined.

  “Sure you did,” Brad replied. “In a movie.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  My heart sank as the black Cadillac zoomed past the Barnyard Inn, and Brad prepared to land the helicopter in the parking lot. Now it would be entirely up to me to continue the chase. In my own earthbound vehicle.

  Peering out the window during our descent, I counted three police cars and nine sign-toting Fleggers still on site. Then I counted my ex-husband-as a major disappointment. He was leaning up against a familiar white Audi, chatting with a woman I had grown to intensely dislike. Although we were too far away to see the bullet holes, I was sure there were still two in Susan Davies’ shiny car. And I no longer gave a shit about who had put them there.

  “Thanks, anyway,” I told Brad as I handed back my headset.

  Nathaniel made no move to remove his. In fact, he appeared to have settled in happily for the ride to Elkhart.