Nina Wright - Whiskey with a Twist

“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!”

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!”