Nina Wright - Whiskey with a Twist

What I did find when I pushed open the heavy metal door was my undercover bodyguard. Down on all fours.

“Did you lose a contact lens?” I said.

With surprising agility, he sprang upright.

“No. But I found this.”

I didn’t at first understand the significance of what he showed me. Or even recognize what it was. MacArthur waited as I studied the tiny item resting in the broad palm of his hand.

“It’s a bristle from a pin brush, isn’t it?” I said. “The kind a groomer uses.”

“Or a handler,” MacArthur said.

“You know about Matt?” I asked. When he nodded, I said, “We should have assigned you to him and his dad instead of to Susan, Ramona, and me.”

Then I considered that Ramona had been shot, too, and Susan had lost her prize pooch. All in all, MacArthur was making a hash of his job this weekend, even if he was doing it for free. Maybe he was distracted.

“Seen Kori lately?” I asked.

“She’s in her room, packing to leave,” he replied.

“And you know that because…?”

“Deely and Dr. David said so. Fleggers are protesting in the parking lot. They said Kori stopped to make a donation before going to her room.”

I told MacArthur what I’d seen inside the exhibit hall from the moment the lights banged down. When I got to the part about seeing a large man silhouetted in the doorway, I stopped.

“When were you last inside?”

“About thirty minutes ago,” he said. “I watched Liam Davies confer with his wife in a storage area next to the concession stand. They both became a bit agitated, so I stayed close by. Then she went her way, and he went his. I followed him and Odette out to the helicopter and saw them leave. So I missed the final round.”

MacArthur’s size made him a perfect match, at least in silhouette, to the man I’d seen. Why would he lie? Unless he was trying to protect someone. But his job was to protect Susan, Ramona, and me.

“I saw a man leave through the side door. And now Silverado is gone.” I pointed to the pin brush bristle still resting in MacArthur’s palm. “Do you think that means anything?”

“It means something. The question is what. Most likely, at this spot, one of three things happened: someone was grooming a dog, or a dog shook off a bristle caught in his coat, or a human shook off a bristle caught in his or her clothes. I’ve been studying this area closely, and I’m certain that bristle wasn’t here an hour ago.”

I wanted to believe everything MacArthur said. After all, when he wasn’t being a bodyguard or cleaner, he supposedly worked for me. Or he would work for me once the real estate market rebounded. Meanwhile, he lived with my surly stepdaughter and her adorable twins. Although I could understand him cheating on Avery, I was concerned about the ramifications for my grandbabies. Would they soon be back at Vestige with me? Catching MacArthur kissing Kori made me question his fidelity. Seeing people die, and a canine champion go missing, made me question his skills.

“Incoming!” MacArthur shouted over the roar of another approaching helicopter.

“It’s Jeb this time!” I said. “Coming to help me find Abra!”

MacArthur nodded before I finished as if he knew more than I did. He motioned for us to go meet the chopper. Jogging behind him, I wondered how much he really knew about Silverado, Matt, Mitchell Slater, and Ramona. MacArthur’s fundamentally mysterious nature made him either a sexy bad boy or a scary bad boy.

By now Fleggers had expanded their protest from the makeshift stage to a circuit of the entire parking lot. Some carried signs. Others marched and shouted. The theme was more or less consistent although the chants varied: “Dogs deserve a full life, too!” “Let your dog be as free as you and me!” “Animals are natural beauties! Boycott dog shows now!”

For just an instant I wondered if Silverado had succumbed to this propaganda and excused himself from the ring. Who was I kidding? He was a good dog; Abra was the rebel hellion.

The protesters scattered as the second helicopter descended thunderously into the parking lot. MacArthur pointed to Dr. David and then jogged off in that direction; I assumed he was going to ask the good vet if he’d seen anything helpful.

When the helicopter door opened, the first person out was not my ex-husband but my next-door neighbor Chester, who ducked dramatically as he debarked. That amused me. At four feet tall, Chester was hardly endangered by the churning blades. Then I saw the real reason for his hunched posture: the poor child was toting both a duffel bag and a large plastic case.

Involuntarily my heart lifted when I spotted Jeb. He still moved in the loose, youthful way of that boy I’d fallen in love with back in high school. He had less hair now, but not from this distance. From here, he might as well have been seventeen again because that was how young and hopeful he made me feel. Time to remind myself of our long, bumpy history: heartbreak, disappointment, divorce. How could I possibly be tempted again? And yet I was…

Foolishly, I had hoped that a few days’ separation might frost my desire, but now I knew the opposite was true. I’d been away from Jeb for only a day and a half, and I wanted him more than ever. Flying in like a hero made him as provocative as a man in uniform. Not that I had a thing for soldiers, but part of me longed to be rescued. Who was I kidding? I needed to be rescued. The Barnyard Inn was turning into a boneyard.

As my libido soared, I gave silent thanks that Abra wasn’t around to distract us. If we pretended I’d never had a dog, then of course I hadn’t lost one. We could drive straight to a cheap, dark motel devoted to one-night stands and totally opposed to pets.

Then I remembered that we had Chester. He would insist on looking for Abra. No doubt that was why he was here-besides playing porter. Jeb was hauling luggage, too. Way more than a camera case and an overnight bag. Why had they brought so much baggage? And how had they found time to pack?

Jeb set one suitcase down long enough to wave. I returned the cheery salutation. But his aim wasn’t right; he was looking beyond me. To my dismay, Susan Davies was moving purposefully in Jeb’s direction.

Chester came straight to me, however.

“Hey, Whiskey!” he panted. “Here I am!”

“Indeed you are,” I said. “And I can’t help but wonder why.”

He dropped the duffel bag and then carefully set down the plastic carrier before pointing to the tin badge pinned to his navy blue school blazer. It was the chintzy, cereal-box-grade badge that Jenx gave every part-time volunteer deputy. Since being mistaken for a clown, I refused to wear mine.

“Jeb called Jenx, and she enlisted my assistance. I speak canine, you know.”

Yoda’s gray heart-shaped face and oversized ears appeared in the mesh opening of the plastic carrier. True to form, the ugly cat hissed at me.

“Long time no see, Yoda,” I said. “But not long enough.”

“He’s traumatized by his separation from Peg,” Chester said. “Also, cats don’t like helicopters.”

“You speak feline, too?”

“Yes, but not as fluently as I speak canine. I’ve had less practice with this species.”

When the cat hissed again, I said, “Is he telling you he hates being in a cage?”

“No. He hates you.”

Speaking of enemies, what the hell was Susan up to? She just happened to be hugging my ex-husband. The man who had flown here expressly to help me.

“I’ll be right back,” I told Chester.

Yoda yowled. I did not request a translation.

“Hello, Jeb!”

My tone was more business-like than affectionate. In salute, he raised a hand currently wrapped around Susan. She turned her head in my direction.