Nina Wright - Whiskey with a Twist

“Oh, Whiskey, Jeb is so good.”

“How would you know that?”

She paused to wipe what would have been a tear from her cheek. If she wasn’t faking it.

“Jeb called me to say he was flying to Nappanee. So I asked him to load my luggage.”

“Your luggage?” I said. “Don’t you have luggage here?”

“Yes, but with everything that’s happening, I… may not go straight home. And I always keep a few bags packed, just in case.”

I wondered if “everything that’s happening” referred to the murders or to her fights with Liam.

“Jeb made sure all three of my bags got on the chopper,” Susan said. “He counted them himself.”

I said, “His mother would be proud.”

“And just now, when I told him about the shooting,” Susan sniffed, “he knew exactly the right thing to say.”

“Which shooting?” After the attack on Matt, I wondered why Susan would be crying about Mitchell Slater or Ramona.

“The EMTs said Matt was shot at close range,” Susan said. “The gun had a silencer. Silverado might have been shot, too. When the forensics team gets here, they’ll test the blood on the floor to see… “ she choked, “if it’s all human.”

Sobbing, she buried her beautiful face in my lover’s shoulder. Jeb did not push her away. Instead he shot me a look with that basic male message: “Hey, what can I do?”

“Jeb is here to help me,” I told Susan when my ex-husband didn’t. “Together we’re going to find Abra. Or at least look for her.”

“And I’ll help!” Chester tapped his volunteer deputy badge. “I speak canine, so Chief Jenkins sent me to assist local law enforcement. As a consultant.”

I tried to imagine any police department other than Magnet Springs relying on a precocious eight-year-old to solve crimes, especially an eight-year-old who looked six and claimed to speak canine. But, hey, maybe Nappanee’s finest were more open-minded than most.

As if reading my thoughts, Chester added, “I’ll probably keep my investigation on the down-low until I have solid evidence.”

“Good plan,” I said.

Just then Yoda yowled, and Susan frowned at the cat carrier.

“Why would you bring a cat to a dog show?”

On Chester’s behalf, I explained that Perry’s friend had lost a cat while vacationing in Magnet Springs, and I happened to know that the cat had been found. Hence Yoda, a.k.a. Boomgarden.

“We’re returning him,” Chester said.

Susan squinted at Yoda’s face in the mesh opening. “I’ve seen that cat.”

“Really?” I asked. “Do you know Perry’s friend?”

“That cat belonged to Mitchell Slater.”

“I don’t think so. He belongs to the man Perry vacationed with.”

Susan shot me a “How dense are you?” look and replied very slowly, “I said, that cat belonged to Mitchell Slater. He and Perry had a little fling.”

Was Sandy Slater right about Mitchell being gay? She’d insisted that Perry dissed Mitchell because Mitchell had rejected him. I still couldn’t believe it.

“Mitchell Slater told me he left his last wife for you,” I reminded Susan.

Suddenly I realized that we had ventured into mature, if not illicit, subject matter in front of a young child. Granted, Chester was the child of a pop music superstar renowned for her own highly questionable behavior. But I wanted to set a good example.

“Chester,” I said in my best schoolteacher voice. “Why don’t you take Yoda into the exhibit hall and ask someone to direct you to Perry Stiles?”

“Okay,” he said, picking up the carrier. “But don’t worry about me. There’s nothing I haven’t heard before.”

The way he said it, I felt almost inadequate. As soon as he was out of earshot, I asked Susan, “Are you denying that you had an affair with Mitchell Slater?”

She had stepped back from Jeb and recovered her complete composure. I saw no trace of those crocodile tears.

“I’m denying that it’s any of your business!”

With a toss of her lustrous hair, she told Jeb, “Please take my bags to room 11.”

Then she followed Chester into the exhibit hall.

When Jeb stooped to scoop up her bags, I had a coughing fit. He put the bags down. Conveniently, MacArthur jogged into view. He and Jeb shook hands.

I said, “MacArthur, I know you’re a cleaner, a Realtor, and a volunteer bodyguard. But would you mind taking Susan’s bags to-“

“I know where her room is.” MacArthur swept the bags off the pavement. He told Jeb, “We need to formulate a strategy for maximum efficiency. Meet you inside, at the concession stand, in five.”

“What about me and my strategy?” I said.

“Carry on,” MacArthur said.

“Carry on… with what? I don’t have a strategy. I have a missing dog.”

“Then we’ll make a place for you in our strategy,” MacArthur said. “And together we’ll find your dog.”

“We only have to try to find her,” I assured him.

He jogged off with the luggage as if it weighed nothing at all.

I waited for Jeb to finally greet me in an appropriate manner. By now, my initially warm-if not steamy-response to his arrival had cooled. It was well on its way to downright frosty.

Jeb correctly read my emotional temperature.

“Hey,” he said, making no move.

“Hey, yourself.”

We locked eyes as if daring each other to reach out and touch. Neither of us stirred.

“Feel better?” he said finally.

“Compared to what?”

“Last night. I thought you were sick.”

“Right.” I made him wait. “I was sick this morning, too. But now I just have indigestion. All the time.”

Too much information. If Jeb hadn’t killed the romantic mood with his attitude toward Susan, I had slain it with gastric references.

“Sorry to hear that,” he said.

“Are you?”

“Sure, I am. I like a girl with a healthy appetite.”

“For what?”

Jeb smiled carefully. I smiled carefully back.

“What’s going on with you and Susan?” I said, trying to sound neutral.

Okay, maybe there was a slight tone. A slightly hostile tone.

Jeb’s smile flickered out like a dead flashlight. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Hewwo, Jeb!”

We were saved from a fight by none other than Dr. David and Deely. They had put down their protest signs and were waving at my ex-husband.

Jeb said. “Hey, David! Hey, Deely! How’s the animal rights biz?”

After they’d exchanged pleasantries, Dr. David announced that he was sorry to hear about the latest shooting.

“Proof of man’s violent ways,” he said in his own unique speech pattern. “And why Fleggers protects and preserves the rights of innocent creatures. Fortunately, Silverado saved himself.”

“What do you mean?” I said.

“We saw him leave.”

“Leave? How?”

“In the back of a Ford pickup, ma’am,” Deely replied.

Dr. David supplied the details. “There was apparently human intervention, but the dog left via his own free will. We witnessed him leaping into the truck bed, unleashed and unassisted.”

“Did you see the human?” Jeb asked.

Dr. David shook his head. “We heard barking and looked over in time to see a dog fitting Silverado’s description sail into the back of the truck. The driver was already in the cab. He sped out of here, tires squealing.”

“How did you know about Silverado?” I said.

“MacArthur came over to talk to us when the helicopter landed,” Deely explained. “He described the missing dog, and we told him what we saw. We’ll tell the police, too. When they get here.”

“Where exactly was this Ford pickup, and what color was it?” I said.