Nina Wright - Whiskey with a Twist

“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 widened 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.”

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.