Nina Wright: Whiskey with a Twist

Ramona told Tim that Susan had schmoozed her for one reason only: to access her excellent breeding stock. Susan’s kennel would have been unremarkable without it.

Why did Ramona do business with Susan? Probably to be able to say that she did. If there’s guilt by association, the same holds true for glamour. That was Jenx’s theory, anyhow. Susan and her dogs got national attention because she was rich, beautiful, and sexual. On that scorecard Ramona was one for three. And resentful as hell about it. Through a paramilitary listserv she placed a discreet ad seeking a “personal assistant capable of confidentiality and excellent marksmanship.”

“We know this much,” I said. “Tim padded his resume.”

“We also know he bought supplies through that listserv,” Jenx said. “Including night-vision goggles and a chemical designed to disguise his scent. Ramona didn’t want anybody killed. Her goal was to scare the crap out of ‘em. But her marksman screwed up.”

“He shot his own boss!” I exclaimed.

“By accident. Tim was supposed to shoot at her in order to draw suspicion away from her. But he got nervous because she kept yelling at him. It was Tim who Ramona phoned just before she got shot. He was on a cell phone that Ramona had ‘lifted’ from Kori, just to confuse things.”

Although I didn’t know Tim well, I knew now that he was the man I’d seen in silhouette leaving the exhibit hall after the lights went out. And his was the voice I’d heard shouting at people to stay still.

“Was Brenda in on this, too?” I said. “She drives a big black car. The hood was hot when MacArthur talked to her!”

“She’d just come back from the carryout down the road,” Jenx said. “I interviewed Brenda by phone-after her attorney sprang her from the local slammer. She got busted for driving drunk. But she had nothing to do with Ramona. In fact, Brenda was the victim of another crime.”

“Let me guess. Sandy Slater accused Brenda of wanting Matt dead because he was blackmailing her!”

“Matt and his mama were squeezing money out of Brenda,” the chief said, “in exchange for not telling her snooty friends and fellow breeders about her sexual preferences. Brenda also had the hots for the Two L’s.”

“We still don’t know whose Cadillac picked up the dogs,” I sighed. “If it was a Cadillac.”

“It’s a Cadillac, all right,” Jenx said. “A Seville, not a DTS. Your Amish teen was full of crap, like teens everywhere.”

“How did Ramona learn to drive so aggressively?”

“Practice. She’s had a slew of citations for speeding and driving without due regard.”

“Where is she now?” I said. “And where’s Silverado?”

“We assume they’re together. There’s an APB out for her and her car. It’s just a matter of time 'til somebody sees her.”

I comforted myself with the knowledge that Ramona raised dogs, so she wouldn’t hurt this one. Tim Breen had told Jenx that Ramona paid off one of the Two L’s to get her other dogs safely back to Grand Rapids. She’d also hired Kori to make sure Silverado ended up in her motel room when he took off after Abra. And to “pull the plug” during the final round of judging.

I said, “So Kori was involved! I knew it!”

Jenx shook her head. “Kori thought she was participating in a nasty practical joke on Susan. That’s all.”

“You talked to her?”

“Not yet. But I believe Tim. He’s way too scared of me to lie.”

“What about MacArthur? Tina blames him for getting Tim into this business. If that’s true, then MacArthur knew what Tim was up to. And he ratted Tim out when he gave you the license of the pickup.”

“I don’t know what MacArthur knows about Tim,” Jenx said. “I haven’t been able to find him.”

“He drove me home last night, like you told him to, and then he and Chester went back to the Castle.”

“MacArthur cleared out of there,” Jenx said. “Packed up his shit and left after he put Chester to bed and hired a sitter to watch him 'til Cassina and Rupert come home.”

I could have believed a lot of things about MacArthur: that he cheated on Avery, turned in Tim, and was inclined to bend the law. But I couldn’t believe he would walk out on Chester. Over coffee at the Goh Cup, MacArthur and I had often discussed Chester’s need for a father figure. Rupert the Sperm Donor, his frequently absent, usually stoned, sorry excuse for a dad, didn’t even try to be paternal. I had assumed MacArthur saw himself filling that role for Chester.

“And then he goes and abandons the kid!” I fumed.

“He didn’t abandon him,” Jenx said. “He left him a note and got him a sitter.”

“He took off! Adios. Sayonara. Have a nice life! How is Chester handling it?”

“I think he’s-“

My ringing cell phone interrupted Jenx’s reply. Caller ID said The Castle.

“That’s Chester now,” I said. “I hope I can come up with something comforting to say!”

“Just be yourself,” Jenx said.

“’Myself’ babbles nonstop when things go wrong.”

“Perfect,” she said. “That should distract him.”

“Hello?” I answered coolly. My strategy was to pretend there was no such thing as Caller ID. Or a gossipy police chief in my office.

“Hello, Whiskey. This is Chester. I’m calling with some potentially alarming news.”

“Chester, just remember, no matter how terrible things seem now, they will get better!”

“Thank you, Whiskey. This is a courtesy call… to let you know Avery was here. She’s on her way to find you.”

“Avery?” I had completely forgotten that my evil stepdaughter was due back in town today. “Does she know about…?”

I bit my tongue before I could mention the missing cleaner.

“MacArthur leaving? Yes. He wrote her a note, too.”

Uh-oh. Avery scorned was even scarier that standard Avery. According to her overblown sense of entitlement, people owed her whatever she wanted whenever she wanted it. How dare MacArthur change his mind about being there for her and the twins?

Avery was no doubt looking for me because she expected me to solve her problems; in other words, provide free room, board, and baby-sitting. The concept of full employment didn’t figure into Avery’s universe. I assumed she’d go straight to Vestige since it was right next door to the Castle. Failing to find me at home would double her frenzy. By the time she arrived at my office, every vein in her neck would be pulsing, and her tongue-flicking tic would be in overdrive.

“How long ago did she leave the Castle, Chester?”

“I called you the minute she left.”

“Good man!”

“No problem, Whiskey. We’ll talk about MacArthur another time. When you feel up to it.”

I’d had the call on speaker phone, so Jenx heard every word.

“Stay calm,” she told me. “It’ll take Avery ten minutes to get here. By then we’ll have at least one good excuse why she can’t move in with you. How about… you have a fatal contagious disease?”

“I like that! Name one.”

“Malaria.”

”Name another one.”

“Bubonic plague?”

My front door clicked again, and my heart clenched. I wasn’t ready for Avery. No way she‘d buy malaria or the Bubonic plague.

But it wasn’t Avery. Standing in my lobby was none other than Kori Davies. With Abra on a leash.

“I didn’t have time to groom her for ya, but here she is.”

I’d never seen Abra more of a mess. Her usually glossy blonde coat was not only tangled and matted, it was also caked with mud. She looked like a street mutt. A brown one, at that. Idly I wondered how much a snood might have helped.

“I owe you some kind of reward,” I told Kori. What I didn’t add was “assuming you didn’t help steal her in the first place.”