Nina Wright - Whiskey Mattimoe 07 - Whiskey, Large

by Nina Wright

  “You should give a little of it to Helen,” MacArthur said. “Food will help her recover.”

  “From what?” I said. “Nappus interruptus? She fell asleep on the job and you woke her with mouth-to-mouth.”

  Helen coughed softly.

  “I didn’t mention it, Miss Whiskey, but I’m hypoglycemic. If I don’t eat often, I get wobbly. I came back to the car to have a snack and a brief rest while you made your plans. I was listening to music, and I nodded off with my ear buds in.”

  “Convenient,” I muttered.

  “Helen manages her hypoglycemia so well we forget she has it,” Chester said. “You know how she strives to please.”

  She did look ghostly pale, and I was getting lots of free rides in a luxury vehicle courtesy of Chester. I made up my mind to humor him and play nice.

  “Helen, why don’t you eat a little of my lunch and lie down for a bit? Alone.”

  MacArthur scooped the sexagenarian into his arms and returned her to a horizontal position in the Town Car, in the backseat this time. Moments later, he handed me my Fleggers lunch box, now missing Mom’s whole-grain blueberry muffins.

  I sulked. “The best part of the meal is gone, and my seat is taken. Where am I supposed to eat what’s left? This director’s chair isn’t very comfortable.”

  I brightened when he indicated the vehicle he had arrived in—a gleaming black Mercedes E-350 sedan. If Helen stayed wobbly, I might be the beneficiary of MacArthur’s services. Once he finished his deputy duties, that is.

  The Cleaner deftly lifted me into the Mercedes’ backseat, but he didn’t offer breathing assistance. He did adjust the vehicle’s heating and ventilation system to my specifications. Finally, he served me Mom’s home-packed lunch, course by course. Funny how I had balked when Helen tried that the night before. Mom’s chicken salad tasted so good I could have licked MacArthur’s fingers.

  “You’re all right, then?” he asked. “No contractions?”

  “No contractions,” I said, “but I am worried about Jeb. I don’t understand why he hasn’t called me.”

  “He lost his phone.”

  “He should have a new one by now, or he should have arrived at the recording studio and phoned me from there.”

  When the Cleaner glanced away, I knew he was thinking what I had thought, that Jeb was stealing a little private time while he still could.

  “That man is devoted to you,” MacArthur said. “Perhaps he had a flat tire or some other glitch. I’m sure he’s fine, and he’ll phone you soon. In the meantime, we’re here with you.”

  Chester knocked on my tinted window, and the magic was gone.

  “The sooner we begin our smell search, the sooner we can get you home,” he said.

  “Roscoe just came back without Abra,” Jenx added, appearing at Chester’s side. “He’s limping, and he stinks of skunk.”

  “Give him my apologies,” I said.

  Chester adjusted his Stetson. “If you need help, just phone us. We’ll come straight back.”

  “She’ll take a nap,” Jenx remarked.

  “You’re not alone,” Chester reminded me. “Roscoe and Helen are right over there.”

  “Please. He limps, and she’s wobbly,” I whined.

  The deputies jogged off anyway. Instantly, my phone played “Born Free,” the tune my mother sang without ever learning the lyrics. Mom’s version featured lines that rhymed nonsensically with “grass grows, wind blows”—lines like “clouds snow, boats row,” etc. I used it as her ring tone to remind me how annoying she could be.

  “Yes, Mom, I’m on Wham-Bam Road,” I said.

  “Well, you’re all grown up, so you can go wherever your driver will take you,” Mom said, “but Baby’s coming, and you’ve got bigger fish to fry.”

  “Jenx ordered me here on police business. I was supposed to oversee Abra’s deputy duty, but she ran away.”

  “Of course she did. Wham-Bam Road is Abra’s kind of place.”

  Mom went on to list things I should be doing right now, like practicing diaper changes on Sandra.

  “You have a spy app,” I reminded her. “Why can’t you find Jeb?”

  “I can find his phone, but I don’t think he’s with it. That’s why I’m calling you.”

  “Where’s Jeb’s phone?”

  “Not far from where you are.”

  “On Wham-Bam Road?”

  “Not on the road, dear. Somebody would have run over it by now, and I wouldn’t be able to track it. According to my app, it’s in the woods between that field where you were last night and the place where you are right now, which leads me to believe that Jeb didn’t lose his phone. I think somebody stole it.”

  Either that or he tossed it before he left town for a wife-free day. I didn’t say that out loud.

  “As usual, you’re not asking for my advice,” Mom said disapprovingly. “If you did ask, I would tell you to let Jenx worry about Abra and Jeb take care of himself. You need to get ready for Baby.”

  “I can’t drive,” I said.

  “That’s why you have Helen.”

  I brought Mom up to speed on Helen’s little issue.

  “I was afraid something like that might happen,” she said.

  “You knew about her hypoglycemia?”

  “I knew she had issues. I told you that right up front.”

  “Yet you used to let her babysit for me, remember?”

  “Until she proved untrustworthy. I still believe that woman was a corporate spy.”

  I pointed out that, even if true, the suspicion wasn’t relevant anymore. Her brother who worked for the pet food company was probably retired.

  “He’s dead,” Mom said. “That’s not the point. Helen is very needy, and there’s something less than transparent about her.”

  I reminded Mom that we all misrepresent ourselves a little.

  “According to social media, you and Mattimoe Realty misrepresent yourselves a lot.”

  The phone beeped in my ear. Odette was calling. She might have bad news, too, but at least it would be different from Mom’s. I excused myself and took the second call.

  “I thought you were with a high-rolling prospect from Chicago,” I said.

  “I am. He’s just gone off to the loo. Listen, he’s seen your Twitter account, so I’m dancing as fast as I can. How soon will that be fixed?”

  “Not soon enough, but Chester’s working on it. He’ll track Ben down.”

  “Fire Ben,” Odette said. “Hire somebody who can get in there and make it right, right now. Are you a broker-owner-manager or a wimp?”

  “I’m a little distracted right now.”

  I thought about telling Odette where I was and what was happening, but I knew she wouldn’t care. Lucky for me and my bottom line, she was all about selling real estate.

  “Hire Avery,” Odette said. “She covers Cassina’s social media, so I’m sure she can handle yours.”

  “Avery’s lazy, and she hates me,” I said.

  “Your company has her family name on it. She might be willing to defend that, for a fee. Oh, I nearly forgot. Dani Glancy phoned. She needs to talk to you again. Hire Avery and call Dani.”

  I considered reminding my best agent that I was on the verge of childbirth. Odette would find that irrelevant, and, anyhow, she had already hung up.

  24

  I wanted to talk with Dani Glancy about as much as I wanted to talk with Avery Mattimoe. In other words, not at all.

  I tried to recall where Odette and I had left things with Dani the day before. The details were blurred, thanks to pregnancy brain. Who was I kidding? I had always blocked unpleasant things.

  Closing my eyes and challenging myself to stay awake, I replayed the scene in my office. Dani had started out accusing me of wresting hubby Hamp’s listing away from him, but she’d left with her facts realigned and her anger redirected at Todd Mullen. She was ready to sue him for signing with me, a second seller’s agent, after listing the house exclusively with
Hamp. Given my recent encounter with Todd, I’d be happy if Dani sued him. It might keep him busy, too busy to sue me. Dani argued that Hamp wouldn’t have died in the fire at the Mullens’ home if they’d played straight with him. Was that true? Was it grounds for litigation?

  My mind’s eye leapt to another scene with Dani in the driver’s seat of Hamp’s Beamer glaring at me in the backseat of Jenx’s squad car. Had that unfortunate incident inspired her latest complaint? Did she plan to inform the Board of Realtors that I was a felon unfit to sell real estate?

  All I knew was I didn’t want the nasty woman with the big sunglasses filing a formal complaint against me. Even though I could clear myself, who needed the hassle? I was having a baby, yet I worried that everybody in town seemed to be reading UberSpringer’s tweets and believing at least some of them.

  Which was why Odette had insisted I hire Avery. As if Avery would consent to be hired by me. She was already employed by a musical superstar. I was just her lowly, despised ex-stepmom. I sat musing about that for maybe two minutes when her unflattering photo blinked at me as my phone buzzed.

  “Hello?” I answered cautiously.

  “You’re supposed to hire me,” Avery announced.

  “According to whom?”

  “Cut the crap. Odette already phoned me. I’ve been tracking Mattimoe Realty online. You’re up to your big fat gut in social media shit.”

  “I have a contract with Ben Fondgren,” I said, choosing to play hard-to-get.

  “Yeah, well, he’s not doing his job, is he? Odette says he’s not returning your calls. You need me.”

  I opened my mouth to object and then snapped it shut. This was turning out better than I had dared to hope. Now I didn’t have to ask Avery for help. She was volunteering.

  Before I could formulate my next move, Avery added, “You are so lucky I’m available.”

  “I thought you worked full-time for Cassina.”

  “Cassina Multi-Media, Inc.,” Avery corrected me. “She’s incorporated. I thought you knew that.”

  “So you’re not busy?”

  “I’m a professional, Whiskey. I know how to manage my resources.”

  An unfortunate image from Chester’s half-birthday bash came to mind: Avery perched on MacArthur’s lap jamming her tongue down his throat. I tried to focus on business.

  “What are your rates?”

  Avery rattled off several fee options, depending on whether I wanted to hire her by the hour, the day, or the project. We haggled for less than a minute before reaching an agreement. I laid out my requirements, she responded with a plan, and we sealed the deal. It almost sounded like she knew what she was doing.

  “Do you know what’s up with Ben?” I said.

  “Am I his keeper now?” she retorted.

  “You both work for Cassina Multi-Media, Inc.”

  “Ben works for Cassina Enterprises, Inc., her catch-all company.”

  “‘Catch-all’?”

  “Miscellaneous services. Cassina Enterprises does mostly maintenance and security, virtual and real, both here at the Castle and wherever Cassina tours.”

  I thought about that. “Does MacArthur work for Cassina Enterprises?”

  Avery snort-laughed. “Hardly. My Big Mac works for Cassina. Personally.”

  Although I wasn’t sure what that meant, I was sure I didn’t want to pursue it.

  “So you don’t know why Ben dropped the ball, or why he doesn’t answer his phones?” I asked.

  When she didn’t reply, I pictured Avery shrugging her doughy shoulders and sticking out her serpent tongue.

  “It’s his day off from here,” she said finally. “He might be with his boyfriend.”

  “Boyfriend?” The word sprang from my mouth without judgment. I was simply surprised.

  “Ben’s gay. You didn’t know that either?”

  I didn’t, and I prided myself on having four-star Gaydar. Had late-stage pregnancy scrambled that, too? Ben’s phone voice seemed not only solidly heterosexual but also seductive. While less sexy in person, he had still seemed straight to me.

  “Is he with anyone I know?” I said lightly.

  “Do you know the gay community?” Avery said.

  “Is he dating the gay community?” I countered.

  For sure Avery’s tongue was flicking now. She said, “I seriously doubt you know gay people.”

  “I know gay people,” I protested and went on to name several, including our police chief, her partner, a mother at Chester’s school, and the owner of a Main Street art gallery.

  “You don’t know gay people,” Avery said smugly. “You know a few gay people. Hell, you really don’t know much of anything.”

  Through clenched teeth, I said, “I hired you, didn’t I?”

  She snort-laughed again. As usual, my ex-step was as annoying as a carbuncle.

  “Just get to work,” I snarled.

  “F.Y.I.,” Avery said, “Ben spends most of his days off with the same guy. I’ve seen them together lots of times.”

  “What’s his name?” I said.

  “Why do you want to know?”

  “Clearly you don’t know his name either.”

  “I don’t care, but I think it begins with ‘R.’”

  My ears perked up. “Like Randy?”

  “Randy begins with ‘R,’ but I don’t think that’s his name. Who gives a shit?”

  She was half-right. Ben’s sexual orientation had nothing to do with me, and I didn’t know why Randy Dupper had come to mind except that neither he nor Ben made sense to me. Could they be connected?

  I remembered Ben talking about his nightly run and Chester asking him if he was running solo or connecting by GPS with another runner.

  “Ben’s boyfriend—is he a runner?” I asked Avery.

  To my amazement there was no nasty comeback. Only silence.

  “Are you there?” I said.

  “I was trying to figure out how you knew that,” she said. “Congrats on one wild-ass lucky guess.”

  So Ben did run with his boyfriend. The night I met him, he had said he was running alone but he didn’t stick around long, and Chester knew he didn’t always go solo. Moreover, MacArthur sniffed fresh human piss in the field. Most runners stick to paths and roadways. I wondered if there was a path through that field.

  Avery interrupted my musings with a few quick business questions. She was anxious to get started, and I needed her to do just that. For better or worse, she already had the passwords to my social media accounts. Chester had entrusted them to my mother, who in turn passed them on to Odette, who, moments earlier, had given them to Avery.

  I wondered if I were still essential to my own business. I remembered Dani Glancy’s insistence on seeing me and decided that I was.

  Just for the hell of it, I asked Avery if Dani Glancy had a social media presence.

  She snort-laughed yet again. I really hated that.

  “Everybody has a social media presence,” Avery said. “You want to know what her social media status is.”

  I supposed I did, but I didn’t want to say so. In any case, Avery would tell me.

  “Dani Glancy’s all over your virtual ass. She posts every day about Mattimoe Realty’s ‘bad business practices.’ Personally, she despises you.”

  “Dani Glancy doesn’t know me well enough to despise me,” I said. “What does she mean by ‘bad business practices’?”

  “She says Mattimoe Realty steals leads and listings, misrepresents properties and hijacks sales commissions.”

  “Mattimoe Realty doesn’t do any of that,” I said.

  “Plus Dani says you’re a skank.”

  I had been called many things, but that was a new one. It seemed especially inappropriate in my current state.

  “I am not a skank,” I said.

  “Well, you did sleep around after my dad died,” Avery said.

  “I slept with three guys in two years,” I protested, “and one of them was Jeb.”

  W
hy the hell was I defending my virtue? I was paying Avery for her time. Worse, if I stayed on the line, she was bound to remind me I had lusted after—and lost—two guys who preferred her.

  I made the usual noises one makes when ending a call, but Avery cut in. “Dani Glancy is tweeting right now about your unfortunate incarceration.”

  “I was never incarcerated,” I said. “I spent a half-hour in Jenx’s squad car as a volunteer deputy called back from maternity leave.”

  “What the hell were you thinking?” Avery said. “Here’s my first advice as your newly contracted consultant. Start practicing safe social media.”

  “How do I do that?”

  “Before you do anything, think how it might look to people with their fingers on their phones.”

  “Yeesh,” I said and clicked off.

  Baby banged his or her head against my nether parts. At any other time it might have been a show of support, but just then it felt like a contraction. Possibly not a practice contraction.

  “Are you panting?”

  I looked up to see Helen’s wrinkled face in my open car window.

  “I don’t think so,” I said. “Dogs pant.”

  “As do women in labor.”

  I took a moment to evaluate my condition. I felt okay.

  “I’m not panting,” I said with certainty. “Have you recovered from the wobblies?”

  She swore that she was fine, and she would never have the wobblies again. I asked how she could be sure.

  “It’s a simple matter of monitoring my blood sugar.”

  Chester had said that was true. We all had issues. Who was I to judge Helen, even if my mother did?

  “I’m ready to drive you wherever you need to go,” she declared.

  As if to prove the point, she donned a black chauffeur’s cap with a red logo that looked like a capital C and E woven together. I had never seen it before.

  Indicating her cap, I asked, “Cassina Enterprises, Inc.?”

  Helen nodded. “Mr. Chester designed the logo.”

  I asked her to stand by while I made a phone call. If I’d been completely truthful, I’d have asked her to stand by while I summoned the courage to make a much dreaded phone call. I foresaw my conversation with Dani Glancy being brief but painful and necessitating an immediate follow-up in-person visit.