Whiskey Straight Up

by Nina Wright

  I tossed my head—and felt dizzy for the effort. “No. I use his office to read in. It’s a library now, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

  Even I noticed that I had slurred my words. But I tossed my head again.

  “Well, you’d better clean up the nursery and crate that puppy,” she said. “I can’t raise my babies like this!”

  “You’re not raising your babies,” I said. “The Coast Guard is.”

  “What?” Avery’s tongue flicked out as if she were making a face. She wasn’t, actually. It was a nervous tic, and I swore it would get her into serious trouble one day.

  “I met the Coast Guard nanny,” I explained. “She’s raising your babies. That’s what I pay her to do. I don’t know what you do, Avery, besides scream at the babies’ father in the bar at Mother Tucker’s.”

  The tongue again. “You spied on me!”

  “I’m too busy to spy on you. Odette and I were at Mother Tucker’s to celebrate a new deal. We heard you. Everyone in the restaurant heard you.”

  “Nash wants joint custody of the kids! I don’t know what to do!” Avery’s round face exploded into tears. “I don’t want him in their lives!”

  “If he’s their father, he has a place in their lives,” I said, sounding remarkably sober. “Is he their father?”

  “Yes, but that was a complete accident! I never loved him! I don’t even know him!”

  “Well, at least he’s handsome. You got that part right.”

  “Yeah? Well, your sweater’s on backwards. And you just locked your ex-husband in my father’s office.”

  “What?”

  “Cut the crap, Whiskey. I heard you and Jeb when you came in. If you’re that horny, go to a motel!”

  Chapter Eight

  “Yeah, well at least I refrain from having unprotected sex with someone I hardly know!”

  That was a cheap shot, but I enjoyed it.

  “Bitch!” Avery fired back. “Clean up that dog mess or I’m taking my babies somewhere else!”

  “Is that a promise or a threat?”

  “Bitch!”

  “You said that already.”

  “I mean the other one.” Avery pointed past me down the hall. I turned in time to see Abra disappear into the nursery. “Get that dog out of there!”

  “That dog doesn’t listen to me, in case you haven’t noticed. That dog only listened to your father.”

  “Out, out, out!”

  The commands were coming from inside the nursery. Damage Controlman Deely Smarr, reporting for duty.

  “I thought she was off the clock,” I told Avery.

  “When there are kids, you’re never off the clock.”

  Abra and Prince Harry trotted out of the nursery with the Coast Guard nanny at their heels. I followed them into the kitchen and arrived in time to see Deely closing them both in their crates.

  “I didn’t even know Abra had a crate,” I said.

  “I got it today,” said Deely. “You seriously need to get organized. This will help.”

  “Abra came back?” I was still a few beats behind.

  “Ten minutes ago. I fed them both.” Deely reached for the wall switch. “Lights out, ma’am.”

  I listened in the dark, not breathing. Neither of the dogs made a sound. Had she drugged them?

  Back in the hallway, we encountered a confused Jeb Halloran trying to locate the nearest exit. Avery blew her nose and glared at him. Deely showed him to the door. As he passed, Jeb winked at me, and—Heaven help me—I winked back. Without another word, I climbed the stairs to my room, where I fell onto the king-sized bed and into the deepest sleep I’d had in months.

  I awoke to a ringing phone right next to my head. Since it was still dark outside, I was pretty sure I hadn’t overslept. Indeed, my bedside clock read 5:46.

  Before I could manage something like the word “hello,” I heard Jenx say, “We got a second note from Chester. You’ll want to come to the station.”

  I sat bolt upright, my misplaced sense of responsibility kicking in. Conveniently I hadn’t bothered to remove last night’s clothes—including the backwards sweater—so I told Jenx I’d be there in ten. I turned the sweater around, brushed my teeth, splashed water on my face and stumbled downstairs.

  To my surprise, Deely Smarr was already back on duty in the nursery. I paused in the doorway to wave.

  “Sleep well?” she asked, no trace of irony in her voice.

  “Like a rock.”

  “So did the dogs. They’re in their exercise pen now. I’ll walk them when I take my first break.”

  “What exercise pen?”

  “Didn’t Avery tell you? I enclosed a twelve-by-twenty-foot area next to the barbecue pit. It’s temporary, pending your approval, but the dogs like it. The fence is six feet high, so it’s Abra-proof.”

  I felt the slackness in my face that meant I was mouth-breathing.

  Deely went on, “With your okay, ma’am, I’ll install a doggie door in the kitchen. That will simplify things.”

  I nodded dumbly and left.

  “Roy brought this in on his way to work,” Jenx said, handing me a clear plastic envelope containing a second note in Chester’s writing.

  “On his way to work? What time was that?”

  Jenx checked her watch. “About a half-hour ago. He promised Luís he’d get an early start.”

  “Doing what?” Everybody who worked for me was more ambitious than I was.

  “Winter maintenance on your company truck, I think. Roy used to manage the prison garage.”

  “Where did he find Chester’s note?”

  “He didn’t say.”

  “Since when did law enforcement stop asking questions?”

  The expression Jenx shot me was vile enough to make the room vibrate.

  “Give me a break,” she said. “I’m a one-man police force today. Brady and Roscoe are off because they worked last night. Never mind that the Jamboree starts at noon. Did I mention we’re expecting a record crowd?” She sighed. “It’s weeks like this when you and I should be in retail.”

  “I couldn’t fold a T-shirt to save my life. And you’re hardly the ‘have-a-nice-day’ type.”

  “You’re right.” Grinning, Jenx tapped her sidearm. “Besides, shopkeepers don’t get to carry.”

  “Glocks scare off customers,” I agreed. Then I read Chester’s note:

  Dear Whiskey,

  I had to send Prince Harry home. He’s still the Pee Master, and housebreaking on the road is hard. I know you can’t handle him, but Avery’s new nanny can. Just do what she tells you.

  I’ll be home as soon as I take care of business.

  Love,

  Chester

  “Face it, Whiskey,” Jenx said. “It’s time to file a Missing Person Report. And time for you to call Cassina.”

  “And tell her what?”

  “Tell her what happened!”

  I knew Jenx was right. No more excuses. “Maybe she’ll understand. I mean, kids run away all the time, right?”

  “Sure. If that’s what happened. . . .”

  “You don’t think that’s what happened?” I asked nervously.

  “We’ve been over this. Why he would run away? He loves it at your house. Plus, you hired him to watch the dogs.”

  “But his note says he has to ‘take care of business,’” I pointed out. “Maybe he’s got another gig somewhere.”

  It didn’t take long to file the Missing Person Report. From the police station I headed down Main Street to my office. Although it wasn’t yet seven o’clock, Odette was already at work. Her favorite African music playing at full volume could mean only one thing.

  “How many closings do you have today?” I shouted.

  She extended her hand around her office partition, two fingers raised in victory.

  “Bravo,” I said.

  Then the rest of Odette appeared. “You and I are going to celebrate by taking a ride in a helicopter!”

  “Why would we
do that?”

  “Because I want to, and we can.”

  “We can?”

  Odette handed me a copy of the Ice-Fishing Jamboree Events Schedule. With a pink marker she had highlighted HELICOPTER RIDES—FRIDAY NOON TO 4 PM.

  “I made a reservation for us. At 12:40!” she shouted over the tribal rhythms blaring from the lobby stereo.

  “Lucky us,” I mumbled.

  “Why is your sweater on backwards?”

  “It’s not on backwards!” I raised my voice.

  Odette rose, crossed to the control dials, and sharply lowered the sound. Then she hooked a manicured finger around my collar and pulled it out far enough for me to see the tag.

  “Avery said it was on backwards last night—” I began. Then I cursed my stepdaughter.

  Ten minutes later at the Goh Cup, over beignets imported from New Orleans and mugs of café au lait, I told Odette that Abra was back. She held out her hand.

  “You don’t get a tip for that,” I said.

  “What happened to my Gucci bag? The one I used to save the Gribble deal?”

  “Gone,” I sighed. “How expensive was it?”

  Odette whipped out her Mont Blanc pen and scribbled a four-digit number on her napkin.

  I blanched.

  “We’ll add it to your tab,” she said.

  Peg Goh pulled up a chair and rested her elbows on our table. “Do you like the beignets? I’m thinking of making them a permanent addition to my menu.”

  Odette and I agreed they were a hit.

  “That was quite a Town Meeting, didn’t you think?” Peg continued. “How sweet of Jeb to come to your defense.”

  “He’s still hot for Whiskey, and everybody knows it,” said Odette.

  “He’s just bored,” I said. “He gets like that when he’s not on the road.”

  “Bored, you say? Is that why he spent the night with you?”

  “He didn’t spend the night!”

  Odette and Peg grinned slyly.

  “We saw him get into your car,” Peg said.

  “We had a drink together, that’s all! He went home around eleven.”

  I couldn’t believe I was explaining myself, and not even to my mother. As I did so, I wondered for the first time how Jeb had gotten home. Vestige, after all, was three miles from town, and last night was a cold one. I’d been so buzzed when he left that I hadn’t considered the logistics. Jeb usually stayed with one or another of his cousins; he’d probably used his cell phone to summon a ride. Uneasy, I changed the subject.

  “Today is Gil’s big day, his first Jamboree as mayor. He has to open the competition by drilling the first hole and dropping the first line.”

  “Too bad the Cowboy Realtor doesn’t know the first thing about ice-fishing,” Odette yawned. “I doubt he can use an auger or a rod. Unlike Peg, who took second place in last year’s contest.”

  Modestly Peg lowered her eyes. “I got lucky with that walleye.”

  “Gil lost last night’s battle, too,” said Odette. “Who knew Roy Vickers could out-orate him?”

  “I’m proud of you, Whiskey,” Peg said. “You’re doing the right thing by hiring Roy. The cosmically right thing.”

  Inwardly I groaned. I had forgotten that Peg was Noonan’s newest New-Age counseling client. That worried me since Peg Goh was the most stable, sensible person around. What if Noonan’s mumbo-jumbo knocked the logic right out of her? Peg was our vice-mayor. We needed some semblance of sanity in city politics.

  “I heard about Chester running away from home,” she said. “What did Cassina say when you told her?”

  “Umm. Well—”

  “Whiskey hasn’t told her,” said Odette, popping the last of her beignet into her big mouth.

  “What? Oh, Whiskey!” Peg looked stricken. “You need to call her right now, right this minute. Every mother needs to know the instant her child is in trouble!”

  When I mumbled that I didn’t have Cassina’s tour schedule on me, Peg fumbled through her apron pockets until she found her copy.

  “Why do you have that?” I asked.

  “Because you don’t always have yours handy.”

  I opened my cell phone and dialed the number for a hotel in Bucharest, Romania, where it was probably mid-afternoon. My first two calls were dropped before anybody answered. The third time was the charm. To my relief, the desk clerk spoke English and was efficient. I had Cassina herself on the line before I could plan what to say. So I got right to the point:

  “It appears that Chester has run away from home. He left yesterday and sent me two notes, but I don’t know where he is. Jenx is on the case, just in case.”

  The line crackled and hummed in my ear. After a moment, Cassina replied in her signature breathy voice, “It’s genetic. I ran away from every foster home I was ever in. Chester’s my kid, you know.”

  “Well, sure. . . .”

  “He’s out there searching for something, Whiskey. If he doesn’t find it, he’ll come back.”

  “And if he does find it—?”

  “He’ll let you know.” I heard what sounded like Cassina taking a long drink of something, which probably wasn’t hot tea. Then a man’s voice filled the line.

  “Hello? Who is this?” The clipped tones were distinctly British but unfamiliar to me. I introduced myself.

  “Ah, yes, the child-care provider. This is Rupert, Chester’s father. Is everything all right?”

  I repeated what I’d told Cassina.

  “Very well, then, you’ll keep us informed?”

  “Of course—.” There was a click in my ear.

  “You lost their kid, didn’t you?”

  I knew only too well who that voice belonged to.

  “No, Gil, I didn’t.”

  Mr. Best West laughed his rude percussive laugh.

  “I swear, Whiskey, if you could keep your mind on your business, you just might give me a run for my money. But between the kids, the dogs, the men, and the booze, you don’t know which end is up.”

  Before I could reply, a large hand grasped Gil Gruen’s shoulder and spun him around. Roy Vickers, his face pale with rage, towered over the mayor.

  “Apologize to her, or you’ll regret it. I swear to God, you’ll regret it.”

  Chapter Nine

  “Easy, Roy. Let the world turn as it will.”

  That sounded like something Noonan Starr would say, but it was her new client Peg Goh.

  “The man threatened me!” Gil sputtered. “I got a room full of witnesses.”

  He pointed a finger in Roy’s face.

  “Last night you may have won the battle, but you will lose the war. As soon as word gets out that you publicly threatened me, you’ll be washed up for good in this town. Once a criminal, always a criminal.”

  Self-righteously Gil replaced his Stetson. Then he turned to me.

  “Here’s a little free advice, Missy: We are known by the company we keep. You consort with criminals, you are a criminal.”

  I opened my mouth to protest, but Odette dug her long nails into my hand. I was in too much pain to make words. The click of Gil’s two-inch heels on Peg’s parquet floor was the only sound until he slammed the door.

  “Sorry, Whiskey,” Roy said, looking contrite. “I don’t know what came over me.”

  “You’re not helping yourself,” I warned him. “But don’t worry about me. Now get back to work.”

  “The Seventh Sun of Solace is to maintain self-control at all times, against all odds,” Roy muttered as he shuffled out. Peg nodded vigorously.

  “Is Roy in counseling with Noonan already?” asked Odette.

  “Any day now, I’m sure,” said the vice-mayor.

  I focused on the fingernail marks Odette had left in my flesh.

  She sniffed. “If I hadn’t done that, you would have gotten us sued for sure.”

  “She’s right, Whiskey,” said Peg. “Gil’s itching to take Mattimoe Realty to court. Especially since you signed Mrs. Gribble.”
r />   “What does Mrs. Gribble have to do with Gil?” I asked.

  “Should we tell her?”

  Peg looked right past me to consult with Odette, who said, “She’ll find out sooner or later, so we might as well enjoy telling her.”

  “Mr. Gribble wanted to sign with Gil as buyer’s agent,” Peg said. “But Mrs. Gribble signed with you first. Since she controls the marital purse-strings, Gil’s deal with her husband is dead.”

  “Her husband, by the way, is at least twenty years her junior,” Odette purred. “He’s the prospect Gil was meeting at Mother Tucker’s yesterday.”

  “Mr. Gribble had been stringing Gil along for weeks, hinting at a huge ticket,” Peg said. “When he met with Gil yesterday and told him ‘no-can-do,’ Gil was livid.”

  Odette added, “Gil had probably been dreaming of that commission for so long he’d already spent it.” She lowered her lashes. “I can relate.”

  “And you know all this how?” I asked.

  “Walter told us at the Town Meeting,” Peg said. “He had my sympathy for enduring two big scenes in his restaurant yesterday: First Avery and the father of her babies; then Gil and Mr. Gribble.”

  Odette said, “Gil called Mr. Gribble a ‘gut-less, ball-less loser.’ The whole restaurant heard him.”

  “Why burn a bridge if you can nuke it?” I sighed.

  “Poor Mr. Gribble,” Peg observed. “Walter said he turned crimson with embarrassment.”

  Odette said, “His bald head looked like a lawn globe. Well, he’s probably sick of living under Wifey’s thumb.”

  “There are worse fates,” I mused.

  Peg and Odette waited for the punch line.

  Such as living with a bitch of a former stepdaughter and her infant twins.

  But I refrained from saying so.

  After breakfast at the Goh Cup, Odette proceeded to her two closings, and I returned to the office. Between phone calls and paperwork, I didn’t get much done.

  My thoughts kept turning to Chester. Where was he? Why had he sent Prince Harry home when he wanted that dog’s companionship more than anything?

  I tried to replay my last conversations with him. They had seemed so ordinary that I could hardly recall them. Chester had given no sign that anything was bothering him, besides Prince Harry’s reluctance to pee when and where he should.