Whiskey on the Rocks

by Nina Wright

  “Wait for Roscoe.”

  “And if he can’t find her?”

  Brady patted my shoulder. “Roscoe always gets his man.”

  “This is no man, Brady. This is an Afghan hound.”

  Chester suggested we go home. “Maybe she’s waiting for us.”

  Jenx whispered in my ear, “Take no chances: double up on poop patrol.”

  When we pulled into the driveway at Vestige, it was nearly dark.

  Furious as I was with her, I had hoped to see Abra dancing in my headlights. Instead, I spotted what looked like a large envelope duct-taped to my garage door. Chester didn’t wait for the vehicle to come to a complete stop. He leapt out and ripped open the envelope.

  “What is it?” I reached for what he was holding.

  “Not so fast! You’ll smudge any prints that are on it,” he said.

  I noticed then that Chester wore surgical gloves.

  “Where did those come from?”

  “I asked Brady for a pair before we left. Just in case.”

  He waved the note at me.

  “This is bad news, Whiskey. Somebody kidnapped our dog.”

  Chapter Twelve

  I don’t know which impressed me more—that Chester loved Abra enough to claim joint custody, or that someone would go to the trouble of kidnapping her.

  “Technically, she hasn’t been kidnapped,” I told Chester after he’d held the note up so that I could read it.

  “Dognapped, then,” he said.

  “No. This says she went willingly.”

  “Abra would never do that!” Chester cried.

  But I knew better. I just wondered what they’d used as bait.

  “Technically, this isn’t a ransom note because they’re not demanding money,” I explained.

  “They’ve got Abra, and they want something from us! That’s ransom!”

  Any minute now, Chester would start jumping up and down.

  “Read it again!” he shouted.

  Aloud I read, “‘We have your dog. No force was used. She came willingly—’”

  Chester made a rude noise.

  “‘—and is unhurt. For now. We assume you want to keep her that way.’”

  Chester said, “Call Jenx! Or, better yet, get back in the car and drive to Police Headquarters. They need this note as evidence!”

  “Evidence of what? We already know Abra’s missing. This doesn’t tell us anything. It doesn’t even mention the purse or—you know.”

  “These people want something!” Chester insisted. “Why else would they duct-tape a note to your door? Why else wouldn’t Abra come home?”

  I could think of several reasons Abra wouldn’t come home. Leo wasn’t here anymore, for starters. Although I fed and cared for her, our primary bond was gone. And then there were her criminal tendencies. The only difference this time was that she hadn’t had to find a purse worth stealing; the cops had conveniently provided one. They had even helped her polish her skills.

  Chester said, “You’ve got to report this so Brady can put Officer Roscoe on the case!”

  I reminded Chester that Officer Roscoe had punched out for the night and was probably snoring under Brady’s desk by now. I, too, was troubled by the note, but if someone wanted something in exchange for Abra, they’d have to be more specific.

  Frustrated, Chester started hopping from one foot to the other. “For the love of Abra, call Jenx now!”

  Even though his mother was back at The Castle, I knew I couldn’t just send Chester home. He was part of this now. I led the way into my kitchen. Already the house seemed ominously quiet without Abra, or the threat of her.

  I assumed that Jenx would have switched the phone to Magnet Springs’ Overnight Dispatcher System—an answering service for three local communities that can’t afford police patrols 24/7. But the Acting Chief herself picked up my call.

  “Still sitting here thinking,” she explained. News of the note intrigued her.

  “How about I cruise over there and have a look-see?”

  “It’s not like it’s a ransom note,” I said.

  “It’s like a ransom note!” Chester shouted. He had picked up the phone in the guest room.

  “It’s a threatening note,” Jenx concluded. “Whoever wrote it is toying with us, and I’m nobody’s toy.”

  “Me neither!” said Chester.

  “I’ll be there in ten, buddy,” the Chief promised. I knew she wasn’t talking to me.

  Chester paced the Great Room, looking like a miniature expectant father: useless and partly to blame. His latex gloves enhanced the image.

  “I feel responsible,” he muttered. “All day long, I was rewarding her for grabbing handbags. She got a mixed message.”

  “It’s not your fault. Abra knows what she’s doing.”

  Chester looked at me. “Do you think she’ll be okay?”

  I nodded with a conviction I didn’t quite feel. But I meant what I said: “Abra’s a survivor.”

  His eyes brightened. “That’s what Cassina says about me. Did you know I barely weighed four pounds when I was born?”

  “Amazing. Where was that, anyway?” I didn’t know much Cassina history except that she already had the kid when she built the Castle next door.

  “Huntington, West Virginia. Backstage at the Marshall University Student Union Auditorium. Cassina was touring campuses to promote her first CD, Wicked Kisses. She didn’t even know she was pregnant.”

  Maybe I looked skeptical because Chester added, “She thought she had gas. Cassina lived on junk food in those days. Not anymore, though.”

  I nodded. “Now she drinks shark-fin tea.”

  “Tahitian shark-fin tea,” he amended.

  That reminded me of Rupert, the person Cassina had cursed. I wanted to ask Chester about him, but just then Jenx arrived, blessedly without siren or flasher. Chester held up his gloved hands.

  “Good thinking!” Jenx said. “What about Whiskey?”

  “I knew she’d contaminate the evidence, so I didn’t let her touch it. Think you can lift some prints?”

  “I can try. The MSP has better equipment, but I don’t want to call them yet.”

  “What about their case?” I said. “Could be a connection. Or maybe someone just wants to mess with me. Most of Magnet Springs knows I could afford to buy Abra back. What they don’t know is . . . would I?”

  “We all know you would,” Jenx said.

  “Why should I?” I demanded. “She makes me crazy! She disrupts my whole life!”

  “She’s Leo’s legacy,” said Jenx. “He adored that dog, and you adored Leo. Everybody knows that.”

  “I adore Abra, too,” Chester said.

  “Yeah? Well, you’re a kid,” I said. “And kids love dogs. Especially big dogs. Or is it girl dogs? Maybe it’s big girl dogs, which is what Abra is.”

  Jenx said, “We’ll get her back, Whiskey. Officers Swancott and Roscoe will give this their all.”

  “Can I join the posse?” said Chester.

  “What ‘posse’?” I said.

  “The volunteers who chase the bad guy!”

  “In John Wayne movies maybe.”

  “Well, I want to join one. To save Abra.”

  “Sounds good to me,” said Jenx. “I hereby deputize you. Of course, you can’t carry a weapon, and we no longer work on horseback.”

  Chester beamed. “When do I start?”

  “I need your help right now. How about answering a real hard question?”

  “Shoot.” Chester assumed a fighting stance.

  “You said you didn’t tell anybody at Bake-The-Steak about the finger. Is that right?”

  “Right. I didn’t tell anybody.”

  “Are you sure you never mentioned it?”

  “Positive.”

  Jenx looked hard at him. Suddenly, Chester’s eyes widened, his jaw sagged, and then his entire face collapsed. He was sobbing.

  “What’s wrong?” I said, wanting to throw my arms around him b
ut not quite knowing how.

  “I didn’t tell anybody anything! I swear I didn’t!”

  “Of course you didn’t!” I said, casting a nasty glance at Jenx.

  “But while we were waiting in line at Bake-The-Steak, Abra and I did discuss the finger.”

  “What?”

  Chester sniffled, “I talk to Abra all the time. Sometimes in dog language. Sometimes in English. I needed to ask her whose finger she thought was in the purse, but I didn’t know how to say it in dog language.”

  “What did she tell you?”

  “She didn’t know!”

  “Good work, Deputy,” Jenx said, wiping Chester’s nose. “Dream deep tonight. See if you can remember anything else that might help us.”

  “You mean, like who might have overheard us at Bake-The-Steak?”

  Jenx nodded. “Did you recognize anybody?”

  Chester reminded her that he was a kid in private school. He didn’t hang out with tourists or Main Street merchants, and they’re the folks who frequent Bake-The-Steak. Jenx ordered her deputy to bed so that the posse could ride early the next morning. She also commanded him to show up with a belly full of breakfast.

  Chester looked grim. “I don’t think I can do that, ma’am. Whiskey’s cupboards are bare.”

  I promised him a high-carb breakfast, come hell or high water, and sent him to sleep in the guest room. To Jenx I said, “Are you sure it’s wise to involve him? Chester’s very emotional. Ever met his mother?”

  “Many times. We watch her place when she’s on tour. She autographs CDs for me and Brady and brings us back cool souvenirs. When she went to Japan, I got a tea set.”

  “What did Brady get?”

  “A dagger. We traded.”

  Jenx urged me to reconsider the babysitting gig. “Cassina pays well.”

  I reminded her that I didn’t need work as a nanny. I was trying to build a real estate empire. She sniffed and told me to concentrate on who might have a grudge against me or Abra.

  I couldn’t think of anyone who had it in for me except maybe a couple business rivals. As for Abra, the women whose purses she stole had wanted her euthanized, but the court resolved that matter.

  “She might have offended Nesbitt,” I mused, “but he didn’t seem like a stalker.”

  “Who’s Nesbitt?”

  “An Afghan hound Abra dated in Chicago. Never mind.” This was getting silly. Then I remembered something distinctly not silly. Something downright disturbing.

  Jenx said. “You just got a weird look on your face.”

  “I just remembered a nasty experience.”

  “What?”

  “I guess you’d call it a death threat.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  What I remembered was Abra’s first and only Kennel Club show in Chicago, about six months after Leo got her.

  I told Jenx, “Some guy wanted to buy Abra on the spot. He offered Leo a lot of money, way too much money for a dog with her show history. Not to mention her personality. The man was persistent and then obnoxious. What started as inappropriate behavior at a dog show quickly became alarming. Leo called security and had the man removed.

  Jenx said, “What about the death threat?”

  “I’m getting to that. The guy started calling us at home, at all hours. He insisted on buying Abra. Leo had our number changed, and the calls stopped. Then the letters started. Letters to Abra.”

  “Huh?”

  “The guy from the dog show sent Abra love letters. I saw a couple of them. He wanted to make love to her.”

  Jenx groaned, “Sick puppy.”

  “When Abra didn’t write back, he turned mean. Sent her long letters describing the ways he hoped she’d die.”

  “Such as?”

  “Leo wouldn’t let me read those. He said they involved torture.”

  “Who was this scumbag?”

  “He called himself Sparky.”

  “Barf.”

  “Leo hired a private investigator to track down the guy from the dog show. His real name was Darrin Keogh, I remember that. Could he have come to Magnet Springs and stolen Abra?”

  Jenx thought it unlikely. “What happened to Sparky when Leo’s PI found him?”

  “I don’t know. Leo said he wouldn’t bother us again. And as far as I know, he never did.”

  Jenx asked for the PI’s name. I had never known it; I had let Leo handle the matter. She wondered whether I could identify Darrin Keogh today. I had seen him only once, at the dog show, when he was harassing Leo. And since I had been in the stands, I hadn’t seen him up close. All I could recall was an agitated fair-skinned, light-haired guy who was probably under thirty. Jenx closed her notebook with a snap.

  “I’ll run a check on the name. If I find anything, I’ll get in touch with Balboa’s cousin in Chicago.”

  Upstairs a phone rang.

  “Want to get that?” asked Jenx.

  “That’s my business line. They’ll get my voicemail.”

  Jenx’s hand was on the kitchen doorknob, but she made no move to leave.

  “Listen, Whiskey, if you’ve been waiting for an excuse to sort through Leo’s stuff, maybe this is it. Check his pockets for business cards. See if you can find anything about Sparky.”

  When I looked away, she added, “Leo’s been gone six months.”

  “Five and a half!”

  “So let the healing begin.”

  She was right, of course. I’d been postponing the inevitable. Maybe in the back of my mind I’d imagined someday selling Vestige and conveying all of Leo’s things to the new owners. Or maybe I figured I’d eventually call a charity to clear his closet and den while I was at work. Either way, I’d never have to moon over my late husband’s personal stuff.

  But the time to get started was now. I bolstered my nerve with a cup of strong tea and a reminder that I love to snoop. Poking through the pockets of My Gone-Forever One-True-Love didn’t feel like snooping, however. It felt like mourning. It hurt like hell. Leo’s smell was in my head again for the first time since last spring: sensual and spicy. How is it that a scent can bring back everything but the life?

  After checking just three suits, I was weak and teary and on the verge of giving up.

  “Whiskey? I have a phone message for you.” Chester, wearing his pajamas, cracked open the bedroom door. What I could see of his face looked scared. Maybe I’d been crying more loudly than I thought.

  “I was walking by your office when the phone rang. So I answered it,” he said. “Even though Abra’s not here, I wanted to be helpful.”

  In his fingers was a yellow sticky note. I studied his childish scrawl.

  “Wells Verbelow wants to have brunch with me? Tomorrow?”

  “Don’t let our breakfast date stand in your way. I’m sure Brady will have donuts for me at the station.”

  “I never blow off a date, Chester.”