Whiskey and Water

by Nina Wright

  At Mattimoe Realty, I was surprised to find Tina Breen manning the reception desk—till I remembered that I’d fired the receptionist. With every phone line engaged, Tina looked hassled. Assuming that was my fault, I tried to slip past her. She managed to attach a sticky pink phone message to my sleeve.

  By the time I read it, the note was redundant. It said, “Jenx is in your office.”

  In fact, the chief was asleep in my chair with her steel-toed boots up on my desk. I woke her when I slammed the door.

  “Since you started this mess, I figured you owed me a place to rest,” she yawned. Jenx explained that she and Brady had been up all night chasing phantom GILS around town.

  “I didn’t start that,” I said. “Rico did!”

  “But you drove Noonan out of town. So it’s your fault there’s nobody around to soothe people.”

  “Peg’s around,” I said, meaning our mayor, the kindly owner of the Goh Cup. “She’s a good listener.”

  “She serves coffee,” Jenx reminded me. “Nobody in Magnet Springs needs caffeine right now.”

  Jenx looked like she could use some. She couldn’t seem to stop yawning. Moreover, her eyes were puffy and shadowed from lack of sleep. Last night she, Brady, and Roscoe had investigated a total of nine GIL sightings.

  “You never made it out to Vestige,” I complained.

  “You had Fenton.” Jenx winked. I wondered if she knew he’d been running around naked, and if so, who told her.

  “The IRS is back,” she added.

  Revenue Agent Damon Kincaid had returned with reinforcements. The word on the street was that the Federal Government suspected O-Gil of faking his own death and then coming back to dig up the fortune he’d buried near one of his properties. The fortune he’d saved by failing to pay his income taxes for three years.

  I found that hard to believe. Not the part about Gil Gruen welching on money owed to Uncle Sam, but about faking his own death. Despite the sightings, I was still sure the cowboy mayor was dead.

  “Why would O-Gil go to the Holiday Inn in Grand Rapids?” I demanded. “And why show up at Vestige?”

  In response, Jenx yawned and closed her eyes again. Before she could fall back to sleep in my chair, I spun it. Hard. Hard enough to knock her feet off my desk and get her attention. She was grudgingly interested in my news—or rather, my “evidentiary findings”—about García and Twyla and the kids who spoke Spanish. For once Jenx didn’t accuse me of leaping to conclusions, probably because I hadn’t come up with any.

  I didn’t say a thing about the cleaner even though he had admitted knowing Twyla and being involved in some kind of “shuttle service” for kids. My plan was to play volunteer deputy and find more evidence.

  I kept one other fact to myself: that Abra was at large again. Make that two other facts. . . . She’d taken Norman.

  Fenton had been right about those dogs being bad. United, they were the canine equivalent of a rogue wave. Speaking of which—Jenx announced that it had been almost forty-eight hours since the last report of riptides. She and other local law enforcement could now relax a little even if they weren’t quite ready to take down the shoreline warning signs. She was heading home to Red Hen’s House for a shower and a good meal before starting her next shift.

  I managed to send the chief, yawning, out the back door just as the cleaner strolled in through the front door. Juggling a couple calls, Tina brightened at the sight of him. She hit the mute button to ask, “Did you pass?,” presumably referring to his licensing exam. MacArthur gave her the thumb’s up, and Tina flashed him a toothy smile.

  MacArthur opened the rear passenger-side door of the Maserati for me. My first time inside a truly fine Italian-made vehicle. It smelled new—and like the finest leather. Once in the driver’s seat, MacArthur addressed me without turning his head.

  “Would you care for something to drink, Ms. Mattimoe? In deference to Miss Cassina, I’ve removed all alcohol, but I could offer you a soda.”

  I declined. Since there was no partition between the front and back seats, I found his formality oddly amusing.

  “Where are we going?” I asked.

  “You need to see a certain property,” he replied.

  “One that you hope to list? Or one that somebody has listed already?”

  “One that you’re trying to sell right now,” he said.

  “Why would I want to see that?”

  “I didn’t say you’d want to see it. I said you need to see it.”

  Something about this set-up suddenly made me nervous. MacArthur’s grinning good looks could put women at ease. Witness how easily he’d soothed Tina. And thus far he’d managed to deflect most of my doubts. But the man was a cleaner.

  He cleared his throat. “I hear you’re planning to return Velcro.” He sounded disapproving.

  “Actually, I may have a better solution,” I said and quickly explained Fenton Flagg’s interest in training the shitzapoo to be his replacement medical companion dog.

  “I see. When did you plan to tell Chester?” The driver’s voice was stern. Clearly he was in cleaner mode.

  “It just happened. But it seems like a good solution. Now Chester won’t have to lie to Cassina.”

  “We all lie to Miss Cassina,” MacArthur said. “She prefers it that way.”

  Suddenly I had a new view of what went on at her cottage: Cassina probably knew about Rupert’s trysts and asked only that he deny them.

  “We’re going to Cassina’s cottage, aren’t we?” I said, realizing that we were on Coastal Highway, already halfway there.

  “You should relax and enjoy the scenery,” he replied.

  When the door locks snapped down, I tensed.

  MacArthur’s eyes met mine in the rear-view mirror. “I’m just doing my job.”

  “Which job is that? Driver? Cleaner? Realtor?”

  “I’d like to think I’m advancing my real estate career.”

  “By kidnapping me?”

  MacArthur laughed amiably. “You came of your own volition. And you’ll be glad you did.”

  We didn’t say much the rest of the way. MacArthur put on a non-Jeb Halloran CD, which was refreshing. I took his advice and paid attention to the scenery, thinking how seldom I left the driving up to someone else. Coincidentally, I had done so twice within twenty-four hours: last night on my date with Fenton and today on my mystery tour. It was really very pleasant—despite the uncertainty of MacArthur’s agenda. Cassina and Rupert may have had issues, but they also had a driver; I could learn from them. Assuming I emerged unscathed from whatever MacArthur planned to show me, and assuming I made a boatload of money selling my two high-end listings, I would hire a driver, too.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Riding in Cassina’s Maserati, I could almost imagine what it felt like to be the music diva herself. Except that I wasn’t drunk, high, or swathed in pigment-free fabric. And, unlike Cassina, I hadn’t forgotten about Chester. I knew exactly where her son was because I had bothered to ask. MacArthur had assured me that Chester and Prince Harry were safe at the Castle. Chester was busy retrofitting his wing for the return of Velcro.

  I felt guilty about that. For two reasons. First, I had failed to bond with the shitzapoo even though he desperately wanted to bond with me. Second, I had let two different humans think they might have him. Fenton needed a full-time medical companion dog. And Chester needed full-time canine friends.

  I, on the other had, was happiest when the animals in my life, including my stepdaughter, mostly left me alone. Except when I had no clue where they’d run off to. Then I worried. Even now, ensconced in the Maserati’s luxurious backseat, watching the rural scenery slide by, I found myself wondering where in all that greenery were Abra and Norman? Prior experience had taught me that they could be enjoying doggie foreplay behind any tree, bush, or barn. Avery and her new man, on the other hand, presumably required more shelter. Wherever that was, I hoped the twins were safe.

  “Here we are,�
� MacArthur announced, the burrs in his Rs jarring me back to the present. As he expertly guided the car along the curving dirt lane to Cassina’s cottage, I had no idea what to expect.

  My cell phone distracted me. Odette was calling; I couldn’t wait to hear the result of her tour at Druin.

  “The chatelaine came through for us,” she began. “Felicia walked us all around, and I think Fenton liked it. He’s going to get back to me.”

  “You saw everything?” I asked.

  “Everything but the wine cellar. They’re renovating that, remember? Since Fenton doesn’t drink, it didn’t interest him, anyway. Where are you?”

  Odette never cared where I was unless she thought it was going to make her money. Aware that the driver was listening, I said that MacArthur wanted me to take another look at Cassina’s cottage. Now I had life insurance: on the off-chance that something bad was about to happen, one person knew where I was, and who I was with. I felt better.

  “You’re not going inside, are you?” Odette asked.

  “Why wouldn’t we?”

  “Remember what happened the last time we were there?”

  I remembered that Odette had been more interested in looking over the designer kitchen than in avoiding the noisy lovebirds.

  “I’m with MacArthur.” Stressing his name, I hoped to trigger Odette’s memory that he was not only a driver but also a cleaner. Either he would protect me or . . . he would dispose of me.

  His presence didn’t interest her, however. She proceeded to utter a complete non sequitur: “Have you heard from Avery lately?”

  “Why the hell would you ask about Avery?” I said—just as my stepdaughter hove into view. She appeared at the end of the driveway, one hand on the twins’ double stroller, the other shading her eyes as she stared straight at us.

  MacArthur braked gently and turned off the ignition. I said the only thing that sprang to mind, “Avery can’t afford this property.”

  “She’s not here to buy it, Ms. Mattimoe,” MacArthur said. “She and the twins are here as my guests.”

  “Pardon?”

  Avery was moving toward the driver’s side, an actual smile lighting her face.

  MacArthur said quietly, “Rupert lets me use this place occasionally. Your stepdaughter and I are enjoying it for a few days.”

  A voice was coming from my cell phone, which I had allowed to drop into my lap.

  “Excuse me,” I said hoarsely, and fumbled for the phone.

  “I was waiting for the right time to tell you,” said Odette. “Now I don’t have to.”

  “You knew?”

  There was no chance of MacArthur or Avery overhearing anything I said. He had enveloped my stepdaughter in a passionate embrace.

  “It was the reason I stalled the way I did when we were there on Wednesday,” Odette said. “I caught a glimpse of Avery in the buff, and I knew you couldn’t handle it.”

  Now I was more confused than ever. “You’re saying she was the one with Rupert?”

  “No, no! Who cares who was with Rupert? MacArthur and Avery were doing it downstairs while Rupert and Whoever were going at it upstairs. You were so frazzled you didn’t see Avery grab her clothes and dash out the side door. The Scotsman managed to get himself dressed and back on duty before you got a clue.”

  “You’re sure Avery wasn’t the noisy one?” I asked.

  “As far as I know, she was completely mute.”

  “What am I supposed to do now?” I hissed. “This is awkward beyond belief!”

  “Many moments in your life seem to fit that description. Begin by giving thanks that Avery wasn’t the noisy one. Also, that you didn’t see her nude. At least you don’t have those memories to repress. Then, repeat after me: ‘I’m in the business of selling real estate. Screw the rest!’”

  Sometimes being all about the money is the best choice. I closed the phone and found my own way out of the Maserati, taking the driver’s keys with me. MacArthur was so deep into tonsil-massaging Avery that he’d forgotten the rest of his job. Not a problem. I paused just long enough to kiss both the twins on their soft, sweet faces and then proceeded up the flagstone path into Cassina’s cottage. Once inside, I made sure every door was locked. Then, standing in the great room at the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking Lake Michigan, I reopened my phone and placed a strategic call.

  I gave Fenton Flagg a virtual tour of the entire house, describing in detail the best features of every room as I passed through it. By the time I’d reached the third floor, someone was trying very hard to access the first floor. Unfortunately for MacArthur, I’d removed not only his keys from the ignition, but also the spare key from under the wood-nymph sculpture. He and my stepdaughter could come in later. When I was good and ready. That would be after Fenton Flagg agreed that this sounded like the home of his dreams, and he wanted to view it. Soon.

  So it was that I had achieved an almost unprecedented level of calm by the time I descended the spiral staircase and granted MacArthur and Avery an audience. Of course, it had been Avery’s idea to bring us all together. She wanted to rub my face in the revelation that her handsome new boyfriend was someone I’d also found attractive. How did she know that? Either MacArthur had read my vibes and shared them with her—the slime—or she had simply assumed that, since I knew him, I would want him. Following the incident with Nash Grant, Avery might have surmised that she and I tended to be attracted to the same men, the only known exception being my ex-husband, Jeb Halloran. Avery couldn’t stand Jeb. Point for his side.

  Following Odette’s advice, I controlled our meeting, keeping it short and civilized—and all about business.

  “I wish you both the very best,” I said, thereby sucking the wind out of Avery’s sails. “And I have just a few questions. “ I turned my pasted-on smile toward the driver. “What did you mean when you talked about running a shuttle service for children, and about Rupert becoming a ‘father figure’?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” Avery interrupted snidely. “Mac already drives Chester and his friends around, so he’s available to drive Leah and Leo, too.”

  “Chester has friends?” I asked. “As in school friends?”

  After more than a year of almost daily contact with my young neighbor, I’d rarely heard him mention other kids.

  “Chester’s friends are mainly the children of people employed at the Castle,” MacArthur explained. “I drive the little ones where they need to go while their parents are working. Doctor’s appointments, school daytrips, etc. Since Cassina likes to hire and fire, most of Chester’s friends don’t stick around long.”

  “That’s what Mac meant when he said Rupert was working on being a father figure,” Avery interjected. “Rupert’s friendlier with kids than Cassina is. He really likes Leah and Leo.”

  “Did Rupert like Twyla’s kids, too?” I inquired.

  “Who?” Avery looked blank.

  Turning back to the driver, I said, “Tell me how you knew Twyla Rendel. Did her kids enjoy your shuttle service?”

  “Twyla García, you mean.” MacArthur shook his head. “That’s the name she used when she worked at the Castle—with her boyfriend. She didn’t have children. And she didn’t last long at the Castle. Cassina caught Twyla making too many long-distance calls. The boyfriend got a better offer, anyway, so they both left.”

  I didn’t know if that was true, but at this point, it seemed possible.

  “Why were you fighting with Twyla on the day she died? I mean, on the day she was murdered?”

  Before MacArthur answered, I stole a glance at my stepdaughter. Her tongue was flicking nervously. I assumed the Twyla connection was news to her. MacArthur didn’t like the subject, either. Shifting his weight from one shiny shoe to the other, he seemed to debate answering. Finally, he said, “Rupert sent me to collect some money Twyla owed him.”

  “Twyla owed Rupert? Are you sure it wasn’t the other way around?”

  “Part of my job as cleaner is to keep Rupert and Cas
sina off drugs. Unfortunately, sometimes they get some. The Garcías promised Rupert a score. They took his money but never delivered. I was glad about that. Still, Rupert wanted his cash back. Twyla didn’t have it, and she claimed not to know where it was.”

  Boldly I took a step closer. The cleaner and I were almost eye to eye. “Did Rupert tell you to kill Twyla?”

  Avery gasped, her grip tightening on Leah and Leo’s stroller.

  “Rupert wouldn’t do that,” MacArthur said. “Even if he did, I would never kill a person. Not even a woman.”

  I wasn’t sure what that meant. Neither, apparently, was Avery.

  “Don’t you mean ‘least of all a woman’?” she said.

  MacArthur kept his gaze locked on mine. “Women make the most ferocious enemies. That’s why I try not to have any.”

  “You try not to have any women? Or any women enemies?” Avery demanded.

  MacArthur smiled. “Both.”

  “Good luck with that,” I said.

  Cassina’s living room got a little noisy at that point, without a single additional comment from me. While Avery demanded to know what the cleaner’s intentions were, I grabbed the stroller and rolled it out into the sunny fresh air. Leah, Leo and I followed the path down to the dock, where we watched terns dive and soar.

  Moments later Avery and MacArthur appeared. I couldn’t read their mood and tried not to care what it was, anyway. God only knew what MacArthur saw in my stepdaughter, besides a challenge, although of course her kids were cute. The Scot didn’t strike me as a father figure. More like a man drawn to mystery, money, and risky business; Avery fit the last category.

  I suspected that MacArthur needed to be in control. So the driver-cleaner gig was a natural. Selling real estate made sense, too. Nobody got emotionally close to MacArthur, least of all a needy woman like Avery. She was sure to get her heart broken. I just hoped Noonan would be back in town by the time that happened.

  Awkwardly, we all five rode downtown together. Avery sat in the front seat, practically in MacArthur’s lap, while I shared the back seat with my step-grandbabies. When she started in on him about past girlfriends and future plans, I serenaded the twins. Thanks to Jeb—and Velcro—I’d recently had a refresher course in lullabies, so the tunes came easily if not on pitch.