Whiskey with a Twist Page 10

  As brief as my time with Mitchell Slater had been, I could see the resemblance: same eyes, same jaw line, same mouth.

  Interesting. Neither Matt Koniger nor his mother was grieving today.

  Chapter Eighteen

  While groping and kissing MacArthur, Kori had managed to never let go of Silverado’s lead. She also never stopped chewing gum. I couldn’t imagine deep-kissing around a rubbery wad, but maybe that was because I’d never tried it. Maybe there was an art to passing it back and forth, and that was what turned MacArthur on.

  I didn’t want to think about it.

  Now Kori popped her gum and the leash at the same time. Silverado gave her his full and eager attention. She may have been a lousy handler in the ring and a genuine thorn in Susan’s side, but she seemed earnestly connected to the stunning dog.

  “Come on, boy. It’s show time!” she said.

  He woofed softly and wagged his curled whip of a tail.

  “I’ll cheer you on,” I told her.

  “Yeah, that’ll help. The judge will be impressed that you’re on my side.”

  Kori blew a kiss to MacArthur; then she and Silverado loped gracefully away.

  That left me in the awkward position of making conversation with the cleaner, a man who earned his living by erasing the mistakes of others. Who erased his mistakes? Making out with one woman while shacking up with another seemed like kind of a whopper.

  “I have one thing to say, Whiskey, and one thing only. I hope you’ll give me a wee moment of your time.”

  His burry brogue melted my defenses. I could too easily imagine its effect on Avery and Kori… and who knows how many other women.

  “What?” Try as I might to sound annoyed, the question came out innocently curious.

  “Please do not try to find me while we’re here at the show. I do my best work when I keep a low profile.”

  That was not remotely what I had expected. I said, “You think I was looking for you, and that’s why-?”

  “No time to chat now! You need to trust me.”

  Like Avery should trust him?

  “But how can a bodyguard do his job if nobody sees him?” I said. “Nobody but Kori, that is…”

  MacArthur brushed a lock of black hair from his forehead. “I didn’t say nobody sees me. And now I must get back to work. We have a killer in our midst!”

  “Before Mitchell Slater died, you thought we had a messenger in our midst.”

  “Indeed. And now we know what the message was.”

  “What was it?”

  “Somebody was going to die. Somebody close to Susan Davies.”

  “But not Susan Davies,” I said. “Does that mean she’s safe?”

  “It’s too soon to tell. Fortunately, I’m here to protect her and those close to her.”

  “Especially her niece.”

  I couldn’t resist. But my comment had no effect on MacArthur.

  “I’m watching out for you, too, Whiskey.”

  “Really? If last night’s bullet had gone six inches to the right, that would have been me face down in the parking lot!”

  “But it wasn’t you, was it? Because I’m on the job. And now I need to get back to it.”

  He started toward the cornfield behind the exhibit hall.

  “Can I call you?” I said.

  MacArthur raised a brawny arm in what I assumed was an affirmative gesture.

  “I check voicemail three times a day.”

  With that he vanished among the drying cornstalks like the ghosts of young ballplayers in Field of Dreams.

  * * *

  When I re-entered the exhibit hall, nobody was smooching near the side entrance. In the show ring, I counted seven hounds with handlers. They had attracted at least fifty onlookers. Some sat in folding chairs; others stood around the circle. With “Bad Example” Kori in the competition, there was an added incentive for watching.

  Kori’s hot-pink ensemble flared like neon next to the subdued outfits of her peers. The judge, a tall stately man with thick white hair, showed no reaction to her attire. He fixed his full and concentrated attention on the hounds, as was his duty. After scrutinizing them, he flashed a few hand signals appreciated by everyone except me. Bursts of applause and a flurry of movement followed. Hounds and handlers dashed around the ring, some exiting, some staying. Apparently, the judge had narrowed the field, excusing those dogs not selected to continue.

  Across the ring from me, Susan stood alone, closely watching the competition. Matt was in the ring showing a dog the same size as Silverado but reddish colored with a dramatic black face. The Two L’s were there, too, each leading a blonde dog that reminded me of Abra, if only Abra had manners.

  When Kori and Silverado got the nod to remain, I saw Susan’s face fold-for just a moment. Then she perked up and applauded.

  So the Bad Example was not the worst handler, after all. Or, if she was, she knew how to show Silverado well enough to keep him in the competition.

  Matt and his dog also remained. So did the Two L’s. I caught Matt and Kori exchanging grins. The Two L’s made a deliberate show of ignoring Susan’s niece.

  As the action continued, I inferred what was happening: the judge was evaluating the “survivors” to determine their order of finish. Each handler showed his or her dog and then circled the ring again to a fresh round of applause. When it was Kori and Silverado’s turn, the applause was sparse and forced. Except for mine. I clapped hard and added a whistle as they ran past. That earned me a distinctly dirty look from Susan.

  Hey, we Bad Examples gotta stick together.

  As that round turned out, I had another opportunity to hoot and holler. Silverado, handled by Kori, finished first. Next was the dog that Matt handled, followed by the dogs shown by the Two L’s. Lauren and Lindsey briskly congratulated Matt and then swept past Kori as if she didn’t exist. No mean feat considering the brilliant glow of her apparel and the broad “eat shit” grin on her face.

  I could only wish for luck like that on my upcoming Walk of Shame.

  While I wasn’t looking, Susan had disappeared from her post near the ring. She couldn’t have predicted that outcome, which seriously weakened her case for Kori as Bad Example. Although it may have increased the value of her dog and her breeding program, Susan doubtless would have preferred to prove Kori a total loser.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Are you Whiskey Mattimoe?”

  A lean gentleman in a navy blue blazer extended his manicured hand. I shook it, wondering if he’d missed my public pre-humiliation-I mean, introduction-or if he was simply being formal.

  Then I read his nametag and knew he’d skipped the Breeder Breakfast.

  “Yes! Nice to meet you in person, Perry. Good show… so far.”

  The event chairperson pressed his lips into a thin smile that hinted at something beyond polite agreement.

  “Thank you. That round was a tad surprising, wasn’t it? Not what the Breeder Education Committee expected at all…”

  He let his voice trail off. Perry Stiles had a finely modulated sense of the dramatic. Detecting jubilation behind his words, I suspected that he wasn’t a fan of Susan or her committee.

  “Well, my Walk of Shame with Abra will prove ’em right,” I said lightly.

  Perry’s expression sharpened. “You don’t have to look bad, you know. That’s not the point.”

  Before I could ask what the point was, his cell phone rang. Perry excused himself as he removed it from his inside jacket pocket. Glancing at the caller ID, he replaced the phone without answering it.

  “You were saying,” I reminded him, “that I don’t have to look bad. I thought that was why Susan brought me here. To show breeders and handlers what not to do.”

  “Yes, but not at the expense of your self-esteem. Certainly not!”

  “Abra doesn’t care about my self-esteem… and I’m not sure Susan does, either. In fact, I don’t think she likes me. I’m sure Ramona doesn’t.”

  Per
ry’s eyes flicked around the arena. Then he stepped closer, his manner confidential.

  “Susan and Ramona have done a lot for our organization. That being said, they have their detractors. Not everyone likes the way they choose to make examples of people who don’t meet their standards.”

  “You mean, they’ve done this ‘Bad Example’ thing before?”

  “Every year that they’ve co-chaired Breeder Education. And that’s as many years as I’ve been part of Midwest Afghan Hounds. Of course, Ramona has been at it longer than Susan, but then she’s considerably older. Ramona has been active in this group since… well, since Hector was a pup.”

  When I smiled at the dated expression, he added, “You knew what I meant! My aunt used to say that.”

  “Mine, too.”

  “Wonder why I thought of it now,” Perry mused.

  “Maybe because we’re surrounded by dogs?”

  He chuckled. “Say, someone told me you’re from Magnet Springs.”

  I nodded. “Ever been there?”

  “Many times! I live in Chicago, on the Near North Side. Magnet Springs is one of my favorite summertime destinations. I love the beach, but I especially love the stores and restaurants.”

  “Chicago has some nice stores and restaurants, too.”

  “Of course. But the ones in Magnet Springs are so quaint.”

  That’s what big-city people loved about our town: its quieter, calmer, cleaner lifestyle. Kind of like Amish Country, without the horses but with electricity. Plus a beach. Magnet Springs was a popular playground for people from Chicagoland, especially rich people and gay people. I was willing to bet that Perry belonged to both categories.

  “Do you usually come to Magnet Springs for the weekend or a longer stay?” I said.

  “Weekends, usually, although last spring a friend and I rented a house on the beach for a week.”

  “Did you enjoy yourselves?”

  Perry sighed. “It should have been our most relaxing vacation ever. I’d lined up someone to babysit my dogs and someone else to babysit my business-I’m a painting contractor, specializing in faux finishes-but at the last minute my friend couldn’t find anyone to take care of his cat. So he brought it along. Big mistake. We should have cleared it with the landlord, I know, but everything was so last-minute, and anyway the cat was a breed that doesn’t shed.”

  “Not… a Devon rex?”

  “That’s it! Ugly little sucker, if you ask me. But then I love Afghan hounds, so a cat with almost no hair is not going to make my heart beat faster. Anyway, the damned thing slipped out two days before we left, and we never found it. We spent every blasted minute of daylight looking up and down the beach and all around the dunes. We even posted signs and placed an ad in the local paper. No luck. My friend was devastated.”

  My skin prickled. “Was the cat… by any chance… gray?”

  Perry stared. “Yes.”

  “And male? A rather aggressive un-neutered male?”

  Perry moved his hands and feet in a nervous little dance.

  “Did you find Boomgarden? Is that what you’re telling me?!”

  “I didn’t find him, no. But our local animal rescue did. Thanks to a complete misunderstanding, he ended up staying at my house for a few days-along with a herd of other stray cats. Then Fleggers neutered him and found him a home.”

  “Fleggers? Who’s that?”

  “Four Legs Good. They’re a bunch of animal-rights crazies, but they saved your friend’s cat. I know where he is. His name is Yoda now.”

  Perry literally squealed with delight. I was afraid that his next response might be to hug me. Since I intensely dislike emotional displays, I took two steps backward-right into Brenda Spenser. I didn’t know it was Brenda 'til I turned around to apologize.

  Unfortunately for her, I had stepped on-and smudged-the toe of her very fine shoe. A Manolo Blahnik, I think she called it. Anyway, she admitted that she hadn’t been watching where she walked, either. She was distracted, trying to find Matt Koniger. I bit my tongue before I could say, “Have you checked behind the side door curtain?”

  “I just saw him go that way. With Susan Davies,” Perry said, pointing toward the notorious exit.

  “He was with Susan?” Brenda looked baffled. “I thought he was going to relieve his mother at her booth.”

  Perry shrugged. As soon as Brenda was out of earshot, he turned to me.

  “Matt specializes in a different kind of relief.”

  “I’ve seen it!” I exclaimed. “I mean, I saw him with Susan this morning. Behind the curtain…”

  “Most of us did,” Perry said. “She’s Matt’s squeeze. And he’s hers.”

  “You mean… they do this kind of thing often?”

  “Susan and Matt have been on-again, off-again for-oh-I’d say three or four years. We all know it, but we pretend we don’t. It’s more fun that way.”

  “I thought Matt was with Brenda.”

  “He is. Matt shacks up with whichever widow or divorcee will pay his way and give him the good life,” Perry said. “That doesn’t stop him from having fun! This year it’s Brenda. Ramona made a play for him, too.”

  I gaped. “Ramona Bowden?”

  “That’s the only Ramona I know. We think Matt turned her down because of her size. He doesn’t care how old they are, but he does like them thin.”

  “Is Ramona divorced?” I said.

  “Widowed,” Perry replied. “Twice. Two very nice insurance settlements.”

  “Susan’s married,” I said, thinking out loud.

  That made Perry Stiles smile. “I wouldn’t call what Susan and Liam have a marriage. More like an arrangement.”

  I didn’t know which stunned me more-Perry’s revelations or the casualness with which he shared them. Now I wondered why Susan tolerated Kori at all, let alone trained her to handle dogs, if she didn’t care about pleasing Liam. Unless her goal was getting back at him. Maybe the whole Kori-as-Bad Example maneuver was just another way for Susan to piss off her husband.

  But why was Perry, who had no investment in pleasing me, so eager to share club gossip? Was he trying to build his own ego, or did he simply love dishing dirt?

  Perry’s gaze moved restlessly around the room; as event chairperson, he no doubt needed to keep moving and schmoozing.

  “Listen,” I said. “I’ll put you in touch with the person who has Yoda-I mean, Boomgarden-but first I need more info about Susan and Liam. Will you share?”

  Perry’s eyes danced. “Why? Planning to blackmail somebody?”

  “No. But I work with Liam, and I feel like Susan’s playing me.”

  “Of course, she’s playing you! That’s what Susan does.”

  “Does Liam know Susan cheats?” I asked.

  Perry chuckled. “Everybody knows.”

  “Does Liam care?”

  “Care that she cheats, or care that everybody knows?”

  “Either.”

  “Not much. Liam cheats, too. Between you and me, I think Susan tries to embarrass him with her affairs because he embarrasses her with his. I assume you know about his… um… taste?”

  “I haven’t met him yet. My company just signed on to rep his new real estate development.”

  “Ah.” Perry checked to make sure no one was eavesdropping. “I’m going out on a limb here: Is the person who did the deal for you with Liam an extremely attractive woman of color?”

  “How do you know Odette Mutombo?”

  “I don’t. I know Liam Davies… well enough to know he loves exotic dark-skinned women. They’re the only women he’ll do business with.”

  “It’s my company,” I protested.

  “At the risk of sounding crude,” Perry said, “what I mean is they’re the only women Liam will sleep with before he does business. And he has a reputation for doing business only with women who sleep with him.”

  “No way!”

  I made my voice sound firm, but my head swam. Odette Mutumbo was a real-estate-selli
ng, contract-negotiating force of nature. She was also long-married to Reginald, the only psychiatrist in Magnet Springs. While I often wondered how those two busy and ambitious people made time to make their marriage work, I never doubted that they did. In cynical moments, I suspected that they got along well because they were too self-involved to demand much from each other. Yet I never for a single moment imagined that Odette would cheat on Reginald. Let alone use her considerable sex appeal to make a sale!

  Odette was consistently excellent at her job for three reasons: She (1) knew all about real estate, (2) had mastered the art of the deal, and (3) worked her tight round ass off. Period.

  Before I could sum that up for Perry, a breeder I recognized from the breakfast meeting intervened to request a moment of the chairperson’s time. Excusing himself, Perry reminded me that we still needed to discuss Boomgarden, a.k.a. Yoda. As far as I was concerned, we still needed to discuss all kinds of things, including Liam Davies and Mitchell Slater. Perry promised to meet me near the concession stand after my Walk of Shame, which he generously referred to as my “Spotlight Moment.”

  I didn’t know quite what to make of Perry Stiles. Clearly, he was a leader, an organizer, and a gossipmonger. Although his inference about Liam and Odette upset me, he managed to bolster my sagging self-esteem with the reminder that I didn’t have to let Susan or her committee humiliate me. Hell, they hadn’t got the best of Kori, had they?

  I needed to correct Perry’s Liam-Odette confusion before he could spread that misunderstanding like oil across water. Odette was my friend as well as my star sales agent. I had a duty to defend her.

  But first I had a more pressing duty: to handle my own dog. Susan Davies waved to me from across the arena. At her side, on a leash, Abra was poised to bring me down.

  Chapter Twenty

  Susan must have taken the time to reapply lipstick after her side-door kissing session. She flashed a glossy smile as I crossed the arena to reclaim my canine.

  “Are you ready, Whiskey? Abra is.”