Nina Wright - Whiskey Mattimoe 06 - Whiskey and Soda (23 page)

What had possessed me to use that moment with Pauline to question Jeb’s loyalty? Brady thought I was punishing Jeb rather than questioning him, and Roscoe gave me a look that telegraphed the same message. They were probably right, but why would I do that? Jeb was knocking himself out to please me in almost every way. I had no reason to believe that he’d had any female other than Sandra Bullock in his bed for months.

Back in the good-old, bad-old days of our marriage, Jeb used to frequent a couple cheap bars down by the docks. If he needed to go there to blow off steam today, maybe I should follow. I didn’t, though, and not just because Roscoe blocked my way. Mom called and ordered me to come straight to work.

I left the station with all the dignity I could muster, carrying my shoes in my hands.

Ensconced at the receptionist’s desk at Mattimoe Realty, Mom looked surprisingly youthful. Maybe it was her new hair and lipstick or the two vases of fresh pink roses that framed her face.

“I’m busy, Mom,” I said, attempting to walk on by.

“Indeed you are, Whitney. I’ve prepared the paperwork for the Vreelander listing. It’s in this file.”

She extended a manila folder to me, like a flotation device to a drowning man.

I stopped. “Who told you about this?”

“Pauline Vreelander. She came by looking for you. I told her you were out servicing a client. She doesn’t need to know how you waste your time.”

“I wasn’t wasting my time, Mom. I got shot—”

“In the belly with an arrow. Yes, I know about that, too. It wouldn’t have happened if you’d been at your desk, dear, where you’re supposed to be.”

I snatched the file a little more forcefully than necessary. My mother made a distinct tsk-ing sound.

“What’s that about?” I demanded.

“That is the sound of me recognizing you making the same mistakes all over again,” Mom said. “By the way, Jeb phoned. He’s too upset to talk with you right now. I told him I know the feeling. He forgives you, though, and he’s got a special dinner planned for you tonight. Better change your appointment with Mrs. Vreelander.”

A whirlwind of emotions spun my heart around. Mostly, I felt relief. I hadn’t behaved my best, or even like a grownup. Surely, though, Mom was wrong about my making the same mistakes again.

“Thank you,” I forced myself to say.

“Just doing my job,” she replied. “By the way, Odette is out servicing clients.”

“See? That’s what we real estate professionals do.”

“That’s what Odette does, dear. You just get in trouble. Sorry to hear you got shot. I hope you learned something.”

As I turned away, willing my jaws to stay locked, Mom added, “We need to talk about your bridal shower. Tick-tock.”

I walked rapidly to my office, where I locked the door. Like that would help.

For the next two hours, I immersed myself in business. It felt wonderful to work hard again. The only snag was that I couldn’t leave my desk for fear of being scolded my mother.

Note to self: Fix that.

Happily for me, Pauline Vreelander was flexible about my coming over with the paperwork for her to sign. I told her to expect me just before dinner.

Shortly after one o’clock, Mom buzzed my phone.

“I’m taking my lunch hour now. Would you like me to bring you back something from Peg’s?”

She was referring to the Goh Cup, the quaint coffee shop run by her friend and our town mayor. I recalled Mom’s telling me that she planned to rent a room in Peg’s house, so I decided to play nice and ask how that was working out. Big mistake.

“It’s not working out. Peg is so depressed. Frankly, she’s bringing me down.”

“Depressed about her business?”

“Of course, she’s depressed about that. But Peg’s got bigger issues. She needs a man.”

“She does?”

I knew that Peg’s coffee shop and tattoo parlor were foundering, and that she missed her weird little Devon rex cat. I was mainly to blame for her having lost that cat although Odette had made sure she was compensated in the transaction. However, I had never once thought that Peg needed a man. A long-time widow like my mom, she seemed too busy to have time in her life for a guy.

“It’s a problem,” Mom insisted. “Peg is jealous of me and Howard.”

“How can she be jealous? Howard isn’t even here.”

“He isn’t here yet,” Mom said. “But he sends flowers every day. Even you must have noticed the roses on my desk. Peg won’t let me keep them in my room. She says she’s allergic, but I know that’s not true. She’s sick with envy.”

A dull ache crept from the top of my skull toward my forehead.

“Go enjoy your lunch, Mom, and take your time. I’ll get myself something to eat when I’m ready.”

“That’s not how it works when you’re expecting. You’ve got to feed that baby first, often, and well. I thought you knew that much.”

I managed to get off the phone by promising to leave within five minutes for a nutritious hot lunch at Mother Tucker’s. The fact that Mom wasn’t hell-bent on joining me signaled that even she needed a break.

In fact, I was hungry. As I walked the half-dozen blocks to my favorite restaurant, I entertained myself by mentally sampling each item on the menu and imagining which one would taste best today. My mouth was watering for the pulled pork sandwich with curly fries and German coleslaw when my phone rang. Wishing it were Jeb but knowing it wouldn’t be, I read the caller’s name.

“Chester, shouldn’t you be in school?”

“We get out early on Wednesdays because of the seminars,” he said. “Are you okay? I can’t believe Raphael Ramirez shot your baby with an arrow.”

I assured him that my leather jacket was the actual target, and that every part of me was fine. Chester was a chronic over-reactor. Given his mom’s penchant for drama on stage and off, he had a right to be theatrical. I knew he meant well.

“The Bentwood School is complicating your life,” he exclaimed. “And I’m responsible. Things started going wrong when I brought you to the school assembly.”

“Actually, things started going wrong as soon as I hit the Rail Trail. You couldn’t have known what would happen.”

“I should have known,” Chester said. “Everybody but you has some intuition. The Bentwood School has bad karma, and now you and your baby do, too.”

“No, Chester,” I said firmly. “My baby and I do not have bad karma. We have good karma. We have survived two flying arrows.”

Chester was troubled by the notion that he had placed us in the path of those arrows.

I reminded him that I had free will. Clearly, Chester needed comfort. I invited him to meet me for lunch at Mother Tucker’s. We would both feel better after pulled pork.

At age nine, Chester couldn’t yet drive himself, so he conferred with one of Cassina’s employees.

“I can join you for lunch, Whiskey, but there’s a string attached.”

“No leashes, Chester. You cannot bring dogs to the restaurant.”

“I’m talking about Avery. She’ll drive me to Mother Tucker’s, but she wants a word with you.”

Many words, I was sure. Most of which would be nasty. My ex-step and I hadn’t laid eyes on each other in almost two months. An inspiring record, but one that I would break in order to spend time with Chester.

I remembered my earlier concern about the disposition of Leo’s X-rated home movies. Was Avery’s need to speak with me a coincidence? Or more karma?

Even before I was pregnant, I rarely imbibed while the sun was in the sky. Now, waiting at my table at Mother Tucker’s for my late lunch with Chester, I needed all my willpower to resist ordering a fortifying shot of something with my name on it. Facing Avery Mattimoe had never been easy. Going back to when she was a teen and I was her new stepmom, she had blamed me for breaking up her parents’ marriage. I hadn’t. In fact, her mom had left Leo for another man, but Avery still saw me as the villain who stole her dad.

I did feel sad on her behalf that Leo had died without knowing he had twin grandkids on the way, so I did my level best to help by providing a home and a nanny until she could get on her feet. The catch was that Avery didn’t want to get on her feet. She wanted to sit on her ass while others took care of her and her babies.

Her recent employment at The Castle marked the first time in her life that Avery was self-supporting. I could only hope that status wouldn’t change.

Now, here she was, crossing toward my table in her usual graceless and aggressive way, perpetual scowl in place. Avery was a large young woman in her early twenties, almost as tall as I but a good fifty pounds heavier even than my current weight.

Usually her thin blonde hair hung limp. Not today. A stylish geometric cut de-emphasized the fleshiness of her face, which looked smooth, probably thanks to a coat of foundation. Avery’s soft black sweater and pants had a slimming effect. Silver drop earrings and a long chain necklace caught my eye. She had artfully tossed a red and gray paisley scarf over one shoulder, and on her feet were black leather boots with silver buckles and thin heels.

Quite a change from the usual stained sweatshirt, baggy jeans and Crocs. Cassina must be dressing her, but who was I to talk?

As my ex-step drew close, I spotted kohl eyeliner and dark terracotta-colored eye shadow skillfully applied. For once, her piggy little orbs claimed dramatic focus in her round face. Earth-tone lipstick defined her narrow mouth. If Avery could have managed a smile, she might have verged on attractive, but that wouldn’t happen.

She flicked her tongue at me. Not in disrespect, although that was surely what she felt. Avery stuck her tongue out at everyone. It was her singularly repulsive personal tic.

“Where’s Chester?” I said by way of greeting.

With Avery it’s wise to get in the first line. Otherwise, she’ll launch her attack and block every divergence.

“There’s a stray cat in the parking lot. Naturally, he stopped to pet it.”

Thrown off her rhythm, she took a breath and evaluated my appearance.

“You’re fat.”

“I’m six months pregnant.”

“At least you finally got tits.”

Willing myself to stay civil, I asked how her babies were.

“Still cutting teeth. Wait ’til you go through that stage. It lasts forever. You’ll wish you were dead, or dead drunk.”

I skipped ahead. “What do you want, Avery?”

“Sandra Bullock.”

For a moment I thought she meant the movie star. Then I got it.

“The dog? You want the dog?”

“Duh.”

My heart soared. Maybe Avery would take the little beastie off my back. Oh wait. Not so fast. Sandra Bullock wasn’t mine to give away.

“That’s Jeb’s department,” I said.

“Really? Cuz Chester thinks you and Jeb are getting married.” A wicked grin twisted Avery’s face. “I knew that wouldn’t happen. No way you can keep a man, even if you’re having his baby.”

Before I could say what I wanted to say—“Like you know how to keep a man?”—the phrase I’d penned on my palm the day before returned to haunt me.

So I did the right thing, or at least I didn’t do the easy wrong thing, even though it would have felt wonderful.

“What about Sandra Bullock?” I asked through gritted teeth.

“Cassina’s crazy about how cute she looks in costume. She wants to use Sandra on the cover of her next CD. Dressed like an angel, with halo, wings, the works. The photo shoot’s this afternoon. Somebody’s gotta sign this waiver.”

Avery produced what appeared to be a legal contract.

“You’ll need to ask Jeb,” I said. “He’s her manager even though she’s our family dog.”

Man, that was hard to say, but I could almost accept it. After all, I had taken the first giant step by hiring a pet psychic to get us over the bumps. Jeb would be ecstatic about Sandra’s new gig. Abra would just have to deal with it.

Avery fixed me with a hard gaze. “So you and Jeb are sharing things now?”

I nodded emphatically.

“Really?” she said.

“Really,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest. My C cup-size chest.

“Really?” Avery repeated as if sure she could catch me in a lie.

“Hey, Whiskey. Did Avery tell you the good news?”

Chester appeared, panting, at my elbow. He was covered from shoulders to waist in thick white cat fur.

“Yeah, she told me about the photo shoot.”

“Sandra Bullock’s going to be famous,” Chester said. “I mean, the canine version of Sandra Bullock.”

“Got it,” I said. “Jeb and I are so proud.”

“Did she tell you the other good news?”

“There’s more?”

“Tell her, Avery.”

A devious smile lighted my ex-step’s face.

“Well, I was going to surprise you later, but you might as well hear it now. I’m getting married!”

For a second I thought I had entered one of those mind warps where nothing in the known universe makes sense. Who the hell would marry Avery? I might have even said that out loud.

“Who do you think?” she asked coyly.

“Really, I have no idea.”

She and Chester exchanged knowing glances, which I found annoying.

“MacArthur, of course.” Avery flicked her pink tongue at me. The tic did double duty. It made her look hideous, and it pissed me off. “You knew MacArthur tattooed me on one arm and the twins on the other.”

I did know that, and I had often wondered about his choice of disfigurement. The hunky yet mysterious Scot had worked for Cassina as bodyguard, driver, and fixer of messy moral errors. Then, suddenly, he was gone. Now I wondered if Chester, like Avery, had always known he would return. To marry her?

A blinding flash filled my field of vision. Avery was wiggling her fat left hand in my face. On the third finger a diamond sparkled. It was the size of a pea.

“Congratulations,” I said, because I had been raised that way. Irene Houston taught her daughter to wish people well, at least in public.

“Bigger than any stone you’ve ever had,” Avery said, sticking her tongue out again.

I imagined myself hurling a much larger stone straight at her head, until I remembered to “do the right thing” and decided to kill her with kindness.

“How nice for you,” I said.

“Speaking of diamonds,” Avery said. “What happened to the one my dad gave you? You didn’t pawn it, did you? Cuz I think I might be entitled to half.”