Nina Wright - Whiskey Mattimoe 06 - Whiskey and Soda by Nina Wright Page A

and handler of large dogs. It is only natural that Abra would respond well to my methods.”
    I thought it more likely that this wasn’t my dog. Inspecting her closely, however, I recognized the mischievous glint in her eyes. The instant that Anouk vanished, all hell would break loose. I noticed something else, too.
    “You groomed her.”
    “But of course,” Anouk said again. “Do you give gifts that are in poor condition?”
    I could have pointed out that Abra was no gift, but that would have been petty. Although Anouk had returned a dog I wasn’t sure I wanted, she had brought her back safe, calm and clean. That never happened. Abra, the chronic runaway, always came home a complete mess.
    “So, you also train and groom dogs that aren’t standard poodles?” I asked.
    Anouk pursed her lips as if tasting something sour. “I can train and groom other dogs. However, I choose not to.”
    I knew it was too good to be true.
    “In this particular case,” she continued, “I may be willing to make an exception. I may agree to work with Abra if she continues to make Napoleon happy.”
    Did Napoleon need a playmate? A hooker? A dominatrix? Anouk seemed to read my mind.
    “Napoleon is the best dog I’ve ever bred or shown. His conformation is superb, and he enjoys competition. Alas, he has been deeply depressed for months, ever since I sold Josephine.”
    “Josephine? Was she his doggie girlfriend?”
    “She was his mate and also his soul mate.” Anouk sighed. “I had my reasons for selling her, but I regret them now. Or I did until Abra came along. Your girl amuses Napoleon in a way I didn’t think any bitch ever could again. The light is back in his eyes.”
    The twinkle. Apparently even poodles had it.

14
    My first choice would have been to drive straight to Vestige, drop off Abra and then go deal with my mother. No sooner had I pulled out of The Bentwood School parking lot than I remembered that a French bulldog named Sandra Bullock was now in residence at my house, hopefully for the short term only. But I couldn’t just dump Abra and run. To be fair to Jeb, I should be there when we introduced one bitch to another, and I figured the process might take a few minutes if we were going to do it right.
    That meant Abra had won a free trip to my office. Sure, I could have planned to leave her in the car while I confronted—I mean, greeted—my mother. Except that I didn’t have a crate in the car, and I valued my leather upholstery.
    Suddenly, I saw a way to turn the whole situation to my advantage. If, as Odette had said, Irene Houston were determined to assume a position at Mattimoe Realty, all I’d have to do is let her believe that every day was Bring Your Dog to Work Day. Abra and real estate were a lethal combination. She automatically aligned herself with my most sinister clients. Add the fact that my mother was deathly afraid of being knocked down by a big jumping dog. Hello, solution to my problem.
    Periodically checking Abra’s status in the backseat, I was amazed to find her still resting. She looked serene, like Sarah Jessica Parker napping in her trailer on the set of the latest Sex in the City movie. How long could this unnatural behavior last? My plan for my mother depended on Abra’s returning to her normal spastic self.
    I dialed Odette’s cell.
    “Are you on your way?” she hissed, sounding more impatient than happy to hear from me.
    “Yes, and I’m armed with Abra.”
    I filled Odette in on my scheme to scare off my mother with my dog, adding, “The only glitch will be getting her settled down again and back in my car. My dog, I mean. Not my mom. I’ve got no leash and no crate.”
    “Do you have a stun gun?”
    “No. Maybe we’ll get lucky and a muscular male tourist will happen by to assist us.”
    Odette made her famous raspberry sound, confirming that downtown Magnet Springs was still deserted.
    “We’ll think of something,” I muttered.
    “You’ll think of something.