Whiskey on the Rocks by Nina Wright Page B

sobbing.

    “What’s wrong?” I said, wanting to throw my arms around him but 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