Foolishly, I had hoped that a few days’ separation might frost my desire, but now I knew the opposite was true. I’d been away from Jeb for only a day and a half, and I wanted him more than ever. Flying in like a hero made him as provocative as a man in uniform. Not that I had a thing for soldiers, but part of me longed to be rescued. Who was I kidding? I needed to be rescued. The Barnyard Inn was turning into a boneyard.
As my libido soared, I gave silent thanks that Abra wasn’t around to distract us. If we pretended I’d never had a dog, then of course I hadn’t lost one. We could drive straight to a cheap, dark motel devoted to one-night stands and totally opposed to pets.
Then I remembered that we had Chester. He would insist on looking for Abra. No doubt that was why he was here-besides playing porter. Jeb was hauling luggage, too. Way more than a camera case and an overnight bag. Why had they brought so much baggage? And how had they found time to pack?
Jeb set one suitcase down long enough to wave. I returned the cheery salutation. But his aim wasn’t right; he was looking beyond me. To my dismay, Susan Davies was moving purposefully in Jeb’s direction.
Chester came straight to me, however.
“Hey, Whiskey!” he panted. “Here I am!”
“Indeed you are,” I said. “And I can’t help but wonder why.”
He dropped the duffel bag and then carefully set down the plastic carrier before pointing to the tin badge pinned to his navy blue school blazer. It was the chintzy, cereal-box-grade badge that Jenx gave every part-time volunteer deputy. Since being mistaken for a clown, I refused to wear mine.
“Jeb called Jenx, and she enlisted my assistance. I speak canine, you know.”
Yoda’s gray heart-shaped face and oversized ears appeared in the mesh opening of the plastic carrier. True to form, the ugly cat hissed at me.
“Long time no see, Yoda,” I said. “But not long enough.”
“He’s traumatized by his separation from Peg,” Chester said. “Also, cats don’t like helicopters.”
“You speak feline, too?”
“Yes, but not as fluently as I speak canine. I’ve had less practice with this species.”
When the cat hissed again, I said, “Is he telling you he hates being in a cage?”
“No. He hates you.”
Speaking of enemies, what the hell was Susan up to? She just happened to be hugging my ex-husband. The man who had flown here expressly to help me.
“I’ll be right back,” I told Chester.
Yoda yowled. I did not request a translation.
“Hello, Jeb!”
My tone was more business-like than affectionate. In salute, he raised a hand currently wrapped around Susan. She turned her head in my direction.
“Oh, Whiskey, Jeb is so good.”
“How would you know that?”
She paused to wipe what would have been a tear from her cheek. If she wasn’t faking it.
“Jeb called me to say he was flying to Nappanee. So I asked him to load my luggage.”
“Your luggage?” I said. “Don’t you have luggage here?”
“Yes, but with everything that’s happening, I… may not go straight home. And I always keep a few bags packed, just in case.”
I wondered if “everything that’s happening” referred to the murders or to her fights with Liam.
“Jeb made sure all three of my bags got on the chopper,” Susan said. “He counted them himself.”
I said, “His mother would be proud.”
“And just now, when I told him about the shooting,” Susan sniffed, “he knew exactly the right thing to say.”
“Which shooting?” After the attack on Matt, I wondered why Susan would be crying about Mitchell Slater or Ramona.
“The EMTs said Matt was shot at close range,” Susan said. “The gun had a silencer. Silverado might have been shot, too. When the forensics team gets here, they’ll test the blood on the floor to see… “ she choked, “if it’s all human.”
Sobbing, she buried her beautiful face in my lover’s shoulder. Jeb did not push her away. Instead he shot me a look with that basic male message: “Hey, what can I do?”
Chapter Thirty
“Jeb is here to help me,” I told Susan when my ex-husband didn’t. “Together we’re going to find Abra. Or at least look for her.”
“And I’ll help!” Chester tapped his volunteer deputy badge. “I speak canine, so Chief Jenkins sent me to assist local law enforcement. As a consultant.”
I tried to imagine any police department other than Magnet Springs relying on a precocious eight-year-old to solve crimes, especially an eight-year-old who looked six and claimed to speak canine. But, hey, maybe Nappanee’s finest were more open-minded than most.
As if reading my thoughts, Chester added, “I’ll probably keep my investigation on the down-low until I have solid evidence.”
“Good plan,” I said.
Just then Yoda yowled, and Susan frowned at the cat carrier.
“Why would you bring a cat to a dog show?”
On Chester’s behalf, I explained that Perry’s friend had lost a cat while vacationing in Magnet Springs, and I happened to know that the cat had been found. Hence Yoda, a.k.a. Boomgarden.
“We’re returning him,” Chester said.
Susan squinted at Yoda’s face in the mesh opening. “I’ve seen that cat.”
“Really?” I asked. “Do you know Perry’s friend?”
“That cat belonged to Mitchell Slater.”
“I don’t think so. He belongs to the man Perry vacationed with.”
Susan shot me a “How dense are you?” look and replied very slowly, “I said, that cat belonged to Mitchell Slater. He and Perry had a little fling.”
Was Sandy Slater right about Mitchell being gay? She’d insisted that Perry dissed Mitchell because Mitchell had rejected him. I still couldn’t believe it.
“Mitchell Slater told me he left his last wife for you,” I reminded Susan.
Suddenly I realized that we had ventured into mature, if not illicit, subject matter in front of a young child. Granted, Chester was the child of a pop music superstar renowned for her own highly questionable behavior. But I wanted to set a good example.
“Chester,” I said in my best schoolteacher voice. “Why don’t you take Yoda into the exhibit hall and ask someone to direct you to Perry Stiles?”
“Okay,” he said, picking up the carrier. “But don’t worry about me. There’s nothing I haven’t heard before.”
The way he said it, I felt almost inadequate. As soon as he was out of earshot, I asked Susan, “Are you denying that you had an affair with Mitchell Slater?”
She had stepped back from Jeb and recovered her complete composure. I saw no trace of those crocodile tears.
“I’m denying that it’s any of your business!”
With a toss of her lustrous hair, she told Jeb, “Please take my bags to room 11.”
Then she followed Chester into the exhibit hall.
When Jeb stooped to scoop up her bags, I had a coughing fit. He put the bags down. Conveniently, MacArthur jogged into view. He and Jeb shook hands.
I said, “MacArthur, I know you’re a cleaner, a Realtor, and a volunteer bodyguard. But would you mind taking Susan’s bags to-“
“I know where her room is.” MacArthur swept the bags off the pavement. He told Jeb, “We need to formulate a strategy for maximum efficiency. Meet you inside, at the concession stand, in five.”
“What about me and my strategy?” I said.
“Carry on,” MacArthur said.
“Carry on… with what? I don’t have a strategy. I have a missing dog.”
“Then we’ll make a place for you in our strategy,” MacArthur said. “And together we’ll find your dog.”
“We only have to try to find her,” I assured him.