one was my friend. Even in the midst of Odette’s thrilling news, I caught myself eyeing Jeb’s ass.
“You’ll love Davies’ plans for developing the property,” Odette purred. “A two-phase, two income-level super- subdivision: Little House on the Prairie and Big House on the Prairie: Little House for the common people, Big House for the rich. Separating the two will be a manmade lake. And in the middle of the lake will be an island with tall thick trees.”
“So the people in the big houses don’t have to look at the people in the little houses,” I guessed.
“You’re catching on!” Odette clinked her chocotini glass against my tumbler of scotch. “Mattimoe Realty will be the listing agent for fifty homes that sell for under two-hundred-thou, and fifteen homes that sell for more than one-point-five million. Cheers!”
I clinked back and chugged my scotch. It was alarmingly smooth. “But the economy-“
Odette made the raspberry sound again. “The rich always have money! Davies will start on that side of the lake.”
“Did you say ‘Davies’?” Jeb rejoined the conversation.
Odette summarized her latest coup. My ex congratulated her and told me to expect a call.
“From who?”
“The other Davies. She phoned me, looking for you.”
“Did you ask her to take Abra?”
“No, but you can,” he said as my cell rang. “That’s Susan now.”
The first zing from my free scotch hit me the instant I opened my phone. I was pretty sure I slurred my greeting. “This is Whiskey.”
“Hello, Whiskey,” said a warm female voice. “This is Susan Davies. I believe we’re both fans of Jeb Halloran. He’s told me so much about you and your Afghan hound. I hope you don’t mind that I asked him for your number.”
Scotch buzz notwithstanding, I had three instant questions, none of which I asked out loud. First, which horror stories had Jeb shared about me and my diva dog? Second, when and where had he shared them? Third, and this was related to Second, what did Susan Davies mean by claiming that she and I were both “fans”? As Jeb’s former wife and current lover, I was way more than a fan. Was she? I suddenly remembered one painful reason for our long-ago divorce: Jeb liked to stray.
I took another slug of scotch. “How do you know my ex-husband?”
“He didn’t tell you?”
“He didn’t.”
I glared at Jeb, who was leaning on the bar, laughing with Odette.
“Liam and I caught his act at the Holiday Inn in Grand Rapids. That was in August. Since then, my husband has been too busy to go back, but I’ve heard Jeb at least five more times.”
“Five more times?”
“At least. Fabulous, isn’t he?”
“That’s one word for him.” My voice was calm although my diction lacked crispness. Since I rate peace of mind higher than clarity of speech, I drank some more. “What keeps bringing you back to Grand Rapids, Susan? Surely not Jeb’s music…”
“You’re right. Hearing Jeb sing is a treat, but that’s not why I’m in the area. He didn’t tell you why?”
“Again-no, he didn’t.”
I frowned at my ex-husband, who was having too much fun to notice.
Susan said, “Besides my kennel in Itasca, I co-own six dogs in Grand Rapids. The other owner and I started a breeding program. Our bitch is in heat.”
“How nice for you!”
“It is, actually. Which brings me to the reason I called. I have a request, Whiskey. It’s unorthodox, not to mention short notice, but I’d like to stop by your home. Tonight. My co-breeder, Ramona Bowden, is with me, and we want to meet your dog.”
“My dog?” I blinked. “You don’t want to meet my dog.”
“Oh, yes, we most definitely do.”
“Why not meet a nice Afghan hound? Mine is a convicted felon.”
“We know that.”
Susan Davies didn’t seem to get it. So I spoke slowly. “Abra steals things. Expensive things. She consorts with thieves and kidnappers. My dog has a criminal record.”
“Her criminal record is why we want to meet her!” Susan said. “It’s why we are inviting her-and you, too, of course-to participate in next week’s Midwest Afghan Hound Show.”
At least that was what I thought she said. Since it made no sense, I blamed the scotch, set my empty glass on the bar, and waited for Susan Davies to try again.
“Are you there, Whiskey?”
“We must have a bad connection. It sounded like you want Abra to be in a dog show. Because she’s a criminal.” I giggled.
“That’s right. Ramona and I are in charge of Breeder Education. We believe that the most effective way to teach grooming and training is to show how not to do it. Abra is the worst example we’ve ever found.”
Chapter Two
Until Odette convinced Liam Davies to sign with us, business had been deadly dull at Mattimoe Realty. Which explained why I was participating in a not-so-happy Thursday afternoon happy hour at Mother Tucker’s Bar and Grill: I had nothing better to do. And no better place to do it.
The office phones weren’t ringing. A couple new agents had recently quit for lack of commissions or the promise of any, anytime soon. My part-time agents weren’t getting results, and my senior full-time agents were getting restless. Unless you counted foreclosures, nothing much was happening on the local real estate scene.
But now, thanks to Odette, my company had reason to celebrate. And I had a reason to comply with Susan Davies’ ridiculous request regarding my diva dog. We ended our phone conversation by setting an appointment for her to come by and meet Abra: in two hours, exactly. That gave me sufficient time to get sober enough to drive home. And then try to locate my hound.
The barkeep replaced my empty rock glass with a mug of black coffee. I set my cell phone on the bar next to Jeb’s.
“You knew about the dog show thing, didn’t you?”
“Susan might have mentioned it.”
“When?”
What I really meant was “How often do you see this woman?” Fortunately, I stopped myself from sounding like the jealous shrew I am.
“We run into each other now and then. In Grand Rapids. It’s not that big a town.”
Way bigger than Magnet Springs, I thought, which automatically qualified it for romantic trysts. I forced myself to choke down half the coffee. During the intervening silence, Odette offered a troubling tidbit.
“Susan and Liam have one of those on-again, off-again marriages. Or so I hear. They’ve separated a few times but never gone through with the divorce.” She turned to Jeb. “Is the marriage on or off these days?”
When he shrugged, I didn’t buy it.
“You don’t know the marital status of your Number One fan?”
“I thought you were my Number One fan.” He grinned. “As for Susan and Liam, I think they’re working on it. I think they’re always ‘working on it.’ At least that’s the official line.”
“Rather like Fenton and Noonan,” Odette said, referring to our local New Age gurus. Fenton Flagg and Noonan Starr considered themselves “permanent spouses.” In other words, soul-mates. They had married long ago, split up almost immediately, yet never bothered to divorce. Why? Because they liked each other and had so much in common, including the Seven Suns of Solace step-program for inner peace. That didn’t stop them from having affairs with other people, however. Fenton had almost had an affair with me-before I hooked up with Jeb again.
