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Tina Breen, my nasal-voiced office manager, intercepted me before I could stomp the snow off my boots.
"From my past?" I echoed, mildly interested. "Professional or . . . romantic?"
"Uh. . . ." Tina slid her eyes toward the nearest cubicle.
"Does the name Roy Vickers ring a bell?" The resonant voice came first, then the trim, tastefully dressed form of Odette Mutombo, top producer in my real-estate agency. Riding her desk chair into the foyer on cue, she smiled slyly. "He may have changed your destiny."
Odette, who was from Zimbabwe, had a syncopated accent and an unnerving way of inserting herself into other people's conversations.
"I doubt it," I said.
Odette and Tina exchanged glances. Never a good sign.
"Okay. Spill it," I began as my overloaded briefcase did just that.
Tina dove to retrieve the contents. Since she's usually not helpful, I knew for sure something was up.
"Leo would remember him. . . ." Odette teased.
I ran the name Roy Vickers through my usual mental filters.
The one with Leo's name on it still occupied most of my brain. Dead nine months already, my late husband was never far from my thoughts. Leo had been a wise and wonderful partner in both business and the stuff that really mattered. Despite everything that had happened to me since his sudden death, my first reaction was often to go tell Leo. Only I never could again.
"I'm drawing a blank," I said.
"Think about it," insisted Odette. "Roy Vickers. You must remember him."
"Maybe we should let Jenx tell her." Tina sounded nervous.
"And let our new police chief have all the fun?" Odette made a rude noise. "Here's a clue, Whiskey: Roy Vickers is seventy."
"Then he's not my old lover," I said. "He's just old."
"There's a real-estate connection. Sort of. . . ." Tina said, handing me my newly alphabetized files.
I was already bored with the game. "Was he an agent?"
"No."
"A former client?"
"Leo's former client. Before you were married."
"Then he's from Leo's past, not mine." I yawned and started toward my office.
"It's not that simple," Tina called after me. "He's a handyman, and he needs a job."
"We have a handyman. And seventy's way too old."
Tina followed me down the hall. "But what can he do? He just got out of jail!"
"Jail?" I stopped cold.
The name Roy Vickers suddenly illuminated a dark corner of my mind. Repression is an underrated gift, one that I'm proud to cultivate. But it's a challenge in the company of Tina and Odette, who never met a disturbing fact they wished to forget. Especially in someone else's life.
"He went to jail nine years ago," Odette said, rolling her desk chair toward me. "For stabbing Leo in a rent dispute."
"Leo was married to Georgia then," Tina added. "But you know what happened, don't you?"
Indeed I did.
Although Leo never discussed the incident, other residents of Magnet Springs, Michigan, weren't so reticent. When it happened, I was twenty-four and on the road with my musician husband, Jeb Halloran. My role in his entourage wasn't musical. It was to remind his groupies that he was married. The point is that I wasn't around at the time Leo Mattimoe was stabbed. I hardly even knew him. But the event became part of our local lore, and the story goes like this: Town drunk Roy Vickers, a carpenter reduced to catch-ascatch- can repair work, opened his mail to find a rent-increase notification. Although it was a bitterly cold January afternoon, Roy was too incensed and too intoxicated to don a coat before staggering the two blocks to his landlord's office. Leo Mattimoe listened to Roy's bourbon-scented complaints. Then he explained his reasons for raising the rent. Roy wasn't interested in logic; he called Leo a slum landlord with the heart of a robber baron. Leo pointed out that Roy was free to find another place to live. Roy blubbered that he had very little reason to live because his wife had left him.
Then he seized Leo's letter opener and began waving it around. Worried that Roy might try to kill himself, Leo grabbed for the blade. In his whiskey fog, Roy mistook the action for a counterattack. Moments later, he stumbled outside and knelt in the snow to wash away Leo's blood. The snow turned bright pink, and his frozen- raw hands darkened to purple, but-like Lady Macbeth-Roy couldn't stop rubbing. A passing tourist spotted the moaning, blood-spattered man without a coat and detoured to the police station.
Our then-chief, Big Jim, strode directly up to Roy and asked what he was doing. Roy shook his head and cried, "Better go tell Georgia she's a widow."
Georgia was Leo's first wife. She left him a year later. Two years after that, Leo married me, and then I became his widow. But that's getting ahead of the story.
Big Jim found Leo on the floor of his office, blood pouring from his chest wound. A few more minutes, and Leo would have died.
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Most Helpful Customer Reviews
8 of 8 people found the following review helpful:
5.0 out of 5 stars
Give Me More Whiskey!!,
By
This review is from: Whiskey Straight Up (The Whiskey Mattimoe Mysteries) (Paperback)
Nina Wright has done it again. She has not only written a successful sequel to her first book, Whiskey on the Rocks, but improved upon it. All her characters returned in addition to Abra's new puppy, Prince Harry. The little prince has inherited his mother's way of getting into trouble. Ms. Wright's characterization is so vivid that you'll think you're flying in a helicopter with Whiskey.Chester, Abra's keeper, vanishes mysteriously and Whiskey who is presently attracted to three (yes, three) men is desperately trying to remember her caretaker duties when she happens upon the body of her obnoxious real estate rival and mayor, Gil. I won't reveal all of the antics but some of the one liners Ms. Wright "writes" are delivered with humor and delight. You will laugh outloud and have to reread them to again. It's that funny. Oh and the mystery is wonderful also. Visit Magnet Springs and you too will be sucked into a cast of characters that will remind you of people in your hometown.
4 of 4 people found the following review helpful:
4.0 out of 5 stars
After the first long swig...,
By
This review is from: Whiskey Straight Up (The Whiskey Mattimoe Mysteries) (Paperback)
Author Wright sets up to tickle more funny bones in her whimsical sadistical who-dunnit. For readers who can't turn down a second glass, realtor Whiskey brings to the table her suite of Magnet Springs odd-bods. Legacies of her second and dead husband: a real estate office, malicious step-daughter with hunk of a boyfriend, high-maintenance Afghan hounds and celebrity neighbor Cassandra and son Chester have usurped her private life. When town drunk and ex-con Roy Vickers enters it, all Hell breaks loose on a frozen lake where the town mayor's body is found in an ice-fishing shack. Chester disappears during the same ice-fishing Jamboree. Whiskey as the boy's babysitter and Roy's new employer has set herself up for this hilarious follow-up to Whiskey on the Rocks.
4 of 4 people found the following review helpful:
4.0 out of 5 stars
Give me another, and make it a double!,
By
Amazon Verified Purchase(What's this?)
This review is from: Whiskey Straight Up (The Whiskey Mattimoe Mysteries) (Paperback)
I don't like real estate agents, new age singers, dogs or cold weather, but a little whisky makes everything look better. This is a pretty funny set of mysteries here. Somewhere between Murder She Wrote and Northern Exposure, only with words.Well worth checking out and passing around.
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