The Dog Town Collection

by Sandy Rideout

  “This isn’t helping. You’re saying Beau’s my dog of a lifetime.”

  “I’m validating your feelings, but also making the point that you have human friends, too—a support system in tough times.” She patted Beau herself, and the bangles barely tinkled. “Although I’m quite sure Beau is going to come around.”

  Bridget rolled her eyes. “And you’re never wrong.”

  “Wrong is in the eye of the beholder, after all.” Bronwyn grinned as she pushed herself up. “Thank goodness for yoga. Now, come out and listen to our plan to get the pageant back on track.”

  Bridget slumped down against the wall. “I don’t care about the pageant anymore.”

  “You know what your father would say right now?” Bronwyn raised one arm and spun her hand so the bangles rang. “He’d say get up off that floor and kick Bill Bradshaw’s arrogant ass.”

  “Oh, Mom, he would not.” Bridget dropped Beau’s ear, smoothed it, and got to her feet. “But that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t try.”

  Chapter 23

  Meadowvale Square was pretty in the summer, with its quaint shops and restaurants, and flowerboxes spilling over with color. On Wednesday morning, it was bleak. Frail, leafless trees along the sidewalk bent with the cold wind. In just a few weeks, fresh snow would fall and Christmas lights would add sparkle back to the city. For now, residents clung to their rain gear, still in denial about the call to parkas. But dogs had to be walked, so they gritted their teeth and got on with it.

  The clouds didn’t break as people gathered in the square around ten, but smiles passed from face to face like sunshine. Bridget was shocked to see how many of her clients and customers came out on very short notice. With Beau’s condition unchanged, she had been sure she couldn’t rally today. But the sight of so many supporters gathering to back the pageant soothed her wounded spirit.

  Duff and the rest of the Rescue Mafia wove through the crowd, quietly sharing the details of the mission. Bronwyn stood with Bridget, resplendent in a gold faux-fur jacket and matching hat.

  “You can’t march in those shoes, Mom,” Bridget said, shaking her head.

  “I can, too, Mom,” Bronwyn countered. “I’ve been marching in heels since long before you were born. Oh, how I love a good protest. People are too polite these days.”

  “City Hall hates things like this—anything that could bring bad press. It will probably backfire.”

  “We’ll keep it short and civilized. The point is to be visible without being annoying. That’s what Duff and the girls are telling folks. These people are hardly rabble-rousers.”

  Bridget watched Cori gesticulating as she talked to people and wondered if she was staying on script. The neon orange middle fingers on her gloves were flares in a sea of navy, black and gray.

  The crowd was quiet as everyone set off from Meadowvale Square. They were forty people strong, and many others joined along the way. Cori marched out front, directing traffic as well as the crowd with her flashing fingers. Then came Bridget, Bronwyn, Duff, Nika and Maisie. The route was simple, just a few short blocks.

  Suddenly, Cori’s gloved hand shot up. “Halt!” For a small woman, she had a good set of pipes. “And… right.”

  “Wait… what?” Bridget said. “What’s she doing, Duff?”

  “Going rogue,” Duff said grimly. “What else is new?”

  Cori stopped the crowd outside the Clarington Gallery of Modern Art. A surprisingly elegant bronze Afghan hound sat in the center of a drained fountain. Cori held traffic back as a pickup truck eased up onto the sidewalk. In the back was a fiberglass mutt of unknown heritage strapped down with bungee cords. Half a dozen people leaped forward and unloaded the mutt. Though awkward, it was easy to lift and place the mutt beside the Afghan hound. After some discussion, they maneuvered the mutt into a mount.

  Phones waved as people captured the moment. Laughter rose on the cold air as the civilized crowd grew giddy.

  “Oh no,” Duff said. “City Hall will not like humping hounds at all.”

  Bridget shrugged. “Well, the damage is probably done already, right?”

  Bronwyn was giggling. “Let them have fun if they can’t have their pageant.”

  And so it went. The march that was meant to cover three blocks covered eight. All of the official bronze statues got company in the form of fibreglass knockoffs of mutts of all shapes and sizes. A long, low mutt teetered precariously on the back of the bronze Akita outside the Film Arts Center. Another mutt rolled onto its back under the bronze Belgian shepherd in the park across from the veteran’s hospital. And at the fire station, Ron and his buddies came out and helped them place a huge shaggy-looking mutt in a headstand over their prize Dalmatian. The fire chief himself took photos, chuckling.

  Bronwyn’s raucous laugh soared with each new incident. “I was wrong about Dorset Hills, Bridget. I think I might even love this town.”

  Duff gave up trying to catch Cori and walked along, frowning. “Maybe I could enjoy this if it didn’t threaten your house, Bridget.”

  Bronwyn turned quickly. “What do you mean, Andrea?”

  Bridget flashed Duff a look, and her friend improvised. “The pageant is a major source of revenue for Bridget each year. We’ll have to get creative after this.”

  As they marched down Main Street, Bridget did a double take outside the Dog Town Tavern. A broad-shouldered man had been standing in the laneway beside the tavern. Now he turned and moved down the ally with what seemed like a deliberately casual gait. She was quite sure, if he turned, she’d see the small cold eyes of Daniel Quinto. A shiver ran down her spine. If he was capable of abusing Geronimo, perhaps he’d found a way to poison Beau, too.

  She thought about telling Duff about the sighting, but the crowd was already turning into Bellington Square, the large space outside City Hall. There, the frivolity fell away like autumn leaves, and the odd giggle was quickly shushed.

  Mike was already standing outside, and the color in his cheeks suggested he’d been waiting a while. Bridget and Duff went forward to meet him.

  “Ladies,” he said. “I think you know where this is going. The mayor has declined to meet with you or reconsider his decision on the pageant.”

  “The people have spoken, Mike,” Duff said. “They want their pageant.”

  “Their elected official has spoken, Andrea. He’s offered a parade on Thanksgiving.”

  Bridget snorted. “He’ll be riding a float surrounded by purebreds, I assume.”

  Mike almost smirked, but not quite. “I need to warn you, Bridget. He’s received some photos and has officials checking to see if there’s any legal recourse for vandalizing civic artifacts.”

  “There’s not a scratch on anything,” Bridget said. “We only disturbed the peace with laughter.”

  “You could use more of that around here,” Bronwyn said, joining them. “City Council takes itself way too seriously.”

  “Mike, my mom, Bronwyn Linsmore.”

  Mike shook Bronwyn’s hand—always a gentleman, even under pressure. “Bridget, the mayor sent me out with a special message. He said that if even one photo of the defiled sculptures gets out, you will never get approval for another public event.”

  “Did he really say ‘defiled’?” Bronwyn asked. “That pompous—”

  “Mom, please.” Bridget stilled Bronwyn’s jangling arm. “Mike, these photos are probably all over social media already. I can’t control what people do with their phones.”

  “I’d ask them to remove them immediately,” he said. “Because the mayor also advised the CCD to consider this strike three on your kennel permit request.”

  Duff’s blue eyes welled up and spilled over, but Bridget’s were dry. After what happened with Beau, it felt like a glass dome had slipped over her. Not much got in, and still less got out.

  “Young man, you haven’t heard the last of this,” Bronwyn said, wagging her finger at Mike. Her coat sleeve gave a muffled tinkle.

  Mike was looking at his phone
. “I probably have, Mrs. Linsmore. I’ve been fired.”

  Every table in Bone Appetit was full after the protest, and Bridget tied an apron over her coat to help serve. She wanted to get back to the veterinarian but couldn’t leave Frank and Rachel struggling to keep up with the demand for hot chocolate her gathering had created.

  The only table with a single customer was Grace’s. She had come in for her house salad and tea before the crowd descended. Despite the hubbub around her, she looked as composed as ever. “What’s going on?” she asked, as Bridget replaced her hot water.

  “Just a few friends getting together.”

  “I heard about Beau,” she said. “How awful, Bridget.”

  All Bridget could manage was a nod. Anger percolated up from her gut and threatened to spill out of her mouth, so she pressed her lips shut. If Sullivan had two-timed them, it wasn’t Grace’s fault. And if Grace had filled his compost with garbage that was unsafe for dogs, that wasn’t a crime, either. She had no business being pissed at Grace, but she was anyway. How could she sit here stirring her insipid tea as if it were just another day?

  Duff pulled Bridget over as she passed. “You won’t believe this: we have a mystery offer from an angel investor. They’re willing to back the whole pageant.”

  “It’s no use. We couldn’t get a site within city limits now.” She glanced back at Grace. “Besides, it’s probably Sullivan Shaw and I won’t take a dime from that jerk.”

  “You can’t afford to be proud, Bee,” Duff said.

  “Sure, she can.” There was a jingle behind them. Bronwyn was wearing an apron and serving too. “My daughter can always afford to be proud. What she can’t afford is to be stupid. So, why is this Sullivan offering free money?”

  “Guilt,” Bridget said, before giving her mom the broad brushstrokes of the story.

  Duff silenced her with a finger to her lips, and a nod at the door. Sullivan had come in with a balding man who looked like he didn’t get outside enough.

  Bridget went behind the counter with intent to flee. Frank stopped her. “Oh no you don’t. You can’t bring in sixty customers—actual paying customers for a change—and hide out in the back.”

  Sullivan was already at the counter. “Can we talk?” he asked.

  “No. Don’t speak to me again unless you’re pinned under a backhoe. And even then, I’d rather not.”

  “Uh-oh,” his friend said. “The Sullivan Shaw charm has failed at last.”

  “Vito, shut it. Bridget, I’d like to introduce my college roommate, Vito Gardena. He’s a television producer working out of New York. I asked him to drive down for Thanksgiving, because I think he can help you.”

  She took a deep breath. With Frank and her mom listening, and probably a dozen others, she had to be civil. “Hello, Vito. How can I help you help me?”

  He laughed. “I like your spirit, Bridget. Here’s the deal. I’ve heard enough from Sully about what’s going down in Dog Town. I’d like to shoot a feature of your dog rescue pageant.”

  “Maybe Sullivan doesn’t know that my pageant has been cancelled by the mayor, Vito. And my city rep has been fired, too. So there’s nothing to see here, I’m afraid.”

  Vito gestured around the bistro. “Sure there is. We followed the protest, and now the community is gathered here in support of you. It’s a great story with national appeal, I think. We could tell it one of two ways: Dog Town City Council rallies behind local rescue queen and puts on the best pageant ever. Or, City Council gets mud in its eye for quashing an event that’s supported a ton of dogs in a dog-crazy town.”

  Duff started hopping up and down. “Oh my god, the mayor will freak.”

  “I hear he loves good publicity,” Vito said. “Which angle do you think he’ll buy?”

  Bridget looked from Vito to Sullivan, and then down at the coffee pot in her hand. She wanted to decline the offer, and perhaps even hit Sullivan with something hard. Not a glass pot, but maybe a spatula. On the other hand, so many people had supported her not only today but for ten years. If she could bring some good from all this, she should probably get over herself.

  Since she was slow getting to that point, Bronwyn gave her a little pinch. “Bridget. Honey. Remember what I said. Proud, not stupid.”

  “Thank you, Vito,” Bridget said. “I hope you’ll have more luck getting a meeting with the mayor than I did. But I’d love to see his face when you make your pitch.”

  Her phone rang and she pulled it out of her pocket. Seeing the veterinarian’s number, she stepped into the back room.

  “I have good news,” he said. “Beau’s sitting up and watching us work. It may just be me, but I think he’s judging us.”

  Bridget sputtered out a laugh and a sob rolled into one. “That’s my boy.”

  “We got the toxicology results back,” he continued. “Beau had a buffet of poison in his system: raisins, macadamia nuts, and chocolate. But what nearly destroyed his liver was Xylitol.”

  “Xylitol?” It sounded familiar but she was too dazed to be sure. “That’s rat poison, right?”

  The image of Daniel Quinto came into her mind and she shuddered. It had to be him.

  “Actually, no,” the vet said. “Xylitol is a sugar substitute, commonly used in chewing gum or coffee sweetener. Do you know how he might have gotten into it?”

  Bridget peered out the little window into the diner to see Grace sipping her tea and watching Sullivan.

  “Yeah,” she said. “Actually, I do.”

  Chapter 24

  When Bridget walked into the mayor’s waiting room that afternoon, she was glad she had taken the time to go home and shower. The matching love seats and armchairs were beautifully upholstered in cream fabric, and her jeans had been looking the worse for wear. She’d dug up a barely worn blue cashmere sweater and a black skirt with price tag still on it. Even her hair had cooperated.

  “You look great.” Duff actually said it, but Sullivan’s eyes had said it first.

  She hadn’t made the effort for him, though. Or even for the mayor. Now that she didn’t particularly need to worry about appearances, she found herself actually wanting to look nice. Duff had accused her once of hiding behind her dogs, her scruffiness, and even her Boners’ apron. She was probably right, and it was time for that to end.

  “May I have a word?” she asked Sullivan. “Outside?”

  He rose and opened the heavy oak door for her. “Before you start, I need to explain something.” Closing the door behind them, he leaned against it. “I went over to see the Fergusons that morning to offer to help them get ready for winter, that’s all. They asked me if I wanted to buy their house. They said you told them I’d put in an offer on yours and they thought I might want it. I offered them a fair price, and that was that.”

  “And what are you going to do with two houses on either side of mine? I’m sandwiched by a developer. Imagine how that feels, when I want to build a kennel and stay forever.”

  “I have plans, but they don’t include bulldozing your house, Bridget. Give me some credit.”

  He gave her a fierce stare and she met it with a fiercer one. “You’re the last person I’d trust with my house and welfare.”

  “Excuse me? I just found a way to salvage your pageant and possibly bring in more money than you expected. Imagine how your pissing on that makes me feel.”

  Bridget poked him in the chest with an index finger. “Imagine how your girlfriend nearly killing my dog makes me feel.”

  “What?” He grabbed her hand and forced it down. “What are you talking about?”

  She’d promised herself not to do this until after the meeting, but she couldn’t stop. “I saw her, Sullivan. I saw her come out of your yard and your house. My dog is full of her poison.” Blinking rapidly, she tried to hold back the tears. “I know you two don’t know how to look after a dog, but seriously.”

  He dropped her hand and started pacing. “You saw Grace come out of my house?”

  “Correction. I
saw her use a key to go in and then come out. And your compost bin is full of her garbage. I feed Grace at the bistro nearly every day, so I know what she lives on.”

  “This isn’t making any sense. I never gave Grace a key. She was only in my house once before we went to that wedding. Why on earth is she putting anything in my composter? I’ve never used it because it attracts vermin.”

  Bridget started pacing too, and they went in opposite directions. “Why should I believe you?”

  “Because I’ve never lied to you, that’s why. Grace is just someone I met on the road when she was walking her Chihuahua. She seemed normal enough, and I won’t lie: making friends in Dorset Hills hasn’t been easy. I thought towns like this were supposed to be friendly.”

  “You’ve got to worm your way in and it takes time,” Bridget said. “Years, in my case. And look how quickly things can turn.”

  The door cracked open and Duff said, “We’ve been summoned.”

  They filed into the mayor’s office. There were only two deep leather chairs opposite his desk, so Bridget motioned for Duff and Vito to sit down, while she stood beside Sullivan.

  “Birdie. Hello,” Mayor Bradshaw said, coming around to shake everyone’s hand. He barely touched Bridget’s and pumped Vito’s longer than anyone else’s.

  “Mayor, you’re a busy man, so I’ll keep this short,” Bridget said. “Vito is really excited at the opportunity to shoot a feature about Dorset Hills and my Thanksgiving Pageant. It’s a fabulous opportunity to get some positive press for the City, don’t you agree?”

  “A feature?” the mayor said. “How can we be sure your story will be positive, Mr. Gardena?”

  “There are no guarantees in life or television,” Vito said, smiling. “But I have a vested interest in helping my old college roommate impress the woman he loves.”