The Dog Town Collection

by Sandy Rideout

  Mim and Kyle had met Arianna just over four years ago, when they’d gone to pluck George from a pile of plump puppies. Normally Ari didn’t allow clients to choose their own pups, or even see the entire litter. She had a system, of which Mim had been highly skeptical. She didn’t believe any test could assess a pup’s personality accurately at seven weeks of age, and besides, she wanted Kyle to be able to choose his own puppy. Ari held firm. If they wanted one of her pups, they had to do it her way. The size of her waiting list suggested that plenty of people were willing to toe the line.

  Although Mim considered herself a private person, she had confided to Ari that Kyle’s dad had left a few months earlier and that Kyle was inconsolable. The puppy was a desperate bid to bring his spark back, especially on that first, difficult Christmas alone. Only after hearing the whole story—complete with Andrew’s indiscretions—did Ari relent and let them come and meet the litter.

  Sitting on the floor as the pups clambered all over him, Kyle smiled for the first time in months. “This one,” he’d announced, stroking the tiny red female who’d climbed up his jacket to lick his face. Ari shook her head. “She’s the most dominant girl in the litter, which means she’ll be harder work to train.” Instead, she picked up George, whose apricot curls were covered in wood chips, and offered him to Kyle. “Here’s your guy. He’s quiet and super sweet.” Kyle was ready to protest, but as George snuggled under his chin, he muttered, “Okay.”

  In the end, Mim bought into the puppy-matchmaking theory, because George fit into their little family beautifully. And when she saw Ari visiting a patient in the hospital three months later, Mim apologized for doubting. Ari invited them over to see the next litter of puppies, and after that, they’d become friends.

  Perhaps Kyle was remembering George’s pick-up day as well, because his voice cracked again as he said, “I’m sorry, Ari. It’s my fault he got stolen.”

  Ari slung her arm around his shoulder, and squeezed. “George is just lost and we’re going to find him. Dogs don’t get stolen in Dorset Hills.”

  If the search party had been led by Mim, it would have comprised only three. Despite having lived in the house for 13 years, she barely knew anyone in the neighborhood and she liked it that way. Their house stood on the corner, which meant she only had to go to the trouble of chatting to Claude and Martha Mowat, the elderly couple next door. They were on good enough terms to borrow eggs or tools from each other, but otherwise minded their own business.

  “How can you not know more neighbors?” Ari asked. She’d held her annual barbeque for her entire street a few months earlier, and Mim had been conveniently working, as she was every year. “When you hit a rough patch, you need an army,” Ari said. “Claude and Martha aren’t going to crawl under bushes with us tonight.”

  Kyle laughed at the thought. “Claude might if you asked him, Ari.”

  “No one’s having a heart attack on my watch,” she said, heading up the first driveway they reached. Mim and Kyle waited on the road as Ari sweet-talked a man and his young daughter into not only checking their yard but joining the search.

  They went door to door, with Ari recruiting support. When they reached the opposite end of the street, their ranks had swelled to 14.

  “Okay team, let’s review our strategy,” Ari said. “I’ll go up to each door and get permission to search the backyard. The rest of you fan out and check the bushes and behind the house. And I want to hear voices, people.”

  “George,” someone called. “Come, George.”

  “That’s it,” Ari said running up someone’s stairs. She turned her smile onto the homeowner, a balding man in sweat pants. Within moments, he was shrugging on his coat and boots.

  They covered several blocks that way, picking up people like a rolling snowball. In fact, the younger kids threw snow at each other, and roughhoused on lawns. The first snow went to everyone’s head, even when the occasion was serious. Mim caught herself laughing at their antics and had to remind herself that it wasn’t a festive outing.

  Grabbing Ari’s sleeve at the end of one driveway, Mim said, “Don’t bother here. It’s Augustus Tremaine’s house. He hates people, and hates dogs even more.”

  Ari snorted. “Who could hate dogs? They’d never last in this town.”

  Yanking her sleeve out of Mim’s grip, she ran up Augustus’ front steps. The porch light came on but the door didn’t open. “What do you want?” a muffled voice said.

  Ari applied her brilliant smile to the peephole and explained their cause.

  “No, you can’t search my yard,” Augustus said. “And get away from my bushes.”

  Several people, including Kyle, were on their hands and knees poking around in dense shrubs.

  “Oh, come on,” Ari said. “You can’t risk having a pup die of frostbite on your property. What would people say?”

  “I couldn’t care less what people say. And if you don’t leave, I’m calling the cops.”

  “Good luck with that,” Mim said, from the bottom of the stairs. “I couldn’t get them to come out tonight.”

  Kyle got up and headed behind the house. “Hey kid, get out of there,” Augustus shouted. His voice faded and then got louder from farther away. He was obviously yelling at Kyle from another window.

  “Sorry, mister,” Kyle shouted back. “It’s my dog and I’ve got to find him.”

  Mim felt a tap on her shoulder and turned. A woman with a thin face and tired eyes was standing beside her, clutching an old wool coat closed with one bare hand.

  “Daisy,” Mim said, surprised. “Oh right, you live next door.”

  Daisy nodded. “Don’t mind Auggie. He’s more bark than bite. What’s going on?”

  As Mim explained, Daisy buttoned her coat. “I’m coming with you.”

  “You can’t,” Mim said. Daisy had been in and out of the hospital lately. The last thing she should be doing was traipsing around on a cold night.

  “Of course she can,” Ari said, coming down the steps to meet Daisy. “The more the merrier. How do you two know each other?”

  “Mim and I went to school together,” Daisy said. “She was the smartest girl in our class.”

  “Not that smart,” Mim said. Not smart enough to avoid getting pregnant the very first time she had sex. Andrew had persuaded her that it never happened the first time, and she’d wanted to believe him. Sixteen years later, she visited the same school four times a year to give a talk in health class called “Healthy Relationships,” where she had to dance around the subject of safe sex in a way that didn’t rile the parents yet conveyed the truth to tittering teens. It was tougher than dealing with a post-surgical septic infection, but she persevered for the public good.

  Tucking toffee-colored hair behind her ears, Daisy gave Mim a rueful smile, acknowledging that they’d both been naïve as teens. Daisy’s daughter was just a few months younger than Kyle, and the girl’s father had never been on the scene.

  “How’s Violet?” Mim asked.

  Daisy sighed. “It’s a tough age.”

  “It sure is.” Mim was relieved to know she wasn’t suffering alone.

  “I’d just as soon get out of the house and help you,” Daisy said, starting down the driveway. “You know how I love dogs.”

  Daisy loved all animals. She had a veritable menagerie.

  Ari took off her scarf and wrapped it around Daisy’s neck from behind. Mim offered Daisy one of her gloves, and they carried on.

  By nine o’clock, the search party had dwindled. The temperature had dropped and a stiff breeze was blowing.

  Mim insisted everyone go home, although it left her heart heavy. They weren’t likely to find George now. Tears welled up in her eyes but she fought them back. She’d never been one to cry easily, and her college instructors had drilled it into them that they must hide their emotions from patients. Over time, Mim had pretty much mastered the art.

  She certainly didn’t want Kyle to see her cry now. He felt guilty enough already.
He hadn’t said anything in the past hour, simply emerging from backyards with a shake of the head. His shoulders were hunched and his hat threatened to swallow his face.

  Ari reached out and pushed the hat back from his eyes. “Don’t worry,” she said. “George isn’t stupid. He’ll find somewhere warm to hide. Tomorrow we’ll plaster the town with flyers. Someone has to have seen our little guy.”

  Since Ari had softened Kyle up, Mim slipped her arm around his shoulders. “We’ll have George back by Christmas. I promise.”

  Kyle slithered out from under her arm, a move he’d perfected. “You can’t promise that, Mom.”

  “Have some faith, Kyle,” Ari said, as she started up the driveway of the next house.

  “Wait, Ari,” Mim said. “This is where that jerk lives—the one with the floodlight. We’ve had words.”

  “Words? You?”

  Kyle snickered. Mim’s temper was a shared joke between them.

  “Can you blame me? He was banging away at that house with a jackhammer all summer. Even after I told him I was on night shift.”

  “Home improvement isn’t a crime,” Ari said.

  “He’s got the house lit up at all hours,” Mim said. “Probably runs a grow op.”

  Ari pressed the doorbell. “Hope so. We could use something to calm our nerves.”

  Kyle snickered again, and Mim couldn’t help smiling herself.

  The door opened and Mim stared at the man’s profile through the screen. He was better-looking than she remembered, but in the summer he’d barely glanced up at her when she stood on a heap of decorative rocks in her garden and accosted him over the fence.

  Both times, he’d been hunkered over a sketchy garden patch pulling weeds. She remembered the conversation practically word for word.

  She’d asked him politely if he’d keep the light off at night and he’d asked, “What, and keep it on during the day?”

  It had been downhill from there. He’d eventually asked her to keep George from peeing in a particular location, claiming it stunk and was rotting the wood fence. She’d closed by pointing out that she’d paid for the fence, so if George wanted to rot it with pee, he could.

  The neighbor had turned his back on her completely and dismissed her. They hadn’t spoken since.

  Tonight, he looked friendly enough as Ari explained their mission. “I haven’t seen a dog, but I’ll check the backyard for you,” he said.

  He disappeared and Ari turned to Mim. “See, he’s nice. And hot, too.”

  Mim shushed her just a moment before he returned. Opening the screen door, he caught sight of Mim. “Oh. It’s them.”

  Ari jumped in before Mim could reply. “Thanks so much for looking,” she said, directing the full wattage of her smile at him. “I’m Arianna and these are my friends, Mim and Kyle.”

  “Carver Black,” he said. His voice was as chilly as the breeze.

  He stared at Mim, and she stared back. She wouldn’t have recognized him in a different context. His hair was darker than she’d remembered, and his eyes were, too. “Hot” was an overstatement in her opinion, but he was easy enough on the eyes. Unfortunately, the surface often didn’t match what lay beneath.

  Pulling a card out of her pocket, Ari handed it to him. “Can you call Mim if you see George? He’s apricot and weighs 35 pounds.”

  “Apricot?”

  “Peachy,” Ari said.

  He shook his head. “You’re losing me with fruit analogies.”

  Ari’s smile didn’t dim in the slightest. “This is George’s dad,” she said, placing a hand on Hugo’s head. “But George’s coat is smoother and much lighter. His mom is a lovely light gold, and George fell somewhere in between. That happens less often than you’d think.”

  Carver crossed his arms and leaned on the door frame. He looked like he didn’t know whether to laugh or scowl. “Is that so?”

  “It’s the poodle,” Ari said. “Their genes are like tiny landmines. Just when you think you’ve nailed the perfect mix, something detonates.”

  “Interesting,” he said.

  Mim knew he wasn’t interested at all. When Ari started in about the intricacies of dog breeding, most people glazed over. But she was so passionate about her calling that she rarely noticed. That zeal for all things canine wasn’t unusual in Dog Town; Ari just took it to extremes.

  “He has big sweet eyes,” Ari continued. “And his legs are a little short.”

  “They don’t meet the ground?” Carver asked.

  His smirk added fuel to the fire that always seemed to be smouldering inside Mim, but she pressed her lips shut.

  Kyle opened his for the first time. “George’s legs aren’t short. They’re just right.”

  “I’m speaking as a breeder, Kyle. Those stubby legs are not show-worthy. I had to retire his mom after a couple of litters because of that.”

  Finally, Mim spoke up. “I’m sure Carver would recognize George if he saw him. His light is bright enough to make a positive ID.”

  Carver’s eyes flicked to her. “I’d know him by his bark. Hear enough of it.”

  Mim had coiled, and now she struck. “I’m surprised you can hear anything over all that banging.”

  “People in the next county could hear that dog bark,” he struck back. “Even with your music cranked all the time.”

  Mim opened her mouth, then stopped herself. One look at Kyle told her all she needed to know about what went on while she was at work.

  “Sorry,” Kyle muttered. Never had Mim heard Kyle apologize so much in one day.

  Carver didn’t respond, and while Mim thought he could have let Kyle off the hook, she took a more conciliatory approach. “I guess we could all be better neighbors.”

  “I’m a great neighbor,” Carver said. “Anyone else would have called animal services long ago. That dog’s endless yapping has cost me money.”

  “Well, your hammering and light show have cost me sleep. That makes it tough to do my job—make that two jobs. Some of us have to work, you know.”

  Ari came down the stairs and grabbed Mim’s elbow. “Okay, we’re all tired. And I’m sure you can imagine how upsetting it is to lose a dog, Carver.”

  He paused before saying, “I’m sorry for them, I guess. Glad for me.”

  Mim would have started up the stairs if Ari hadn’t clamped down on her. “Leave it.” It was the same command she gave unruly dogs, and it worked on Mim, too.

  A thought crossed Mim’s mind as she stared up at Carver. “I don’t suppose you hate my dog enough to…” She let the accusation trail off.

  Carver’s dark eyes narrowed. “You’d better not be implying what I think you’re implying, lady.”

  Mim’s hackles rose at the “lady.” He looked like he was at least as old as she was. “Well, you said you’re happy he’s gone.”

  “I’m not a dognapper. But I’ll appreciate the peace and quiet as much as the rest of the neighborhood.”

  “You know what?” Mim called over her shoulder as Ari and Kyle hauled her down the driveway. “I thought you were a jerk before, but I was wrong: you’re an ass.”

  “And you, lady, are a—”

  The last word was cut off as Carver shut the door with a slam.

  Chapter 4

  Ari arrived before eight on Wednesday morning. Tossing her coat onto the bench by the front door, she joined Mim in the kitchen.

  “Who’s this?” Mim said, startled to see not just Hugo but another dog at Ari’s side.

  “Jezebel,” Ari said. “She’s a loaner.”

  Jezebel came over to Mim and literally leaned on her, begging for a pat. “A loaner? From whom?”

  “From me. To you.”

  Mim moved away from Jezebel and the medium-sized, wavy-haired dog followed. “I don’t want another dog.”

  “It’s not a replacement for George,” Ari said. “But you’ll need another heartbeat in the house until he gets back. You can’t be alone.”

  “I’m not alone, Ari.” />
  “Close enough. You can’t count on a stressed-out teenaged boy to give you comfort. That is what Jezebel’s for. I have never known a more affectionate dog. In fact, you’re doing me a favor by keeping her for a day or two. There’s not enough of me to go around these days.”

  Mim backed across the kitchen. Jezebel advanced relentlessly until she had Mim pressed against the counter. Finally, Mim started scratching the dog’s soft head. It seemed rude not to. “Ari, she’s lovely, but she’s not George.”

  “No, but at times like these you need extra hugs.”

  “I hate hugging, you know that.”

  “Jezebel loves it and won’t settle for less.” Ari crossed her arms, signalling an end to the discussion. “Can a girl get a coffee around here?”

  Mim slipped out from behind the clingy dog, reached for the full pot, and poured a mug for Ari. “Fresh and strong, just as you like it.”

  Ari took a sip and winced. She reached for the sugar bowl, added a couple of teaspoons and stirred. “Have the police come?” she asked.

  Mim shook her head. “They’re not taking this seriously.”

  “Let’s give them half an hour and then go. We can’t afford to let leads get cold.”

  “I pushed my first house call till two,” Mim said. “Everyone understood.”

  “Of course. It’s George.”

  Mim admired Ari’s faith in the people of Dorset Hills and the power of dogs to unite, even if she didn’t share it. Their experience of the town was quite different. Ari usually met people during some of the happiest moments of their lives—when they received their new pup, for example. Mim, on the other hand, met people when they, or their family members, were ill. She’d witnessed family squabbles over a loved one’s care or possessions that would jade anyone. She kept those stories to herself because she valued Ari’s positive outlook. Any healthcare professional would benefit from a periodic dose of Arianna Torrance.

  Standing at the kitchen window, Ari said, “I assume you built up the fence before you realized how cute that Carver Black is.”

  “He’s toxic. I raised it to keep out the fumes.”