The Dog Town Collection

by Sandy Rideout

  “Seems like he’s got a chip on his shoulder,” Ari conceded. “You could probably shift that with a nice casserole.”

  “I don’t have time to suck up to hostile men.” Mim poured more cream in her coffee and stirred hard.

  “Don’t break the mug.” Ari grinned. “I’m just saying Dorset Hills is short on eligible men, particularly hot ones. You might not want to bite off their heads before you have sex with them.”

  Mim dropped her spoon into the sink with a clatter. “I’m flattered by the comparison to a lethal insect, Ari. But FYI, I would not have sex with that man if he were the last bug on earth.”

  Kyle stopped in the doorway and then backed up. “I did not want to hear that.”

  Mim glared at Ari, but she just laughed. “How did you think you arrived, Kyle?”

  Rubbing his eyes, he mustered a half grin. “Stork drop. That’s what Mom told us in health class. Which, by the way, was the worst two hours of my life.” He poured himself a coffee and added cream and three spoonfuls of sugar. “Imagine your mother giving sex advice to your friends.”

  “It hardly qualified as sex advice,” Mim said. “I was under strict orders to promote abstinence for teens.”

  “People can do the math, Mom.”

  “I’ve been told I look a lot older than 32,” Mim said.

  “You look great,” Ari said. “Just tired. You work too hard.”

  “Apparently. While the cat’s away, the mouse has been playing his music way too loud and leaving the dog outside to bark.”

  Kyle kept his eyes on his coffee. “That was in the summer. But I guess that’s where those rocks came from. The lawn mower shot ’em at me like shrapnel.”

  Mim set her cup down. “You didn’t mention any rocks.”

  “Right, because I figured you’d lose it. You’d already freaked out at the guy over the light.”

  “So he fired rocks at an innocent dog and almost took out my son’s eye.” She walked over to the window and stared out. “I think we know whose big boots trampled our snow.”

  “You can tell the police all about it, if they ever show up,” Ari said. “But until we have proof, we need to spread the word about George.”

  “Get ready for school, Kyle,” Mim said.

  “I’m not going to school.” He gave her an incredulous look. “George is gone.”

  “You are not—”

  Ari raised a hand. “We’ll drop him there around noon. Let him help, Mim.”

  “Yeah, Mim,” Kyle said. “I mean Mom.”

  “Respect,” she said.

  Shaking her head, Ari sighed. “Grab your coats, people.” She glanced around at the mess and added, “If you can find them.”

  Kyle had printed off a stack of “Missing” posters featuring what Mim assumed was his favorite photo of George. Under the photo it provided a short description, and in huge letters said, $500 Reward. That would drain her Christmas fund, and then some, but there would be no joy in giving or receiving gifts without George.

  Working as a well-oiled team, they covered poles on corner after corner on their way to Bellington Square. Ari hooked Hugo’s leash to her belt loop and held Jezebel’s in her left hand. Mim had refused to accept the “loaner” and was dismayed, though not surprised, that Ari would even try. Ari believed every sad situation could be improved by the application of a dog. In all fairness, that was how they’d scored George in the first place.

  Kyle barely said a word all morning, despite Ari’s best effort to charm. At noon, they circled back to drop him at school, and proceeded on without him.

  Mim stapled a poster on the bulletin board in the central library and they both stood for a moment staring at the photo. Ari’s blue eyes misted. “He’s a good one, isn’t he?”

  “The best. You breed wonderful dogs, Ari.”

  “If this… if this doesn’t work out, you might want to consider taking another pup. I have a litter ready to go soon.”

  “George is the only dog for me,” Mim said, stapling two more posters to the board for good measure.

  “I know it feels that way now, but I can tell you from long experience that there’s always another dog.”

  Mim shook her head. “They just break your heart.”

  “Puppies have amazing healing powers. And hearts don’t need to stay broken.”

  Mim glanced at her quickly. “We’re just talking dogs here, right? Because you’d better not be talking about that so-called hot neighbor again.”

  Ari led her out of the library and toward a pet store. “I think I felt a spark.”

  “With you, you mean.” It was a rare man who’d look past Ari to admire another woman.

  “No, not me. He thought I was weird. One of the dog crazies.” Her self-awareness always astounded Mim. “And he’s right, of course.”

  “Well, I may be marginally less crazy, but he won’t have any luck with me. That man’s been nothing but a pain. He threw rocks at my dog and possibly abducted him.”

  “Sparks,” Ari said, with a smug smile. “Call it breeder’s intuition. There’s a reason I match my dogs and clients so well.”

  “Well, your gift is misfiring this time.”

  “We’ll see about that. I am rarely wrong about mating, canine or otherwise.”

  “Let’s just stop right there,” Mim said. “Although I’m happy to discuss your love life.”

  Ari spoke to the pet store’s manager and left a poster before picking up the conversation again.

  “My prince will come, Mim. I have faith.” She taped a poster to the window of an empty store. “Admittedly, few princes would enjoy living with 10 adult dogs, let alone the number that are in my five-year plan. It does limit my options.”

  At 31, Ari hadn’t had a serious boyfriend since she finished college and started her business. Despite her beauty and bubbly personality, she tended to scare men off by being completely open about her ambitions. Few could imagine a life with a soundtrack of constant barking.

  “You deserve someone perfect,” Mim told Ari. “And there’s no place in this country more likely to attract your prince than Dog Town.”

  Dorset Hills had “gone to the dogs,” as locals liked to say, about 10 years earlier. A travel writer had published a feature for Luxe and Leisure magazine about how the town—then truly a town—was the number one place in America for dog lovers. After the article came out, City Council set about making it true. They allocated new funding for expanding the trail system in the gorgeous hills, and offered tax incentives to any business that catered to dogs. Pet stores sprang up on every corner and hair stylists retrained as dog groomers and changed their signage. Even local eateries got in on the action with names like The Bone Appetit Bistro and The Dog’s Breakfast Diner.

  Dorset Hills was so successful in building its Dog Town brand and attracting new residents that expansion continued to the very edge of the hills that were the town’s star attraction, and to Lake Longmuir to the south. With geographical barriers to growth, real estate prices rose accordingly. Mim was grateful that a small inheritance had allowed her to put a down payment on her house when Kyle was a toddler, and even more grateful that it was her money, because when the courts settled the divorce, there was little left that Andrew had not gambled away. In fact, it was his attempt to borrow against the house that flagged serious issues in their marriage. When the dust settled, all she had left was the roof over her head and enough money to upgrade her nursing qualifications. With Andrew completely out of the picture, and no chance of child support, she’d needed a reliable income.

  “Mim.” Ari’s voice jarred her out of her memories. “It looks like you could use a break before going to work.”

  They stopped at Puccini Café, a cute place on the fringe of Bellington Square where they met occasionally for coffee. After dumping their things at a corner table, they lined up at the counter to order.

  “I barely slept,” Mim said. “You’d think Carver Black might have turned out his light for one
night, given the circumstances.”

  Ari eyed the pastries in the glass case. “Well, he isn’t trying to keep a low profile. Doesn’t sound like a guilty man to me.”

  “He’s the most likely suspect.” Mim checked her phone again, hoping for a message that someone had found George. “Who else would steal a four-year-old mutt?” She glanced at Ari. “Sorry.”

  “Make that designer mutt,” she said. “I’m not ashamed, although some people think I should be.”

  Ari had faced a lot of snobbery in dog-obsessed Dorset Hills, where the breed you chose was considered a reflection of who you were. There were bulldog people, sheepdog people, and Dalmatian people who spanned generations. Not being able to flaunt your dog’s bloodlines went against the grain for the stalwarts. But Ari strongly believed that many, if not most, purebred lines were riddled with health problems. She chose her breeding dogs very carefully, with specific objectives that she hadn’t shared even with Mim. All she would say is that she was creating her own hybrid, temporarily named “Arianna’s Premium Blend.”

  After ordering a cupcake and a double latte, Ari stepped aside for Mim. The shop’s owner, a woman in her early sixties with fading blonde hair and a florid complexion, hurried over. Mim thought she looked vaguely familiar but couldn’t place her. “I’m so sorry to hear about your dog,” she said.

  Word had gotten around town with lightening speed, as per usual in Dorset Hills, yet no clues had surfaced. It was odd. Normally there would be all kinds of rumors—most of them false. Still, it would signal investment. Dorset Hills was typically very much invested in lost dogs.

  “Thanks,” Mim said. “Will you post a sign?”

  The woman took several copies. “I heard George was stolen right out of your yard.” She clucked disapprovingly. “What’s Dorset Hills coming to, if you can’t let your dog out in your own backyard?” As she made change she added, “I guess that son of yours will be more watchful in future.”

  Ah, there was the zinger Mim had expected. She felt almost relieved. It confirmed that she hadn’t spent 16 years being suspicious of people’s motives for nothing. “I don’t blame my son. No matter how long the dog was out, George should have been safe in his own backyard. Like you said, it’s Dorset Hills.”

  “Of course, it’s not your son’s fault,” the owner said. “Kids his age still need to be supervised, even if they think they’re all grown up. My daughter was a year behind you at school, by the way.”

  So there was the real zinger: it was all Mim’s fault. First for being an unsupervised teen who got pregnant, and then for leaving her son to fend for himself while she held down two jobs caring for the good people of Dorset Hills.

  Ari gave Mim a warning glance, but there was no need. Angry as she was, Mim had realized early on that it would make waves for Kyle if she got defensive with the town critics. Later, she discovered that almost everyone ended up in the hospital for one reason or another, and seeing her in scrubs holding a syringe tended to stop judgement in its tracks. It evened out eventually.

  Dumping her purse onto a spare chair across from Ari, Mim sat down, scowling. “So everyone thinks we deserve to lose George because he was outside too long.”

  “One lady isn’t everyone,” Ari said. “And if I stood outside with my dogs every time they needed to pee, I wouldn’t get much done. Anyway, you know what people are like around here.”

  “Yeah, but I never get used to it. It was bad enough when I got pregnant and had to leave school. Then Andrew’s gambling made gossip headlines for months.” She stared around the café, expecting to find people staring back. Most weren’t, but a few threw covert looks her way. “Even then, people disapproved when I kicked him out. I’d hear them whispering, ‘That poor little boy.’ As if living with a pathological liar was better for Kyle.”

  Mim had never spoken so freely to Ari about that period in her life, and now her friend’s eyes were soft with sympathy. Ari had grown up in Chicago and so far had mainly seen the good side of a smaller community. Dog Town was almost too good to be true for someone with her passion for pups. Mim knew she didn’t want to believe that the tides of gossip would eventually turn.

  Mim fell silent, staring at George’s photo on the remaining flyers. Finally, she said, “I don’t have a good feeling about this, Ari.”

  “Well, you’re not blessed with breeder’s intuition. Mine’s telling me it will all work out.” Ari sliced her cupcake in two, and pushed half toward Mim. “In the meantime, I recommend applying more sugar to the situation.”

  Mrs. Beaton nudged her walker aside to let Mim pass in the front hall. For close to a year, Mim had visited regularly to change a dressing on Mrs. Beaton’s foot. The ulcer was a result of diabetes, but good home care had prevented loss of the foot to gangrene.

  She helped Mrs. Beaton into her seat, and frowned as the woman reached for a box of chocolates. “I hope those are sugar-free, Mrs. B.”

  “Let’s say they are,” Mrs. Beaton said, popping one into her mouth. “Anyway, it’s Christmas.”

  Mim let it go. Mrs. Beaton was one of her favorite clients. Although she was nearly housebound at age 68, she rarely complained, and Mim knew she had to be uncomfortable with her many ailments. “You’ve got a beautiful tree back here,” she said. “Not regulation.”

  Mrs. Beaton snorted. “I remember a time before Dorset Hills was Dog Town and got all high and mighty. You could decorate your house with strung up egg cartons and no one would have said a word. Now, it’s practically a police state.”

  “It does feel that way sometimes.” Mim went into the kitchen and filled a basin with warm water, then placed Mrs. Beaton’s foot in it to soak.

  “I still love Christmas, though,” Mrs. Beaton said. “It’s permission to put aside all your worries for a couple of weeks.”

  Mim nodded, although she didn’t fully agree. The season seemed to bring more worries than enjoyment for many, especially those in the hospital. She’d always tried to make Christmas fun for Kyle, but couldn’t recall the last time she’d experienced the joy that seemed to suffuse most people at this time of year. Even in the early days with Andrew, there was tension at Christmas, since her family had virtually disowned her for keeping the baby and dropping out of school.

  Mrs. Beaton put a gnarled hand on Mim’s shoulder. “Honey, Scott told me about your dog.”

  Mrs. Beaton’s son was currently working at the town’s main Christmas tree lot, and was well positioned to hear the local gossip.

  “You’ve talked a lot about George, so I know you must be upset,” she said. “Do you have any idea what happened?”

  “Nothing concrete. But there’s this guy in the house behind me who hates George. Says he barks all the time.” She carefully cleaned the ulcer as she spoke. “I’m worried he might have done something to him.”

  “More likely someone took George because he’s cute, and will think better of it,” Mrs. B said.

  Hearing a sound behind her, Mim looked up to see Scott in the kitchen doorway. He was in his parka, his face nearly purple from long hours working outside.

  “There’s my boy,” Mrs. B said, smiling fondly. Scott was probably in his early forties, and his once bright red hair was fading to a dull rust. He’d barely spoken the few times Mim had met him, but he seemed nice enough and he was certainly an attentive son. He lived in the basement apartment and did everything he could to make Mrs. Beaton comfortable. Mim wished all her patients had such devoted care from their families.

  “How are things down at the tree lot?” Mim asked. Scott picked up odd jobs throughout the year, and always sold Christmas trees in December.

  “Crazy,” he said. “Two guys got into a fight over an eight-foot blue spruce today.”

  “Oh my, I hope you weren’t hurt,” Mrs. Beaton said.

  Scott shook his head. “Tree fell on one of them and broke it up.”

  Mim laughed. “Divine justice.”

  “Scott, honey?” Mrs. Beaton gestured to his
feet, where a fine dusting of pine needles formed a ring on the tiles.

  “Sorry, Ma.” He backed into the kitchen. “How are your trees, Mim?”

  “Perfect,” she said. “You chose the best ones on the lot, and I appreciated your setting them up for me, too.”

  “You were smart to come early.” Turning away, he asked, “Anyone want coffee?”

  “I’ve had too much today,” Mim said. “And I have two more visits ahead. But thanks.”

  A few minutes later, the door slammed, and Mrs. Beaton said, “I worry about Scottie. Still hasn’t met the right girl, and he’s not getting any younger.”

  Mim started putting her equipment away. “I bet the tree lot is a great place to meet people.”

  “He’s so shy,” Mrs. B said, sighing. “I just want to see him happy before I pass.”

  “Don’t even talk about passing,” Mim said, gently slapping Mrs. B’s knee. “What happened to the Christmas spirit?”

  A few minutes later, however, what little Christmas spirit Mim had left evaporated in the Beatons’ driveway.

  Her Jeep was leaning to one side on a flattened front tire.

  “Santa,” she muttered, “you suck.”

  Chapter 5

  Ari was waiting in the driveway in her white SUV when Mim pulled up that night. Hugo and Jezebel hopped out of the car after her.

  “Not the loaner dog again, Ari. Like I told you, I can’t handle an extra heartbeat in the house if it isn’t George’s.”

  “That’s not why I’m here. Although I’m definitely leaving Jez with you tonight. She hogs the bed, by the way.” Ari started down the driveway. “I see you’re dressed warmly, so let’s get going.”

  “Going where? I’m exhausted. That flat tire was the last straw.”

  “There’s always another straw. You’d be surprised.” Ari waited at the bottom of the driveway. “At any rate, I called for reinforcements.”

  Across the street a lime-green van sat in the shadows, out of reach of the streetlights’ glow. The driver’s door and the side panel opened at the same time and several women jumped out, one by one.