The Lucky Dog Matchmaking Service

by Beth Kendrick

  She couldn’t help cringing as she answered the phone. Before she could even get out a “hello,” Justine launched into her interrogation.

  “Is it true that you’re homeless and casting about for a place to live?”

  “Hi, Mom. Still the master of understatement, I see.”

  “Answer my question.”

  “I’m not homeless. I—” I broke up with Evan, she started to say, but she couldn’t force the words out of her mouth. She wasn’t ready to talk about that. She definitely wasn’t ready to hear her mother’s I told you so. “I’m staying at Kerry’s for a few days and trying to find an apartment that will take a renter with five dogs. But Kerry finally had her baby last night—”

  “And why do I have to hear about all this from Cherie Chadwick?” Justine demanded.

  “I wasn’t aware that you knew Cherie Chadwick.”

  “I know everybody,” Justine said. “And Cherie has friends that have standing appointments at Coterie. If you need a place to stay, you’ll stay with me.”

  “Um . . .” Lara tried to stall. “That’s really nice of you. I appreciate it. I do. But the thing is, I’m not sure—”

  “When can I expect you?”

  Lara took a deep breath. “Mom, I’m twenty-nine years old. I don’t want to be moving back in with a parent at this stage of my life.”

  “I don’t particularly want you to, either, but here we are.” Her mother’s tone left no room for argument. “Be practical, Lara. You said it yourself: Where are you going to find another landlord that will let you have five dogs?”

  “It’s eight right now, actually.” Lara explained about the midnight puppy drop-off, and Justine made a noise that was equal parts frustration and impatience. “See? I haven’t even darkened your doorstep, and already you’re annoyed with the dogs.”

  “This has nothing to do with the dogs. This is about you.” Justine’s voice was cold and clipped. “Frankly, I can’t believe you let yourself get into this situation in the first place. I raised you to be self-reliant. You can’t depend on a man to take care of you.”

  Lara took a moment to calm down and choose her words. “I wasn’t depending on anyone to take care of me. Evan and I were a team. He paid the mortgage; I paid the utilities.”

  “A team.” Justin scoffed. “Right. And now that things have gone south, he’s still snug and secure in his house and you’re out on the street. How many times did I tell you? Men will always let you down. No matter how much you think you love them or they love you.”

  Lara closed her eyes and dug her fingernails into her palms. “If you’re going to start this conversation again, I’m hanging up.”

  “First of all, you will not hang up on me, and secondly, you will not move into Cherie Chadwick’s guesthouse. I’m a respected member of the Mayfair Estates community. I have clients here, and social contacts. How will it look if my daughter is living in one of my neighbors’ guesthouses, like an employee?”

  Lara opened her eyes again. “What do you care how it looks? It’s my life.”

  “Appearances matter.”

  “I hate when you say that.”

  “That doesn’t mean it’s not true. If you’re living at Cherie’s house instead of mine, people will talk.” Lara’s first impulse was to retort that Justine couldn’t force her to do anything, that she didn’t owe her mother blind obedience.

  Then she thought about everything her mother had done for her. All the sacrifices Justine had made when they had no money so that Lara could have little treats. All the prep school and college tuition checks she’d signed once the salon started making a profit.

  Lara owed her mother a lot, and so far she’d done nothing but disappoint her.

  “Fine.” She relented. “I’ll stay with you until I find my own place. But it’s extremely temporary, and I’m paying rent.”

  “If that’s the way you want it, then I’m also collecting a security deposit due to the unpredictable and destructive nature of your animals.” From the way she said this, Lara suspected Justine had somehow heard about the shredded Prada hobo. “When can I expect your arrival?”

  “Let’s discuss this over dinner,” Lara said, hedging. “Are you free tonight?”

  Justine exhaled loudly. “You know I’m busy. I’m happy to let you stay at my home, but you can’t expect me to drop everything to coddle you.”

  Lara tried to soften the sting of this remark with a halfhearted attempt at humor. “Mother, you wound me. I did your bidding and got my eyebrows landscaped and you’re still embarrassed to be seen with me in public?”

  There was a silence. Then Justine said, “Not everything is about you.”

  “I know that, Mom. I’m sorry.” Lara’s voice broke, and she forced herself to regain control of her emotions. Her mother hated tears even more than scraggly cuticles and downy upper lips. “I didn’t mean—”

  “I have to go,” Justine said crisply.

  “Wait, will you just let me—”

  “I haven’t got time for this, Lara. We’ll talk when you come to the house. Good-bye.”

  Chapter 11

  “Hi, sweetie.” Shelly, her mother’s housekeeper, greeted Lara with a warm smile. “I’m so glad to see you. It’s been too long. How’re you doing?”

  Justine had hired Shelly fifteen years ago to manage the day-to-day details of her personal life. A pathologically organized divorcée with grown children, Shelly attended to all the things Justine didn’t have time for: buying groceries, cooking dinner, doing the laundry, and keeping up with the car, yard, and pool maintenance. When Lara was in high school, Shelly had scheduled her dental appointments and driven her to and from swim meets and band practices.

  “I’m your mother’s stay-at-home wife,” Shelly used to say with a laugh.

  “But with paid days off and benefits, which is more than most wives get,” Justine would add wryly.

  “Hi.” Lara hugged the kindly older woman, drinking in the smell of lavender fabric softener and freshly baked bread.

  “She’s not here,” Shelly said, anticipating Lara’s question. “Still at work.”

  “But it’s almost ten.”

  Shelly raised her palm in a don’t get me started gesture. “She’s been holed up in her office for the last few weeks. I haven’t seen her in at least a month—we’ve been communicating by e-mail. She works too hard. You should tell her to take it easy.”

  “Yes, because she values my opinion so much.” Lara rolled her eyes and stepped into the foyer.

  Her mother had redone the floors again. That was the first thing Lara noticed. Justine’s home was in a state of constant renovation—new paint, new furniture, new patio flagstones—but she hadn’t mentioned she had ripped out the marble tiles in the entryway and replaced them with rich, gleaming hardwood.

  “Wow.” She leaned over, peering at the planks of cherry, which were interwoven with strips of dark, smooth material. “Is that leather?”

  Shelly nodded. “Incredible, right? The contractor said it was the latest trend in high-end flooring design.”

  “It’s gorgeous.” Lara regarded the sleek, glossy surface with equal parts awe and dread. The thought of the scrabble of canine claws against this leather sent a shiver down her spine. “Would you mind opening the garage door? I think I’m going to bring the dogs in through the side.”

  “Sure thing, sweetie.” Shelly led the way to the kitchen. Every surface in this room was hard and shiny—polished granite, stainless steel, gleaming glass—but Shelly somehow managed to make it seem homey with strategically placed bowls of fresh fruit and flowers. “It’s good that you’re here. I was actually supposed to leave for vacation this morning, but I decided to stay until you got here. I worry about her.”

  Lara snagged an apple as they passed a fruit bowl. “My mom can take care of herself.”

  “I know, but . . .” Shelly shrugged one shoulder. “She misses you. She’d never come right out and say that, but she does.”
r />   “I’m standing in her kitchen, and she’s not here to see me,” Lara pointed out.

  “Well”—Shelly half smiled—“she likes to give you your space.” Her expression sobered. “I heard you and Evan broke up.”

  Lara twisted the stem of her apple. “Yeah.”

  “If you need to talk—”

  “I don’t.” She hadn’t meant to sound snippy. “Not quite yet. But thank you.”

  Shelly gave her a sympathetic look, then pulled her in for another hug. “You’ll get through this,” she promised. “You’ll get through it and come out even better on the other side. Now, since you’re going to be staying a while, and the dogs need access to the outdoors, I decided not to put you in your old bedroom. Instead, I got the east wing all ready for you.”

  “The east wing. Sounds like I’m touring the White House.”

  “Well, the guest quarters there are almost as big as the master suite, and we put in those French doors last year. I even asked the landscaper to fence off part of the yard so your dogs can go outside and play without tearing up the oleander bushes.” Shelly waited a beat. “By the way, how many dogs are currently in your possession?”

  Lara shook her hair back over her shoulder. “Uh, not that many.”

  “Define ‘not that many.’”

  “Five real dogs and three puppies.” She laughed at the look Shelly gave her. “The puppies will probably find homes by the end of the week.” Lara perked up as a thought occurred. “In fact—”

  “No.” Shelly cut her off before she could finish the sentence.

  “Don’t say that until you meet them. The little boy is a sweetheart and a half. And he’s so cute, with big pink splotches on his nose.”

  “My cat would have a conniption,” Shelly said firmly. “That puppy wouldn’t last a day.” She showed Lara to the bedroom at the back of the house—a large, sunny suite that Justine rarely used for guests because the pool filter was on the other side of the exterior wall.

  The bed was blanketed with white-on-white linens. A stack of spa-quality towels rested on the bathroom counter. Lara immediately started stripping off sheets and duvets.

  “What are you doing?” Shelly exclaimed. “Those are brand-new!”

  “Which is why you don’t want a bunch of dogs trying to make a cozy nest out of them. I have my own blankets in the car.”

  Shelly accepted the armful of Egyptian cotton with a disapproving frown. “Justine’s not going to like this. She’s got very specific ideas about how each room should look.”

  “‘Appearances matter,’” Lara singsonged. “Don’t worry. I’ll tell her you tried to stop me.”

  Shelly started toward the garage, but Lara waved he off. “I’ll get the boxes and the dogs. It’s getting late. You don’t have to stay up on my behalf—go start your vacation.”

  “I’m staying up on my behalf, not yours,” Shelly assured her. “And I’m out of here first thing tomorrow morning. Tell you what— while you bring in the dogs and get settled, I’ll go heat up some dinner. I have some of my homemade chicken soup in the refrigerator.” She gave Lara a critical once-over. “You’d better have two bowls. You look like you’re wasting away. Heartbreak’ll do that every time. Now make yourself comfortable, and let me know if you need anything.”

  Lara started salivating at the thought of Shelly’s fresh, noodly soup. “Thanks, Mom.”

  Shelly shot a warning look over her shoulder. “Don’t even joke about that.”

  Lara instinctively corrected her posture like a slouchy teen chastised. “Sorry, sorry.”

  “You and Justine will do just fine. A little time together will do you both good.” Shelly headed back toward the kitchen. “I’m going to watch True Blood later. Want to join me?”

  An hour later, after Lara and Shelly had ogled hot Southern vampires and shared scraps of chicken with the dogs, they defrosted a chocolate marble cheesecake Justine had stashed in the freezer for unexpected guests and caught up on each other’s lives. For the first time since she’d flushed Evan’s engagement ring, Lara could envision what life would be like when all her raw pain scabbed over. She started to believe that she would heal, that she hadn’t thrown away her last chance for happiness.

  “It’s good to be home,” she mumbled through a crumbly bite of cheesecake.

  But when she fell asleep at midnight, sandwiched between Linus and Maverick on the California king pillowtop mattress, she realized she still hadn’t seen or spoken to her mother.

  * * *

  “Eskie, stack.”

  Wag, wag, wag.

  “Stack.”

  Bounce, bounce, bounce.

  “Eskie—” Lara broke off as the exuberant black-and-white dog pranced in place to get the attention of two passing joggers. Laughing, and well aware that she was breaking all her own training rules, Lara looked into the dog’s sparkling brown eyes and repeated the command once more. “Stack.”

  Eskie licked her right on the lips.

  “And we’re officially bonded.” Lara wiped her mouth on the back of her sleeve. “Listen, missy, don’t think a few sloppy kisses are going to get you out of this.” She tugged Eskie’s leash and resumed walking to the end of the cul-de-sac. To refocus the dog, she pivoted quickly. Eskie stayed right by her side.

  Twenty minutes into their morning walk, Lara had introduced a few new training terms and it was obvious that Eskie would be a star pupil . . . when she wanted to be. But she was really still a puppy, and trying to teach her to “stack”—stand motionless with her muzzle slightly lifted while Lara held her neck and guided her legs into a proper show dog pose—was proving a bigger challenge than Lara had anticipated.

  Even though she no longer had to fight her way across town in rush-hour traffic to get to Cherie’s house, Lara had gotten up extra early this morning to try to catch Justine. But her mother must have come home after midnight and then left again at the crack of dawn; the only evidence that she had been there at all was the fading aroma of coffee in the kitchen.

  Lara tried not to take it personally that her own mother was avoiding her.

  “Okay, one more time and then we can run for a bit.” She stopped, brought Eskie around in front of her, and produced a treat to get her attention.

  “Stack.”

  And Eskie did. Instantly and perfectly, the dog struck a pose worthy of a Canine Chronicle photo shoot.

  “Good girl!” Lara hit the little clicker with her thumb to let Eskie know she’d gotten it right, but before she could follow up with a treat, they were interrupted by a high-pitched yip.

  Eskie broke her pose and strained forward in excitement.

  A tiny white Maltese trotted toward them. Though the dog had no leash and no owner in sight, she strode forward with great purpose until she reached Lara’s feet. Then she stared up and waited for lavish affection to come her way.

  Lara obliged with an ear scratch, but she didn’t see any tags or identification on the little dog.

  “Are you lost?” she asked.

  The Maltese certainly didn’t seem lost; in fact, she and Eskie seemed delighted to see each other. They greeted each other with quick sniffs, then launched right into a vigorous game of chase. Though the tiny white dog was dwarfed by the Bernese mountain dog, she showed no fear as she darted between Eskie’s legs and dropped her front paws in a play bow.

  “Oh, there you are! You’re late today.” A bronzed, buxom woman in her late twenties waved from the driveway across the street, then hurried toward the street, holding a copper watering can in one hand and a baggie of treats in the other. With her wedge-heeled espadrilles, flirty pink dress, and long platinum extensions, this lady was a shoo-in if Bravo ever decided to film Real Housewives of Scottsdale.

  “Hi there, pookie.” She leaned down and made kissy faces at the Maltese, who wagged her tail and twirled in circles. “I’ve got your favorite today: chicken flavor.” She opened the bag and started doling out treats. Eskie immediately stacked in an attempt to s
core some chicken for herself.

  Lara hit the clicker for Eskie and asked the woman, “Is this your dog?”

  “No, this is Ivory. She makes the rounds every morning.” The woman scooped up the Maltese and cradled the dog in her arms. “She’s kind of the neighborhood busybody. She just loves Eskie.”

  Lara glanced back down the street. “Where’s her owner?”

  “I don’t really know who she belongs to, but they take very good care of her. She always has the most darling little haircuts.”

  “Letting her roam the streets is not ‘taking good care of her,’” Lara fumed. “She could get snatched by a coyote, hit by a car. . . .”

  “Hi, Eskie.” The real housewife patted the black-and-white giant on the head and looked up at Lara with renewed interest. “You must be the Dog Doyenne.”

  Lara blinked. “The what?”

  “That’s what Cherie called you. She said you have a special gift for working with dogs.” The woman tugged down the hem of her skirt as a breeze kicked up. “Are you available for consultation? My friend Kayla could use some help with her dog.”

  “What’s the problem?” Lara asked.

  “It’s probably better if she explains it. Would you mind giving me your name and number?”

  Lara obliged, and by the time she’d handed a business card to the neighbor, the Maltese had started down the other side of the street with her fluffy white tail wagging good-bye.

  “Bye-bye, Ivory! See you tomorrow!” the blonde called after her.

  “Rich people are weird,” Lara told Eskie as they hiked back up the steep hill to the Chadwick estate. “Free-range Malteses, hundred-thousand-dollar dog show campaigns, calling me the Dog Doyenne. But their checks always clear, so I guess I can’t talk too much smack.”

  At the word smack, Eskie stopped heeling and jerked herself into a regal stack that would have blown away the competition at the Westminster Kennel Club.

  Lara laughed and hit the clicker. “Good girl.”

  Chapter 12