“Beemer!” The big dog was lying next to her, his head on the pillow beside hers.
She burst into tears as reality hit her: Connor would never sleep with her again. Then, moments later, Beemer’s confused expression penetrated her tears, and she started to laugh.
“I bet your handler, whoever he was, didn’t let you sleep in his bed,” she said, wiping her tears away. “You took advantage of me, Beemer.” The dog stretched and yawned, then rolled to his feet and jumped down off the high-rise bed. When Abby made no move to get up, he barked at her. She looked over the edge of the bed and saw him staring at her. “What? What do you want?”
He barked again.
“You want to go out, is that it?” He turned toward the door. “Okay, okay. I get the message.” She climbed down out of the big bed and headed for the French doors that led to the patio. “Okay, you go do your thing, and we’ll meet up in the kitchen for breakfast.”
Ten minutes later Beemer found Abby in the kitchen grinding coffee beans. He sat down across from her and gazed up at her expectantly. “You want some breakfast?” she asked as if he might actually answer. She finished making her coffee, searched for and found the bag of dog food Steve had brought, and scooped some into a bowl. When she set it down in front of Beemer, he looked at it with disdain. “What? Didn’t I fix it right?” She reread the list of instructions and realized she’d forgotten to add warm water. “Sorry, boy, I missed that part. You must think I’m a real jerk.” She picked up the bowl, held it under the filtered hot-water dispenser, then stirred the kibble until it was swimming in a tasty-looking gravy. As soon as she set it down, Beemer started eating. Abby watched in delight as the big dog ate every last morsel.
She was about to sit down with a cup of coffee to ponder the day ahead of her when the kitchen door opened and chaos erupted. “What? Hey!” she sputtered as dogs of every size and color invaded her house. She watched in horror as a fat basset hound waddled over to the center of the floor and squatted. “Oh, my God. Stop! Not in the kitchen!”
“Olivia! Bad dog,” Steve Carpenter yelled as he charged into the kitchen behind the dogs. “Why the hell did you let them in?” he shouted as he ran past her.
“I didn’t,” Abby shouted to be heard above the barking dogs. “The door must have been ajar.”
“Woody! Gus! Mickey! Come here, you guys,” Steve called, heading for the dining room. “Harry, no! That’s not a tree!” And then a moment later, “Jesus Christ! White carpeting.”
Abby followed Steve and the dogs. She stopped at the door and her whole body started to quake with laughter. Never in her life had she witnessed such a hilarious scene. Dogs were running every which way, panting, barking, and yipping. One of them jumped on the couch, then hopped over the back and ran down the hall, another one was digging into the chair cushion while a third was making its bed in one of the antique satin draperies pooled on the floor.
Steve was in the middle of it all, a dog under each arm, his expression horrified. “Call them toward you and maybe we can route them back outside.”
“Come on, guys,” Abby said, clapping her hands to get their attention. “Let’s go outside.” None of them moved or even looked her way. “They’re not listening,” she said. “What now?”
“See if you can catch a couple of them—that one—Harry. I’ll take these two outside, then come back to get a couple more.”
Abby ran after the one Steve had called Harry and scooped him up in her arms. She was about to go after a pug when Harry licked her chin. She looked down at him and he licked her again. “Ah, you’re a cutie,” she said, hugging the furry canine.
“Big help you are,” Steve said, coming back through the dining room.
“Can I help it if I’m a sucker for animals?” she asked as she headed for the kitchen to put Harry outside. She hurried back in time to see Steve chasing a Lab around the table in the foyer, threatening to take the dog’s toys away and to introduce him to the dogcatcher if he didn’t obey. Steve was so entertaining Abby forgot what she was supposed to do, and by the time she remembered and went after the pug, it was too late. “Oh, no,” she said, seeing the homely little dog kicking out his back legs in a useless attempt to cover up his mess. “There goes Carol’s white carpet.” Grimacing, she looked up to see Steve pulling the Lab by the collar toward the kitchen.
When it was all over and the dogs were outside, Abby and Steve sat down across from each other at the kitchen table.
“I’m sorry,” Steve said. “As soon as I get a second wind, I’ll clean up the mess in the living room.”
“I’ll do it a little later,” she said. “I’m not mad if that’s what you think. I haven’t laughed like that in a long time, and to tell you the truth it felt good,” she grinned at him.
“Who in the hell would put down white carpeting anyway?”
“Don’t look at me,” Abby said, getting up. “It was like that when I moved in.” Slippers flapping, she made her way across the kitchen. “Uh-oh. We forgot one.”
Steve turned around and saw Olivia sitting behind him. He got up and went over to her. “Bad dog,” he said again, waving his finger under her nose. “Bad dog, Olivia.” He pointed toward the puddle she’d made. “Where are your manners?” he asked the sad-eyed basset. “Come on, you’re outta here.”
As soon as he came back inside he found the paper towels, peeled off a few sheets, sopped up the mess, and disposed of it in a trash can outside the kitchen door.
“Want some coffee, breakfast?” Abby asked.
“Sure. Nothing heavy, okay?” He went over to the sink and thoroughly washed his hands. “Listen, I’m really sorry about canceling out on you last night. There was an emergency at closing time.”
“Your assistant explained everything,” Abby said. “Besides, I really wasn’t up to it anyway. How do eggs and Pop-Tarts sound?”
“Pop-Tarts! You might as well have said dog poop on a cracker.”
“Like them that much, do you? I’ll have to remember that.”
“Where’s the bag of dog stuff I delivered to you yesterday along with Beemer?”
Abby turned and pointed to the counter next to the stove.
Steve retrieved the bag and found the box of Snausages. “Pay attention now. This is one way to get the dogs to come to you.” He grabbed a handful, stepped outside, then whistled between his teeth. The dogs came running from every direction to get their treats.
“Wow! I’m impressed,” she teased, when he came back inside. “Do you think I can learn that?”
“Possibly, with a few lessons,” he kidded. “By the way, how did Beemer do last night? Any problems?”
“He did just fine but … I’m embarrassed to say he took advantage of me.”
Steve sat down again. “Took advantage of you? How?”
“When I woke up this-morning, I found him in my bed!”
Steve’s forehead wrinkled in confusion, then smoothed out when he caught the drift of her joke. “Lucky dog,” he said, watching her expectantly as if he was afraid she might not take his joke in the same vein.
Abby broke four eggs into the frying pan. “So what is it with all these dogs? What’s wrong with them that nobody wanted them? I’m having trouble comprehending all this.”
“Nothing’s wrong with them. Olivia was given up because her family was moving out of state. It’s beyond me why they couldn’t take her with them. They didn’t leave their children behind. Old Woody—Woodrow Wilson, I call him, the pug—his owner thought he was sick and didn’t want to spring for the vet bill. All that was wrong was that he had an enlarged prostate and needed to be neutered. Of course, he never would have gotten an enlarged prostate if he’d been neutered when he was young. Gus and Harry were found by one of my clients wandering the streets, half-starved. The problem is that people treat dogs and cats like throwaways. They don’t realize or care that animals have feelings—that they worry, get scared, and even go into depression. Believe me, I’ve seen and heard it
all.”
Abby’s eyes filled with tears. “I know what it’s like not to be wanted. My mother didn’t want me, and the people who adopted my sister and me—they didn’t want her.” She shook her head.
Steve gave her a thoughtful look. She sensed he wanted to say something comforting but he didn’t. “There’s a book in this somewhere. I know it.”
“You know what, you are absolutely right. A book about the dogs, not me or my sister. I could call it Canine Capers or something like that. I’ll dedicate it to you … and the crew. What’s that one’s name?” she asked, pointing toward a terrier she hadn’t seen before.
“Solomon. Their names are on their tags. They’ve had all their shots, by the way, and they’ve all been neutered or spayed. Be sure to put down plenty of water.”
“Speaking of water, I think I’d better have a fence put up around the pool so I don’t have to worry about them falling in.”
“That would be nice, but I don’t know if it’s entirely necessary. You can probably teach them to stay away from it, except for the Lab. Labs love water. He could probably give you a few swimming lessons.”
“I still think I’ll fence in the pool. Meantime, I’ll keep the dogs in the house with me and take them outside every couple of hours.”
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea, what with that white carpet. Every accident is going to show. And considering how many of them there are …”
“I have an idea. How about if I close off all the rooms except the path from the kitchen to my office? That way if there’s an accident, I’ll see it right away. I know this will make me sound really ungrateful, but my adoptive parents gave me the house as a graduation gift. Carol, my adoptive mother, decorated it and—well—it’s way too formal for me. The minute I saw those pooling draperies and all that white carpeting I knew they would have to go. And most of the furniture and accessories, too. So, you see, if the dogs have an occasional accident, it’s no big deal.”
“What you’re saying, if I’m hearing you right, is that your adoptive mother is a little on the controlling side. My mother was like that, always thinking she knew what was best for me. You wouldn’t believe some of the outrageous schemes she pulled to get me to do what she wanted.” He took the mug of coffee she handed him.
Abby eyed him narrowly, his comments ringing in her ears. Controlling, yes. Carol was that, among other things. The last three years she’d been more controlling than ever, and Abby had found herself wanting to distance herself from Carol, which meant she had to distance herself from Donovan, too. As for schemes …
“What you said—it makes me wonder,” she said as she put the Pop-Tarts into the toaster oven, “if this house wasn’t sort of like bait.”
“Bait?”
Abby turned around and looked at him. “Yeah. A year or so ago, I mentioned the possibility of moving to New York after graduation, and then what do I get for a graduation present?” She turned her hands, palms up. “This house.”
“Well, I for one am glad you didn’t move to New York. All these dogs were starting to take a toll on my practice. Taking care of them properly requires a lot of time—time I need for my patients.” He stared at her intently until Abby looked away.
“So, when are you going to ask me about this?” she said, smoothing her hand over the port-wine stain.
“I wasn’t planning to ask. I know what it is. I’m glad you aren’t one of those people who constantly keeps putting her hand to her face or wears one of those cockamamie hairdos to try to hide it. Obviously you’re comfortable with it.”
“You’re never comfortable with something like this,” Abby said coolly.
“You know what I mean. We all live with one cross or another. I suppose you’ve looked into laser surgery?”
“I had laser surgery a few years ago, and it actually made it slightly worse.”
“I’m sorry. That must have been disappointing.”
Abby divvied up the eggs from the frying pan onto plates, added the Pop-Tarts, then took the plates to the table and set them down. “Since you missed out last night, you want to come for supper tonight?”
“Sure, but since we’re having eggs now, could we have something else for supper? I like eggs, but not for every meal. Can’t you cook even a little bit?”
Abby bubbled with laughter. When she could talk again, she said, “To tell you the truth I’ve never really tried, but I noticed there were some cookbooks on the shelf, and I can read. Yesterday you said you were a meat-and-potatoes kind of guy, so how about I cook meat and potatoes?”
Steve’s face turned dubious. “Okay.”
They turned their attention to their food, finishing a few minutes later. Abby sat back and sipped her coffee, savoring the flavor and the aroma.
Steve looked up at the clock. “I’d better get going,” he said, putting his silverware on his plate. “Thanks for breakfast. You cook some mean scrambled eggs.”
Abby balled her napkin and threw it at him. “They weren’t scrambled. They were fried!”
“Oops!” he said, looking suitably embarrassed. “I think it’s time for me to go.” He opened the door and was immediately surrounded by the dogs.
They love him, Abby thought, following him out. No, she amended, they adore him. “Be sure to latch the gate on your way out. And if you have a padlock lying around, bring it with you tonight. I don’t want my dogs getting out.”
“Your dogs?” he yelled back over his shoulder.
“Yes. I’m going to adopt each and every one of them, unless you can find them other homes.” As if in agreement with her plan, Olivia threw her head back and howled. “Oh, my God!” Abby said, laughing. “She’s wonderful. She’s got such character.”
Steve laughed, too. “With this many dogs you might need a kennel license. I’ll look into it for you.”
“Okay,” Abby said agreeably.
“You’re pretty unflappable, you know?”
Abby nodded. “I guess I’ll see you this evening. Seven o’clock.”
“Are you sure you can handle all this?” he asked, looking from dog to dog to dog.
“I’m sure. What’s the worst thing that could happen? Never mind. Dumb question.”
“I hate leaving you here like this,” he said once he was on the other side of the gate.
“I hope you aren’t thinking about moving in. The dogs are one thing, but you—Now that’s a different matter entirely. Go on. I’ll be fine, and so will they.”
The moment Steve left, Abby looked around at her new canine family, who were watching her with a great deal of curiosity. “Okay, you guys … and girls. It seems to me the best thing to do is to get you all some water. I assume you’ve already had breakfast, but from here on out, food will be served on the patio. I’ll ring a bell or whistle or something. I’d appreciate it if you”—she turned her gaze on Olivia, then the pug—“would do your business outside in the bushes or on the grass.” The pug stood up on his hind legs. “Very nice. Shall I take that as an okay?” She walked back to the sliding kitchen door, then turned around. “Beemer, you take charge while I go find water bowls.”
Beemer offered up a sharp bark. It was almost as good as a salute. Olivia, obviously smitten with the big, handsome former police dog, waddled to his side and gazed at him adoringly.
Abby went back inside. Bunny would be proud of her, she thought. If this didn’t qualify as getting on with her life, she didn’t know what did.
She liked Steve. He was fun to be around, and she loved his camaraderie with the dogs. But what she liked best was that he had no expectations of how she should be acting or feeling. She hadn’t told him much about herself, other than that her boyfriend had died. Around him, she could pretend everything was normal.
Abby opened the freezer to see rows and rows of neatly wrapped packages of meat, all clearly labeled. Steaks, chops, chicken, ground beef—just what she was looking for. She set a package of ground beef in the sink to thaw.
The firs
t thing on the day’s agenda was to call the library and tell them that she would have to pass on their job offer. She wasn’t going anywhere until she got the pool fenced in.
Abby went to her office and phoned the library, and after that several fencing companies. She set up three appointments for bids that same afternoon.
She took a long shower, then spent the next two hours getting acquainted with her office and its equipment, all the while keeping her eye on the dogs through the sliding door that opened to the patio. She needed to think about getting a proposal together for a second book. The check Mallory had given her was more than enough to see her comfortably through the next two years if she didn’t earn a dime doing anything else, but it was also the only money she had for emergencies or a nest egg.
Before Connor’s death, she’d toyed with an idea about a murder involving two female corporate icons, but now her thoughts turned to what she and Steve had talked about. She jotted some notes down on a piece of paper and did her usual clustering technique to get her brain working. Three hours later she had a succinct working outline for a new mystery titled, Canine Capers. For research, she figured all she had to do was talk to Steve. His years of experience as a vet would provide her with more than enough detailed information.
She spent the rest of the afternoon tidying things up and familiarizing herself with her new home. By the time she was finished, one thing was clear: The white carpet would have to go … quickly. She couldn’t bear looking at it. With all these dogs, she could think of only two kinds of flooring that would hold up to the kind of accidents that were bound to happen: ceramic tile or vinyl.
She spent an hour outside with the dogs, getting to know their names, petting them, and brushing them. Then it was into the kitchen with Beemer and Olivia, to look for a meat-loaf recipe. When she was finished putting everything together, carrots and potatoes lined the sides of the baking pan just the way the cookbook said to do it. Strips of bacon as well as a fine dusting of sesame seeds covered the top. It was a half hour before Steve was due to arrive, and suddenly she realized she was short on time and that the kitchen was an unholy mess. Pots and pans, potato and carrot peelings seemed to be everywhere. “Who knows. I might turn into a gourmet chef one of these days.”
The Guest List Page 15